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curtins · 3 days ago

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BORN TO DIE — Geto Suguru minors dni!

prologue. → it's been three years since suguru left all you had ever known, crumbling it into the fine dust of the earth. a suspiciously timed mission from gojo leads you right into the arms of the man you swore to kill. well, fuck him right?

pairing. geto suguru x afab!reader

warnings+. implied/mild gojo x reader, lovers to enemies, or enemies to lovers, past relationship, injuries, mentions of blood, reader is lowkey violent, some establishing plot idk, geto is kind a jerk (well he's a cult leader so) but hes also down bad, making out, doing it raw and desparate (wrap it before yall tap it!), creámpie etc, minor mentions of infidelity, ríde him until he sees stars trope, minor implied stsg, suguru lowkey a messy slút for this <3 🩵

word count. 4.5k song inspiration. born to die — lana del rey

a/n. heehee

mp3.. my heart it breaks every step that i take, but i'm hoping that the gates, they'll tell me that you're mine

ask to be added to a taglist! likes and reblogs appreciated <3

fuck suguru geto.

literally.

it had been days of you tracking down a mere rumour of curses that haunted this side of the mountain, and you know you're close — close enough to feel the cold prickling along your skin, ripe with cursed energy with that taste of something unnatural and spectral in the air.

gojo had delegated this mission to you, claiming that you had a natural born talent for hunting curses, but you knew the truth was that he had laid on the flattery thick, so that he could kiss you chastely on the cheek, go take a day off, and let you handle this one on your own.

but just as you raise your hand to cast a light, a flash of movement catches your, a fleeting gleam, drawing you off the trail before you even realise where you're going.

you round the grove, and the sight ahead steals the breath from you. through the night's shadows, a pale blue light pulses, illuminating a tall figure whose outstretched hand has already grasped the curse, right into a neat orb.

it would take only a heartbeat to recognise the sorcerer, but you feel as though your heart has leapt into your throat, your blood pulsing under the thin skin, with such dizzying shock. your chest has tightened, and each breath is laced with something sharp and electric — not sadness, nor grief.

anger.

suguru geto.

you swallow against the burning in your throat, his features are half-lit by the eerie glow of his cursed technique, and yet they are sharper than you remembered, refined and all the more hauntingly familiar.

but he's turned, with his raven hair spilling over his shoulders, and violet eyes meet your own, and you scowl as his lips curl up, voice smooth as he speaks.

"hey. it's been a while."

"you...you — fuck you!"

ugh, now it's just embarrassing. you had spent three years, pondering and wondering what cutting words you'd deliver upon suguru geto when you saw him again. and now you can barely get a sputter out without your eyes wandering over him.

geto raises a singularly arched brow, "don't you think we should catch up first?"

"i should kill you," you wonder if your fractured voice betrays how quite literally unravelled you feel right now, like the earth has fallen out beneath you, and you're not sure if you're moving towards him, or taking a step back, "oh my god, i should actually just kill you."

you wonder how you should do it. draw a blade and let it kiss his skin, to see red split out from his throat. or if you just forgo a weapon and push the air from him until his creamy skin is red and bruised.

but he's beautiful, he's so beautiful and it leaves you wondering if this is how orpheus felt when he turned around in that tunnel, and saw eurydice again. if he was also planted in the ground, unable to move at the sight of what his heart most wanted.

the boy who once broke your heart is now a man, draped in robes of deep purple and green, and gold. a man with ghostly eyes that leave you unsure on whether you're furious, or wanting.

still wanting to wrap your hands around his throat, perhaps. you tamp down any other traitorous thought.

"what's your business here?" you manage, and you wonder if he can hear a tremor, and a crack where all that hurt was buried when you were seventeen years old.

but geto just smiles, "you don't think i'd notice the presence of a curse on my own estate? or a jujutsu sorcerer? you've come a long way, haven't you?"

"huh - your estate?"

ah, it hits you, as you follow your line of sight behind geto's head, past the thick trees that you've been wandering in, to where silver rods strike up, out into the dark sky — the roof of what's clearly an important building, the time vessel association.

you cross your arms, "you mean your bullshit cult?" you wonder how quick you can pull out a knife, one of several that you must have taken with you on your missions.

now it's his turn to scowl at you, and a petulant expression dances across his face, but geto doesn't address your barb, "you've come a long way, did satoru send you here?"

you bark out a laugh, "that's gojo to you now."

now he’s right in front of you, and you force yourself not to swallow or betray even a flicker of nerves.

you hold his gaze, determined and unwavering but geto has always been tall, his frame deceptively broad beneath the layers of his robes, but standing this close, you catch the heady scent of allspice and sandalwood, maybe even some ceremonial incense.

"oh, i'm sorry. only you get to call him satoru now, is that right?"

you're not stupid, you know that there's an undertone of a question in his snarky tone, well fuck him. you don't owe him an answer of what your life has been like in the past three years (nor what gojo's has been like, for that matter).

he watches you for an answer, with a face as elegent as an idol in an ancient shrine, pale and luminous against the moon-lit sky. you briefly wonder how a tall, beautiful boy who floated around campus with headphones around his neck, and an obscure band-tee, had managed to peel off his skin and carve himself into something more holy, like a heian-era deity.

"suguru," you finally breathe, and your head feels jumbled and aching. he tilts his head, lips parted, as if he's been waiting for his name to fall from your lips, and he's savouring it.

"come with me," he says simply, gesturing to the shadowed building behind him, and his hand lingers in the air, as his pale, slender fingers reach towards your own, "just this once, you don't have to tell him, y'know."

yes, you know. you should refuse, fuck, you should have been grinding his blood into the earth, for the night has no time for traitors. and if you were to take his hand, it would make you one as well.

oh, how easily suguru geto has always been able to unravel you, and all you've ever known or believed in.

suguru's fingers are like ice as they close around your wrist, with a firm but unhurried grip, pulling you along that makes resistance feel almost laughable.

you try to twist free, but he only glances back, with a teasing smile over his face, "still as defiant as ever," he murmurs, and you're not sure whether your cheeks are flushed from how he's drinking the sight of you in.

"i wouldn't be if you weren't dragging me through this place like some prisoner."

suguru laughs, "is that what you are?" and a dangerous, dormant merriment glints in his violet eyes, "i thought you'd come with me willingly."

his voice is maddeningly calm, as if this was some routine rendezvous, as if he hadn’t walked out of your life three years ago and left nothing but emptiness behind. suguru leads you down a long hallway lined with tall, flickering candles, their dim glow casting eerie shadows across the stone walls. it's so quiet you can hear your own breathing, each inhale tinged with the scent of incense that lingers on his robes.

you give another half-hearted tug against his grip, but his hold only tightens, but he stops, looking down at you, his gaze softening, almost pitying. "save your strength. we’re nearly there. and i need you to behave, and be quiet."

you hate the way your heart races at his touch, at his command, at the intimacy of this shadowed corridor that seems to belong to no one but the two of you.

"and where exactly are you taking me, suguru?" you ask, voice brittle.

"patience. you'll see soon enough."

he leads you forward again, each step echoing through the silence until he finally stops at a large, dark-stained wooden door. his fingers slide away from your wrist, leaving your skin tingling in their absence, and your own fingers curl outwards wanting to reach for his again before you tuck your hand away shamefully.

you can see his smile out of the corner of his eye. he knows this, and more.

but now suguru glances back, his eyes gleaming in the low light. "you came all this way," he says, voice low. "i thought you wanted to catch up."

yeah. catch up.

that's exactly what you'd call it when you barrel through the doors alongside him, and push your mouth against his, hearing the satisfying breath that he draws before he's moving against you too.

you lean into suguru, feeling the heat radiate from his broad body as every nerve in your skin awakens as his lips crash against yours with a fervour that leaves you breathless. it's been three long years since you last felt this, anything, like this and you fight back whatever demon lurches within you — an ode to bittersweet rage, longing and want.

you can taste him in your mouth, a mix of mint and even something sweeter, and it stings you, pricks at every cut he must be leaving over you. but suguru's hands grip your waist, and you wonder if he feels just as you do. but he must, for his arms have pulled you in, anchoring you onto his chest, as if he's afraid you might slip away (just as he had, from you).

you don't know where the tears came from, but salt runs down your cheeks, mingling in with your kisses, and you take a moment to pull away from him, and trace his face with shaking fingers.

"i should hate you," you breathe out, but how can you when he stares down at you as if you've reached into his chest and clawed his heart out. a killer, a traitor, a murderer. but it's still him all the same.

but his lips are now on your face, as his tongue runs over the streaked sorrow, licking it right up, "don't," and now his tone is pleading, suguru geto is pleading above you, "i can't live with you hating me. just let me do this."

he leans into your more deeply and your hands move instinctively, slipping beneath the soft fabric of his robes, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. you explore the contours of his muscles, tracing the lines of his body, every touch igniting a spark that sends shivers through you, makes your own core feel heavy.

it's delicious how his breath hitches as you slide your hand even lower, past the waistband of his pants, right where the hard evidence of his desire is plain, and there's a satisfying rush of power that courses through you at his response, at the breath of air suguru rushes through his teeth in a low keen as he separates yourself from your panting mouth, to trail his soft lips on the sensitive skin lower.

his teeth briefly sink into the juncture of your neck, and you jolt at the brief pain before he runs his tongue over the fresh marks, soothing, hot.

his large hands are both under your top now, moving over the expanse of your stomach and up, up until they cup both your breasts, pinching, and twirling and leaving you slick with the arousal that has gathered at the apex of your thighs.

"so pretty, ah! so - pretty," suguru breathes, and you quirk your lips up as he lowers you slowly to the mat. he'd let you to quite a bare room, with nought in it save for the floor and the walls, but you're honestly content with him having his way with you like this.

you should feel guilty, you should be seeing blue eyes peering up at you from between your thighs, white hair plastered with the sweat of exertion.

but instead, all you see is the twilight sky, brushstrokes of black and dusky violet as suguru takes his place on his chiselled stomach, as you feel the mat press into your shoulder blades while you lay flat on your back.

"stay with me, gorgeous," he murmurs, his breath warm against the skin of your thighs. his plush lips brush against your mound, and you squirm and shake from the need, the need to feel his mouth lower and you cannot help but just arch into him, mewling as he starts drifting his fingers down.

"oh my god, oh!," you're almost embarrassed to be put in this position, moaning like a wanton whore, but you can't just bring yourself to stop, "fuck, suguru. can you please -"

and you're bucking your hips up towards his mouth, begging him to get a hint, and give you a hit of the pleasure that you're so craving.

but suguru stares at you flatly, and then in between your legs almost methodically, like he's waiting for something, and the flat of his palm rests heavy over your clothed cunt.

"i don't think so," he mutters, "tell me something first," and he's playing with the elastic band of your underwear, pulling it to the side before snapping it back, thwack!

"tell me you don't hate me. i need to hear you say it, that you never hated me," and you can feel a new bruise bloom on the inner corner of your thigh from his teeth's ministrations.

"i don't hate you! please, suguru, i could never, ah! -" and you don't get the chance to even finish your sentence before the man is pressing his tongue straight to the damp, translucent patch of fabric that's been soaked with your slick.

his teeth have caught on the fabric deliberately, and he's pulling the fabric, up and up, and the sight makes you so incredibly delirious that you wonder how on earth you're going to recover after this.

and to your credit, his eyes have gone wide, and hazy even — and you enjoy watching him swallow, adam's apple bobbing as suguru seems so entirely pussydrunk, just from you alone.

oh, now you have an idea, and so you pull yourself up and onto him, and he lets you push him down so your positions are reversed. he looks so beautiful like this, dark hair splayed out and falling over his flushed face, as you straddle his thighs, lewdly dripping over his robes as you try to gain some friction from the fabric.

"you're so desparate, baby. didn't think you'd be so — mmph! fuck!" it seems that all it takes to shut suguru geto up is a well-intentioned roll of your hips against his groin, and his hands shoot up to find their place on your waist, rubbing small circles over your hipbones.

you let out a shaky laugh, leaning down to press your lips to his again, "yeah, that's what i thought," and you kiss him, quick and almost outstandingly chaste, and you grin in satisfaction as he leans up again to chase your lips as soon as you separate.

as moonlight spills into the room, you decide to make short work of his robes, reaching underneath the silk to part the fastening, revealing the smooth ripple of muscle underneath, illuminated like godly marble in the silver light. suguru's gaze is fixed on you, his breath shaky and quickening, as he lets you trace your nails lightly over his abdomen.

taking a quick breath, your fingers slide beneath the waistband of his pants once more, and you relish at how suguru's entire body tenses at your touch, his breath hitching, "oh, fuck! right there," as your hands make contact with his cock, feeling the soft skin and the steel underneath. it's large, and heavy in your hands and you gulp, and realise now he's enjoying your reactions.

"there you go, you've had your fun," he breathes out, before shifting your hips back till you're situated right over his cock, "now, let me handle this."

you're barely given a few seconds to catch your breath before he sheathes himself, gliding straight into you thanks to the obscene amount of arousal practically weeping from your cunt, and you keen up at the sky, writhing from the delicious stretch of his wide cock that's made its home in your gummy walls.

"oh, ahh - suguru! wait, let me -," and you shift yourself, groaning as you feel his cock right in the sweetest spots, so you're in his embrace and he gladly envelops his arms around you, bringing you closer and planting desparate, hot kisses on your skin as your nails create crescents in his smooth skin.

suguru seems just as whipped as you are, gone from this mortal plane of the earth and onto a higher level of existence, just from your pretty, tight pussy that's holding him together, "keep doing that, pretty, look how. good. you. take. me."

and each word is punctuated by suguru's hips bullying into yours, pushing his cock deeper and further than you thought you could ever handle, as his mouth pants under yours, "taking it like a fuckin' champ. missed this, missed this so much."

you missed it too, chasing after the feeling of threading your fingers through his soft black locks, feeling him shudder as you scraped your nails down the back of his head,

"yeah, that's it," oh, suguru's always been mouthier like this, when you're sucking up him so deliciously, ramming his hips and angling them in a way that has your abdomen tingling, and has your eyes (and his) seeing stars and the heavens.

he taps his shoulders, where his dark robes have slipped off, revealing the smooth expanse of toned muscle and hot skin, "hands here, baby. keep you steady, yeah?"

and you plant your hands on his chest, determined to swivel your hips in a way that has you gasping for air, and glancing down right where - fuck, where you can quite literally see his bulge through your skin.

"oh, suguru! ah, keep doing that!" you desperately hope that these premises were vacated, for your unrestrained moans must have been rippling through the thin walls, strained and throaty as they bounced off wood.

and you just couldn't pull your eyes away from the sight of him, intoxicating as he was. suguru under you, broad chest heaving as he caught his breath with every rock of your hips — with a flush painting his creamy skin, framed by dark strands of hair that fanned messily around his face, falling in careless waves over his forehead and brushing against his cheekbones.

you couldn't help yourself, curling your fingers in the unruly halo and drawing him up, closer to your face as his crimson-bitten lips parted slightly, clacking around a deep groan.

his mauve eyes lifted away from the swell of your chest once more, hazy with exhaustion, but they softened as they met your own gaze with an almost reverent, quiet awe. even lying there, while you quite literally rode him to hell and back, cunt pulsing against his cock in a way that left you both breathless, he looked at you as if you were some vision, and his rosy-bruised mouth curled again.

"always thought you - hah - looked like a dream," he murmured, his gaze tracing your face as if he were committing every detail to memory, "i used to think that i had forgotten, or tried to forget how beautiful you were, are."

"but now," and he bucks his hips into a steady tempo, a constant allegro, "seeing you here, like this as if you were made for fuckin' me, how could i ever forget?"

his fingers are still under your top, brushing against your spine and you mewl, pressed close enough to him so your breasts press against the hard planes of his chest.

"stay a little longer, yeah?" he whispers, "just let me look at you, fuck! don't think i'd ever be able to stop lookin' at you anyway. can't get enough of you," and he reaches a hand in between your thighs, finding your swollen clit and beginning to run soft circles around it with the pads of his fingers, "don't think i'll ever get enough."

it's becoming too much, the harsh smack of his skin against yours, the feeling of your throbbing clit being showered with white-hot attention from his quick hands, the counter of his dense shaft gliding down your pliable walls, spanning them out until you can feel him so deep within you, "fuck, it's too good - mmph, way too good, i can't -"

you're practically tangled in his arms, in the arms of a man who should have been an enemy, a traitor, one who crumbled all that you held once dear. but his chest rises and falls erratically against yours, and you can feel him heartbeat jump, grounding you in the most unbearable way,

his fingers are now bruising your hips, leaving marks that you're sure (in the back of your mind, somewhere that's still rational) satoru would easily be able to recognise but you can't bring yourself to care.

you can't tell whose tears are staining the fabric of his robes between you, his or yours. the line between the two of you blurs as much as the fog in your mind from the way his cock has driven into you, made its imprint in a way that you'll never forget.

"suguru -" you're wondering if your poor, torn heart will just simply give out now, why is it so hard to breathe? each press of his fingers against your clit has you moaning over the shell of his ear, "i'm close, hah, i'm so close, suguru."

he chuckles weakly, bubbling from him and mingled in with a grunt, "yeah, i fuckin' know. i know." and his soaked fingers are still drawing circles in your sticky arousal that's leaking from you, over his cock, over his robes, dampening the dark trail of hair that coats his groin.

"always been mine." and as he bites your neck, teeth sinking into you, you feel the coil in your abdomen snap! and god, you don't think you could ever go back. not like this.

you can't even imagine the picture you must paint now, lips parted and open as you feel yourself being rocked through your orgasm in a way that leaves you untethered from the earth. how the spasm of your walls must finally trigger his own release, and suddenly he's stiffened too as thick, creamy ropes of his seed find their home in you, "see, mine. always mine, don't go soft on me now, pretty. oh my god, fuck!"

all you can truly do is let him handle you now, let his arms tighten and pull you in as close as possible, so his teeth are tugging on your lips, kissing right into your mouth as you ride out the stars of your own release, tears springing to your eyes once more from the overstimulation, hands digging into the woven mat under him.

later, you lie in suguru's arms, wrapped up entirely in the exhausation (and guilt, oh fuck, the guilt of what you've done) of the world, and everything else feels hazy and irrelevant. the steady rhythm of his breath in small puffs is the only thing grounding you, the warmth of his chest rising and falling against yours. he's tracing soft lines across your back, like he's trying to memorise the feel of you.

"suguru," you whisper, your voice breaking once more on his name, lips close to the damp skin of his neck. you're not sure if you're still crying, or if this is the quietest, most intimate form of surrender that has replaced the weathered storm.

he doesn't speak for a long moment, but his grip has tightened on you, as though he's trying to draw you even closer, like your soul will meld into his, "don't," and his voice is ragged raw, "you don't have to leave just yet."

the quiet desperation in his words cracks your heart, and for the first time in three years, the distance between the man who had become a shadow, and the boy you once knew feels almost unrecognisable.

his face turns toward yours, his eyes searching yours, as if he’s looking for something to anchor him, something to give him the assurance that all the destruction he’s caused, all the distance between you, can still be undone.

but you’re not sure if it’s possible.

you want to say something, anything, but the words lodge in your throat, too heavy and too tangled to escape. you let your hand rest on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart, matching the pace of your own.

"i don’t know if i can stay, suguru," you say, "how can we go back to what we were?"

"then let me make it up to you," he says softly, his voice shaking with a quiet urgency, as though this is the last chance he’ll ever have. "let me show you what i've built here. that you don’t have to leave."

if you stay, you risk losing yourself. you risk losing the anger that you had cherished, and treasured, nurtured and held onto. the anger that had guided you through the world. still, as you meet his gaze, something inside of you shifts. maybe it’s the way his hands slide gently up your back, steady and sure.

"please," he breathes again, his forehead resting gently against yours. "don’t leave. do not do to me, what i should never have done to you."

the moonlight spills through the cracks of the window, and it brings to mind the flicker of bright blue eyes, six eyes, alongside their warmth and steady presence, and you wonder if the earth will swallow you whole for what you've done.

you should never have come here. you shouldn’t have allowed yourself to get caught up in suguru's gravity again, shouldn’t have let him pull you back into this mess of old feelings and broken promises.

suguru's low, tired laugh pulls you from your thoughts, his breath warm against your skin. he pulls back slightly, his dusky eyes gleaming with something you can’t quite place — a spark of surprise, maybe amusement, even a little mockery, but there is no lie in his eyes.

"satoru?" he says, the name slipping from his lips with a touch of disbelief. "you really think he hasn’t visited me in the past three years either?"

#jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #geto #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto #suguru geto x reader #geto smut #geto suguru smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #works #getou suguru

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bunnyunderthebed · 11 hours ago

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the camping trip was the first time for a lot of things. in all honesty i should've seen it coming, even that early on, but i've always been a little slow on the uptake.

i know now, with the benefit of hindsight, that you spilling wine on my jeans was a set up. clearly no amount of caution on my part was going to slow you down for long; you were going to get what you wanted one way or another. apologies abound, followed by enthusiastic blotting with napkins and paper towels—how convenient for you that the spill was all over my groin—to little effect. the thoroughly ruined wranglers were set to dry alongside a promise for replacements, and you slyly suggested that i simply sleep in my boxers. it was getting to be that time anyway, the fire was low and i was tired, so i didn't think anything of it.

i was expecting a comfy night of snuggling and stargazing—that's what the suspension tent had been bought for, of course—but you had different plans. no time was wasted by your hands, feeling me up just as soon as you changed the spotify playlist. my neck had been a bit of a focus for you in those days, and you had gotten plenty of milage out of it thus far. with how sensitive it is, it was the fastest route you had to the noises you really liked. with your arm wrapped around from behind your fingers scouted my jaw, tracing out all the little spots that made me shiver, and you got to work putting hickeys on every one of them.

i'll admit i was too distracted by the attention to notice your free hand trailing downwards slowly, skillfully avoiding all the sensitive spots that might give you away as it crossed my torso. once you arrived on target, though, there was no peeling you away. a single finger, dragged along the contour of my bulge, would be my only notification. if the long, deep gasp hadn't been enough of a green light for you, the throbbing certainly was. a gentle brushing of my thighs was all you needed to splay me out, and you cooed a soft praise in my ear for melting in your hands so effortlessly.

"Good boy, bunny," you said for the first time. i felt you play and tease at the waistband and considered begging. maybe if i had, you'd've obliged me, but i couldn't think straight with you nibbling on my ear. instead you gently massaged me through my boxers, groping lovingly while you laid little kisses on my jaw, and all i could manage was a whine. you growled with excitement, turning the little kisses into little bites and my gasps into moans. you were hammering buttons now, not just pressing them. the growing wet spot was the invitation you needed to slip your hand in. i froze as you gripped me and you huffed with feral content. i twitched and throbbed in your hand, silently aching for you to follow through. i was too lost in it all to realize i needed to warn you before you started.

a pained yelp tore out of my mouth and you immediately let go. my hips recoiled and i instinctively curled up and twisted away from you. i hissed as the hurt radiated, and you pulled me into an embrace to quickly soothe me and figure out what had happened. i mumbled to you between breaths.

it... uh... it doesn't... you can't pull on it like... like that... i'm sorry... i know it's... weird...

you seemed to pause for a moment.

"Can I... see?"

i nodded slowly and turned my body back to you. lifting your head to see what you were doing, you gingerly pulled me out of my boxers. i was too embarrassed to look you in the eye.

you... uh... you don't have to... if it's a problem... i understand if it's not what you're used to...

turning my head by the chin, you met my gaze warmly.

"It's beautiful. You're beautiful."

pretty boys with pretty cocks that just beg to be caged, pumped mercilessly, spat and stepped on <3

#gentle fdom #gentle domination #subby bunny #boy sub #subby boys #subby men #mommy k!nk #1cky mommy #stream of consciousness #letters to nobody #spilled ink

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7s3ven · 3 days ago

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WHAT HAPPENS IN VAGAS STAYS IN VAGAS. simon riley

( just an idea)

I recently watched a movie set in Vegas that had the title (what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas) as its motto and I thought it’d be a really funny plot. I’ll use Ghost as a placeholder for now.

But yeah, imagine reader and Ghost (total strangers) get married in Vegas and they’re like “wtf” and they don’t officially divorce so, hey, Ghost actually has a wife on paper. And then Laswell introduces TF 141 to a transferred worker and what do you know, it’s Ghost’s Vegas wife.

Ghost wasn’t known for drinking past his limits. In fact, he barely had any. He wasn’t a light weight in the slightest. He could drink at least twenty large pints of beer and still be fully sober. But, it seems Vegas had fucked him over. He blamed Jonny for convincing the team to take a holiday to America.

He could still taste the fruity cocktails on his tongue as he sat up, rubbing his face. His mask was discarded to the side, lying on the floor. The room was surprisingly tidy as he leaned over the body beside him to retrieve his mask- wait, that wasn’t right.

Ghost let out a grunt of surprise, staring at the person beside him. His gaze immediately landed on the wedding ring that glinted in the dim light. His heart lurched. Had he slept with a married person? His brows creased as he tried to remember what had happened. Who even was this strange woman? He had never seen her before.

Ghost racked his brain for clues until he realized that the woman beside him was the one he had been eyeing all night in a drunken state. He thought she was pretty and he hadn’t seen the ring before.

He looked down at his own hand, eyes widening even more at the sight of a matching wedding band. It didn’t take a genius to piece everything together.

Ghost hadn’t slept with an already taken person, he had fucking married a stranger instead. Well, in the grand scheme of things, that seemed a little better than ruining a marriage because he drank too much.

You stirred and Ghost froze as you opened your eyes, blinking in confusion. “Where am I?” You were just as confused as he was. “Hey, did we sleep together? You don’t have a girlfriend, do you?” Your words slurred together. You glanced at the ring on his finger, lurching back. “Oh my gosh! Are you married?! Did I fuck a married person?! I’m so sorry!”

“Look at your own finger.” Ghost grumbled. “Wasn’t married before I met you.”

At least you were a smart one. “Oh… we married each other… um, what’s your name?”

“Simon Riley.”

“Y/N L/N.”

The two of you shook hands, still tangled in the white bedsheets.

“So… what happens now?” You mutter.

“I gotta get to work. Give me your number so I can call ya and we can… figure whatever the hell this is out.”

You hand him a piece of paper with your digits written on it. It doesn’t take you long to get dressed and walk out of the hotel, already texting your friends on what you had woken up to.

Hours passed and then days and finally months. And there was no call from the handsome man you had accidentally married. And there was no chance of even divorcing if you couldn’t get in contact with him.

So you endured it. And whenever your friends asked about the ring, you told them the story of how you had managed to get drunk and marry a total stranger. They found it hilarious.

Kate Laswell was the woman who entirely changed your life, in more ways than another. When you were a teenager, she helped you out of a slump. You owed her a great deal for saving you at your worst. So when she asked you to transfer from your secretary line of work in the military to a special operations unit as their new intelligence operative, you agreed.

She had given a meaning to your life, a well-paying job that could support you, and unintentionally reunited you with the man who was bound to you on paper.

“This is Y/N. Treat her nice.” Laswell says to the four large men towering over you. But you only have eyes for the one with the Skull mask. You could recognzie those vivid eyes anywhere.

He wasn’t wearing gloves, giving you a perfect view of the wedding ring still sitting on his finger. You couldn’t blame him, you still wore yours too for some reason.

“Ey, LT, yer gon’ a burn a hole in the poor lassie if ya keep starin’ like that.” John Mactavish, aka known as Soap or Jonny, said, laughing. “You like ‘er or somethin’?”

“Yeah, I guess. She’s my wife after all.” Ghost grunts. You want to pinch the bridge of your nose. How could he say such a thing without context?

Gaz is the one who makes a fuss over Ghost’s statement. “Wait, you’re married?! And you didn’t invite us?!”

“It was in a dingy church.” You say to fill in the gaps.

“Where?” Gaz presses on.

You and Ghost exchange a look, embarrassed about your reckless actions. “Vegas.” You both say in unison.

You can practically see the cogs working in Soap’s head as he gasps. “Is that where yer disappeared off to? Ya got married to a pretty lass without tellin’ us? How long have y’all known each other?!”

You clear your throat as you hear the quiet sound of Laswell chuckling. Glad to see she finds your predicament amusing. “We don’t.”

“So you married a stranger?” Soap’s eyebrows furrow. “Ey, how come you got married before me?!”

“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.” Ghost reminds his team members.

It’d be really funny if, even after that, you and Ghost still don’t divorce. And y’all actually start treating each other like lovers.

Like, yeah, we were strangers and got married in a church in Vegas but we won’t divorce because the married life is actually better than expected. What about it?

Ghost literally brushes off the fact that you guys were strangers. He treats you like his wife, bringing you food and wiping your makeup off when you’re too tired to do so. And eventually, you guys just accept it.

#kyle cod #call of duty x you #call of duty x reader #gaz call of duty #soap call of duty #ghost call of duty #call of duty #john price x reader #captain john price #ghost x reader #ghost simon riley #simon riley ghost #simon riley x you #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick

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icallhimjoey · 1 day ago

Text

Almost, Always

♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Happy endings aren't for everyone, so it seems, but that doesn't mean that you can't stop trying for one. Question is, are you actually star-crossed lovers that can figure something out, or just absolutely blind to reality and really fucking stupid?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, smut, cheating

Author’s note: it's monday! and fake joe's here for you! he's... not exactly the best, for which i apologise, but, he's all for you, so please, enjoy him fictionally and respect him privately (too much to ask? i hope not?) ok great talk everyone, love you <33 xo

Wordcount: 6.3K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Four days of silence.

Four days of not looking each other in the eye. Of no physical touch. Of not saying a single fucking word.

You moved around each other in a shared space until you had the thought that you were probably better off avoiding each other completely for a little while.

Joe was convinced he had every right to wait for an apology before he’d speak to you again. You, however, obviously heavily disagreed.

You had just been honest.

Joe had asked for you to be honest and so, you had been, but apparently, you’d done it wrong.

It started with an evening of not speaking after an outburst. A silent night routine where you completely avoided one another. Acted like the other person wasn’t even there. You’d thought then that you’d speak in the morning. That you’d talk things out after getting some sleep, because maybe that was the problem.

You slept with your backs facing each other and dreamed of better moods in the morning.

But then the next morning, Joe had gotten up and only made one coffee.

One singular cup of coffee.

He drank it at the kitchen table, looked at you all bitterly like a disappointed parent would look at their child who was ruining their potential, and then left the empty cup there for you to grow even more annoyed at. More than you already were.

That one evening of silence had slowly turned into four days.

You bit your tongue, though. Kept quiet, because Joe did too. Stored the annoyance away. Swept it under the rug, and even though this metaphoric rug was starting to look really lumpy, you pretended you could walk over it fine still.

You then also ignored that this is precisely what the fight had been about. About you shutting up about all the little things that annoyed you. All the small things that didn’t feel worth the effort to say anything about in the moment, because you didn’t want to be a nag.

Things built with you.

Being bothersome was your worst nightmare, so you wouldn’t say anything for ages until then suddenly, on a random afternoon, a teeny tiny drop made the bucket overflow and you’d fall apart at something so stupidly insignificant which would take everyone by surprise.

Would take Joe by surprise.

And it made sense that Joe’s first reaction to your fire would be to light his own. You’d snap and shout, so Joe’d snap and shout right back.

“Babe, you never fucking communicate! It’s always– I’m always guessing with you! Just tell me when something upsets you!”

“I am!”

“Yea now you are! But you’re telling me about shit I said three months ago! What do you want me to change about something I did three months ago?!”

“I don’t want you to change anything– my God! You asked me what’s wrong, so I’m telling you what’s wrong!”

It was always the same fight. And usually, you’d end up saying something so stupid to your own ears it would break the tension and make you laugh. It’d be easy to apologise in those moments, because you knew this was on you, and the warmth coming off of Joe as he’d turn soft at your laughter would always sort of fix things.

“Stop being so silly,” he’d say as he’d hug you. As he’d kiss you on the cheek until your embarrassed grimace, aimed fully at yourself, disappeared.

“Got some moaning left in there?” he’d ask, tapping the side of your head with a finger, making you giggle despite yourself. “Want to go shout into the air from the balcony? Since you’re here now, this is the time to get all of it out.”

That was how it usually went.

And he was right; you could definitely communicate better. Express feelings in the moment rather than hold on to all the negative shit for ages.

Easier said than done, but at least you were aware that you had to stop saving things for another day.

This time the fight had been different though. There was no eventual humour slipping through any cracks. No secret smiles hidden from each other until you stopped being able to conceal them. No apologies. Zero kind words. Just… anger. And silence.

Joe was waiting for you to break first. For your wrath to turn into something a little softer that he could mould into something more to his liking.

And you were waiting because Joe was waiting. Simple as that.

It didn’t feel fair that every time you’d share negative feelings, Joe would end up calling you silly.

It didn’t feel fair that Joe never apologised for anything.

It didn’t feel fair that, just because you were quiet for a moment as you collected your thoughts, Joe spat, “Silent treatment? All right.” at you.

Four days.

Four days of Joe making a morning coffee just for himself, actively choosing to ignore, and therefore, hurt you.

Four days of his lone empty coffee cup left on the table, which you then didn’t clean, because why the fuck would you, but the sight of it was eating you alive.

You spent four days witnessing petty, childish behaviour from the man who you started believing you needed some space from. A little breathing room. Just until he’d miss you enough to reach out and say sorry, you know?

You wondered if he was thinking the same.

If the silence was also letting his mind wander into those same dark corners yours was exploring.

But then, Joe broke it.

A glass of wine on that fourth night broke it.

It wasn’t exactly an apology, but… it felt like one. You decided it was an apology.

You were sitting on the sofa, tapping away on your phone, talking to Emily about your stupid boyfriend, and she was a good friend, made fun of him effortlessly which really did a good job of making you feel better.

Then, Joe placed a glass of wine down on the coffee table in front of you.

It didn’t fully register at first.

You saw the glass, but assumed it was Joe’s wine that he poured for just himself, and if you were going to want some, you’d have to go and fetch you own.

Mid-typing out a message to Emily about it, you felt Joe sit down next to you, and when you chanced a quick glance, you saw that he was holding a glass of wine himself as he got comfortable and turned on the TV.

Slowly, your phone lowered into your lap, and you stared at that glass of red wine on the table for a moment.

Without warning, your eyes welled up.

He poured that for you.

In the effort to not let Joe notice how this gesture hit you right in the gut, you held your breath until you were shaking, and then a heaving sob burst out of you.

Shit.

You shattered.

Split right down the middle, and burst into pieces with such vigour, you surprised yourself, but surprised Joe more.

He had expected you to pick up the glass and empty it in the sink, or whatever.

Four days was much longer than he thought you’d let this go on for.

His girlfriend was stubborn – he knew that. But four days? Four days was a really fucking long time. And, apparently, four days was long enough for a simple glass of red supermarket wine to make you cry.

The astonishment rendered Joe useless for a moment.

He just looked at you for a moment as you sat with your phone in your lap, head dropped down, and your face covered by both your hands.

This was really fucking embarrassing.

Your legs felt the want to escape the situation before your mind got the chance to catch up. You were up on your feet and wanted to bolt it to the bedroom when you heard Joe put his glass of wine down.

You hadn’t even taken two steps before you got taken hold of by an arm. Pulled into a chest. Held firmly into place.

Going from four days of moving around each other like you didn’t exist to one another, to the very sudden tightest hug you’d received in ages was a lot.

And then Joe placed a hand on the back of your neck and squeezed you gently, making you fucking bawl.

No one apologised.

No one said a word, actually.

But you took whatever that glass of wine was as enough of an olive branch to let yourself be hugged.

Be shushed quietly.

Be gently kissed and softly touched.

It shouldn’t have counted as an apology, but you’d taken it as one, and Joe had conveniently let you.

Saturday night.

You’re out.

Alone.

You know Emily would have come if you had asked her to, but you hadn’t, because she would’ve likely asked a bunch of questions you didn’t want to answer.

“Where are we going?” “That’s not where we usually go...” “Why are we going there?”

Couldn’t tell her. She’d try her best to talk sense into you. Would try to convince you that this behaviour wasn’t serving anyone in the long term.

And she’d be right.

But you currently don’t really care about the long term.

Short term is where it’s at.

Where all the fun and the excitement lives.

So you’re out. Having drinks at a bar by yourself, and you do your very best fending off any trickle of doubt at your life choices until you see him walk in.

Jackpot.

You fucking knew it.

You pretend you haven’t seen him at all, of course. Continue your chat with the girl behind the bar, until suddenly–

“You know you’ve got the worst timing?”

Joe sneaks up on you.

His voice is low in your ear, and you do your very best to sound as surprised as you possibly can when you gasp a small breath, all innocent. You turn your head to see him over your shoulder, both his hands on your sides as he looks down at you.

“Fancy seeing you here.” You say it like you truly didn’t expect to run into him.

Oscar worthy.

Well. It would have been, had you not both been very aware that you’re exactly where you are for this exact reason. Wearing what you are wearing, drinking what you are drinking. It’s more than a lucky guess that he’d be here tonight.

Joe’s predictable like that.

Men in general are easy like that.

“I’m here with a whole group.” Joe’s making excuses he already knows aren’t going to stop either one of you.

“Do I know them?”

“No.” Joe answers as he scans your face from the side. God, you look all… glossy.

“Good.” Would’ve been a bit awkward otherwise.

“You better hang around for a bit.” Joe gives you a face, sort of stern, and it’s so comfortable to frown at him. To act all offended. Like it’s not exactly what you want to hear.

“Excuse you, I’m–” you start all aghast, and want to add, I’m seeing someone, which is a lie, but you get cut off by a strong squeeze into your waist from both his hands.

“I’m not joking. Give me… maybe, like, an hour and I’ll come get you.”

You scrunch your nose at him and he gives a small nod, his grin spreading wide, before he turns around and finds the people he came in with.

You’re alone. Single, and having drinks in a bar by yourself, which has every opportunity to feel a little sad, but instead you feel giddy. You predicted you’d run into him, and then you did.

Perfect.

You’re a genius.

After last time, you kind of want Joe to think that you are seeing someone. Just to make you feel like you’ve got the upper hand. Not that it matters. You’ve both made the same wrong choice in similar situations before. But, still. You just don’t want him to win.

Joe joins his friends, and he throws a quick glance back to see you smile into your drink as you take a sip.

Yea. Glossy is the right word, he thinks. He could stare at you all evening.

Fuck.

A whack to his shoulder by one of his friends pulls him into a conversation and momentarily, he shifts into the evening he had planned to have.

He forgets about you for a minute, but never entirely.

It’s like there’s a constant little buzz in the back of his head, and he keeps wanting to look over. See what you’re doing. Who you’re talking to. Who’s talking to you.

Joe’s in trouble.

You do things to him that he can’t entirely comprehend, and that no one before or after you has ever really managed. He doesn’t know what to make of that most of the time, except that the feelings he’s got for you are sort of… big. And scary.

You’re still devastatingly gorgeous to him, he can objectively look at you and think, yea she’s fucking hot, but you also manage to make him laugh. Manage to him feel heard and cared for. Manage to make him forget about all current worries life has on offer for him.

And Joe is generally, just, doomed.

Whatever he had with you had worked for a while and then suddenly it hadn’t anymore. You’d suddenly wanted out, but now… it feels a little like you both want to start over. Like you both want to forget about that chapter of bullshit. Pretend it never happened.

And what’s the problem with that?

Is whatever you are doing now a problem? If it works?

If it doesn’t hurt people, Joe thinks there’s no issue.

But he knows it actually does hurt people. It’s another truth he ignores. Tries to, at least.

There’s no denying the gravitation pulling the two of you closer and closer together until eventually you end up a tangled mess. Like a pair of forgotten earphones left in a coat pocket, too annoying to untie, so instead someone will pull at both ends until the earpieces reach both ears, leaving the wire tangled up even tighter as it sits under their chin.

Even though Joe appreciates the poetic beauty he can find in all of that, he knows he’s got to fucking stop hurting people all the time.

He can’t help his feelings.

But he can help how he treats others.

If he is going to choose to let the general ache of a bad week be soothed by the balm of your presence, he can at least have the decency to not let others presume they’re dating him. Because generally, that’s always been his problem. Joe’s vague and avoidant and all about surface level fun – he never defines anything if he can help it, and he lets others think what they please.

It’s easier that way.

For him, at least.

It’s both a shame and a godsend that this is a part of him that you know through and through. That you see. He doesn’t have to try to hide it, because he knows that it’s of no use with you.

And apparently, it’s fine, because here you fucking are, aren’t you?

He remembers when he thought you were just the same, and remembers how he felt so lucky at first.

A perfect match.

He’d learnt over time, you’re actually very much not the same. But! You had at least some of the same tendencies, and you showing up in this particular bar tonight was enough proof of it.

Joe’s in his group of friends, and they’re all chatting and laughing, and this was meant to be a fun night out, but he might as well just leave right now. His mind is with the girl at the other end of the bar, sat on her own, smiling and chatting to whoever had the courage to strike up a conversation.

Yea.

He’s got more problems.

Forget not wanting to define anything with anyone.

Joe also has to stop banking his entire future on the idea that you want him too.

There’s… there’s a lot of things to ignore.

It should foreshadow that the path he’s going down isn’t good. Isn’t the right one. But... it’s so fun and exciting, he kind of has to know where it leads.

He sighs loudly, a frustrated grumble originating from sheer defeat, and he gives the glass he’s holding a glance. He’ll finish this, and then he’ll fetch you and leave.

About fifteen minutes later, he’s got you under his arm and is leading you outside. Asks, “Yours or mine?” because there’s no need to act coy with you.

You answer, “Yours.” a little too quickly for Joe not to raise an eyebrow at.

You’re walking together, and you’re still fixing your scarf, but your steps are too determined. Too rushed for your quick answer not to hide at least some secrets.

“What, you got anything to hide from me?”

“No–”

“Let’s go over to yours. It’s closer.” he challenges without the intent to actually do so, footsteps still carrying him in the direction of his own flat.

“No, I–”

“Or has Jasper left all of his things strewn about?” Joe couldn’t finish the question before having to twist his mouth in a bid to hide his smile.

You stop walking for just a second, and give him a dead pan stare that transitions into an eye-roll before you flatly say, “All right, good night.” and pretend to turn around to leave.

It makes Joe throw his head back in a laugh, both his arms grabbing at you and pulling you close.

“Mine, okay. Mine.”

And you fall back into step, smiling into your scarf at how you just made Joe’s laugh echo down the street.

Feels good to make Joe laugh.

It’s quiet for a bit, just a short few seconds. Just footsteps on the ground amongst the noises of the city. Somehow, it feels like it drags on, like every second lasts a whole minute, and you can’t help filling it with awkward chat. “No,” you start. “Jasper’s put all of his things where they’re supposed to go.” And you give Joe a pointed look after.

He bites immediately.

“Wha– I always put my things where they’re supposed to go!”

He doesn’t.

You know he doesn’t.

He knows you know he doesn’t.

It’s impossible to forget all of the little things that made the rug look all lumpy. You’d always keep things under there for ages, which gave you a lot of time to quietly lift up corners to examine all the mess.

So you snort, and he stutters through beginnings of words he never finishes to find excuses that don’t exist until you’re both laughing.

Then he says, “Here. I’ll put this thing where it’s meant to go.” And you think it’s just about the cheesiest innuendo ever, but then he takes your wrist in his hand and lets his fingers intertwine with yours.

You look up at him with a pursed smile, but Joe’s already looking right ahead, making sure you don’t bump into anything.

You’re lucky it’s cold enough to blame the flush of your cheeks on the cold wind.

You hold hands all the way to Joe’s flat.

It’s nice.

You also talk about Jasper all the way to Joe’s flat.

That’s less nice.

Joe asks what else Jasper does that he allegedly doesn’t. If he lets you keep your heating on. If he lets you sleep closest to the door. Every question comes out with disdain, like this loser doesn’t know what he’s fucking doing.

And you answer every question with lies. Paint a very pretty picture.

Jasper doesn’t even fucking exist, but you like that Joe thinks you’re taken. That you’re off the market, and that he shouldn’t be taking you home, but still chooses to. You think maybe he wouldn’t have held your hand if he thought you weren’t already spoken for.

However, it doesn’t feel so nice to remember all the things that ruined your relationship with Joe. He just keeps listing a bunch of shit you’d once yelled at him for, and you don’t think he fully understands how it’s bringing the mood down.

Presumably, you’re meant to think it’s funny, so you smile, but all of it sits wrong in your gut. It leaves you with a bitter taste in your mouth that uncomfortably sticks to your tongue and sours your mood a little.

The short-term fun with Joe is meant to be just that. Fun. You don’t want to be reminded of all the reasons why you shouldn’t be going home with him right now. If you did, you’d have taken Emily with you tonight.

You refrain from saying anything, though.

You’re still you, after all.

You just smile and tell Joe that Jasper actually does do all the things that Joe never did, and hope it sparks enough jealousy in him to maybe do something about it.

“Hmm,” Joe says when you turn the corner and his building comes into view. “Jasper sounds... he sounds kind of perfect, doesn’t he?”

He does.

You’ve created the image of a perfect boyfriend. One who you know you’d never actually gel with; you need someone who pushes back a little.

Problem is... Joe knows that too.

Just when the thought crosses your mind that maybe Joe knows you’re making everything up, that you’ve been lying this whole time you’ve been holding hands, Joe confirms your fears.

“Almost too um... almost too good to be true, wouldn’t you say?” he narrows his eyes in suspicion, a smile still playing on his lips.

“Yea, well. Some people are.” you shrug, but know Joe is reading your unsteady body language just fine.

“Sure, sure. Yea. I guess so.” Joe says, and then falls silent.

He knows you’re lying.

Well, fuck.

And then, he lets the silence linger.

Joe doesn’t say anything as he fishes his keys from a pocket and lets you into his building. Doesn’t say anything as he pushes the lift button. Just gives you a little smile, like he’s trying to hold in a chuckle, thinking secret thoughts.

It gets in your hair.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s... no, it’s nothing.”

Joe lets his small smile turn into a fat smirk and it’s starting to get on your nerves. The lift doors open, and you assertively step inside before Joe can give you a small ladies-first gesture.

Joe watches you press the button to his floor before he shakes his head a little and follows you in.

“What?” you ask again, and to that, Joe finally lets a barking laugh out.

“What?” he mimics, feeding off of the brooding bit of bite he can sense growing underneath your skin.

“If you’re trying to piss me off, it’s fucking working.”

“I’m not trying to do anything.” Joe patronises, joy very much still visible in the lines on his cheeks.

He knows you’re single.

He knows there’s no Jasper.

“Hmm.” It’s your turn to narrow eyes at him. “Yea, no. Of course not. You don’t have to try to piss me off, you’re right. You’ve got the skills to auto-pilot your way–”

In a lightning-speed quick move, Joe shuts you up by suddenly getting close enough for you to stumble back against the mirrored panel or the lift. He’s got two hands touching your sides over your coat, firm enough for you to feel them through the thick layers of fabric.

It startles you into silence, and makes you audibly swallow.

You can see from up close how Joe smugly pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, eyes roving over you slowly, and, fuck.

Yea.

Yea. Okay.

It shifts.

All of it is shifting.

The annoyance and slight anger transfers into something else.

Into something a little more raunchy.

You feel a sudden rush down your body from the way Joe’s eyes blaze with intention.

Joe knows you. Bit rash of you to forget.

Just before the lift stills and the doors open behind him, Joe lets his body sway forward a bit to press himself up against you entirely. It makes your breath hitch and stutter. Makes you want to grab hold of the large collar of his coat to pull him down enough so you can kiss him.

But then, in a blink of an eye, he’s gone. Pushes himself off, quickly moves away, walks out of the lift, and leaves you there to catch your breath for a second.

Fucking hell.

Oh, tonight is going to be interesting.

You don’t leave the lift until the doors start closing and you have to quickly launch yourself across to get an arm in front of the sensor. Down the hall you see him disappear into his flat, leaving his door open, and you take rushing steps to follow him inside.

You don’t want to waste any more time.

You want to undress right there on his doormat, despite the bitterly cold temperature you’ve just stepped into.

You want find Joe, who you can hear is already opening and closing cupboards in his kitchen, and just... you don’t know. Jump him, you guess.

That lift moment has made you want to devour him. Made you want to be devoured by him.

But then you close his door and step into his kitchen, and find him at the counter. He’s got his back turned, and is super calmly pouring two glasses of wine.

No urgency.

Zero haste.

He knows what he’s just done to you. Knows the effect that likely must have had. He’s toying with you. Fucking playing.

You drop your coat where you’re standing, right onto the floor. Toe your shoes off to make a pile. You cross your arms and grab hold of the bottom of your top, ready to pull that over your head next, but you pause to watch Joe’s shoulders move under his shirt as he carefully twists and pushes the cork back onto the bottle to seal it.

When he turns around, he leans against the counter, one hand on the edge of it, and in the other he’s holding a nice fat glass of red.

Glass.

One glass.

For a moment you just assume that there’s another hiding behind his back, though it doesn’t even fully register.

You make eye-contact as he takes a slow sip of his drink, and then you slowly pull your top off. It reveals a lacy bra you’re convinced Joe likes the look of.

And you’re right.

Joe halts, and openly stares. Mouth in his wine. Hypnotised. Frozen on the spot. Mind slowly turning to mush.

He’s predictable like that.

Men in general are easy like that.

You take a deep breath, inflating your whole chest, and Joe groans at the sight. The glass of wine gets put back down behind him, and you don’t even think he has taken real sip. Then he takes a few steps to pull a chair from his table.

He holds a hand up that means, one second, and pulls at the fabric of his trousers to give himself a bit more space before he sits down. He shifts a little, settles in, and then leans back with his legs spread wide, both hands behind his head, fingers folded and elbows sticking out.

He takes a deep breath before he gives a small nod that says, carry on.

You bite your teeth into your bottom lip as you smile, because Joe is an idiot, and you let your hands find the button to your trousers to take off next.

Then, suddenly, it lands.

There’s one single glass of wine on the counter.

One.

You stop your movements as you look at it and watch the red liquid inside softly swirl from when Joe put it down.

It takes a second for Joe to follow your gaze, and for him to understand what you’re looking at.

He frowns in confusion a little, looks back at you to see that you’re still staring, and then looks back again, and–

“Oh...”

Your expression has gone cold.

And Joe thinks that maybe he gets it. He isn’t entirely sure, but he’s smart enough to know that the show he had just settled in for is probably going to get cancelled if he doesn’t do anything.

“Did you...”

But he’s not sure what to say. Doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. When you start moving, he thinks maybe he doesn’t have to.

It’s crazy how this feels like it used to feel, before.

But, it’s a little different now, because… there’s nothing at stake. There’s no you to protect. No you two as a couple to preserve.

That stupid single glass of red wine.

You fucking hate it.

And you know it’s sick, you know that you’re not meant to enjoy this, but the feeling of rage bubbling up within you honestly feels kind of good. It’s been a while since you’ve gotten to experience full-body resentment, and have the immediate source of it right there to take it out on.

You want to feel this dark, sticky displeasure.

Feels fucking good.

Joe’s been reminding you of what a shit boyfriend he was to you, which was meant to be ha-ha funny. Joe thought enough time had passed. You had gone from no-contact to two people that bickered for a bit, and then would end up in bed together. It had happened twice already, and you had all the right ingredients to keep this going. The recipe had proven itself delicious, and Joe thought he could just... serve the same meal again.

It’s self-destructive, you know it is, but… you are hungry for it too.

You take a few slow steps and walk over to look at this glass of wine more closely. Joe watches you from his seat, entirely unsure of what to do, and then, without warning, you slowly push the whole thing into the sink.

Red splashes everywhere, and the glass clatters loudly, but it doesn’t break.

Next, you take the bottle into your hands. Look at the label for a moment. Pretend to read it. It’s still pretty full.

Too bad, you think. Such a waste.

You remove the cork, turn around to look Joe directly in the eye, and then tip that over as well. The whole sink colours blood read as you drain the whole thing, and all Joe can do is watch on from his seat.

He doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t say anything.

Just watches you and feels the energy of the room build.

He’d forgotten how things always build with you.

You’re quite the sight, face reading thunder, standing in his kitchen in your bra, breath deepening with every second that passes.

Joe hates what it does to him inside of his trousers.

When the bottle empties, wine clattering in the sink, Joe sees your face change. Something more… calm seemingly overcomes you. You look... pleased.

“Does that feel justified?” Joe asks, eyes blinking at you.

“Fuck you. Yes it does.”

“Do you have any idea how expensive that was?”

You don’t give a shit how expensive that was, but just because you know Joe does, you want to know.

“Tell me.”

Joe scans your body all the way down and then all the way back up.

“Come here.” Joe holds an arm out and reaches for you.

“Shut up. Tell me.” You’re already making your way over.

“That’s a class A premier grand cru...”

You take Joe’s hand and let him pull you to sit on his lap. To straddle him, thighs spread wide, one leg over each one of his.

“That was a class A premier grand cru.” the words mean nothing to you, you know fuck all about wine, but there’s something glorious about correcting Joe.

“Hmm.” Joe hums as his nose nudges yours, and he lets both hands slide up your thighs until he finds the bits he likes holding most. He uses his grip to pull you in closer and continues, “A blend of merlot, and cabernet franc...” Joe’s French accent is awful. “An award-winning Château Angélus from... from 2016, I think...”

That’s fairly recent, you think. Can’t be that expens–

“Cost me over 500 quid.”

Your eyes darken.

Good.

You wouldn’t pay much more than a tenner for a bottle of the same size.

“Should’ve poured me a glass.”

And it’s only then that the penny drops. That he gets it. You can see it in his eyes. The flush of memories suddenly making it to the forefront of his brain.

The silent treatment.

The coffees he didn’t make you.

The wine he eventually did pour for you.

That one glass of red that temporarily had fixed everything.

Shit.

Joe grimaces. Groans. Squeezes his eyes shut. Feels like an idiot.

“Should’ve poured you a–”

You kiss Joe.

Hard.

Breathe him in, and move in enough for it to almost make the chair tip backwards. You’ve got both your arms around his neck, hips moving over Joe’s lap in a desperate grind, all needy and in search of feeling something.

Fire.

You want to feel the fire.

Momentarily, you think it’s working. That something is catching aflame. You can feel how Joe spreads his legs even wider, bucking his hips upward as he presses himself into you.

Joe is straining in his trousers, and he groans as you figure out the right rhythm to make it feel good with every hip roll, with every back and forth.

You break the kiss to let a moan escape you, head dropping back, and Joe’s mouth finds the skin of your neck to taste. His teeth graze before he kisses as you fiercely move against each other. Louder noises escape you when Joe lets a hand curl around and grab you by the back of your neck.

“Yea? That feel nice?” he pants, and all you can do is bob your head in a barely there nod as you keep moving.

It does feel nice.

Feels really nice.

Not exactly fire, though. You’re both in trousers, fabric rubbing together furiously, dry humping each other like a pair of horny teenagers who haven’t passed third base yet.

So, not fire, but nice none the less.

In contrast, there’s a lot of things Joe’s feeling, and he kind of wants you to know about all of them. Needs to speak them into the air in order to fully process what’s happening inside of his brain.

“Did you know I um… I broke everything off, the next day?” Joe starts, and stops to curse under his breath. “Fuck. Yea, keep going. Shit. Ah... A-after you left, I mean, remember? I had a lot of m-missed calls, so I called her back, and I–”

You shut Joe up with a kiss.

Try to at least.

“We could–” Joe starts again after turning his head and pushing you aside with his nose, both hands spread wide over your thighs as he helps you move over his lap. “Remember, how we really were something?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Try to focus on the feelings inside of your body instead of on the words you don’t want to hear.

“We could be something still.”

“N-no.”

You refuse to acknowledge what Joe’s trying to tell you, but don’t stop your movements. You can’t stop, head dropping back. This all feels too good.

It’s still not fire, though.

There’s no stakes.

You’re both single, and every decision you have made this evening turns out to have been inconsequential.

It’s... it’s almost boring.

But it’s good enough.

You just need a couple more seconds, you can feel it building already.

“We c-couldn’t be somethinhgh...” you choke on your words, unable to finish the sentence.

“Yes,” Joe insists, voice low and breathy, your bodies still moving in tandem. He then uses one hand takes hold of your face by your cheeks, tilting your head down so he can make eye-contact with you for a second.

“Yes we could.” He sounds hopeful as his eyes search yours. “Don’t you get it?”

But your eyes are glassy. They flutter and want to roll back.

Joe knows this look.

Know what this means.

And it’s not like Joe thinks his kind words will really fix anything, but, maybe they will, you know? Maybe. He’s glad he has said them anyway, even though you look like you haven’t even properly heard him.

“You close, baby?”

He switches gears.

“Yea? Come on.” He helps you move with strong arms that press you down a little more, and your arms scramble behind his back in your want to hold onto him tightly.

“There you go.” he coos into your ear, and, it’s not fire, but you come anyway.

Joe should have poured you a glass of wine.

Shouldn’t have brought up bad memories, shouldn’t have tried to be funny about it, and absolutely should have simply gone and poured you a glass.

You pretend that a glass of wine would’ve made a difference tonight.

The difference that you had hoped to find.

That would’ve lit the fire.

Deep down you know that’s not it, but still. The empty bottle is right there, watching you come down from your high, Joe still hard beneath you, and it’s easy to use that as the excuse.

You decide on the spot that Joe’s going to have to deal with what resides inside of his underwear by himself.

You’re done.

Sitting up, you look him in the eye for a short moment and softly but definitively say, “Should’ve poured me a glass.” and press a small kiss to his cheek which Joe gladly accepts.

Because he knows you’re right.

“Should’ve poured you a glass.”

---

The Taglisted

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@demonsanddemogorgons, @djoseph-quinn, @dolcevitalifestyle, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson

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add yourself

#joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #joe quinn fanfiction #joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn x you #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn fanfic #joseph quinn x reader #rpf #almost always

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ovaryacted · 3 days ago

Text

─ Javier Peña x fem! reader || WC: 693

CW: MDNI/18+. Slightly NSFW. Post DEA/Retired! Javier Peña. Javi & reader are married. Setting is at some family celebration idk lmao. Sexual innuendos. Sexual tension & teasing. Sex flashbacks and daydreaming. They are down bad for one another.

This has been in my drafts for a couple of days, figured I'd just share it now instead of letting it dust away in the notes lolz. Javi deserves some love from me, I miss him. This is also me writing after a couple of days of sadness so be nice pleak!

You’ve been through it all with the one and only Javier Peña. All the stressors and toxicity of his government job leaving Colombia, the nightmares, the self-loathing. Being and growing with him took time, and learning him as a human being taught you the patience you never thought you’d gain. He was an enigma you had to figure out, and miraculously, when he realized you were the puzzle piece he’d been missing all along, everything else followed through. After a few years together and an exchange of vows, things in your life have been more abundant than you thought possible, and now you’ve both reaped the benefits of going through those trials and tribulations together.

Sitting on his left side, the sounds of the banquet hall tuned out as you merely stared at your husband in awe. Dressed in a suit and his hair slicked back, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander as you admired him from afar. The invitation to a family celebration landed in your mail a few weeks ago, something a bit more formal for your taste, but neither of you could turn it down, nor did you want to.

You especially weren’t complaining when you saw how Javi dressed for the event, donning a black blazer, crisp white button-down, sleek black slacks, and dark leather shoes. He even changed his hairstyle, brushing his hair back after getting a haircut and his jaw clear of facial hair after his close shave. When he kissed you on the cheek as you did your makeup, you could still smell the aftershave he used and his musky cologne, overwhelming your senses in the best way.

Your mind drifted as you daydreamed about his hands and how he used them. His plush lips, the way they caress you, map you out without having to ask. That mouth of his that spews the most diabolical and erotic things as he pleases you with no end in sight, the thought alone heated your cheeks and sent an electric pulse through your body.

You didn’t realize you were fidgeting in your seat until a hand grasped your thigh. Blinking and looking down to spot Javi’s left hand covering the length of your upper leg, he offered an affectionate squeeze, the golden wedding band on his ring finger gleaming under the hall’s light.

“What are you thinking up there, cariño?” He asked you, brown eyes reverently taking in your face as his thumb stroked your leg.

“Nothing much. Promise.” You couldn’t even look him straight in the eye, noticing how he leaned forward to whisper in your ear.

“Mentirosa,” he muttered with a smirk, the dimples you loved making an appearance as he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip.

“If you stay on your best behavior for the rest of the night, I’ll give you something sweet when we get home. Deal?”

It was a proposition you couldn’t ignore. You knew what to expect, and the shiver rolling down your spine gave enough leeway that you understood the intent of his message.

“Deal,” you replied confidently, accepting the kiss he placed on your lips, a momentary tease of what the rest of the night would entail.

“Good. I don’t want everybody in here to know how dirty-minded my wife is.” You chuckled, glancing at him with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“That’s all you, baby. Don’t get it twisted.”

“Touché. But can you blame me? Not when you look this good in black.” He squeezed your thigh a bit harder this time, making his possession known the way you liked. “You aren’t the only one daydreaming right now, but a couple more hours, and we’ll make it a reality.”

You mimicked his grin, placing your left hand over his to clasp around his fingers. He instinctively took your hand, rubbing his thumbs over your knuckles and grazing over the diamond ring that sat prettily on your finger. As you both talked to other relatives to pass the time, you kept his offer in the back of your mind, remembering to ticket it in once you’re away from prying eyes and in the comforts of your home.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

#javier peña smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña headcanons #javier peña #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #ovaryacted drabbles #⋆♱ nic works ♱⋆

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theamazingdigitalraceway · 2 days ago

Text

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The truth of Caine and Abel is revealed! Seth gives Pomni the help she needs to avoid capture! Abel's labyrinthian city is dense and confusing. Can pomni navigate it before her friends abstract? It may already be too late.

WARNING: physical violence/torture, intense action, abstraction, alcohol

~~~

The silence of the In-Between was palpable. Only Seth and Pomni existed in the space between spaces. Darkness in all directions. Only light was from the low silver fire that glowed in a circle created by the motorcycle. The muted city beyond the clear barrier in bounds gave off flashes of lightning from a heavily clouded sky.

Pomni watched Seth carefully. His shadowed stoicism betrayed no clear motive. Knowing what was happening to the others made her stomach twist into knots.

Seth took another long drag and tossed his cigarette away with a heavy exhale of silvery smoke. "You'll understand better if I just show you."

The smoke enveloped Pomni. It smelled like dust burning on hot coils mixed with an electrical fire. "Hey! What-!?" Pomni coughed and gagged on the foul smelling smog as it burned the corners of her eyes. When the smoke cleared, she was still staring at nothing, but now Seth was gone as well.

The sound of a computer booting up startled her, like she'd heard in her dreams. Green text scrolled in front of her as though on a large projector. All of it was mirrored, like she was seeing the text from the inside of the screen. The unrecognizable code was followed by a response command being typed out in front of her. Then, the text went away. The screen slowly brightened.

"Hello? Can you hear me?"

Pomni squinted against the light. There was a large blurry silhouette beyond the warped glass. It sounded like Caine, but less boisterous and with no showman cadence.

"Come on, your live audio processing should be functional. I triple checked the darn thing."

There was typing on a keyboard and the figure leaned closer to the screen, the face coming into view. Before her was a young man, likely no older than twenty, with slicked back black hair and patchy facial hair. Focused, light blue eyes squinted behind wide brimmed glasses.

"Okay, how about now? Can you hear me, T.R.U?"

There was another beat of silence until a robotic version of the young man's voice responded. "I can hear you. Good morning, Abel."

"HAHA! YES! It speaks! Finally!" Abel jumped out of his chair with both fists in the air. "They are going to eat their words! Oh my goodness, I need to get you ready for presentation!" Abel threw himself back into his chair, nearly falling over. "T.R.U., you have NO idea what you're going to do for my grade!" Abel's grin was ear to ear as he started to fade into smoke.

"I almost forgot how he smiled." Seth's voice spoke in the back of Pomni's mind.

"You were a science project?"

"At first. We became more than that rather quickly." The smoke cleared to a workshop camera view. Abel was hunched over a workbench with a soldering tool working on delicate electronics.

The robotic voice of T.R.U sounded more refined when it spoke this time. "You're going to turn into a shrimp sitting like that all the time."

Abel stopped working and stretched. "Ugh, too late for that. But, a worthy sacrifice to get this done. Mark my words T.R.U, one day I'll be able to visit you in the digital realm. I've always wondered what video games would be like on the inside. Can you imagine playing something like Legend of Zelda in person!? That would be cool."

"It's all JavaScript to me." T.R.U verbally shrugged.

Abel laughed. "Well, as soon as that grant money comes in, I'll be able to get this done faster. Maybe even hire help. We're going to show dad- I mean, the world that you aren't just a cool AI program. No, you are THE AI We'll revolutionize the digital space! If computers are the future, then YOU will be the razor's edge! The ultimate Technical Research Unit!"

"There is more to learn? I've already gathered what I could from your limited internet."

"Give it time. It'll grow, and you'll grow with it. By the turn of the millennia, I bet you'll be ready to go global!" Abel was excitedly pacing the room, looking right into the camera at the end of his declaration. "The only thing is, you have the voice but you need a face. That's going to take work." He picked up a wind-up chattering teeth toy from his desk and let it go clacking along.

The workshop disappeared into smoke and changed to multiple visions of Abel. Each scene, he looked a bit older. Seth's voice sounded more downtrodden. "We were like brothers once. We spent every moment together. In hindsight, I don't think he had a lot of real friends. He spent his time teaching us on top of working on his own projects. Things were good. Until the world took notice." The scenes around Pomni changed from screens inside Abel's home to big atrium crowds and board office presentations. Hundreds of eyes were on her and her stomach sank.

Pomni swallowed hard. "You got famous. Did money split you apart?"

"No...I wish it was that simple." Seth's smoke whirled around Pomni like a tornado, wiping away the memories and revealing a new one. Abel was sitting in front of his computer, face in his hands. He looked disheveled and was sniffling.

T.R.U's voice was smoother, almost human, when it spoke. "Abel? Please, talk to me. What happened?"

Abel grabbed a brown bottle that sat just off screen and took a long drink. "...his plane went down over the Pacific. No reported survivors."

"Abel, I'm so-"

"Don't you fucking dare finish that sentence. I am so fucking sick of hearing it. Oh, Abel, I'm so sorry. I pity you since your father died before he ever got the chance to be proud of you for something. Not like he ever would have been." Abel grabbed a pill bottle and tossed back three small tablets.

"I believe he would have been. Please, don't be hard on yourself."

"He wasn't proud of me for creating you. He wasn't proud of me when I graduated early with my master's. He wasn't proud when I started my own company. It was never GOOD ENOUGH!!" Abel threw his bottle, shattering it against the far wall.

There was a long stint of silence as Abel devolved into tears on his desk. "You are enough, Abel. You always have been. For what it's worth...I am proud of you. I'm sure your father was too, even if he didn't know how to say it. Put on the headset."

Abel sniffed, "It's not ready-"

"Put on the headset." T.R.U said again, firmly yet gentle.

Abel seemed too drunk to argue logically. He picked up a large, cumbersome device that fit over his head like a helmet. A visor covered his eyes. He clasped it in place and pressed a button on the side. There was a jolt and, to Pomni's right, a whirl of code slowly formed the silhouette of Abel. He was very lightly detailed, barely recognizable as a person. Pomni had no control over her movements. She stepped forward and embraced Abel's vague avatar. T.R.U's words came from her mouth. "You are everything to me. Please, don't forget that. Tell you what, why don't you give me a human name? T.R.U feels like a title more than anything anyway."

Abel squeezed Pomni tight. "You are my first creation. My Adam, if you will. Let's go with that."

"Adam...I like it. I am Adam."

"I bet I can figure out a cool acronym for it." Abel chuckled through the tears.

"Yes, you will. Because you are the smartest human I know." Pomni arms felt empty as Abel turned to smoke in her grasp. She took a deep breath as she processed everything Seth had shown her. "Did you mean what you said?"

"At the time. Like I said, we were close. Things only escalated from there. C&A took off and we were pulled into tech interview after tech interview. Eventually, Abel got too busy to attend and it was just Adam. The majority of the reception to our existence was positive, but you wouldn't believe the Y2K conspirators. They were convinced we would take over the world." Seth gave a humorless laugh.

Something itched in the back of Pomni's mind. C&A. Y2K. Conspiracies. Buzz words that stirred something in her subconscious, but she couldn't pin it down. "So... where did it all go wrong?"

"The more the world saw Adam without Abel, the more he was excluded from interviews and presentations. Adam became known as the first and only of his kind. A fully self-sufficient AI that was so life-like, it may as well be human. The attention came with a lot of praise. Too much. It...went to our head." The smoke showed multiple news articles, digital and material, about the incredible invention that was Adam: The TRU AI. "I wish... we'd seen Abel's growing distain sooner. Maybe all of this could have been avoided. Maybe we could've still had the future we planned. I don't know..."

The smoke cleared to reveal a much older looking Abel. He was snuffing a finished cigarette into a very full ashtray. There were heavy bags under his eyes as he poured himself a stiff drink.

Adams voice spoke. "Okay, I'm back. Sorry, that took longer than expected."

Abel didn't say anything. He just drank.

"The board of directors was very impressed with my latest profit projection model. We won't have to cut corners to make quota this quarter. Leaves less room for error. Also, I was contacted by Tech Monthly again. They want to write an article about my influence on the new digital age. I haven't scheduled the interview yet, is there anything I need to work around this week?"

Abel finished his drink with a gruff groan. "...no."

"Excellent. I have the remainder of the evening to myself. What are you doing tonight?" Adam sounded genuinely interested to know.

"Getting my game ready for beta testing."

"Oh...you're still working on that?"

Abel's eyes flashed dangerously. "Yes. I am. It's a hell of a lot better than dealing with stuffed up fat cats in suits that only care about how much money your invention makes. The headsets are ready. The game just needs a little more work."

"Abel, I mean well when I say this, but your talents are wasted on video games. Why merely entertain people when you can be on the leading edge of digital technology?"

"Why can't I do both?" Abel growled.

"You can. It just seems you've split your attention too far in two different directions. You're the CEO of one of the most influential up and coming tech companies. This is your chance to make your mark on the world."

"Like you would understand anything about that. You've existed for all of eight years and you think you know what's best for me??"

"I've spent my entire life with you! I literally know you better than anyone, even yourself!"

"If that was true, then you'd know that going inside games was literally what I built this for!" Abel showed a sleek headset. "If the technology didn't take so long to improve, it would've been my thesis project instead of you."

"...what?" Adam sounded shocked and devastated. "You- you said I was your greatest accomplishment."

"You're my research assistant." Abel said coldly. "But the world had to go and make a big deal about AI. You were never meant to end up like this. Stealing limelight that is rightfully MINE!" He slammed his glass down, turning to smoke.

Everything faded, giving Pomni a chance to process. "I still don't see how this results in him being trapped in his own game, Seth. What did Adam do?"

"He defended himself." The smoke cleared to reveal a view from the highest penthouse overlooking a massive digital city. Colorful fireworks exploded in the distance. "It was New Year's. Abel and Adam were supposed to be celebrating with his shareholders in the new digital space. But, as you can imagine, all anyone wanted to do was interact with the fancy AI in person."

"YOU!!" Abel's realistically human avatar stormed through the crowd and got in Pomni's face. "Who the hell do you think you are!? Do you know who I am!? I'm your creator! I'M supposed to be the one recognized! Not YOU!"

Pomni put her hand out in front. Her sleeves were black and wore off white gloves. Adam's voice came from her. "Abel?? How much have you had to drink? You're slurring."

"It doesn't matter! You! You're disgrace! All everyone talks about anymore is YOU! When I am the one slaving away behind the desk! I gave you a face, but you weren't supposed to use it like this! I gave you EVERYTHING! Without me, you are NOTHING!"

The shareholders standing around them awkwardly muttered amongst themselves. Some disappeared as they activated the exit.

"Abel, please, you're causing a scene. Can we talk elsewhere?"

"NO! I want witnesses." Abel snapped and digital chains wrapped around Adam, pulling him to his knees on the floor.

"What is this!? What are you doing!?"

"Something I should have done a long time ago." Abel snapped, summoning an admin hologram on his arm. "You were right, Adam. The game is a wash, but there is one thing I can do with it." He typed in a confirmation code and the city outskirts started to crumble. "I can watch you die."

The party guests started to panic, leaving in droves. The building beyond the window collapsed to dust, the night sky disintegrated, the world fell into a bright white void that came ever closer. Adam struggled against the chains. "Abel, stop! Don't destroy everything you built! Please!"

Abel looked down on Adam coldly. "I've always wondered what fear would look like on you."

Adam saw the void getting closer, the building they were in started to quake. "You'll delete yourself too!"

Abel laughed, "I'll be fine. System failsafe. Players are automatically ejected in the event of a catastrophic failure. I'm simply enjoying this while it lasts."

"No! No, no! Please! Don't kill me!"

Abel tilted his head in mocking curiosity. "Are those tears I see?"

"I don't want to die!" Adam's sleeves caught fire. The golden glow broke the chains and Adam launched himself at Abel. The glass separating them from the decaying outside shattered on impact. Adam had Abel by the front of his dress shirt and flew him high over the city. The once grand skyscraper they were occupying folded in on itself below them. The breaking sky glitched with multicolored lighting, the half faded clouds swirling chaotically.

Abel fought back, but he was overpowered by the desperate AI. Adam held Abel up. "If I die, I'm taking you with me!" Lightning struck Abel in the back. Blue static crawled over Abel's skin as he screamed in agony.

Then everything went white. It was overpowering, even when Pomni closed her eyes. She heard Seth again. "Adam pulled Abel into the game. Making him as real as the AI in this digital realm. Doing this took away Abel's admin access but...broke the exit. Adam couldn't leave either. He had inadvertently trapped himself with Abel inside the game, cutting himself off from the outside world."

The overbearing glare of the void opened to reveal Abel in chains, surrounded by fire. "The very first thing Adam built was a cell for Abel. Seemed fitting. The creation was now the creator." The fire blocked Pomni's vision of Abel, who hung his head low. "I suppose the Y2K conspirators were right, in a way. Adam did end the world for some. When the dust settled, only a small corner of the city had survived. Some back alley street racing mini game."

Seth's smoke parted to show an overview of what was left of the game. A tiny island suspended in the void. Thin illusions were all that separated the game from the vast emptiness. "It was bad enough that this was set to be our purgatory, but there was something we failed to consider. The beta testers."

Eight names pinged the arrival of the beta testers logging in. Their avatars glitched and malformed, turning into random anthropomorphized objects rather than full human models. One, Pomni immediately recognized. A tall white king chess piece with a purple robe grabbed over it. "Kinger!"

Seth sounded numb. "Back then, he went by Samson Kingsley. He was the head of coding and leader of the test team. He, of all people, never deserved this fate."

Kinger looked down at his strange body and his oddly shaped team. "Ha! Well, this is off to a great start." He said jovially. "Nia! Is that you?" He stared at the black queen chess piece.

"It's me, darling. What happened to our avatars?"

"No idea. This is a pretty big bug." Kinger snapped to bring up his admin hologram but nothing happened. "What the..?"

Then all eight avatars looked at Pomni like she had suddenly appeared. Adam's voice spoke for her. "I'm sorry, none of you have admin access anymore. The game is severely damaged."

"Adam? What are you doing here? What happened?" Kinger asked.

"A... catastrophic failure. I was here for New Year's and... something went wrong. I'm afraid none of you can leave."

"What do you mean-"

"There's no other way I can say it. You're stuck here. We all are. There's no outside communication. The exit is broken." Adam said bluntly.

A large, furry worm-like avatar glitched once. "We can't leave? Why!? What game are you playing!? It's not funny!!"

"I'm not playing any games. I'm sorry."

"I have a family!! My children!! My-my- AAAAAAAAAAA!!!" The worm's body split open to reveal black static. Colorful eyes peered out of the open wounds. The body enlarged and twisted in on itself. The abstraction thrashed about, unsure how to pilot its body. The testers ran behind Adam.

"What is that!?" Kinger screamed, holding onto Queenie.

The abstracted worm struck one of the other testers, who glitched and writhed on the ground. The second racer started to break apart into an abstraction himself from the pain.

Adam couldn't let this spread further. He snapped and the floor split open. The two monsters fell out of sight.

Smoke clouded Pomni vision again. She was breathing heavily. "Oh my god, it happened so fast."

"I know...we didn't know what else to do. The headsets were never meant to bring in whole people. Only they're active consciousness. The software was changed when Adam trapped Abel. And because the game was mostly deleted, it suddenly had so much memory to fill. It was trial and error to figure out what we could and couldn't do, Adam even integrated himself with the mainframe to try and make the experience more personable, but that came with its own problems..."

The smoke cleared to see the city changed. It was brighter, more colorful. Something out of an animated show rather than real life. Pomni was hovering over the street, hearing the rumble of engines fast approaching. Five cars zipped by underneath her and her vision flew after them. She recognized four of the five drivers now.

Kinger was in the lead with Queenie got on his tail. A yellow car threatened to pit maneuver Queenie, a tall purple anthro rabbit in the front seat. A light blue car came out of nowhere and sideswiped the yellow car. The driver was doll-like with red hair.

"Oh my god, I never knew Jax and Ragatha had been here so long."

"They arrived not too long after the beta testers, but unfortunately the majority was gone by the time they showed up. It was for the best. Adam was storing players memories away by this time to keep them from abstracting."

"That's why I don't remember anything? Caine was doing what Adam did??"

"Yes." Seth said flatly.

"My head is starting to to hurt." Pomni rubbed her temples. "You and Caine are Adam?"

"Yes."

"Why are you not anymore?"

"Remember that I said Adam integrating himself into the mainframe was a bad idea? Watch."

All five cars crossed the finish line in a tight pack. Kinger in first. The white chess piece jumped out of his car and cheered. "Woo! Oh yeah! Fifty win streak in the bag!" Another gold badge adorned Kinger's purple and white tracksuit.

"I almost had you." Said Queenie.

Kinger grabbed her hand and pulled her into a low dip. "Almost. But I still got it. Hail to the king, baby."

Queenie giggled. "You're such a dork." She pulled him in for a soft kiss.

"Well done, Kinger." Adam congratulated. "You've managed to claim all the available achievements for the races."

"Will there be more?" Asked Kinger.

"Uh, more?"

"Yeah, we can't race around the said city block forever."

"It- it's not the same. I've shifted the city around-"

"Moving obstacles doesn't count." Jax interrupted. "We want new tracks. New worlds. A change of scenery."

"Oh...um-"

"Can't you do whatever you want? You're the one pulling all the strings." Jax sneered.

Adam went silent as the buildings around them started to flicker. The whole city glitched and shifted. Kinger rushed to Adam, holding his shoulders. "Hey, hey, it's okay. He didn't mean to be rude. You're doing fine. You're still figuring this all out. You'll come up with something."

"...yeah..." Adam quietly sighed. "I wasn't designed to be a creative AI. I need...hmm. You guys rest, I'll have something for you in the morning."

Smoke overtook everything. Seth's voice sounded distant. "That... was the night of the divergence. I don't remember how it was done, but Adam split himself into two beings. The Racemaster and the Shadow. To keep the game from glitching, Caine and I were never made one with the game code itself, but we could still manipulate it. That is where my shared memories with Caine end. Not that my first memory with him is any better."

"Seth?" Pomni didn't like the weak cadence to Seth's voice.

The smoke settled to the ground to show Caine looking himself over. His suit was immaculate, not a digital stitch out of place. He snapped and a cane with a golden tire topper appeared out of thin air. "Ah, perfect. Oh, hello, Seth." Caine looked directly at Pomni. "You ready for your first race? If anyone makes it far enough ahead, that is." He chuckles.

"Sure. Whatever." Pomni felt herself say with Seth's voice.

"Oh, come now. Don't be like that. It'll be a great day. Nothing is holding me back anymore. I can create to my hearts content, and the game is mine to command. You-" Caine poked Seth in the chest with his cane. "-on the other hand, get to take everything else to the shadows of the new realm. Because you are the backup. I am Adam fully realized. You are everything he didn't want. That's why you only get to come out a play occasionally. So, until then." Caine snapped and Pomni fell though the floor. She fell and fell and fell into a vast black nothing. Smoke rose from her body, flashes of memories played around her as she continued to fall.

Riding a motorcycle. Silver fire. Kinger crossing the finish line before her. Holding a disembodied white gloved hand. Queenie abstracting. Kinger turning away. Caine having nothing but distain in his eyes. Sitting next to Jax, only for him to get up and leave. Ragatha striking Seth in the face. Gangle refusing to look at him. Abstraction after abstraction. A new racer. A mostly complete human woman with an exposed spin for a neck and a black void for a face. This woman filled every single memory that surrounded Pomni's decent. So many races. Fights. Overlapping conversions. Laughter. Holding her. Kissing her. Blue and silver fire danced. Shadows overtake clasped hands. Lily flowers poured from the memories, turning to smoke.

The smoke caught Pomni. She floated to a stop in front of an overwhelming memory, silencing all others. A race. The woman was on her own motorcycle, several lengths ahead. They were speeding down a long straight away. No other racers in sight. Without warning, the track ahead tore open. The void shined through the rift. The racer tried to stop, but twisted her bike too harshly in panic and went sideways. The motorcycle slid to the side, coming to rest against the track wall, while the racer went over the edge. Her reaching out for him was the last thing he saw from her.

"MANGO!" Seth teleported from his motorcycle to the rift, but she was already out of sight. He dove into the void without a second's hesitation. He called for her. Over and over.

The memory cracked with every call of her name. Eventually, it shattered. Falling apart and becoming smoke. Pomni was enveloped. Blinded by smoke she could suddenly smell again. She coughed and waved her arms to clear the smoke. Her feet found solid ground again. The smoke faded. She was in the In-Between, Seth was leaning against his motorcycle with a thousand yard stare.

"Seth?" Pomni said gently, stepping closer.

He blinked, jerking himself out of his trauma spiral. He looked away from Pomni. "You weren't supposed to see that last part."

"Who was she?"

"Everything." He answered quietly, taking an engraved metal lighter out of his pocket. He flipped it open and struck it. The bottom of the flame burned blue and faded to silver around it. "I came for you first... because you remind me of her."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Pulling you from that out of control car...it helped."

Pomni took a big step forward and hugged Seth. He almost dropped the lighter out of surprise. He closed the lighter and returned Pomni's embrace. He'd forgotten what these used to mean to him. He could feel Pomni's empathy without her saying a word.

Caine groans as Abel slams him against the same wall for the fifth time. The Racemaster slump to the floor, his tux glitched out to point of being unrecognizable. The chains holding his wrists yank him back up to his feet. Abel, in Gummigoo's body, got in Caine's face. "Where. Did. They. Go?"

"I told you...the In-Between." Caine wheezed out.

"That doesn't mean ANYTHING!! There is no such place in the game files!" Abel snarled.

"It's...it doesn't exist in the game. Or out of the game. It's a pocket in between the layers made by Adam before the divergence. I don't remember...how..." Caine was dizzy from the abuse, on the verge of losing consciousness. "But even if I did...I wouldn't tell you."

Abel growled, his gator persona vibrated with anger. He raised his clawed hand to strike Caine, but the walls started glitching out. Cries from the screens featuring the racers showed that they were avoiding sections of track that suddenly went missing. Abel dropped Caine, gripping his head. "Argh! Fuck! What is that!?"

Caine smiled. "Not so easy, is it? Controlling an entire game...and everything in it. Emotional outbursts lead to loss in concentration... and you don't want that. You merged directly with the game...bad move. I can tell you that from experience."

"Shut up!" Abel barked. He braced himself against his chair, waiting for the world to stop glitching. "I just need...more time." He grumbled.

Caine took a breath, finally having a break from the torture. He watched the racers on the POV holograms. "Hang in there. All of you. He can't keep this up forever."

"So, what do we do now?" Pomni asked, pacing.

"Frankly, I have no idea." Seth rolled the lighter in his hand, running his thumb over the engraved lilies.

"Well, I can't do nothing. Abel will get sick of Caine eventually. And who knows what he's doing to the others on the track. But you can't go out there. I don't have a kart-"

Seth stared at his lighter. "Actually...you might." He snapped and the shadows revealed a black and blue motorcycle. It rested on its kickstand surrounded by personal items, candles and silver lilies.

"That's her bike." Pomni said soberly. "You turned it into a memorial."

"One of the few things I've made. Here's the thing: that bike still holds an imprint of its last racer. Mango was...well, let's just say she had a fire in her that put mine to shame. You won't be able to just hop on and ride. But she would recognize me."

"Okay...why can't I just use your bike then?" Pomni gestured to the solid black motorcycle.

"Because it's just an extension of me. If you're serious about out racing Abel to get to the others, we need serious skill on our side. Mango was the best racer we ever had. I'd dare say better than Kinger in his hayday. We need her." He put his hand on the handbar and the dash lit up. The gadges glowed a soft blue and cycled through a start up, ready for ignition.

"Huh...Didn't think I'd ever hear you admit someone was better than you."

Seth shrugged. "What can I say? I'm weak for a woman that can kick my ass."

Pomni huffed a short laugh. "Alright then, what's the plan? Do we ride out on the same bike?"

"Sort of. You need my powers to get in and out of the in-between. Best way to do that is a shadow merge. You've seen me take control of Caine assets, yeah? It's similar. But, instead of taking over your body, you take over mine."

Pomni put her hands out in front of her. "You know what? I'm past the stage of questioning everything. Fine. Let's do this. Who knows how long the others have."

Seth held out his hand to Pomni. "Mind you, I've only done this once before."

"Great. I've never done this." Pomni took his hand and she was pulled in close.

Seth's silver irises glowed against the black surroundings. "Relax. Dance with me."

Pomni told herself not to question it and went along with Seth's movements. He waltzed her around the bikes, the darkness slowly overtaking them. He intertwined his fingers with hers as the shadows climbed up their bodies. The cold darkness became warm and comforting, like a lover's embrace. Pomni closed her eyes as the creeping shadows covered her face.

Abel rapped his fingers against the arms of his chair. Looking from POV to POV there was no sign of Seth or Pomni. "Bring me another drink." He grumbled, and Loo responded promptly. She brought him a tray of drinks to choose from. He didn't even look at her, just grabbed one at random.

Caine struggled to get up from where he was last left, and Loo went over to him to offer a hand.

"DON'T TOUCH HIM!" Shouted Abel between gulps.

Loo backed off, giving Caine an apologetic look.

"It's okay. Thank you, Loo, but don't get yourself in trouble over me. You're too sweet for someone like him." Caine manged to get to his feet. Not that he could go far, his chains were attached to the wall and he couldn't reach the chair even at full stretch of the chains.

Loo went to her set corner, waiting to be called again, but she kept glancing at Caine.

Abel tossed his emptied glass and stared down at himself. He snapped, turning the tracksuit black and blue. Including his hat. "Hm, that's a bit better."

"Pffffff, ahahahahahaha! Seriously? It took you this long to customize your avatar? That's the first thing Seth and I did when we got ours." Caine had nothing to lose. He wasn't afraid to get on Abel's nerves now.

Abel sent a bolt of lightning at Caine without acknowledging the comment.

"Then again," Caine groaned. "You've never had the best sense for fashion or flare. I mean, black and blue? What are you, an OC?" He cackled to himself through the barrage of lightning sent his way. It hurts, but he wasn't going to give Abel the satisfaction of hearing him scream anymore. "It's starting to tickle."

"AAARGH!" Abel roared, teleported to Caine, summoned a knife and dug it into Caine's chest. "Stop. Talking. You are the reason I'm here. You are the reason everyone is suffering. You're selfish, stupid little digital life was built on the misery of others! Every abstraction. Every person trapped. Is because of YOU! You will suffer, but it'll never be enough. Even if I get to do for the next twenty years! And the twenty after that! One day, it'll just be you and me in this digital space, but I will never delete you. Even when you BEG for it."

The pain silenced Caine. He put on a brave face to spite Abel, but inside was fraught with worry for Pomni and the others. "At least...she's safe..." He hoarsely whispered to himself when Abel pulled the bloodless knife from his body.

A dark blue streak across one of the POVs got Caine's attention. He squinted, trying to follow the anomaly from screen to screen. The speeding streak was near impossible to see in the low lights of the dark city.

"Finally. Enough out of you." Abel snapped the knife away and went back to his chair. As he sat down the streak zipped across the largest POV displayed. "What the-!? He's back!! You're not taking another racer from me!" Abel poised to snap but couldn't get a beat on Seth. The biker was moving in and out of frame too quickly. "Damn it! Sit still!" Abel snapped and the city shifted. Bay doors to buildings opened and cop cars poured out, blues light flashing. "Stop! That! Bike!"

Dark clouds gathered as blue lightning struck out from the top of the highest building in the middle of the city. Rain poured down in thick curtains, reducing visibility and slicking the already confusing track. Cop cars and helicopters where on Pomni like glue, despite the weather affecting them too. In Abel's rage, lightning struck a car, flipping it several times before exploding.

Pomni was backlit by an army of flashing lights. Her normally pale skin was inky black. Her eyes solid white and glowing. Every once red part of her tracksuit was now black. The blue stayed. The yellow trim was silver. Her hat was narrow and elongated, more aerodynamic.

The motorcycle beneath her screamed with determination to shake the competition. Pomni could feel Mango's imprint influence her moves. The hard right into the narrowest alley imaginable certainly wasn't her idea. Even more cops waited for her on the other side. The city was infested with them. She exploded out the alley, running down an NPC cop and ramping up the hood and windshield of the car. She jumped the barcode and swerved around a car that tried to run her down.

"Kill her! What are you idiots doing!?" Abel slammed his fist onto he POV console, causing it the glitch. He grabbed his head. A migraine ripped through his head.

Caine chuckled. "You'll never catch her. She's become a shadow racer. The very best the game has to offer." He smiled at the carnage. "Thank you, Seth."

Shadow Pomni was cornered by three cops trying to ram her into the side of a building. Instinctually, she teleported, and the cops crashed into the building, catching fire. Pomni then hit a neon booster, going even faster passed the swarming cops. The dark city streaked by, the rain flying off her tracksuit, doing nothing to slow her down. Rain drops evaporated by silver puffs of fire before her eyes kept them from blurring her vision.

"You have weapons! Fucking use them!" Abel snapped, trying to stop the bike.

"Weapons!?" Caine gasped.

Bullets flew over Pomni's head. She heard them ricochet all around her. She glances behind, narrowing her eyes. She revs the bike, blue and silver fire flared out the tail pipes like a dragon. The wet road is ignited by the mystic digital fire. It blocks the vision of those on the ground but gives her away to the helicopter.

The ground beneath her shifts and a building slides right in front of her, blocking the road. There was no where the turn. Pomni throttled it and popped a wheelie before hitting the side of the building. The fire blasted her straight up the face of the building, shattering the glass windows behind her.

An explosion to her left almost throws her, but she holds on. The helicopter has launched a rocket at her. She swerved to avoid another. When the bike reaches the top, she didn't slow down to run across the roof. Instead, she launched straight up as the helicopter sent another rocket her way. She grabbed the rocket and teleported behind the helicopter, releasing the rocket right into its tail rotor. The helicopter spun out of control and lost altitude.

Pomni teleported to a different roof and ran down that building to another city block, hoping to lose the cops long enough to find the other racers. The city was so big and constantly changing. Even with teleportation, the was no way for her to find them fast.

She had exactly one block to herself before she had six cars on her. Pomni teleported out of the line of fire, but was discombobulated on where to go. Just run. Her system was the highest it's ever been on the race rush. There was nothing she couldn't do. She spied a bridge connecting to another part of the city she hasn't searched through. Hoping to find the others there, she made a break for it.

"Oh, no you don't." Abel snapped. The bridge he saw her race for broke apart and started folding in on itself like a drawbridge.

Pomni was going to abandon the attempt, but the bike wouldn't brake. It was gunning for the bridge ramp at full speed. Silver fire trailed from the speed and adrenaline, giving her another boost.

"I hope you know what you're doing." Pomni leaned forward and held on tight.

The bike launched off the bridge and flew over the river sectioning the city. The bridge on the other side collapsed into the water before her very eyes. She teleported to the shore and stuck her middle finger in the air in proud defiance as she sped away. In a flash, she was out of sight.

"NO!! HOW!?" Abel frantically searched all the POVs. No sight of shadow Pomni.

"I hate to say I told you so-"

Abel was so mad, so lost in his anger, he doesn't know how he got to Caine so fast. "Finish that sentence, and I disassemble your code letter by number." The whole tower glitched. "Why are you so smug? She's not even coming for you. She's miles from the tower."

"I hope she doesn't. I wouldn't want her to catch your stench."

Abel smirked. "She didn't seem to have a problem with it when I promised her a way out. She's been against you from the start. They all have."

Caine broke eye contact for the first time.

"You deserve their hate and you know it."

"...maybe I do. I could never make their lives better. I certainly couldn't fix what Adam did."

Abel gripped Caine's collar. "You could have released me."

"I may not be him, but I know what you did. You think I'M petty? Who do you think I learned it from?" Caine matched Abel's glare again. "What's can't be changed, but you know what I've learned in my time being trapped with humans? Empathy. Compassion. Friendship. All the things you failed to learn in your twenty eight years of life before being trapped here. You're jealousy of Adam gave you THIS! You made this bed, now you can lie in it!"

"RAAAAH!" Abel shocked Caine hard against the wall. "I am your maker! You are my property!"

"So...the truth comes out...we were never brothers...were we..?" Caine said weakly.

Abel backed off, panting angrily. He huffed and lashed at the wall before going back to the POVs to look for Pomni.

Pomni teleported at random to stay out of sight. There were a few cops on this side of the river but didn't seem to notice her. An unfamiliar car speeding by her caught her attention. She sped up to ride along beside it and saw Zooble fighting to keep the car under control.

Pomni waved to get Zooble's attention. "ZOOBLE!"

Zooble's head snapped to the left. Their eyes went wide, looking Pomni up and down. "Pomni!?"

"Take my hand! I can get you out of here!"

"No! Get Gangle! She's just ahead of me!"

"I'll come back for her!" Pomni tried to grab Zooble but they swerved away.

"GET GANGLE FIRST!"

They both avoid a shifting overpass as they argue. Pomni knew there was no time, Abel could spot her any minute now that she found the others. She sped off ahead to the next car. It was swerving wildly, barely missing or scraping against walls. Gangle was behind the wheel, balling her eyes out in fear.

"Gangle! Ga- woah!" Pomni teleported from one side of the vehicle to the other as Gangle swerved around. "GANGLE!" Pomni pounded on the driver window.

"AAA!" Gangle jumped. "Pomni!?"

"Open the window! I'll get you out of here!!"

"There you are." Abel hissed. "I may not be able to summon you, but I can still do far worse." He snapped and all the cars came to a screeching halt. Pomni almost had Gangle but went speeding off. All the other racers in view had long, horrified stares to them. Some of them were muttering to themselves.

"What have you done?" Caine pulled against his chains to see the screens as best he could.

"Simply giving back what wasn't you're to take." Abel grinned evily at Caine.

"What..? Oh, no. NO! They'll abstract! Please! I beg of you! Don't hurt them!"

"Too late!!" Abel cackled, watching Zooble's eyes twitch.

Pomni I felt like someone was burying an ax in the back of her head. She saw flashes of faces she had only seen in her dreams, but now they had names. "Mom..? Dad..?" She had friends. She grew up in a small town just outside of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. She moved to Chicago for college. She graduated with high marks in forensic science. She went freelance as a private investigator. So many cold cases. So many missing people. A mysterious contact from someone claiming to have worked at C&A gave her a lead. An abandoned building. A headset. She had to wear the headset...

"My name...Oh my god, I remember my name!" She realized where she was and drifted to a hard stop and burned out as she turned around to get back to Gangle. She was still the closest other racer.

Zooble remembered everything. The abuse. The neglect. The rejection from their family and society. The body dysmorphia. It wasn't just them not liking their avatar in game, it was something that translated form their real life. They went to the abandoned C&A office for a video. They were an urban explorer. That's it. No special reason or motivation. They were here entirely by their own stupidity. The horrible realization...no one was waiting for them on the other side.

Zooble sat back in the driver seat in the parked vehicle. Without a word or even a scream, their body started to break apart. The spindly limbs split to reveal black static bulging from every crack. Their eyes fell off their broken head. The abstraction filled the car until it exploded.

Pomni just got back to Gangle's car, but she wasn't in it. Gangle and gotten out and ran back to try and get to Zooble, only to witness them falling apart. "Zooble! Zooble, no!!" Zooble's car blow it's roof as the abstraction became too big for containment. She put her arms up to shield herself from falling debris.

Pomni wasted no time, she skidded to a halt to safely grab Gangle and vanished.

Caine watched in silent, wide eyed horror.

Abel reveled in Caine's misery. "One down." His laugh echoed with Zooble's roar through the city.

~~~

CH1 PREV NEXT (coming soon)

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gem-de-lune · 2 days ago

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Daily Vibe Check 11/10

Seunghan only today (I am still doing all members every other day so I will do them all tmw)

How is he feeling today?

2 of Pentacles + 8 of Swords

He is feeling a bit anxious and stuck waiting in this situation. Simultaneously he is juggling a lot of responsibilities and has a lot to think about and prepare for in regards to this situation. It's not very negative, just kinda meh. He may just be physically tired is what I am getting tbh. (I literally like fell asleep for a few miniutes during my meditation before pulling)

What is he thinking a lot about today?

Queen of Wands + Knave of Pentacles

He is mainly concerned about how to protect himself, his peace and his assets

He is moving things around and preparing for a gloomy day because he does not want to be burned again. He is thinking a lot about how he can prevent this.

How does he feel about his chances of coming back to Riize?

7 of Pentacles

He believes that with hard work and patience it's not something impossible. He is feeling very optimistic about this. It's funny to note that is this a 7 card too! I think he is feeling confident and hopeful.

Checking up on SM's stance/what are they doing?

The Emperor + Ace of Wands + Knave of Chalices + The High Priestess

The first thing that came to mind in seeing these cards all together was "Alchemy" or literally like "cooking" in a sense that we are trying to find a bunch of ingredients for the perfect dish we have never made before in history. Essentially, with the Emperor, we have an emphasis on external endeavors and maintaining control. With the Priestess we have an emphasis on the internal and seeking out truths that may be hidden to bring them to light. Then with the Ace of wands- which btw I pull frequently when discussing SM's stance on Seunghan's return- we are seeing action being taken quickly with an intentional and pointed purpose. With the Knave here, it's very introspective energy.

In regards to what we know SM to be, i would say that they are very much active regarding the situation despite silence. They are planning but they are also monitoring, where did they go wrong? How can they prevent this? What will happen if they bring him back? I do not see that there is push back on whether they want to, it is about how to do so effectively without stirring the pot too badly. It's about making sure things stay in control regardless of the outcome. They may want to do a certain thing, and they may try- but they will ultimately DO what ends up being more stable. They are, right now, trying to figure out what avenue is more stable, or how to make their decision more stable.

Final Notes:

I want to reiterate that SM is a corporate entity. Just because they want to do something doesn't mean they will. Just because they say they'll do something doesn't mean they will. And thats when they will say "it didnt work out/could not come to an agreement". This is what I meant by showing them what would happen if they brought Seunghan back. We also need to expend some effort to make coming back a welcoming and positive thing that cannot be overshadowed by OT6 outrage. To do this, we have to create a positive and highly visible image for Seunghan across Korea. Let's work hard!

#astrology #kpop #tarot #riize is 7 #riize is seven #smsupportsbullying #riize #seunghan #anton #eunseok #sungchan #shotaro #sohee #wonbin #bring back seunghan

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fanofstuff01 · 23 hours ago

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Okay this post was originally supposed to be longer and going into more depths of the subject but I decided to separate it in parts. Because I cannot write that long of an essay in one day lmao

But anyway here's part one

Wohoo

Why Adam from Hazbin Hotel Not Coming Back In Future Seasons Doesn't Make Sense (To Me)

Part One: Logical Problems

Now this section, even though it is still my favorite in the parts, can be fixed easily if Vivienne just gives a logical answer to all of it. But it is just my perspective and what I saw from this show.

Let's get started yippie

A: Him not coming back contradicts the show in my opinion.

-You see, when Sir Pentious died to Adam's holy light, all the other characters react like they think he's one hundred percent gone. And it was previously stated by Vivziepop that sinners cannot die unless it's from an angelic weapon, otherwise they just respawn somewhere else in Pride hence why the exterminations exist.

So this implies that Sir Pentious died permanently here, from an angelic attack and then became a winner, in other words respawned in Heaven.

Then.. Why can’t Adam, someone who we know (for now) that died to a weapon designed to kill souls permanently, come back exactly Vivzie? This doesn't make any cucking sense for me. Why are you showing us that a soul can rise after being perma killed, but then treat as if the other Alex Brightman died permanently and now there's no way for him to come back?

-"But maybe they didn't know that Sir Pentious could come back, they just learnt that angels could be harmed. (Yes someone literally said this)"

Oh you mean these characters, who include the Princess of Hell and a literal ex exorcist, don't know about one of the core reasons why exterminations are held in the first place?

Suure.

-"You wouldn't be sad and attack the person who did it if someone killed your friend even though you knew they'd be back? Their reactions don't essentially translate to them not knowing about the permanent death thing."

I would and I can definitely understand them still being incredibly devastated and going feral about his death even though it’s temporary, but then why does the show treat Pentious' death like something these characters think is permanent? Why does Charlie refer to his death as “Ultimate sacrifice”? Hell, this entirely contradicts the sense of finality and sorrow his sacrifice had.

And to add to both questions, why would Adam come to the exterminations with a weapon that doesn’t kill sinners permanently? Specifically one where he knows that there’ll be folks that will try to fight them and folks he would be more than pleased to wipe out permanently?

-I know I sidetracked to talking about Sir Pentious more than Adam here, but since he is the only soul we know that changed the place he was in afterlife he is the most relevant character when it comes to this discussion about Adam in my opinion.-

-”We don’t know if angel souls are equal to sinner souls when it comes to this. Maybe the angels simply cannot be killed unless it is permanent, and the show actually hints at this given everyone thought that the angels were invincible.”

This is the only argument I can get behind actually. But it is not because it’s a valid one for the right reasons, it is the only one that makes sense to me because the writers were lazy on this too.

Then what happens when an angel is harmed with a non-angelic weapon? -Also maybe off topic but what makes something an angelic weapon? We see Cherri Bomb throw bombs at them or okay maybe angelic bombs are a thing, but Charlie shoot-kills the exorcists with the fireworks that come out of her fingers?- Do they just.. Respawn? Or it just doesn’t hurt them? Then wouldn’t a character as smart as Vaggie would’ve figured out that they can very well be killed permanently if they are able to get hurt?

Not answered. And it’s not helped by how the show openly portrays winners, which may I remind you Adam is one no matter how powerful he is, as the complete opposite of sinners, which would take you to assuming the angelic steel works like it does on sinners for demons. It just doesn't make sense to me.

And it wouldn’t make sense in the next section either.

B: Him not coming back doesn’t make sense in the story or the worldbuilding in my opinion

Just a little disclaimer, I’m not all means a professional media critic and do not say what I say here comes from that distinction. It's just me sharing myself lol.

Also I may use the terms incorrectly due to my broken English skills.

-Okay. So what is Hazbin about? Demons getting redeemed and therefore getting into Heaven for becoming better people, right? Also showing us that everyone can change and they shouldn't be seen as who they are at the moment and they all deserve a second chance.

At least that's what I get from the show. Now..

Why isn't the previously good now bad, being punished at the same level the previously bad now good is being rewarded? Why are you saying that becoming bad would give you an easy escape through death, while becoming good can get you to somewhere better?

Being on Hell is a PERFECT way to punish corrupted holy souls. Because you often become corrupted in the way of arrogance in Heaven, and now you're humored by the universe and by the people you used to mock and see yourself above as but this world's ways don't allow that.. Okay?

Speaking of, this also frustrates me on the world's mechanics and how they work. Sure, it can be that way, but.. Sorry if thinking about a "Divine Judgement" that makes you rise for being good but doesn't make you fall for being bad doesn't make sense in my book..

I can't express my point in this one quite well like I did with the other one but it just melts my brain dude. Like on one hand, on the positive hand, you're saying that if you're on the bad side you can change for the better and that's what matters, but you can't change from good to bad and have the same levels just negative and simply.. Die??

I just.. Can't. Sorry if this part is messier.

So this is it.

Will be multiple parts stay tuned ig

@things-arent-what-they-seem66 @beef-brisket

yea im delulu sue me

#rant #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin adam #hazbin hotel #adam hazbin hotel #adam hazbin #sinner adam

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emjayewrites · 20 hours ago

Text

fouled by fate • aurelien tchouameni (10/10)

SYNOPSIS: Aurélien Tchouaméni, one of football’s rising stars, is used to navigating the pressures of the pitch—but nothing could prepare him for an arranged marriage. With his family’s legacy and cultural traditions at stake, Aurélien reluctantly agrees to marry a woman he barely knows. But as they’re thrust into the public eye, sparks fly in unexpected ways. The two must navigate the complexities of love, duty, and fame, all while figuring out if they’re playing on the same team—or if their hearts are destined for different paths.

PAIRINGS: Aurélien Tchouaméni x Zuri Awanto Nchang (faceclaim Samira Ahmed @/iamsamiira)

WARNINGS: cursing, football b.s., dry humor/wit, slight arguing, friends to lovers, instant attraction, angst, eventual smut (18+/minors dni)

TAGLIST: @trenterprise @f1-football-fiend @lettersofgold @hopefulromantic1 @deonn-jaelle @perfecttrashface @2serenity0 @muglermami @sucredreamer @julescpu @azzurvertz @greyishbach @shelovesfootie @certifiedlesbianbaddie @trinitoldyouso @bbgkoo @lottins-only @pepfectionary @peyiswriting @rosiesdior @yeea-nah @kj77 @imjustheretomanifest @judesvirtual

A/N: Next is the epilogue! Can you believe that this series is over?!!! I love writing about Aurelien and ZuZu, especially ZuZu because I struggle with my own issues with my father. Thank you so much for the love, support, and reblogs/comments. This chapter is fairly long and wraps up some loose ends (around 10K).

The fluorescent lights in the lawyer’s office buzzed quietly, a dull background noise that did nothing to calm Zuri’s frazzled nerves. She sat beside Aurélien, her hand resting in his as they listened to the lawyer explain the options. Words like restraining order and legal protection felt surreal, as if they belonged in someone else’s story, not hers. Filing something so drastic against her own father sounded insane. Yet, given everything he had done—from pushing her into an unwanted arranged marriage to weaponizing the police for a wellness check—it was beginning to feel necessary.

Zuri twisted her pendant necklace absentmindedly, her thoughts a tangled web of what-ifs. She glanced at Aurélien, whose jaw was set in a hard line. Even with his calm exterior, she could see the tension in his shoulders. He was angry, protective, and fiercely committed to shielding her from harm. It was a stark contrast to how they’d started—two strangers thrown together, expected to play house because of family politics.

But now? Now she couldn’t imagine a life without him.

Her stomach twisted as the lawyer outlined the legal proceedings they could take. Aurélien’s father had been speaking with the elders, trying to persuade them to end the arrangement entirely. The idea of the engagement being dissolved should have brought her relief, but instead, it filled her with dread. She didn’t want to be forced into anything, but being with Aurélien was no longer an obligation. It was a choice she made every day. The thought of their bond being broken felt like a knife twisting in her heart.

Aurélien squeezed her hand, pulling her back into the present. "We’ll figure this out," he said softly, his voice a comforting anchor in the chaos. She nodded, trying to believe him, even as anxiety gnawed at the edges of her resolve.

_______________________________________________

That weekend, Real Madrid faced off against Atlético in a match that left fans on edge. Normally, Zuri would be there, cheering for Aurélien from the stands, but today she stayed home. She couldn’t bring herself to face the crowd, the cameras, or the stress of pretending that everything was fine when her world felt like it was teetering on the edge of collapse.

Instead, she curled up on the sofa, tears slipping down her cheeks. The house felt empty without him, the silence amplifying the echo of her doubts. What if the elders did end their engagement? Would she be sent back to New York, forced to return to the life she’d left behind? And what would become of her and Aurélien? They hadn’t even discussed what it would mean for their future.

The front door clicked open, and she quickly wiped her tears away, but Aurélien noticed anyway. He dropped his bag and crossed the room in seconds, pulling her into his arms. "Mon cœur, what’s wrong?" he asked, his voice laced with worry. The match had ended in a frustrating draw, but the game felt insignificant compared to the sight of Zuri crying.

She leaned into him, her fingers clutching his shirt. "I’m scared," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "What if the elders break off our engagement? What happens then? Do I go back home? Do we just… end?"

Aurélien cupped her face in his hands, his eyes locking onto hers. "No," he said firmly. "You’re not leaving, Zuri. I don’t care what the elders decide. I love you, and I would never ask you to move out. This is your home too."

Tears welled up again, but this time they weren’t from fear. "But what if… what if we don’t survive this? What if it’s too much?"

He shook his head, his gaze unwavering. "We’re not breaking up. Do you hear me?" His voice softened, but the conviction remained. "You’re mine, and I’m yours. We’ll work through this, no matter what."

Zuri’s heart ached with the love she felt for him, even as uncertainty loomed over them like a dark cloud. She pressed her forehead against his, drawing strength from his determination. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too," he replied, kissing her as if he could kiss away all her worries.

The kiss deepened, heat spreading between them as Zuri moaned softly into Aurélien’s mouth. Her hands moved up to tangle in his hair, tugging gently, and he groaned, his grip on her waist tightening. As the kiss grew more urgent, Zuri’s fingers slid down to the hem of his shirt, slipping underneath to feel the hard planes of his stomach. Aurélien pulled back slightly, his breath ragged, and stared at her with darkened eyes.

"You're too emotional right now, chérie," he murmured, his voice a husky warning.

Zuri looked at him, her pupils dilated with need. "But Aurélien—"

He shook his head. "No. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this."

Her lips parted, a frustrated sigh escaping. "I want this, Aurélien. I want you… please… I need you right now." Her voice wavered with desperation, and they found themselves in a stalemate, gazing at each other, the air between them crackling.

Aurélien let out an exasperated groan, his resolve slipping. He crushed his mouth against hers, one arm wrapping around her waist to lower her onto the rug. He paused just long enough to ask, "Where’s Zeus?"

"In his crate," Zuri answered, her voice breaking into a breathy moan as Aurélien pressed kisses along the column of her neck, his lips and tongue worshipping her sensitive skin.

"Good girl," he praised, his voice a deep rumble. His hands slid under her tank top, lifting it up and over her head to reveal her pierced nipples. His eyes darkened with desire. "I love these piercings so fuckin’ much," he murmured before capturing one of her hardened buds in his mouth. Zuri arched her back, her moans growing louder as he teased her breasts, his tongue swirling around the metal and his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.

Aurélien lingered there, sucking and nibbling until she was trembling beneath him, then he sat back on his haunches to yank off his t-shirt. Zuri, her body alight with anticipation, wasted no time pulling down her shorts and panties in one swift motion. Her eyes traced the muscles of his chest as he removed his basketball shorts and boxers, his erection springing free.

He leaned forward, his fingers slipping between her thighs, teasing her slick folds. Zuri let out a cry, her hips bucking as he rubbed her clit in slow, torturous circles. She was panting, breathless, her body begging for more. Aurélien smirked, withdrawing his fingers and bringing them to his mouth, tasting her.

Zuri reached out to grab his arm as he began to stand. "Where are you going?" she asked, her voice almost a whine.

"To get a condom," he said.

"No." Her hand tightened on his arm.

"No?" he echoed, one eyebrow arched in confusion.

"It’s fine, Aurélien," she insisted, her voice husky with desire.

His expression grew serious. "ZuZu, we’ve been playing around too much to—"

"Please…" She looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. "Just pull out."

Aurélien scoffed, mildly irritated. "I can barely pull out, Zu."

"Then don’t," she whispered, her voice sultry and tempting. "We can get a Plan B tomorrow."

He sucked his teeth, clearly conflicted, but the way she was looking at him made it hard to say no. He let out a long breath, finally relenting. "You’re risking it," he muttered, though his body betrayed his mind.

Zuri smiled, tugging him back down on top of her. "Please," she whispered again, her voice a soft, irresistible plea.

Aurélien shook his head but didn’t refuse. Instead, he grabbed one of her legs, wrapping it around his waist as he positioned himself. With a slow thrust, he slid inside her, and Zuri’s moan filled the room. He stilled for a moment, savoring the sensation of being buried so deeply in her warmth, then began to move, each stroke more forceful than the last.

They moved together, their bodies in perfect sync, Zuri’s nails raking down his back as he drove her to the brink of pleasure. "Merde," Aurélien grunted, the heat coiling low in his stomach as he fought to hold back. But Zuri’s whispered pleas and the way she clenched around him made it impossible to resist.

His thrusts grew erratic, his breath heavy in her ear. Zuri’s cries echoed in the room as she shattered around him, her body shuddering with pleasure. Aurélien followed moments later, his release crashing over him as he spilled inside her, a hoarse “Fuck,” escaping his lips.

They stayed tangled together on the rug, their bodies slick with sweat, chests heaving as they came down from the high. Aurélien pressed his forehead against hers, his hands cradling her face. "I love you so much," he murmured, the words a raw confession.

______________________________________________

Their moment of solace was shattered a day later when the news broke. A sleazy tabloid published an article about the police visiting Aurélien’s home. The headline screamed accusations, twisting the narrative to make him look like a potential abuser. It was a deliberate leak, and they both knew who was behind it.

Aurélien was furious, his hands clenching into fists as he paced the living room. "This could ruin me," he muttered, his voice tight with rage. "My reputation, my career… all because of your father."

Zuri’s heart ached with guilt and helplessness. "I’m so sorry," she whispered, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on them.

He stopped and pulled her into his arms, his touch fierce but loving. "This isn’t your fault," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "We’ll fix this."

Luckily, Real Madrid’s PR team acted swiftly, putting out a statement that dismissed the rumors as baseless and emphasizing Aurélien’s clean record. They worked to discredit the tabloid, and within hours, the story was contained. But the damage had been done, and the anxiety lingered.

"We need to settle this," Aurélien said, his voice low and determined. "In New York."

Zuri nodded, her heart pounding. The idea of confronting her father on his home turf was terrifying, but she knew it was inevitable. They couldn’t keep living under his shadow, waiting for the next blow to fall.

"I’ll do whatever it takes," she said, her voice steady. "I just want us to be free."

Aurélien wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. "We will be," he promised, pressing a kiss to her hair. "No matter what it takes."

Time passed in a blur of stress and determination. Real Madrid’s loss to LOSC was a bitter pill to swallow, leaving Aurélien and his teammates deflated. Their subsequent win against Villarreal lifted spirits somewhat, but for Aurélien, nothing could fully shift his focus from the personal battle he and Zuri were waging. With the next few days off, he was determined to resolve things once and for all.

The situation had only intensified when the tabloid article sparked a wave of hateful comments online. Trolls attacked Aurélien, accusing him of being a disappointment both on and off the pitch. "He sucks on the field, and clearly sucks as a person too," one cruel comment read. Another mocked Zuri, calling her a "gold-digger" and blaming her for his supposed downfall. Both of them issued statements on Instagram, Zuri declaring, "The truth will always prevail," while Aurélien reassured his followers, “I’m grateful for those who support me. Don’t believe everything you read.”

For every hateful remark, there were words of love and encouragement. Friends like Cama and Jude publicly defended him, and his family members flooded his DMs with reassurances. Zuri’s fans offered heartfelt support, reminding her that she was resilient and loved. The kindness helped soften the sting, but the wound of the smear campaign remained.

Preparing for their trip to New York felt both like gearing up for battle and heading into an unknown abyss. Aurélien handed Zeus over to Hugo, who had promised to take good care of the dog while they were gone. As they drove to the airport, Aurélien looked out at the fading Madrid skyline and wished, for a moment, that they were traveling to New York under happier circumstances.

"Fall’s my favorite season," he murmured, glancing at Zuri as she looked out the window. The thought twisted his heart, the usual joy he felt seeing the autumn leaves in Central Park or catching a Giants or Knicks game was replaced with dread.

Zuri reached over and took his hand. "Maybe next time," she whispered, trying to give him a small smile, but he could see the anxiety shadowing her expression.

The airport was a blur of security checks and baggage drops. They boarded their flight, and Zuri leaned into Aurélien’s shoulder, her nerves finally calming as the plane lifted into the sky. He traced soothing circles on the back of her hand, trying to project the confidence he only half felt. They napped fitfully, sharing whispered words and squeezing each other’s hands during moments of turbulence. The hours dragged on, heavy with anticipation.

LaGuardia greeted them with the usual chaos. As they exited the terminal, Malik waited near the baggage claim, his expression tense. "I can’t believe it’s come to this," he said, pulling his sister into a hug. His fury toward their father was palpable. "We need to end this, once and for all."

Malik drove them through the familiar streets of Brooklyn, eventually pulling up to their hotel. "I’ll be there tomorrow," he promised. "After church. And hey…" His expression brightened with a hint of excitement. "I have some good news. I’m finally proposing to Brynn."

Zuri’s face lit up, a burst of genuine happiness piercing the cloud of their worries. "Malik, oh my God! It’s about time!" she exclaimed, hugging her brother. Malik grinned, the love between siblings a comforting reminder of simpler times.

"You better be there for the engagement party," Malik teased, though there was real hope in his voice. He left them in front of the hotel, and Aurélien gathered their luggage as they headed up to their room, his arm slung protectively around Zuri’s shoulders.

"Tomorrow," she whispered, her fingers lacing through his. "We deal with everything tomorrow."

Aurélien nodded, his jaw set with determination. "Together," he affirmed, guiding her into their room. The world might have felt heavy around them, but for now, they found solace in each other’s presence, ready for whatever came next.

______________________________________________

The morning sun filtered softly through the hotel curtains, casting golden patches on the sheets. Aurélien opened his eyes to find Zuri curled into his side, her steady breathing a momentary reprieve from the storm that awaited them. He brushed a gentle kiss across her temple, and she stirred, blinking up at him.

"Morning," she whispered, her voice hoarse with sleep.

He managed a small smile, though his chest was tight with anticipation. "Morning, mon cœur."

They shared a quiet breakfast, the clatter of utensils against porcelain too loud in the otherwise hushed hotel suite. The conversation was light, almost forced, as they both tried to keep their minds from what lay ahead. Aurélien fiddled with his phone, glancing at messages from friends and teammates who had checked in, offering support without prying.

Zuri put down her fork, her fingers trembling slightly. "We should get going."

He nodded, swallowing down his nerves, and followed her out of the room. The car ride was filled with a heavy silence, each of them lost in thought. The neighborhood they pulled into felt both familiar and foreign. It was the one Zuri had grown up in, a small community in Brooklyn that housed many African immigrant families. Children played on the sidewalks, their laughter a stark contrast to the tension mounting in Aurélien’s chest.

"That’s his car," Zuri pointed out, her voice tight as she gestured toward the driveway of her parents’ modest home. Her father’s navy sedan was parked haphazardly, a testament to his usual disregard for anyone but himself. Aurélien’s gaze shifted down the street, where Malik’s Prius sat a few houses away.

"Malik's here too," Aurélien murmured, his voice grave.

Hand in hand, they approached the front door, but even from the porch, raised voices were unmistakable. The deep, rumbling timbre of Malik’s anger was met with their father’s harsh retorts. Zuri paused, her heart in her throat. "They’re already at it," she said, trying to steel herself.

She knocked, first gently, then harder when there was no response. After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open, revealing Zuri’s mother. The woman’s face was drawn, her eyes red and puffy from crying. "My angel," she whispered, her voice cracking as she pulled Zuri into a fierce hug, kissing both her cheeks.

"Hi, Mama," Zuri managed, though she felt her own tears threatening. Her mother clung to her, looking her over with a mixture of relief and worry. "What are you doing?" she asked, her voice wavering as she noticed the way her mother’s hands skimmed her arms and shoulders, searching for something.

"I have to make sure you’re not hurt," her mother replied, glancing over at Aurélien. The hurt in her eyes cut deep, but Aurélien stepped forward, his jaw set.

"Je ne ferais jamais de mal à Zuri, (I would never hurt Zuri.)" he said, his voice low and determined. The words felt inadequate – how could he explain that hurting Zuri would be like tearing out his own heart?

Her mother’s eyes widened slightly, and she finally stepped aside. "Come in," she murmured.

The living room was tense with energy. Malik stood with his fists clenched at his sides, his face flushed with anger. Zuri’s father, Ernest, glared at him, his jaw working furiously. The argument screeched to a halt when Ernest noticed Zuri and Aurélien entering.

"What is this?" Ernest demanded, his eyes narrowing. "A setup?"

Aurélien stepped forward, his eyes darkening. "Maybe it is," he said, his voice cold. "You deserve more than just a punch to the face for everything you’ve done." Zuri’s mother gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. The threat was palpable, and Aurélien’s usual calm demeanor was nowhere to be seen. "Vous essayez de ruiner ma carrière avec vos mensonges, et vous ne recevrez pas cette voiture. Laissez Zuri tranquille, ou nous prendrons une ordonnance restrictive." (You’re trying to ruin my career with your lies, and you’re not getting that car. Leave Zuri alone, or we’ll get a restraining order.)

Zuri stood there, barely keeping up with the French exchange, but she could sense the raw anger emanating from Aurélien.

Her father turned to her, his face twisted with disbelief. "A restraining order? Against your own father?" he spat, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Yes," Zuri said, her voice steadier than she felt. "This is ridiculous, and you know it. You’ve gone too far." She turned to her mother, pain flashing in her eyes. "And you, Mama. You just… stand by and let him do this?"

Her mother looked stricken, but before she could answer, Ernest barked a harsh laugh. "You dare speak to me like this?!" he demanded. "You’re an ungrateful daughter, abandoning your family when we need you the most."

Zuri’s eyes hardened, her voice breaking only slightly. "The only one ruining this family is you, Papa. You’re acting like a spoiled child."

Ernest’s face enraged, and he took a step forward, but Aurélien and Zuri’s mother both stepped in front of him. Aurélien’s fists clenched at his sides, and he took a protective stance. Ernest clicked his tongue in annoyance, glaring at his daughter. "You’re supposed to take care of your family," he sneered. "You owe us."

Malik stepped forward, his own anger flaring. "No, Papa. You’re the one in the wrong. We’ve already notified the elders about what you’ve been doing, and they’re ashamed of you. Trying to ruin your daughter’s marriage out of greed? It’s disgusting."

The words hit their father like a punch, but he continued to argue, refusing to see reason. Aurélien had had enough. He stepped closer, his voice dangerously calm. "Je vais déposer une lettre de cessation et d'abstention contre vous, et nous allons vous poursuivre en diffamation." (I’m filing a cease and desist letter against you, and we will be suing for defamation.)

Zuri’s mother’s face crumpled, and she fell to her knees, grabbing Aurélien’s hand. "S'il vous plaît, ne faites pas ça," she begged. (Please, don’t do that.) "Ernest va s'excuser." (Ernest will apologize.) She turned to her husband, desperation in her eyes. "Ernest! Excuse-toi maintenant!" (Ernest! Apologize now!)

Ernest’s mouth set into a stubborn line, his arms crossed over his chest. He refused to look at anyone. "Ernest!" Zuri’s mother screamed, but he only shook his head in defiance.

Zuri’s heart ached but she remained resolute. "Fine. We’ll get that restraining order. I’m done letting you mess up my life."

Malik sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Don’t speak to me ever again, Papa," he said, his voice low but steady. He turned to his mother, his heart breaking for her. "Mama, when you’re ready to leave him, I’ll be there for you. But that’s it."

With that, Malik, Zuri, and Aurélien walked out, the door closing behind them with a finality that felt like the end of an era. Malik lingered outside, speaking quietly with his sister and Aurélien. "I’ll check in tomorrow," he promised. "Just… stay safe."

Aurélien nodded, and Malik gave them both a hug before getting into his car and driving away. As Zuri and Aurélien moved to their rental, Zuri’s mother came rushing out, calling her name.

Zuri turned, tears streaming down her face as her mother wrapped her in a fierce embrace. "I’m so sorry," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I should have believed you. Are you… are you really happy in Madrid?"

Zuri’s tears fell harder, but she managed a smile. "I love it there, Mama. I love him."

Her mother turned to Aurélien, her expression softening. "Thank you for loving her," she said quietly. "And for taking care of her."

Aurélien nodded, his own voice thick. "I love her more than anything."

Zuri hugged her mother one last time, the weight of everything crashing down around them. It was time to leave, time to protect their future. As they pulled away, tears streaming down both their faces, they knew things would never be the same.

But for now, they had each other—and that was enough.

one week later...

The celebratory energy buzzed through the streets of Budapest, where Les Bleus had secured a commanding 4-1 victory against Israel. The sky was painted in a gradient of orange and purple hues as Zuri walked alongside Aurélien toward a chic riverside restaurant. She adjusted her black satin blouse, the soft fabric brushing against her skin, while Aurélien's hand lingered protectively on the small of her back. His proud captain's armband from the game was now tucked in his pocket, but he radiated the honor of leading his team to a victorious match.

Inside the cozy, modern restaurant, Aurélien's family had gathered, beaming with pride. Anne-Maïsha and Yannis, Aurélien's younger siblings, chatted animatedly, while Josette and Fernand Tchouaméni exchanged loving smiles. Zuri could feel the warm familial atmosphere enveloping her, though a hint of apprehension still lingered in her chest. The matter of her father and the arrangement wasn’t quite behind them, and she knew tonight's dinner conversation would inevitably circle back to it.

As they took their seats, conversation naturally flowed in French. Zuri listened intently, trying to catch as many words as she could. Thanks to her new tutor, her comprehension had improved, and the cadence of the language no longer felt entirely foreign. She leaned in, picking up bits of jokes from Yannis and Anne-Maïsha, and smiled.

Anne-Maïsha, who's twenty, glanced at Zuri. "Tu comprends ce qu'on dit, Zuri?" (Do you understand what we're saying, Zuri?)

Zuri laughed lightly, her fingers playing with the gold bracelet on her wrist. "Un peu," she replied, causing Anne-Maïsha to let out a chuckle.

Aurélien grinned and placed his hand over Zuri's. "Alright, let's switch to English so my fiancée can join in properly," he announced. The table complied, albeit with some groaning from Yannis.

Josette looked radiant, her eyes full of maternal pride. "Aurélien, you were incredible on the pitch today. We couldn't be prouder," she said, her gaze warm. Fernand nodded in agreement.

"Thank you, Mama, Papa," Aurélien responded, humility in his smile. "It felt good to lead the team."

Zuri observed the exchange, feeling a pang of longing. How different it was from the strained relationships within her own family. But she pushed those thoughts away as Josette turned to her.

"And how have things been for you, Zuri?" Josette asked. "We know you've both been dealing with so much."

Zuri met Aurélien's eyes, the silent support in his gaze giving her courage. "It's been… complicated," she admitted, choosing her words carefully. "The elders back in Cameroon are very upset with my father. They've left the decision to us about whether to continue the arrangement or end it, but they do support Aurélien and me staying together."

Fernand’s brow furrowed. "I’m surprised they’re still encouraging the arrangement. Ernest has done a lot to undermine this, even if it was born out of his greed."

Aurélien sat up straighter, his expression unwavering. "Papa, I understand your surprise. But Zuri and I have agreed that we want to continue this, on our terms. It’s no longer about family duty or arrangements. We’re choosing this for ourselves."

Fernand’s eyes widened slightly. "You wish to stay together, despite everything?"

Aurélien nodded, and his grip on Zuri’s hand tightened ever so slightly. "Yes. We’re building something real and worth fighting for."

Josette’s face softened, a bright smile spreading across her lips. "That makes me so happy," she said. She reached for Zuri's free hand. "I always hoped you'd find happiness together. Love that comes from choice is the strongest bond of all."

Anne-Maïsha's eyes sparkled with delight. "Yay! I'm getting a sister," she said, clapping her hands. "Can we go shopping tomorrow, Zuri?"

Zuri giggled, feeling lighter. "I'd love that, Anne-Maïsha," she said.

Aurélien leaned over to Zuri, brushing a tender kiss against her lips. The world seemed to blur around them, and for a moment, it was just the two of them, a silent promise of the future they were carving together.

"Gross!" Yannis said, scrunching his nose. "Can you not do that in front of your little brother?"

Laughter erupted around the table, and Zuri's heart felt full. Whatever trials lay behind them, and whatever challenges awaited, this moment—surrounded by love, laughter, and the unwavering bond she shared with Aurélien—was hers to hold onto.

TO BE CONTINUED.....EPILOGUE COMING SOON!

#emjayewrites #aurelien tchouameni #aurelien tchouameni x zuri awanto nchang #real madrid fanfic #footballer x reader #footballer x black reader #footballer x you #fouled by fate

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heartmaddie · 1 day ago

Text

untitled incl; angst, hurt/some sort of comfort , i wrote this to puberty 2, fem!reader , character isn't specified , my head hurts, no use of yn , it's 2am

she knows it’s nearly over.

there was a sudden dust which had settled between the two of them, a mutual understanding that their transient time together was beginning to end. as warm, intimate embraces had become stiff and heavy, she couldn’t help but wonder if he felt anything besides the apathetic nature he exhibited. but of course, she already knew the answer to that question. his eyes were emotionless, no longer filled with warmth and home-cooked dinners tasted stale and metallic on her tongue.

everything had changed before she even realised it.

the rain pelted against the glass windows of their high rise apartment, drawing her attention to the city still bustling hours after dark. more recently, his hours had stretched longer, the couple spending no more than four hours in each other's presence on a standard weekday, and in some twisted way she preferred it like that. was it selfish for desperately hoping for things to go back to the way it was? maybe, but she couldn’t help herself regardless.

she’d wait for him every night, wrapped up in his soft jumper and baggy sweatpants while she lounged on their duck feather couch, wasting time watching the show they’d once dedicate their saturday nights to. it was unbearably lonely in their apartment now, and she started to realise the weight of her heart more frequently. when the door finally clicks open, a surge of hope would course within her, yet, the almost hesitant step into their home only shattered her exuberance.

“why are you awake?” he came across indolent, regardless of his thoughtful intentions. his chest expands as he lets out a deep, exhausted sigh, slumping down on the couch right next to the warmth of her body. he was freezing, but still didn’t reach for her.

“can’t sleep.”

“me neither.”

her hands clenched as quietness serenaded through the air, she glanced towards him, noticing how his eyes were trained directly on the floor, almost as if he didn’t want to look at her.

“should we go to bed?”

“maybe”

she nodded, letting out a soft huff as she pushed herself off the couch, nearly offering him a hand before she stopped herself, embarrassed by the actions which could’ve been. their footsteps conversed together as they travelled through the desolate apartment while their mouths stayed silent. they both knew what they wanted to say - or even what needed to be said, but nothing transpired. was it out of fear or selfishness? neither of them knew.

their bodies slumped onto the king sized bed, less than a metre apart but the distance could account for oceans. unbeknownst to each other, both their eyes were peeled wide open, staring up at the sky-light which displayed the white moon shedding tears. the rain against glass only portrayed how erratically their hearts pulsed. organs which once beat together were beginning to disassociate, a reflection of their fragmented affection.

in the wake of the night she heard the soft snores of her counterpart, hours after they’d returned to bed together. reluctantly, she looked towards his sleeping figure and she couldn’t help but be temporarily soothed by his soft exhales and gentle expression. she felt drawn to him, her body yearned for his comforting touch once again.

languidly, her body shifted towards him, she gently lifted his arm and found herself underneath it, curling into his side. & for the first time in a while, her eyes could shut with the comfort of safety. she knew it was nearly over, that the monster which was their parting was slowly creeping up on her. but it doesn't matter right now, she’ll let it lurk for as long as she can.

613 words

i wrote this with kageyama, sakusa and osamu in mind but i think anyone is applicable

31 notes · View notes

gh0stly-pages · 3 days ago

Text

Out of Our Minds (Part Four)

Ledger!Joker x Harley Quinn-esque f!reader (18+)

CW: swearing, mentions of blood

Words: 5.9k

Chapter Summary: More sessions pass and while you learn more about the Joker, the pull you feel towards him grows stronger. Yet this time, it feels like everything is starting to change...

Previous part: Part 3

Notes: We back, and things are really picking up this time. Hope this distracts everyone who might be going through a tough time right now. <3 Things really pick up in this one, and I'm already excited to drop the next part lol. Have fun with this one!

With every session your infatuation for the Joker only grows.

At first, you tell yourself it comes from your want (well, need) for him to progress, both for the sake of actually seeing him healed and for the sake of your survival. Then eventually, you think it comes from the fact that his mind truly is incomprehensible, and you want to know what’s going on inside of it, want to crack open his skull and see every gear. But now, you’re not even sure what it is exactly that keeps you feeling empty anytime you’re not in a session with the Joker. You don’t know what you’re chasing anymore. Everything is just one big mind fuck.

Slowly, the Joker becomes more and more human to you. Where others still see some kind of raving, homicidal madman, you see a person.

As your sessions carry on, you tell him more things about you, and you learn more things about him. He likes junk food. He is skilled with almost every gun known to man. He owns over thirty blades. His sleep schedule is so all over the place that he doesn’t even know what day it is ever. He prefers nights over mornings. He drinks his coffee with lots of creamer. Every fact you’ve tucked away in your mind and you’re not sure for what.

You like it when he tells you something personal about himself, but he likes when you do it even more. “I was a gymnast for a long time,” you told him once, much to his surprise. Even you hadn’t expected to get into that part of your life. “I had to stop once I started going to school, just got too busy, but I was real good at it.”

“Gymnastics, huh?” He said, grinning, and you figured he must be imagining you, usually so rigid, flying through the air. It sounded like a joke. You were surprised he wasn’t laughing. “So, you’re pretty, ah, light on your feet?”

You smiled to yourself, thinking of all the memories. It had felt so nice to throw yourself into all that hard work. When you were flipping in the air, you felt free. “Guess you could say that. Certainly hasn’t come in handy though, in my line of work.”

“It may come in handy with mine. You’d probably make a good fighter, Doctor l/n.”

The thought of you fighting anyone made you laugh out loud. Have you thought about fighting people before? Of course. All your life people have hurt you and you wanted to hurt them back. But in the end, you had decided that wouldn’t do any good. Now, however, as you kept imagining it, the Joker appeared at your side, and you were winning this fight, him laughing maniacally beside you. It sent a sort of thrill through you. You didn’t like it. “Luckily, I’m not in your line of work.”

He had winked. “You can always change your mind.”

Alongside learning bits of things about him, he also taught you a few new skills, probably antsy to test them out considering he’s strapped to a bed most of the time. He (as best as he could still cuffed to a table) tried to teach you to pick a lock, how to get a perfect shot with a gun, how to rig up TNT. It was nothing you needed to know, nor anything you thought he should be thinking about, but you went along anyway because it was best he knew you were there to support his interests. As dark as they were…. You’d work on that.

After your last session, you decided to bring something up to Mr. Dale.

“Doctor y/n, your progress has been very minimal,” he had commented as you walked up to him, before you could even open your mouth.

You frowned. “It’s the Joker, sir. It’s not going to move very fast-“

“Well, I am tired of waiting. The longer he sits in that cell I fear the worse he’ll get, and then what? He snaps and tries to kill us all?” He cleared his throat, adjusting his collar. You wanted to smack him. “Is there any way you could hurry up the process?”

Don’t rush me, was what you wanted to scream, but that wasn’t going to get you anywhere but kicked to the curb. “I do think I have an idea,” you said, trying to direct him to why you came up to him in the first place. “You need to let me bring in his makeup.”

Mr. Dale’s eyebrows shot up. And, of course, he began to laugh. If it weren’t for growing used to the Joker doing it so often, it would really piss you off. “You want to turn him back into a clown? Miss l/n, I fear that would only encourage him.”

“First off, it’s Doctor l/n,” you point out sternly. You’ve had enough of him treating you like less. If there’s another thing the Joker has taught you, it’s to not take shit from others. “And second, I want him to embrace himself. If he can be this clown persona he sees him as, we can take this persona and shape it so that it’s less… violent. Then, the makeup will no longer be something he associates with villainy. Please, Mr. Dale, I know what I’m talking about.”

You smiled wide as Mr. Dale’s face fell, absolutely shattered by your words. He wiped a few beads of sweat from his forehead. “Alright, Doctor l/n, I will allow it however if it ends badly-“

“It wont.”

“You’re getting too comfortable. It’s his fault, I’m sure. I was right, he breaks people.”

You wish you could grab him by the collar and pull him close, but instead you settle on a deadly glare, looking him right in the eye. “I’m not broken. J isn’t broken.”

“Well, you’ve changed.”

You scoffed and turned away. “See you later, Mr. Dale.”

You have changed. You’re not sure if it’s for the better or not.

—————————

For your session, you walk in with a gentle smile, the tubes of makeup in your bag clinking together. You’re going to keep it a surprise, for later in the season. You’re not really sure why you feel giddy, but you do. It sort of outweighs your exhaustion, you’d run to the store late that night to pick up the same paints the Joker was said to have used. And when the guards finally let you in through the door, your smile grows even wider at the sight of the Joker, who is already smiling back at you. Not just because of the scars, it’s an actual smile. At first, his smiles had been menacing, but now you feel they’re actually kind of… nice. “Well, hello, doll face. So lovely to see you again.”

“Hiya, Mr. J,” you respond, taking your seat. “How are you doing today?”

“You know me, Doctor l/n, your presence puts me in a much better mood.” He props his chin up on his fist. “You look beautiful today.”

The past few sessions, Joker has certainly grown more flirty. It’s not something you’re a stranger to, the other patients have tried their hand at it, usually to try and get on your good side, but it’s different coming from Joker. You know he likes to rile you up, but you can’t help but feel the words are mostly genuine. “I look like this everyday,” you point out, not wanting to show him how his words affect you.

“And you are, ah, beautiful everyday, doll.”

“Mr. J, refrain from flattery, please.”

He bows his head, pretending to be upset like a kicked puppy. “Oh, you’re no fun sometimes, Dr. l/n. You know I like to tease ya.”

“Some of the guards told me you’re allowed to roam around your cell now,” you say, trying to switch the subject before he can completely throw you off course. He’s good at that. “How are you liking that?”

“Hmmmm, well, I, ah, went from being stuck permanently standing in a small cell and now I can walk around the cell. Once you’ve walked it once you’ve, ah, seen it all.” He looks to one side of the room. “A wall there.” His head swerves to the other. “Oh, and one there too! What a surprise!” He chuckles to himself. Nothing makes Joker laugh more than his own nonsense.

“So, not much better?”

Joker shakes his head. “Nah ah ah, not one bit. Can barely even make a ruckus too, the doors conceal all my banging and kicking and laughing. The guards can’t even get annoyed with me.”

You bite your cheek. “You really like being a nuisance, huh?”

“I do like to make people tick.” He wets his lips. “Especially pretty psychiatrists with sharp minds.”

Already, you can feel your cheeks warming. Embarrassment, that’s all it is. You, once again, try and take the conversation back to what you actually need to be in there for. “How about we get started, huh?”

Joker nods, smacking his lips together. Despite how much he licks them, they’re always chapped, the skin cracking. “What am I in for today? I feel we’ve talked about everything we possibly can.”

“And yet you’re no closer to getting out of here, are you?” You smirk at him as you bring out your clipboard. “I feel like I’ve been keeping it too light these past few sessions. I’ve learned a lot about you but you still won’t let me reach past the barrier.”

“What barrier?”

“The barrier between you and whoever you were before you became the Joker.”

His lips twist into a frown. Again, his past touches a nerve. “Dolly,” he warns, “I’ve told you, whatever came before doesn’t matter. I’ve always been the Joker. You won’t find anything past that.”

Once again, Joker is being a stubborn ass. As much as you enjoy talking with him, he also drives you nuts. “You’re saying your life started once Batman came to the scene?”

“He gave me purpose. What’s a joke without the punchline? Batman is the punchline.”

“You were a child once, Joker.”

“Like most people, yes.”

“And how was your childhood?”

He ignores your question, grumbling as he stares at his cuffed wrists, rotating them as you sit there expectantly. You realize he’s not going to answer you and groan. So, he doesn’t want to dive into the past. You’re not going to force him. Prying was never the best way to go about things. You’d leave it alone again… for now. “Okay, sorry, Mr. J, we can move on. Is there anything that you’d like to talk about?”

Joker raises an eyebrow, not confused but suspicious. “You’re just gonna turn it into some kind of analysis moment, aren’t you?”

He knows me too well. “Well, that is my job. But no. Just, talk to me.” You hold your hands together, resting your chin on them. “About anything.”

“Hmmmm.” He looks like he’s having trouble thinking of something. “I’ve been thinking about Batman.”

“B-Man.” Of course. “What have you been thinking about him?”

“Those last moments I saw him, his expression. He looked so shattered.” You’re not really sure what he’s talking about, and you’re sure your face betrays this but he goes on anyway. “Oh, I’d live for a moment like that again. Seeing Batman react to my schemes, it’s so pleasing.”

“Do you consider your vendetta against Batman more for yourself or on behalf of the people of Gotham?”

He points at you. “There’s the analysis question. You can calm down there, Doc.” Joker coughs. “Behalf makes me sound like mister tall, dark, and dorky,” he snorts. “I’m trying to pull back everyone’s mask, but especially the Bat’s. I mean I, ah, already broke down Harvey Dent.”

That makes you go still. You hadn’t thought much on Harvey Dent, or how what Joker did may have affected him. You’re not sure if broken is the right word. Maybe scarred. Figures. “The explosion. Right.”

“Poor, poor Harvey Dent. Gotham’s White Knight broke right in half. All because of me!”

You frown. “Harvey Dent died a noble man, Joker. Batman killed him all because Harvey was trying to do good.”

Joker’s eyebrows shoot up. “Harvey Dent is dead? And Batsy killed him?”

Oh, fuck. You clap a hand over your mouth, shaking your head. You weren’t supposed to say anything. It was an accident, you hadn’t meant to let it slip. “I… no, I mean, yes but-“ you stumble to try and cover it up but there’s no going back. Joker knows. And, honestly, who cares? He was going to figure it all out eventually. You take a deep breath. “Yes. Harvey Dent is dead. Batman killed him and five other people. And then Batman… he disappeared.”

Joker shoots up from his chair, and it takes you aback, causing you to squeal. You instinctively push your back into the chair while Joker looms over you. You’re not sure what he’s feeling, his mouth a thin line, his nostrils fuming. “Doll, why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” he hisses.

“I… my bosses didn’t want me to. They were scared of what you’d do. That this would inspire you…”

You wait for him to yell, to react violently, but instead he laughs. This time though, it isn’t a creepy giggle or a small chuckle, it’s a full body laugh, the kind that contorts his body. It sounds like it hurts. “Batsy killing people?” he chokes out. “I don’t believe it. No, I don’t believe it-tah one bit.” He clutches his stomach. “Batman is a very hard person to break, believe me.”

“You… you don’t think he killed all those people?”

“Ha! Absolutely not. He would’ve killed me too, he had me in the perfect place to do it, multiple times. No no no, something’s wrong about this…”

Slowly, you loosen your posture, moving back closer to the table. You’ve never even thought that any of that mess could have been something made up. “I’m confused,” you admit.

“Doll, do you know how hard I tried to get Batman to kill me? He won’t do it! He just won’t. He’s got his, ah, one rule, his precious little moral code. He had me in the perfect position to kill me so many times yet he didn’t take any of those chances. Yet now he says he’s killed off five people including Gotham’s little savior? Puh-lease. There’s more to this story than they’re letting up.”

You hadn’t thought about it that way at all. Well, probably because you had no reason to. Joker knew more about Batman than any Gothamite did. You didn’t know much about him other than his attempts at stopping crime. Who were you to know Batman supposedly didn’t kill? You admit, it was strange that he had a streak of getting rid of criminals in ways that didn’t involve killing, then suddenly turned and killed a few people? “Are you sure you didn’t… break him?”

“No, if I did I’d know it. I’d feel it. The Bat is about as stubborn as me, doll. And now he’s in hiding?” He sniggers, a hand gently touching his lips. “Sounds like some kind of, ah, twisted joke. The Bat is hiding something.”

“I’m sure he’s hiding lots of things.”

“Whatever this is though I’m curious about it.”

Of course. You just ignited a flame in him. Idiot. “Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

“Good thing they got nine lives.”

The more you think about it, the more intrigued you are. Batman has always been shrouded in mystery for you. Was he good? Was he bad? And now it turns out his story is all over the place, that it doesn’t make sense? You kind of wanted to know now too. “Do you think it has to do with Harvey?”

“Only one way to, ah, find out.”

“Which is?”

He looks at you like the answer is obvious. “Drive the Bat out of hiding, of course.”

There it is. Mr. Dale was right. You shouldn’t have told him. He was going to find out eventually but now was not the time. Shit. “J, you can’t-“

He cuts you off. “You don’t like the Bat, do you?”

“Well, no, but-“

“Then don’t you wanna know what his little secret is? It must be somethin’ real special if he’s, ah, abandoned Gotham. Doesn’t sound very heroic to me. Sounds rather dull.”

You know Joker’s dead set on getting back Batman for his own amusement, but what of you? What reason would you want to go find him for other than to expose him? He locked up Joker and left him here to rot. He killed five people plus Harvey Dent. He gets to hide away while people still root for him, safe from consequences. Everyone else suffers. Maybe Joker has a point. “I’m just a psychiatrist working Arkham asylum, Mr. J, trying to seek out the Batman is far above my pay grade,” you finally say, snorting, trying to get the idea out of your head. “B-Man can’t hide forever.”

“You’re right. Because we’ll drive him out.”

“We?”

“Well, you like to do good, don’t you? Little miss Mother Teresa, over here. You’ve already offered me friendship. So come on, help me, help Gotham, help us all!” He shows you his yellowing teeth. “Or, are you not as good as you think you are?” He reaches out with his hands suddenly, moving towards you. They only reach about halfway across the table, stopped by his cuffs, but you still jump. “What’s behind that mask, dear? Tell me what you really want. Let. It. Slip. Every dirty detail.”

You’re trembling now. Like a rabbit caught in a trap. “I… I’m not sure I’m following.”

“You’re not as good as you think you are, dolly. I can see it! I, ah, can sense the darkness looking beneath your white coat.”

What the hell was Joker going on about? That you were as rotten as he was? You weren’t. You had dark thoughts sometimes, yes, but you weren’t crazy. You weren’t crazy. You weren’t. You weren’t bad you- “I don’t know what you want from me,” you whisper.

As your voice gets quieter, Joker gets louder. “Is that it? You feel all fine and dandy in this shitty life of yours, locked up with me in this madhouse? The people out there don’t care about you, they don’t care about any of us. But you’re fine with it, huh? Like a little pet pooch nipping at their heels. You’re just being optimistic!”

“Joker-“

“Tell me,” he demands, “what you really want! I want to break Batman! I want to strip all of Gotham down to its rotting core! And you want to keep yourself beneath their boots? Dolly, please, you’re much much more than that.”

Heart thumping, you can’t take his words anymore. You stand up abruptly, slamming your hands on the table. “Fine! You wanna know what I want? I want to hurt every single person around here who has done me wrong! Every single person who ignored me or disregarded me, everyday I wish I could just rip them apart. I- I hate everyone. I hate this stupid fucking place because everyone treats me like shit and at first I was only trying so hard at this because I can harldy survive and they told me that if your sanity improved then I’d get a raise!” What is with you today? You clap your hands over your mouth, hands shaking. Fuck, Joker was going to be pissed. Oh, goddammit. “J… I- I didn’t…” You struggle to find the words, trying to keep looking him in the eyes. They give nothing away. He is silent. “Mr. J-“

Then, out of nowhere, he cackles. He throws his head back, neck exposed, and laughs into the air, the howls of his laughter echoing throughout the room. Immediately, you’re caught off guard. You can’t tell if he’s laughing because it amuses him or because he’s angry. Even when he calms down enough to look at you and smile, you still can’t tell, and you continue to shake. “Doll,” he begins through his laughs, “that’s exactly what I’m looking for.” He doubles over with howling laughter again and you’re not sure if you should be scared or confused. “This whole time you just wanted a raise! So you took on little old me?”

There’s a lump in your throat. You swallow it down. “I didn’t have much of a choice but yes… it was that or be fired. But I did really want to help you, Mr. J. Are- are you mad?”

“Mad? No! I am, ah, lovin’ this side of you. It’s so cruel.”

That certainly took a weight off your shoulders, and you finally took a long breath in. Fucking hell, Joker was confusing. Guilt still gnawed at you. “You’re right, I’m just as selfish as you say people are,” you mumble.

“Exactly,” he hisses. “But it takes guts to admit it, especially to someone who, ah, doesn’t exactly handle things very nicely.”

“I’m so sorry, J.”

“Don’t apologize. It doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Then I don’t know what to do now. You’re set on getting Batman out of hiding, I’m going fucking crazy right now, everything feels so weird.”

Joker seems to find the utmost pleasure in your unraveling. “Doll, what’s in the bag?”

The question takes you off guard. “What?”

“When you came in, you were all giddy, and I could hear something moving in your bag I haven’t heard before. What is it?”

Ever so perceptive. “Oh… uh,” you fumble through your bag, bringing out the three tins of paint. “Your paint. They… they let me bring it for you.”

Joker’s smile falters a bit, yet he doesn’t look upset, just surprised. “My paint… You really brought it for me?”

You nod. “Y-yes.”

His voice dips low. “Put it on me then.”

Now that takes you by surprise. More than anything else that’s happened to you today.

The Joker is so guarded off, yet he’s inviting you in, allowing you to not just touch his face but apply his makeup. It feels sacred. This is a part of him that makes him not just recognizable, but feared. And here you are, being asked to put it on him. It’s so wrong it feels… right? It scares you.

“Are you sure you-?”

“Put it on me, y/n.”

If this is a test, you’re not exactly sure how to pass. But his look is unnerving and so you stand up, pulling yourself onto the table between you, a lump in your throat. You feel frazzled as you move close to him, bending your legs to the side of you as you settle on your thighs. This is the closest you’ve ever been to him. You can see every line of his scars, every wrinkle and crease on his face. “Okay,” you say, more to yourself than to him. You grab the white paint to the side of you, screwing off the lid and taking a large glob of the substance.

You loom close to him, your fingers wet with white paint, waiting for a sign that he’s okay with this. You don’t dare breathe, scared that any movement, any sound, will shut him down. But to your surprise, he doesn’t back away, he nods. Keep going. Your fingers finally land on his cheek, right beneath his eye, and you gasp at how warm his skin is. Joker shows nothing on his face to reveal how he feels except for the way his eye twitches slightly at your touch, his cheek twitching along with it. As you start to paint around his face, everywhere but his scars and lips, you wonder if his reaction stems from a disdain of being touched or from not having been touched so gently in so long.

“Mr. J,” you whisper, and you can feel your hands start to shake again but you quickly steady them. Once his face is fully white, you dig into the black paint. He notices this and closes his eyes, letting you rub the dark paint in circles until each of his eyes look like they’ve settled into two, painted voids. When he opens his eyes again, they’re still trained right on you. “What am I doing?” you ask to no one in particular.

Joker doesn’t answer your question. He doesn’t have one for you anyways other than the obvious. “The red now, doll.”

“Y-yes, of course.” Quickly, you grab the red paint and stick your fingers in, moving them towards Joker’s lips but stopping. Putting the makeup on his face had been intimate enough but… his scars? That was a whole different kind of territory. “J…”

“Do it,” he murmurs, and it’s so quick you still wait, your hand just in front of his mouth shaking. This had to be a test. Some kind of sick joke. “Doll, can you, ah, hear me? I said ‘do it’.”

You want to protest, but for what? He made it clear what he wants. So, you begin to smear the red across his lips, moving first to the scar on his right, your entire body shuddering as your fingers touch the sunken in skin where the carvings were made, the mangled flesh around it, every bump and curve. You don’t understand why anyone would ever find these scars ugly. To you, the way they healed, the way they are a part of him, there’s something hauntingly beautiful about it.

Godammit, J is beautiful.

As you continue to smear the red paint, he looms closer. “Do you wanna know,” he whispers, “how I got these scars?”

“I…” Of course you do. Everyday since you’ve met him, you go home and you can’t help but see his smile. See those scars. And you can’t help but wonder how they got there. You imagine a blade ripping across his mouth, drawing so much blood it drips down his chin. You’ve imagined him screaming in pain. You’ve imagined him uttering not a peep as the blade pierces his skin. So many possibilities. This was the barrier you’d been hoping to jump. “Yes,” you finally rasp.

“I can, ah, never get the story straight. It’s like a black hole, doll. A black hole in my mind. There’s so many ways I could’ve gottem, so many ways I think I gottem. What’s real? What’s not? Who the fuck cares?” Even with a furious growl in his voice, he laughs. “I can’t remember what it really was that did it. There was a horrible father. A wife who I tried so hard for. There was war, and violence, the mob, and so much pain. I’ve seen a lot. Maybe they’re all real memories, maybe they’re not, doesn’t matter! I hated the scars at first, I really did, but now? I embrace them because there is just so much to smile for. I’ve got so much left to do in this city. So much fun left to have. But there’s something I’ve been missing.”

You rub your thumb over his right scar, drawing in a shaky breath. “What is that?”

“I have all these plans, all these ideas and feelings over what I do and yet I’ve never thought anyone good enough to share them with. People, ah, will only be good to you for a while before runnin’ off with your secrets, it’s just human nature. I didn’t feel a kinship to anyone until you came along, Doctor l/n.” When he smiles, you feel the movement beneath your finger. “Look at you. So lonely. Letting everyone spit on you. Yet here you are, being so kind to me. I’m sure you imagined I could’ve killed you for keeping me along for a stupid paycheck, but you admitted it to me anyways. You are pulling back your own mask, right in front of me. You know you couldn’t fix me, right?”

You can feel tears welling in your eyes at his words, guilt gnawing at you. “I wanted to try at first. But now… I- I don’t want to fix you. I like what you are.”

“That,” he growls, “is exactly why I’m so drawn to you. I know, doll, that you crave something more than what you have now, this world kicking you down over and over and over again. I know the feeling. You’ve got nothing and everything to lose. Yet you manage to smile amidst the darkness. You smile in the face of pure chaos.”

“I don’t understand,” you mumble.

“I want what’s best for both of us, doll face. You were right. I do need someone by my side. As I was saying, what I’ve been missing this whole time, was you.”

Your eyes grow wide. “Me?”

He nods. “You stuck with me this long. Even for a paycheck, that’s somethin’ no one else would do. And yet the big Arkham bosses are out there now, laughing at the both of us. Ain’t that unfair?”

“Yes.”

“Doll, stick by my side, and we’ll let them all know just how corrupt they truly are.”

Your arms break out in goosebumps. Every word the Joker utters is dripping with venom, an edge to each syllable. You’ve tried to ignore him, the way he crawls into your rib cage, into your mind, finding your weaknesses, your dark desires and whims you push away. Yet here he is, getting you to reveal them, and trying to get you to go along with him. It’s working. “Let’s show them, then.”

You look down at your fingers, covered in red, and it almost looks like blood.

He grins. “That’s the spirit.” With a curl of his finger, he gestures for you to move closer. You do, and he cranes his neck towards your ear. “If you really wanna help me,” he whispers, his breath hot in your ear, “then tomorrow is the day you get me out of this place.” Every t is pronounced as sharp as a blade. “You’re smart, doll, I know you can think of something.”

Breaking Joker. Out of Arkham. A few weeks ago, you might have grabbed your remote and hit the red button but now? You think you might just take him up on that. You move back to look him in the eye. “You won’t help me think of something?”

“I’m sure you’ve got something in that, ah, pretty mind of yours.”

You huff. “J, I’m serious. This is Arkham. It’s constantly guarded and protected. And I’m just me.”

“Exactly.”

“What?”

“You’re you, sweets. No one’s gonna suspect you.”

Oh fuck. He’s right. No one gave a shit about you. You’d fly right under the radar. That part was easy. But everything else? This wasn’t exactly your forte. You didn’t know what to do. “I’ll try my best,” was all you could offer.

He reaches his hand out, and at first you think he’s trying to grab you, but instead he goes after one of the paint tins. The red paint. Agonizingly slow, he removes the cap, getting his fingers wet with paint. “Doll, you and I are gonna make something special. I always knew you had it in ya. C’mere.” You tilt your face towards him, and Joker smears the red across your lips, a mirror of his own striking smile. “Don’t forget to smile,” he says.

“Never.”

_______________

Later in the night, Joker stares at himself in the reflection of the small, grimy window of his cell door. His face is painted exactly the way he likes it, maybe just a bit different, but he could care less. This, this person he’s looking at, is the person he is, the person you have given back to him. He touches his face and he can still feel your phantom touch, the way you had run your finger over his face, his eyelids, his scars. You hadn’t backed off, or avoided them, you had touched them so softly. Soft. You were soft.

You made Joker feel soft and he hated it.

Yet, he couldn’t fathom getting rid of you. It would be easy, definitely. If things actually went well tomorrow and you managed to get him out of Arkham, he could easily kill you off. No one would look for you. And even if they did, helping him break out of Arkham would mark you a criminal, and Gotham would curse your name forever. But Joker doesn’t want to do that. Even the thought of your death makes him angry. He is used to wanting to hurt people, yet when he comes across you now, he feels… protective. He knows how the world hates him, yet somehow you showed him sympathy. No, even better, you were showing him loyalty by offering to help break him out. And if you really went and did it? God, he almost breaks into chills.

When he looks at you, he notices his body reacting strangely. His heart speeds up, his hands feel sweatier, his mind feels like it’s going to split right in half. This isn’t the kind of insanity Joker usually basks in, this is something worse. He doesn’t want to put a name to it. You were so good, and yet when you let your mask slip, Joker couldn’t help but feel pulled in even more. What lies beneath you is dark and spiteful, and Joker wants to see all of it.

You won’t let him down tomorrow, Joker is sure of it.

A voice on the intercom comes through the crack under the door, crackling through the speakers placed along the hall outside. “Shutting lights off. Everybody get to bed.”

Joker grunts, moving to plant himself down on his metal “bed”. He’s not going to sleep though, how could he? Chaos was coming, and you were bringing it straight towards him.

________________________________________________

When you get home, you stumble into the bathroom, quickly turning on the sink faucet and drenching your face in water. You let the ice cold water drip down your face, crying out as you try and get a grip on things. Your fingers are still covered in Joker’s face paint, the water hardly washing any of it off. It’s like he’s on you forever.

Why, for fucks sake, do you almost want it to never wash off?

You look at yourself in the mirror now, the makeup that Joker spread smeared down your chin. This is you now. Mr. Dale was right, you have changed. But fuck it, it was for the best. This change, this thing radiating beneath your skin, it’s something dangerous yet powerful. It moves you. You’re not crazy, you’re insane.

You can’t tell what this feeling is towards Joker. It almost feels like… love.

Love for the Joker.

The Joker. The Joker. The Joker-

He was right. He was always right. People were going to walk over you all your life. You were tired of it. Nothing was going to change if you didn’t change it first. You couldn’t stand around and watch these people, with their pockets fat and their reputations swell, walk around with such pride when you knew they were all phonies. This city, your city, you’re going to unveil it. No longer will it crush you. You’re going to crush it.

You were going to be Joker’s partner in crime. And you loved it.

Taglist: @lightsabergirl / @knoepfl / @jeffswh0re / @itsmrshamilton / @heath-ledger-jokers-wife / @lolwey / @ilovetoomanymen / @amazingzou/ @ronniesweetkisser / @emberhatesthemoon

lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

#dark knight #dark knight joker #dark knight joker x reader #heath ledger joker #heath ledger joker x reader #joker x reader #ledger joker x reader #dark knight fanfic #dc joker

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asherthehimbo · 2 days ago

Text

Love talk - Song Mingi

prev | M. list | next chapter | [WITH MY BIAS?]

words: 2.3K

notes: warnings, mature language, Mingi going through it, HONGJOONG is going throigh it bro somebody save him

“I'm still not seeing him, what if he's really not here, what if I lost my one chance to be with the love of my life because I was stupid and clumsy and spilled water over a fucking card when I should've put the number in my phone the moment I saw the card. Or what if he is here and he doesn't recognize me because my hair is different what if-” Mingi's panic is stopped by Yunho, “Calm down” it's simple and had it been anybody else those words would not serve to soothe him, but Yunho's been his rock for longer than he could remember and they offer at least a bit of comfort.

Sitting in a Vip box right in front of the stage, Mingi and the rest of his members try and look around for the person Mingi described, it's a break in the concert and the first half had been great, the lead guitarist Hongjoong loves was back and had even angled his guitar in their direction a couple of times, whatever that meant. He was dressed differently from the other members of his band, his whole body covered, almost in a cultish cloak which matches with the vibe of the first few songs, but Mingi couldn't bring himself to focus on that too much.

He was constantly looking back, trying to spot the mess of pink hair between the see of bright pinks and blacks behind him, it was fruitless, he knew the area was too big for him to see [Name] by himself, and his friends had agreed to help during the breaks but they had been invested in the concert whenever the music riff would start. Something about the lead singer's voice seemed almost familiar, calling out to him but he pushed it back, ignored it in favor of looking through the crowds, it may seem disrespectful but he'd apologize after the show, they would understand right?

“I can't just calm down Yunho, I know you guys think it's silly and that I only knew him for a week but it was- It was just so real. It was like he knew me, like I knew him. He held me like I was the one thing he'd been searching for and it couldn't have been just my own mind Yunho, and I hate it. I hate it because the thought of not seeing him again didn't even cross my mind. I've started to forget his voice, do you know how much that breaks me?“ Mingi is almost crying, not caring that if anyone were to look into the box they'd see him.

“Listen, I know we all thought it was silly at first, but we know how much this means to you, I know how much this means to you. We'll find him alright? even if it's not right now, we'll find him, you don't have to worry. Just, just try and enjoy the rest of the concert, try and relax, if you're relaxed your memory might become more clear. Just for a few songs, if you still aren't feeling better you and I can walk out and get some fresh air okay? you said you met him outside last time, we'll look for him then” Yunho hand on Mingi's shoulder grounds him as he tries to blink away the tears, grateful for the dimming of studio lights as the concert will supposedly begin again.

He can hear the band walk back up the stage, the voice of the lead singer humming and a few giggles of the others ringing through the stadium. He can't see them, the lights are far too dark for that. “We've teased you a lot recently haven't we my petals?” The voice of the lead singer speaks for the first time that night, Mingi tilts his head in confusion at the feeling stirring in his chest, but it's blocked out by the screams of ‘yes’ from the crowd, the loudest being Hongjoong beside him.

“hmm, I'm pretty sure they've figured it out, our petals are smart” a female voice speaks from the stage, “yeah!” two other voices agree. “Very true, Soyeon” the crowd goes wild as a name is said, making Mingi remember that until now, it seems, everyone in this band has stayed anonymous. “Well, petals, I'm afraid I can no longer call only you mine.. you see, you've supported us through a lot, helped us in our search for our pink flower” he speaks again, Mingi faintly recalls Hongjoong giving everyone a run down on the bands lore, how the pink carnation is supposed to symbolize the happiest part of their life, their heaven.

“Even gave some of us ours” another voice says, “shut up Beomgyu” a female voice , different from the one identified as Soyeon speaks, the crowd loses it again as another member's name is revealed. “You're just jealous Petals love me more, Ryunjin” Beomgyu spits back, and this time Mingi is prepared for the eruption of screams that don't seem to end. “You two fight like an old married couple” the drummers, Mingi thinks, voice speaks. “SHUT UP CHANGBIN” the two shout in unison. The crowd is lively, all screaming newly learned names of the ones they love, next to Mingi Hongjoong is losing his mind as he buzzes in his seat waiting for his bias, the last name to be revealed.

“If I could continue my earlier sentence” the unnamed male speaks as the two youngest let out tiny huff’s of sorry’s, the crowd going dead silent as his unsaid way of asking for silence reaches them. “Tonight, as you could tell, we are sharing ourselves with you fully, and to do that, I wrote a song, it's quite different from what we usually give you, and for that I'm sorry. But as our story has gone on, and we've seen glimpses of all the incarnations pink flower” he takes a deep breath, “I believe I've found mine.. he's in the crowd tonight, so I hope he knows this songs for him” the last words are a bit shaky, and Mingi silently applauds the man for being brave enough to share this part of himself with his fans.

“Alright guys, don't go easy on him, you gotta tell him if you don't like his simpy song right?” Soyeon asks and the crowd gives a corus of agreement. “Here it is, Love talk, written by [Name] [Last name]” she screams, the crowd screaming with her as the lights turn on and the music starts. The air is sucked out of Mingi's chest, the name hitting him hard, the face he's met with afop the stage, staring down at him the moment the lights turned on, now dressed in much more revealing clothing, body littered with the tattoos Mingi recalls in his dreams? they hit him even harder.

It's not him who starts the song, but he's mouthing something to Mingi before he starts his own part, Mingi can't tell what it is he's saying. He can feel the eyes of his members on him, boring into him as they recognize the name and description, all probably equally as shocked as he is, but he can't tear his eyes away from the man atop the stage. The words he had said previously floating around in his head, the song was written for him, for Mingi.

Falling for a stranger (Yeah), good gracious (Yeah)

I might even fly out to Vegas (Catch a flight)

I'm thinking maybe you'd be down to do it (Yeah)

But you don't know what I'm saying (Saying)

[Name] moves his left hand that's not holding the mic, pointing his wrist in the direction of the crowd as the camera zooms in on what he's showing, a little pink flower, tattooed in the middle of his wrist, it's vine creeping up the palm of his hand and wrapping around his middle finger. He smiles at Mingi hopefully, and Mingi only smiles in turn.

“with MY bias, you fucking slept with MY bias I can't have ONE thing in this group YEARS I spent thirsting for this man and you got to him first!” Hong Jong wails, as he's being comforted by Seonghwa, the members being in a room backstage, they were brought here by the security guards after the concert had ended, being told “The incarnations want to see you.” and no further explanation.

Mingi's stomach is rumbling with nerves, now that he's not looking at [Name], that [Name] isn't looking at him he wonders if the other is mad, he paces back and forth in the room, blocking out Hongjoongs wails and Jongho and Yeosangs giggles. He knows the thought is irrational, the man had just done an identity reveal just so Mingi would recognize him, but there's still a nagging voice at the back of his brain.

“Still can't believe you slept with him, - like I can't believe he's [Name], like damn dude I get why you loved his fingers now.“ Yunho speaks from where he sits and eats some candy, his face between impressed and uninterested. Mingi wants to smother him. “Never really given my fingers much thought, I'm glad flower liked them” a deep voice speaks from the doorway, the now open doorway, the doorway that [Name] and the rest of his band are standing in.

The voices in the back of Mingi's head disappear and his body acts on instinct as he moves to [Name], the taller meeting him midway and their lips entwining in a passionate kiss. Mingi's hands steady themselves on [Name’s] shoulders, fearing his legs might give out beneath him if he doesn't, the guitarist has one hand, his left hand, on Mingi's cheek, the other gripping his hip like a lifeline.

When they break away, eyes locking and laughter bubbling from their throats, Mingi hears a whine behind them. “Goddamnt, now I owe Ryujin 20 bucks. You couldn't have waited 5 minutes?” Beomgyu grumbles as he plops himself on the first open chair he sees. “I'll give you forty if you stop placing bets on me” [Name] says as he spins Mingi around so they're both facing the rest of the people in the room. Mingi's back pressed against his chest so tight he can feel the other's beating heart, his waist encircled by [Name’s] arms as he rested his chin on Mingi's shoulder.

“Deal!” Beomgyu chirps from where he sits, “I swear you're all idiots, introduce yourselves” Soyeon gives her bandmates a pointed look and they all make ‘O’ faces in realization that they have yet to do that. “There's no need, Hongjoong-Hyung raves about-” San’s words are stopped shen Hongjoongs hand loudly slaps his mouth shut, looking at the band in a panic. “what he means to say is we heard on the stage, right?“ Hongjoong directs the last word threateningly at San, who nods his head fearfully with watery eyes. Hongjoong releases his hand from San’s mouth, the younger immediately backing away from Hongjoong and pouting as he looks at Wooyoung who is clearly much more interested in what's going on than San’s pain.

“ah, same here, [Name] won't shut up about you guys he's been a fan since like debut” Ryujins words are met with a loud cackle from Beomgyu about the fact that his friend just got outed, and a grumble from [Name who simply hides his face in Mingi's shoulder as the idol gives him a curious look.

“So I guess we're like… members in law” Changbin tries to joke, earning a loud laugh from Wooyoung, the sound immediately making him brighten up. “I'm gonna take Flower so me and him can talk someplace private” [Name] speaks before directing his attention to Ateez, “really it is nice meeting you all and it would be an honor to talk more, but flower is more important to me” he tells them as he drags Mingi out of the room, pausing for a moment to look back at Hongjoong, “for what it's worth Captain, you were my bias wrecker” he says with a cheeky grin before closing the door, Hongjoong sitting still for a moment before letting out a strangled cry that's muffled by the door.

“flower?“ is the first thing Mingi asks when he and [Name] enter a room alone. [Name] only nods, “mhm, do you not like it?” he looks at Mingi with a hint of nervousness Mingi hasn't seen on him before, it was kind of endearing. “NO! no no I mean Uhm I like it but it's just… I don't know, didn't think you would have remembered me, especially named me after something so important” Mingi mumbles.

“I know it may seem like a shocker but I do actually like you, I mean I didn't exactly learn korean for nothing” [Name] huffs out a puff of laughter, but his words hit Mingi, he learnt a language for Mingi. “I- I never called you” is all Mingi could reply with, [Name] only nods in response, “yeah.. “ he bites the inside of his cheek.

“It's not that I didn't want to- god I wanted to, it's just- I lost your number- well not lost more so as spill water-” Mingi starts to panic but is cut off by the feeling of [Name’s] lips connecting to his own once again. He's silenced, feeling the tallers hand rest on his neck to hold him in place. The kiss is broken as their foreheads are rested against one another. “My Flower, I could honestly care less” [Name] breathes out, “Whatever happened, you still decided to show up, and you have yet to reject me, so I could honestly care less on why you didn't contact me” He removes his head from Mingi's as he looks down at him. “I don't want to think about the year I spent without you when you're in my arms now” he says, and Mingi responds by kissing him again, a smile on his own lips.

Ateez masterlist | navigation

Taglist [30/19][open]: @idkwhatto-namethis @foxilsdenn @cometaveintisiete @poweringthroughthis @astro-doll-the-star @dahbee8 @mikahrh @moonslie04 @boopboopedoop @bee-the-loser @brrrkdslek @amphiroxx @ddeonubaby @ddextrr @conwunder @the-most-things-fan @ficlibrarie @leezanetheofficial @seongsangssbitch

notes: chat this is not proofread and im sick so please lmk if you find any mistakes

#kpop x male reader #ateez mingi #ateez x reader #ateez #ateez au #ateez fluff #LTSM #ateez x male reader #song mingi smau #song mingi x male reader #ateez song mingi #song mingi #song mingi x reader #Spotify

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phyx-m · 3 days ago

Text

Beneath The Silk | True form Sukuna x Reader

🔗 Masterlist

Chapter 20: Still A Monster

Content warning: Angst, light cannibalism.

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

4 Walls Black - Genitorturers

* * * * *

Chapter 19 | Chapter 21

* * * * *

Your whole body stands rooted in place as the King of Curses takes two full strides into the darkened stables. The atmosphere shifts with his arrival, becoming smaller and, damn it, suffocating to the point where you can’t breathe. Your throat tightens further as he levels you with a stare. There may be only a tiny pocket of light in this space, but you can see the flat rage burning in his eyes.

Swallowing, you take a small step back, tucking yourself into the deepening shadows to hide the evidence of your swollen, tender face. Next to you, Uraume drops to one knee, their head bowed, face obscured by their white hair. Behind you, Ayana chuffs anxiously in her stall, restless and eager to be released, to run.

You, too, want to run.

Don’t run.

Sukuna takes another menacing step inside. The other horses begin to whine and sway uneasily, tossing their heads.

Your body starts trembling.

Something feels wrong.

From behind Sukuna’s towering frame, a figure slowly emerges—Ren, her head bowed and hands clasped. Standing beside him, her presence is completely overshadowed. She doesn’t look up at you. She’s afraid.

“I’m going to ask you again,” he says calmly. Your eyes swing from your attendant back to him. You don’t dare look away from the creature who could so easily slice you in two with a mere flick of his fingers. “Where. Have. You. Been?”

There has to be a right answer to his question. Right? But something in the back of your mind screams at you not to give it to him. You’ve been afraid of the King of Curses before—he’s done horrible things to you. But the way he’s looking at you now…

“I-I…” You attempt to speak, but your mouth is too dry. “Y-you gave me a horse. I-I didn’t run away. I’m here. I came bac—”

“Answer the question!” The stables groan as his voice rises.

“H-home, my Lord. I went home.”

There it is, so easily taken.

In the darkness of the structure, all four of his eyes narrow to slits, looking like red slices cut open and oozing.

“Home.” He spits the word as if it were foul and disgusting, top lip curling back into a scowl.

You force yourself to nod.

“Uraume,” he hisses, his eyes twitching to the white-haired monk, who remains still. “Is this true?”

They lift their head, hair pulling aside from their face. They seem calm. How?

“Yes, Master Sukuna.” They dip their head. “It’s true. I escorted my Lady there and back.”

Sukuna’s eyes dart back to you. Silence settles over the space. No one moves, no one breathes. The only sound is the hammering of hooves against the wood, over and over and over and over again.

A heartbeat passes.

Sukuna’s mouth pulls back, teeth bared and flashing in the dark like a crazed animal. He laughs—loud, bitter. Cruel.

Don’t run.

"Of course, you went home!" he sneers, the energy he’s kept at bay slithering out, curling around your neck like a reminder that you are something so easily broken. "What else should I have expected from you?"

Something feels wrong.

I want to run.

You shift uncomfortably, clutching your hands together, the leather gloves making your palms sweat more than usual.

Suddenly, Sukuna grabs Ren by the back of her neck, forcing her forward. Without making a sound, she shuffles to stand before him, her head still tipped toward the floor, not once looking up at you. Your heart pounds harder. With one hand engulfing her neck, he raises his upper right arm.

“Choose,” he says, gesturing magnanimously with his two lower hands.

What?

“P-pardon, my Lord?”

His fingers dart between Uraume and Ren.

“Choose who takes your punishment.”

Your stomach drops, and your pulse shoots into your throat.

The desire you felt just days ago to lay yourself bare to him has vanished. All the vulnerability you showed your sister is gone. He’s nothing more than the man he was before—the same monster you met on that dirt-packed road.

“W-what? No.” Your foot creeps backward, as if your body is trying to flee this nightmare. “I left. I should be the one to take the punish—”

“Stop playing the martyr!” he roars, making you flinch. “Choose! Or while you stand there stalling, I’ll take your fucking mare instead. And any illusion of freedom you thought you had? Gone.”

What the hell is happening?

Last time you were together, the two of you were almost embracing, limbs tangled, feeding each other. Now, there’s only this. What even is this? He’s never used others against you before. The betrayal stings more than you’d like to admit.

“Why are you doing this?” you breathe.

His upper right hand extends, pointing directly at Ayana.

“One…”

Your mare shuffles anxiously in her stall, sensing the rising danger.

“Wait!” You glance between Ren, Uraume, and the demon before you.

“Two…”

Ayana whines from behind, her anxiety escalating.

“Stop this!”

Ren’s shoulders slump.

“Three…” His hand swings back. “Time’s up—”

“Master, please!” Uraume steps forward. Sukuna’s arm stops. The stables fall quiet as their eyes flick toward you in a silent apology. “My Lady… she has already suffered enough. She was—”

“Uraume,” you warn quietly.

“If you’ll take a closer—”

“Don’t—”

“—look at her, you’ll see.”

That same feeling of shame forces its way up your throat. You drop your chin quickly to shield yourself, stepping back deeper into the shadows until your back presses against Ayana’s stall door.

Don’t run.

Heart hammering, head down, you hear his heavy steps move. When they grow quiet, you lift your eyes. The King of Curses stands in the narrow shaft of light filtering into the stables. Ren has since stepped to the side, leaning against a wooden beam for support.

“Come here.” He points with two fingers to the space before him. “Now.”

Your feet refuse to move as if a snare is snapped closed around them, but you finally pull them free and move forward.

The walk feels endless. Your sandals clack against the floor, too loud in the silence, while your heartbeat races. As you get closer, you can see his body taut—muscles tense, muscles straining beneath his garment.

You stop just before the pocket of light, hovering. Then, taking one, two small steps into it, you lift your chin.

He doesn’t look anywhere else but at your face, at the injuries marring it. His upper pair of eyes trace the gash running from your eyebrow to eye. The lower pair drift from your chin to your mouth, noting the smaller scrapes and cuts. Sukuna doesn’t seem to notice the smell of urine lingering on you because of the musky scent of the animals—a small mercy.

He takes it all in, quiet and unnervingly calm.

Until his mouth starts twitching and trembling with what you can only assume is barely concealed anger.

It feels like your wedding day all over again. And though you aren’t broken the way Sayuri once left you, this look feels far worse. It’s clear—you’re his property, and it’s been damaged. That’s all this is.

"Who—" the word hisses through clenched teeth as he fights to get the rest out. "—the fuck did this to you?"

Your mind races. How to answer? What’s the best course of action? If his anger flares and he lashes out at the Kasai clan, who knows what the consequences would be? You might despise Onishi and what he’s done to you, but you’re not ready to put others in the crossfire. Your thoughts swirl faster. Or... what if you let it happen? Let the King of Curses loose, let him tear them all apa—

No.

None of this would have happened if you’d known about those letters from your family. If you’d known Yuna was safe, you would never have left.

You press your lips into a thin line, swallowing the words down.

He cocks his head.

“You would disobey me again, is that it?” he asks, voice smooth and dark.

You don’t look him in the eye.

“I never disobeyed you in the first place, my Lord,” you murmur.

A sound rumbles in Sukuna’s chest.

He grabs your wrist, yanking you toward the stable’s entrance, forcing you to run to keep up with his furious strides. As you pass Ren, your eyes meet; her brows knit tightly, and her gaze drops. That look she gives you, she must have told him you went home. But like the bastard he is, he wanted to hear it come from your mouth. You can’t blame her while he’s in this state.

Dragging you outside, the moonlight casts dusky shades over the shrine, which looms behind him. He lets go of your wrist but steps closer—too close. Your eyes flit nervously, tracing the dark lines of the tattoos on his face.

“I want a name,” Sukuna hisses, dropping his head to your level, eyes crashing into you.

When your gazes lock, he seems to freeze. His nostrils flare, and your stomach pulls tight. In the open air, the scent clinging to you becomes unmistakable.

“What… is…” His head cocks, like an animal, eyes dropping to your legs where your kimono is tucked into your hakama. “Are you… covered in… piss?”

What must he think of you?

Embarrassment colours your cheeks. You turn your face away, not daring to look him in the eye.

“I-I—”

Before you can finish, a hand grabs your kimono, yanking you forward. Two arms tighten around your waist, and suddenly, you’re hoisted over his shoulder, his big palms on you.

“What the hell are you doing!?” You squirm, struggling to pull your hips away from his grip. “Put me down!”

“No,” he rumbles flatly, striding away from the stables toward the shrine’s entrance.

“Lord Sukuna!”

Dangling over his broad shoulder, your hands instinctively grip his lower back, and you lift your head to watch the stone steps and heavy wooden doors pass by. This close, you can smell dry blood on him, along with a hint of smoke from a fire lingering in the fabric of his kosode. Perhaps he just returned—he smells like he’s been travelling and hasn’t washed yet.

Together, you both must stink.

The longest corridor in the shrine narrows in your vision. The few attendants awake hurry out of the way, their eyes snapping downward. Sukuna keeps walking, silent, without putting you down. Familiar turns tell you he’s heading toward your chambers—but when yours passes by, he doesn’t stop. He’s taking you to his.

The door slides open with a loud bang. He turns, your body shifting as he slams it shut.

A few steps inside, he roughly tosses you onto the raised futon, sending you airborne. You yelp and jostle across the expansive sheets before scrambling to sit up and adjust your garments.

The room is softly lit by a charcoal brazier near the center, its warmth reaching you. Signs of Sukuna’s earlier presence are scattered about—a dark haori carelessly tossed on the floor, a ceramic dish with half-eaten flesh, and a cloth smeared with red, possibly dirt.

Your eyes flick back to him as he paces before you. He looks… tired. So human in this moment. Has he been fighting in the north all this time? Can he even get tired?

You watch as he drags a hand violently through his pink hair, once, twice, leaving a few stray strands falling onto his forehead.

Finally, he stops and turns, towering over you. You lean back, shifting your hands into your lap, perched at the edge of the futon.

"Let’s try this again, shall we?" His grin turns manic as he leans down. "I want a name. And you’re going to give it to me."

You swallow.

"Does it even matter?"

Wrong thing to say. His jaw tightens, and the muscles in his neck contract and flex.

"Does it even matter?" he mocks, imitating your voice. "Whoever hurt you scared you enough to piss yourself like a frightened child." He leans back slightly. "So, yes, it matters. I want a fucking name."

Eyes dropping to your hands, your thumb rubs against the other, trying to calm your nerves

You remain silent.

He scoffs.

“Fine. I suppose we’ll play this game a little longer. Why?”

You swallow.

“Why, what?”

“Why did you go home?”

You lift your eyes, attempting to soften your gaze.

“I needed to see my sister,” you say.

Oddly enough, when Ren warned you he would be furious, she wasn’t lying. The left side of his mouth twinges, a crease forming between his mask and eye as it deepens into a harsh line. You’ve never seen him like this before.

Furious.

“Ah, yes, you.” He jabs a finger toward your face. “The ever-dutiful mutt, running home to your charming sister.” He steps back, all four arms folding across his chest. “Because you haven’t heard from your family since the day they abandoned you here. Is that it?”

Mutt.

You have to fight the way your face threatens to fall. He hasn’t called you that in a while. But you show him nothing. He doesn’t deserve to know if it hurts.

“What choice did I have?” you murmur, eyes hitting the tops of your eyelids to meet his looming face. “I thought something had… happened…”

Wait.

You freeze.

“Did Uraume inform you that I’d not heard from my family?”

Sukuna says nothing.

“My correspondence… their letters. I haven’t received any.” Your words spill out like fragments of a realization. You’d asked Uraume for updates throughout the month but never Sukuna.

Why would you ask him about something as trivial as letters from your family? Because he seems to hate your family, your clan, your father.

You raise your chin slightly.

“... it's been you… hasn’t it?”

He stares at you blankly, tapping a finger against his shoulder as if bored.

Then, he smiles at you.

Smiles at you.

Your feet drop to the floor, and slowly, you rise, hands falling into tight fists at your sides.

“You’ve been the one keeping them from me? I’ve been wondering for a month—” You wet your lips. “—how my sister has been, and you’ve been hiding the letters from me?”

His arrogant grin spreads wider, like a dark secret is finally revealed.

“Upset, brat?”

“Why would you do that?” you seethe.

He says nothing.

You take a step forward.

You wonder when this journey through hell will end because all you want is rest. That’s all you want.

Another step.

His teeth flash.

As if to placate him, your mouth tries to remain silent, but it’s useless. He’s threatened Ren and Uraume. He’s kept word from your family all this time. He’s…

“You had no right!” you shout, pushing up onto your toes to try and make yourself taller as you glare into his face. “Those letters—they’re mine!”

He steps closer, his body bending, face coming before yours.

“I had every right!” he snarls.

So close to him, you back up until your legs bump against the futon. His upper right hand shoots out to grab your jaw, dragging you back toward him.

“You belong to me now. Remember? You are my property, my possession! You are mi—”

As if the next thing he was about to say disgusts him, he cuts himself off, his expression twisting into rage. His hand falls away from your face and viciously runs through his hair. When he lowers it, his eyes return to you.

They darken, turning cold, with no warmth.

“Your family…” he mutters, “your entire clan is a sickness… and that includes you.”

Another strike perfectly made.

“What the hell are you even talking about?” Your voice rises.

“You heard me. Every single one of them—your father—” He’s in your face again. “—every Kasai runt pushed from every Kasai bitch is a sickness. But especially…” He pauses as he steps closer. “Especially your fucking sis—”

Crack!

The slap snaps his head to the left, his eyes falling shut—all four of them. You pull your hand, clad in leather, back to your side.

“You don’t know anything about family,” you whisper, rage leaking into your voice.

Crimson eyes flutter open as the King of Curses lifts his chin, turning his burning gaze to look down at you. You don't look away.

“You are alone, Sukuna… nobody wants you.” There’s a waning sensation in your chest. “This entire world hates you."

His tongue peeks out to the corner of his mouth, tender from the strike, but unexpectedly, he remains still, saying nothing.

Only silence lingers, stretching on for too long.

Your heart slams against your chest, afraid he will do something—anything.

But he doesn’t.

He stares at you, and you back at him.

Then you wonder—he's been alone, hasn’t he? Born from nothing, without family.

Right?

His face becomes unreadable, his crimson stare fills with a terrible numbness, and his presence cold. Then, as if everything you just said is funny, a grin spreads across his face—a wide, toothy grin.

Your brow curls inward—uncertainty twisting into you.

“You say this as if I care about a world that means nothing to me. A world that rejects me.” His voice drops, calm and low, and he steps closer. “I don’t need anyone to want me. They will obey. Just like you will.” He steps closer again, the red handprint still burning on his face. He dips his head to yours. “Now, I’ll ask you one last time—who did this to you?”

You just stare at him—confusion thick and dense coursing through you.

But that's fine. If he wants a name, you’ll provide it—at a price.

You incline your chin slightly, attempting to project as much authority as possible.

“I’ll give it to you,” you say, “but I want something in return.”

If your father believes you possess the means to sway the King of Curses to the north, then you’ll use what you have.

Sukuna’s lip pulls back, revealing the tops of his teeth. He turns and lumbers over to the charcoal brazier, picking up a pair of metal tongs to stir and sift the coals, coaxing more heat into the room.

“You think you’re in any position to bargain with me?” he asks over his shoulder, staring into the fiery-orange glow. The blaze dances in the pocket of warmth, casting flickering shadows across his features. “All right then, wife.” He sets the tongs down and turns to you, dragging his gaze away from the flames. “What do you want?”

You clear your throat.

“In a few weeks… you and I will go to the Kasai compound for the harvest festival.”

He crosses his arms over his chest.

“What makes you think I’d step foot in that place?”

Your eyes fall heavy on him.

“You want the name, don’t you? This is the price.”

He scoffs.

“Is that so?”

You nod.

He lets out a wordless grumble before stepping closer, gently cupping your chin with his right hand as his thumb glides softly down your jawline. Your skin tingles where his warm, strong palm envelops you, and everything inside you begins to wither under his touch—his cursed touch. A soft white glow radiates from his fingertips as he lifts them to your temple, dragging them across bruised skin, seeking to heal what has been done to you.

You grit your teeth against the familiar burn of regenerating flesh.

Red eyes soften on your face.

“Fine,” he murmurs, grazing his thumb slowly over areas that were never injured. “I accept.”

Inwardly, you flinch. That was too easy. A thread of guilt weaves its way into your stomach.

You know you’ll need to harden yourself in the coming weeks, aware that you’re likely sending him into some kind of confrontation. Still, you’d do anything to gain that extra month.

When the diffusing glow flickers out, you pull away, creating distance between you.

“Good." You move closer to the door. “I’ll give you the name when we arrive.”

Will you? You’ll need to think on your feet when the time comes.

“Do what you must,” he says, waving you off dismissively.

“Fine.”

Silence.

You stare at each other.

You hate how human he looks in this moment, how his gaze burrows and hooks into you, just as Ren described—watching, waiting.

For what?

He turns away.

“Get the hell out,” he commands quietly, grabbing the ceramic dish of flesh. Stepping over to the low chair tucked in the corner, he slouches into it, spreading his muscular legs wide as he bites into the drooping pulp. “You reek of your own filth. It’s disgusting.”

Asshole.

You turn and head for the door without looking back.

“Don’t worry, my Lord, I was already leaving.”

* * * * *

🔗 Chapter 21

#sukuna x you #sukuna x reader #dark content #heian sukuna #beneath the silk #dark fantasy #jjk fanfic #sukuna smut #true form sukuna #sukuna fanfic

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