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coffee-and-geto · 1 month ago

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DRIVE ME INSANE

“You drive me insane!” you snap, jabbing your finger into his chest. “Yeah, I’d say the feeling’s mutual, sweetheart,” he retorts, raising an eyebrow, his gaze dropping momentarily to the finger poking his chest as though he’s admiring your nerve.

pairing: CEO! satoru gojo! x f!reader

summary: cheating on your husband who couldn’t care less about you, satoru gojo — your fervent lover — has a nasty habit of showing up unannounced, threatening to ruin all the lies you’ve built for your husband so far by leaving all too visible marks after a hot session. however, after a very first argument with him, you’re determined to throw all your anger at him. but neither of you can ignore the tension between the two of you, especially when satoru is ready to take full responsibility.

warnings: +18 MDNI, smut, nsfw, cheating (the husband does it first but according to the timelaps it’s explained all along in this silly fic :p), CEO! gojo, lover! gojo, kinda slight toxic! gojo but he’s just desperately in love, angst, hurt/comfort, angry sex (i tried at least), sex (p in v), rough sex, possessive! gojo, overstimulation, unprotected sex, fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! receiving), he’s rich asf, fanart by @/kiyoro2 on X.

wc: 8,193

a/n: second warning before reading this fic if you didn’t read the warnings: you need to know that the husband in this story cheats on the reader BEFORE her. he’s cold, not loving her anymore and cheating on her BEFORE the actual timelaps but you’ll know it only while reading through, got it?

i don’t like writing about cheaters because they’re horrible but this is just a “revenge” not really said out oud (you have to guess). this is just a warning so some of you won’t catch me with hate/discourse or anything around it because i would have written an “unfair cheater” lol. enjoy reading, tho!

“Hey, darling.”

The sweet melody of Satoru’s voice rings to your ears, sending a crude shiver that runs down your entire spine. Among all of the several times you were alone, with your husband gone to work like a hooked on it, the white-hair man always shows up at your door when you do not expect it.

So, of course, you’re always on the lookout, nervously stealing glances here and there at the door, through the window to check the parking lot of your apartment block, or even your phone if the miracle of him sending you a message occurs. Despite the thousands of times you’ve warned Satoru, the latter doesn’t seem to listen to you.

Your lover goes into your apartment, a classy decoration without any warmth of household — just a simple apartment.

From the cooling fireplace, to the pristine couch and the American kitchen where you are doing the dishes, Satoru always comes to the ‘warmth’ he was craving at your place.

You.

As simple as that.

He’d ignore your groans when his arms find your waist to hug you from behind. And the only sensation of the flat of his torso pressing to your back quiets down every thought, every breath you’d take, every worry and word that would escape the barrier of your lips.

It was just him. Satoru Gojo.

Not your husband. But your lover.

Maybe a word that had a deeper meaning behind any kind of link.

And what hurt the most was the fact that you would crave calling any man that was yours ‘my husband’ in any situation to bring that pride up your chest.

Yet, the last time you’ve pronounced those exact words, was the day you met Satoru.

You were doing the queue for a coffee shop near his headquarters, but how would you know that detail, hm? It was fate, he thought when he approached the queue and ended up behind you as your eyes were glued to the menu card in order that you could choose your drink.

And yet again, he couldn’t help but feel intrigued by you. Your silhouette standing still, vaulted shoulders, a small frown on your lips portraying your hesitation and two beautiful and mesmerizing eyes...

Oh, Lord, that was the only detail from you that this poor man will never forget and will haunt him every single next second.

And, of course, Satoru Gojo isn’t that kind of man who lets fate dictate his life.

He was the only one distracting it. Wanted or not. Period.

“An Americano coffee?” he spoke with his lowest voice to not scare you. He stepped closer to you, his form hovering you as his face lowered to the height of your shoulder. “Thought pretty girls like you always chose espresso.”

Your head jerked up and your eyes met him for the first time.

“W-What…?”

The most unfair, charming smile tugged at Satoru's lips’ corners. “Why don’t you take an espresso? Is it because of the price, darling?” he cooed.

Unsettled by his more-than-strange intrusion, you replied without thinking twice, “Since when, espresso is better than americano?”

And, oh, dear, dear Lord, why were you testing him like this with such an angelic mortal like him? Couldn’t you let him live his life like it was meant to be? Why does this futile and innocent frown have such a ravishing effect on him? Tearing his heart apart, grabbing and stealing his breath to run away with it so he won’t be able to find any air but yours to use to survive in this old world?

“I don’t know. It’s more boring. Not elegant, and not fitting the vibe you give off, darling.” His blue eyes fell down on the ring around your finger, and his mind unconsciously prayed that you weren’t taken.

“It’s my husband’s favorite coffee,” you just responded like an irreversible sentence.

But Satoru didn’t let the situation get him down.

“Oh, so my pretty lady is taken? What a shame.” A little smirk spread his lips, and widened even more when he noticed how low was your affirmation. “I suppose he has bad taste in everything… but for women.”

A furious blush flustered your cheeks. “How dare you—”

“Yes, I dare, darling,” he almost hummed. “You really need someone to show you what is good coffee. Nothing but starting with that. What do you think?” he offers.

The queue moved on, and the chic café provided all the atmosphere of having a nice cup and a nice drink just to chat with anyone on a sidewalk seating area.

But, no, you were newly married. Your husband would be devastated that you’d let yourself be seduced by a complete stranger.

Although not so simple, considering how beautiful he was, with his perfect good looks, no one seemed to see anyone but him. And he couldn’t see anyone but you.

“So what, darling?” he insisted with a gentle tone. “Let me take your order and show you what coffee is.”

He pauses.

“If you may.”

The thought of letting him buy you a cup of coffee had obviously heightened your sense of unease and betrayal. But the memory of your husband leaving early in the morning without hello in your bed, his eternally neutral and unpleasant tone, his female co-workers leeching off him and all the effort you put into making your house feel like home haunts your mind.

With a resigned nod from you, Satoru almost jumped for joy and did a happy dance in front of the whole café.

How long had it been since he’d wanted to act like a child?

Satoru requested a small bottle-green round table on the sidewalk seating area, whose sunshade above unfurled like a fan protecting you from the bright sun of the day.

“By the way, I’m Satoru Gojo,” he introduced himself. He settled into the chair opposite you as the waiter left to take your orders.

You quickly introduced yourself. But the young albino didn’t fail to notice how lovely, humble and charming you were.

The perfect woman for him.

“I’m a CEO,” he added, maybe to impress you.

Surprise streaks your features. “Oh.”

He had expected more of a reaction from you, but you ended up disappointing him.

So he tried to restart the conversation to break the ice that had formed between you and him. He wasn’t one to usually go after people who were already taken. Yet, his instincts told him to stay with you. As if the north and south poles couldn’t help but attract each other, Satoru was slowly but surely drawn to you.

The orders were placed delicately on the table, and your lovely espresso cup, so exquisitely prepared, almost broke your heart at the thought of ruining its beauty by drinking it.

“This café serves the best coffee in town, you know. I come here often enough to say that with confidence, and also to notice that you didn’t know it,” he said, taking a sip from his own cup before propping his elbow on the glass table to rest his chin against his hand. “Admit it, you walked in here by chance.”

You almost choked on your sip of espresso, startled by his perceptiveness.

“It’s written all over your face, darling,” he said with a grin.

Still reserved, a hint of embarrassment flushed your cheeks with a soft blush that Satoru could have died to kiss.

“So?” he changed the subject. “How’s the espresso?”

“Very good,” you mumbled, lifting your gaze to meet his. Then you hesitated to continue with your real thoughts. Would he get bored listening to you like your husband usually did? Would he cut you off to end what he might see as pointless chatter?

“Just very good?” His eternally sincere and attentive smile lingered on his lips. He was definitely ready to hear every word you had to say.

You took a small breath. “Actually, the espresso has a sweet vanilla aroma that gives it a smooth taste on the palate, lingering just enough to make you want more. The foam is also very pleasant because it’s neither thin nor too frothy. The texture is creamy and at the perfect temperature to avoid burning your tongue.” You let out the last breath that the whole monologue had cost you.

“In short, it’s perfect,” you added softly.

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Satoru murmured, his eyes locked on yours as if they would never let go, haunting forever the memory of the moment you two met.

“Glad you like it, by the way.”

For a first meeting, it could have seemed trivial. When it was time for you to leave, Satoru found the courage to ask for your phone number. To your own surprise, you accepted without hesitation. His company was pleasant, after all. He listened to you without ever interrupting, and seemed genuinely interested in you. And as a bonus, he was easy on the eyes.

So, was it really surprising that you looked forward to your next meeting with him?

“It’s not a date,” you reassured yourself in front of your mirror while applying gloss and straightening your clothes to keep them spotless.

The second time you met, it was at the same café.

The same orders.

But with a little more joy.

And with every meeting, there were a little more laughs, more teasing, more good moments, fewer bad memories flying away, and your doubts fading into the tranquility that Satoru Gojo brought you.

He quickly became an excellent friend. As you started opening up more and more to him, he began to allow himself to give you advice, rolling his eyes approvingly during your ranting sessions about your husband, where, despite the pang in his heart, Satoru kept repeating that you deserved better.

And as time went by, your bond with him grew stronger. You didn’t feel so alone anymore. He always found time for you, even when he was busy at the office.

Your husband’s absence quickly became just a minor detail in your life.

Especially when Satoru started showering you with gifts you categorically refused. If it was a dress one time, the next it was a necklace of genuine pearls, or lunch at fancy restaurants you never thought you’d set foot in.

The guilt inevitably crept up on you from every angle.

Whether it was over the fact that Satoru’s devotion to you made you feel illegitimate in receiving so much from someone who wasn’t even your partner. Or your husband.

Was it betrayal?

You weren’t cheating on him.

You were just spending time with someone who made time for you.

How could one equate cheating with this friendship, right?

This question lingered until the day, during a dinner with Satoru, when he had stepped away for a few minutes to settle the bill, a young man approached your table, trying to flirt with you and convince you to end the evening at a nightclub his friend owned, where they’d be delighted to meet you along with the rest of their crew. With all due respect, you refused, despite the young man’s persistence.

And when Satoru returned to the table, he immediately sat beside you, his arm infuriatingly well-placed around your waist to keep you close.

“Can I help you? My wife seems tired; tell me what you need,” Satoru chimed in, his tone icy as he glared at the young man.

“You’re married?” the man choked out, his tone echoing the same shock you felt internally.

“Yes, I’m her husband. Isn’t it obvious?” he confirmed.

Later, in the chilling silence outside the restaurant, Satoru restrained himself from pulling you into a tight hug as the two of you walked down the street. You walked at a more reasonable distance from him, your chin lowered in guilt toward the ground.

The night sky was a deep navy blue that evening. The stars barely sparkled, and only the snow added a touch of brightness to the urban landscape, where the yellow and orange streetlights could never match the glitter in the sky.

“You alright?” Satoru asked softly, stealing a concerned glance at you.

“I’m… fine,” you muttered.

He couldn’t hear any more of that. “Hey, if this is about what I said earlier—”

“Who said it’s about that?” you snapped defensively. Suddenly, it felt like all the perfect moments had turned into nightmares.

“I didn’t mean to make you unco—” he began, but you cut him off again.

“Who said I was uncomfortable?” you bit out, your brows furrowing as if you couldn’t take any more. “It’s not like I feel like a cheater—”

“Don’t call yourself that. It’s him,” Satoru interrupted sharply, immediately grabbing your wrist to hold your hand. “It’s all his fault. So, please, don’t feel—”

“God, I’m a married woman, Satoru, for fuck’s sake!” You tried to pull your hand back, but Satoru held it tighter.

“And a woman who also deserves better than to feel bad for her shitty husband who’s probably cheating on her!” he fired back with the same intensity. “Do you even see what you’re losing with him, at least?”

“Where is this conversation going?” you asked, squinting. “What the fuck do you mean? For weeks now, you’ve been telling me I deserve ‘better’!”

The situation felt so wrong yet so right at the same time. But it was only in Satoru’s eyes, watching you with a worried crease between his brows, that the truth lingered.

Of course, he didn’t want to lose you.

“Because you do,” he mouthed.

“But with who?” you cried out in despair.

“Isn’t that obvious?” he whispered, echoing his earlier words.

Even though the two of you had stopped walking and now faced each other, the wintry wind continued to swirl around you, biting at your cheeks already burned by the cold, screaming the answer behind his words. Snowflakes tangled in your hair, scarf, and coat. On Satoru, it was different — the snowflakes melted into his hair, his nose and cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, and every exhale left a white cloud trailing from his lips.

Only his eyes remained untouched. Fixed on you. Truthful.

“You can— You cannot,” you finally sighed, ignoring how your body felt simultaneously on fire and frozen. You staggered toward a nearby wall. “Take back what you just said, not to me,” you whispered almost pleadingly. You shut your eyes for a moment, as if trying to wake from a nightmare.

Satoru closed the distance between you in a single stride.

He gently took your hand and placed it against his chest. “Yes, you’re right. I cannot. My heart is yours. I cannot deny it. I cannot control it. I cannot help it. Do whatever you want with it. Even broken and unrequited, my heart is yours and only belongs to you.”

His breath brushed your cheek so tenderly it felt unreal — yet so undeniably real.

And this time, from your point of view. No longer his.

The suffocating closeness became unbearable. You were about to break. He needed to step back, to leave, to go.

“I— I…” you stuttered.

Thoughts swirled in your mind, just like the snowflakes around you both. Every thought blurred together, and only one tried to rise above and clear the chaos.

But it was the worst thought of all.

And yet, the only one capable of deciding the next move.

In a spontaneous gesture, you bent your head toward Satoru’s lips, sealing both the kiss and the fate he had always fought against.

It didn’t matter if you both ended up hurt.

No matter what the consequences.

Now was not the time to think about that.

As you tried to pull away from Satoru to catch your breath, he pulled you against him the next second to taste you once more, the heat intensifying even more to the point of melting the snow falling on you. Each kiss exuded forbidden desire and despair.

And even when you two pulled away, you didn’t keep any gap.

Just you and him.

As it was always supposed to be.

To feel.

To live.

Fluttering your eyes open, you come back to reality.

How did you get here?

It's a familiar scenario, or not.

Satoru arriving unannounced, you busy with household chores, your husband away for perhaps the next day.

But a premonition clouds all common sense.

This day is different. You don’t know from where, or who or what, but one thing is sure.

This time spent rambling has made you forget all about the dishes still waiting for you, while a plate and a sponge damp with foam hang from your hands. Another very humdrum day. Grey sky, water-logged clouds ready to pour and burst in a storm that never comes.

Satoru’s arms wrapped as a feather’s touch around you doesn’t feel as good and soothing as before.

“Missed ya,” he mumbles close to your ear. “How are you, darling?”

“You know that he could be here,” you scold in a low voice. “You can’t keep showing up at my door unannounced.” You continue with your dishes without returning any embrace. Nothing seems to fit. Your response is borderline nasty.

“You’re alright?” he asks softly anyway, not detaching himself from you.

His voice resonates like a cave inside you. A cheater who’s also unfairly mean, how can a better description describe you? you think.

You hum.

One of Satoru’s large, rough hands tenderly caresses your waist. “Do you have time for me? If you’re not tired, of course. I can’t help but need to crave your presence.”

Your heart slowly contorts in your chest, hidden beneath the cage of your ribs. “I didn’t mean to be rude, sorry—”

“Don’t apologize, love.” He presses a sluggish kiss on your cheek. “You must be so tired.”

Only the sound of the water rushing down in the sink can be heard in the kitchen. You close the tap and sigh, hands resting on the edge of the sink. “I need to finish the dishes and some chores, maybe you can sit on the couch and rest?” you offer, slightly turning your head around to meet his gaze.

How can a man be so perfect?

“I can help you,” he offers too, then puts a long forefinger on your lips to quiet you. “It wasn’t a question.”

If only this man could be your husband. Life would be easier in his company, wouldn’t it?

About half an hour later, Satoru fully joins you in your cleaning mission, tackling everything from the remaining dishes to the dusting and other tasks that make him scrunch up his nose in mild disdain.

As he wanders into the bedroom you share with your husband, Satoru passes by a photo frame he hasn’t truly noticed before. It’s a simple picture of you, smiling brighter than ever alongside a man who should be him. The man with HIS arm wrapped around your waist. The man with HIS lips pressed against your temple while, in Satoru’s eyes, you radiate as the sole light of his life in your wedding dress.

You pass quietly behind Satoru, a clean cloth in hand.

“Toru?” You rise slightly onto your toes to peek over his shoulder, noticing what has held his gaze for so long, leaving him as still as a statue. “Oh. I was going to clean that.”

Taking the frame into your hands, a pang of guilt twists your heart as Satoru’s blue eyes follow every inch of the photo. His gaze weighs on you, heavy and suffocating with discomfort.

One sweep of the cloth, and the modest frame gleams.

“Why do you keep it?” he asks in a breath.

You look up, your gaze as lost in his as you are. “What do you mean?”

“This picture,” he says, pointing at it with his finger. “Didn’t you say you wanted to throw it away?” His low tone brushes your cheek with a soft rumble, and his features tighten in a small frown of confusion, the weight of which seems to press on your soul.

“I—” You sigh. “My husband put it here. I don’t know why.”

“And you didn’t throw it away.”

You open your mouth to respond but hesitate, unsure of what to say.

“...You know I can make your life easier, don’t you?” Satoru murmurs as he slowly, almost theatrically, lets his arms wrap around you after tossing your cleaning cloth aside.

“I know,” you murmur, as if it’s the most obvious truth. As always, your body melts against his, the way two souls inevitably fuse together.

“Would you leave this life behind and finally settle down with me?” His arms tighten around you, pulling you flush against him as he takes a deep breath into the crook of your neck. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while now.”

The atmosphere in the room thickens suddenly. Guilt surges within you, as it always does. It seems like it can never leave you alone.

Of course, Satoru is hurt—that much is clear.

“I really would, Satoru, but right now, it’s complicated,” you breathe against his collarbone, the corners of your lips tugging downward.

“When will it stop being complicated, then? If not now, when?” His grip on you tightens.

“It’s not that simple.” Familiar terror coils in your stomach now, threatening to drown you. This conversation is heading toward turbulent waters.

He pulls back slightly, just enough to align his face with yours. His eyes search yours for answers. “You know, sometimes I wonder how long I can keep waiting for you to finally decide if I really matter.”

You blink twice, stunned, before resting your hands on his shoulders. “Hey. What do you mean by that? You matter to me—you know that, don’t you?” Your brows furrow gently, your expression softening despite the rising tension.

“I don’t want to hide anymore. And I don’t want to see you stressed about hiding either,” he whispers in a gruff tone. His expression mirrors your own: lips slightly pursed, brows furrowed, and eyes filled with a mixture of exhaustion and worry.

“I’m… sorry,” you murmur, the only words you can manage. They are genuine. They are truthful. Just like Satoru always is with you—never a lie.

Even when he leans down to kiss you slowly, you can feel his emotions pouring into it.

Hurt. Today, you ponder, returning the movement of his lips as your eyes flutter shut.

Quickly, the pressure of his lips grows more intense. Each time your mouths part, Satoru makes sure they reunite as swiftly as they separate. Breath soon becomes scarce, and things take a turn when his hands grip your hips so firmly you fear marks might be left behind. You try to pull away quickly.

“Satoru, wait— I need to be careful this time, you know,” you whisper softly against his fervent lips. “It’s been a while now that he’s started wondering why I don’t want to have sex with him.”

“You always come up with an excuse, don’t you? A few marks won’t mean anything,” he mutters, eyes closed, as though the fire within him burns hotter than ever for you.

“He’ll see them. I just want you to be careful,” you insist. But your attempt is futile, as his kisses grow more passionate. Each one is placed meticulously on the sensitive spots of your body while he gently guides you toward the bed, lowering you onto it.

“I want to please you so badly,” Satoru confesses, his vulnerable gaze meeting your half-lidded eyes as he hovers above you. His eyes brim with an intensity that makes your heart ache.

“Let me take care of you.”

Your expression softens immediately, the growing heat between your thighs matching the fire in your chest. “I want it too, baby. But are you sure you want to do this?”

He nods firmly. “I’m sure. And you?”

“I am.”

In the moments that follow, you no longer plead for him to avoid leaving marks. Deep down, you doubt he’ll listen to you on that.

Especially when his lips press against your neck, your collarbone, the shell of your ears, and the valley of your breasts. His mouth kisses, sucks, marks, nibbles, and even gently bites at your skin—all to draw whimpers, moans, and sighs of pleasure from your lips. The same lips he endlessly worships, just as he does every inch of you.

~~~~

Fresh out of the shower, alone but with your phone, you receive a message that immediately catches your attention as you sit cautiously against the edge of your bathtub.

I might be a little late tonight. Have dinner without me.

Your heart immediately falls into the pit of your stomach.

Is this for your co-worker again? Can’t she finish her work on her own like everyone else?

A minute later, a message appears:

It’s normal, I’m her superior.

At the same time, your eyelids contract around your eyeballs. You feel a rush of heat, and adrenalin tingles your insides.

You know I don’t like her. And yet you continue to spend more time with her than with me. Do you think that's normal?

Why do you always have to get mad? Just admit that you’re jealous.

And the last word is like a slap in the face.

This is how you started.

Part of you knew it all along. But another part was in denial. It was shortly before Satoru became your lover that your husband started seeing a female colleague far too often, making eyes at her while you stood there like an idiot, watching them exchange glances where your voice would carry the same weight as the silence of their own eye contact: nothing.

Satoru had warned you.

He tried to prevent your heart from breaking as much as possible.

And this is the result when denial wins out over reason:

...You like to call me ‘jealous’ these days, tell me?

And the irony reeks in your message.

Of course, he started calling you ever since that infamous colleague showed up.

It’s as if he’s implying every time that you’d be envious of something you don’t have. So, it’s easy to figure out now, isn’t it? Why would he even talk about jealousy otherwise?

And why does he just leave your message on ‘read’?

~~~~

“I told you to be careful.”

“You always know how to escape him.”

“I’m running out of excuses.”

“You’re smart. You’ll fix it. As you fix everything.”

And who to fix me?

Sitting in front of your vanity, you swallow, feeling sick to your stomach as the purple and blue marks Satoru has left on your body from his hickeys don’t disappear from your view even as you discreetly pinch your arm to check you're in a nightmare.

Unfortunately no.

After pressing your anxiety-stricken face into your trembling hands, you lift your head to meet your reflection once more. In the corner of the mirror, Satoru’s silhouette lies casually, a smug, teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Your shaky fingers grab hold of your cheap foundation, the cap refusing to budge under the weakness of your frantic movements. Every second wasted only fuels the growing panic — your husband could walk in at any moment.

The beauty blender, however, seems just as uncooperative. Each attempt leaves you looking more like a clown. No coverage.

Only regrets. Regrets you can no longer conceal, no matter how much you try.

A heavy, trembling sigh escapes you despite your best efforts to stay calm. From behind, Satoru lets out a distinct chuckle, rich with amusement at your growing frustration.

He’s moved closer now, standing right behind you, his gaze almost entertained as he watches you struggle to mask the marks with concealer this time. But no layer of makeup can save you. None is thick enough or looks natural enough to hide what you’ve done.

“Why are you even trying? It’s not going to work,” Satoru whispers close to your ear. “Why not just give up and tell him the truth?”

“Satoru, get out.”

“Make me.” His tone is dripping with that insufferable grin.

You clench your fists, fighting the urge to smash it right off his face. Your heart hammers in your chest like cannonballs, threatening to break free from your compressed rib cage.

Everything can’t fall apart this quickly, can it?

Not after all the effort you’ve put in.

“You look like a clown, by the way,” he quips, the bluntness of his words scratching your heart. You let out an involuntary, quiet, “Ouch.”

“Did you just come here to use me as your personal slut? To call me a clown? If I knew, I wouldn’t have let you in at all,” you spit as you turn your head, locking your glare onto his.

Satoru’s expression softens at the sight of your deepening frown. “I didn’t come for that. And you’re not a slut. Why are you so mad?” He cautiously places his hands on the backrest of your chair, his movements calculated.

You scoff bitterly. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“You’re still mad about the marks? It’s just a few bites and hickeys—it’s not that big a deal,” he says, though his face mirrors yours: tense, confused, and searching for answers.

He’s never been like this.

“If you’re hurt, then I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I just want you to stop stressing over some bites. I’ve always done this. I haven’t changed, you know.”

You turn completely in your chair to face him, blood rushing in your temples. “Tell me this is a joke. Or a prank.”

“I said I’m—”

“Why didn’t you listen to me about the marks? About the fact that I don’t have any excuses left? He’s going to find out now. And instead of helping me, you’re mocking me because I look like shit with this?” you shout, pointing at the streaky, cakey makeup smeared over your collarbone.

Is this what a couple looks like? Fighting to hurt each other as much as possible?

Satoru can see how deeply his behavior wounds you. The way you swallow carefully, trying to keep your emotions at bay. The way your eyes are beginning to redden, signaling the impending arrival of tears.

Lowering his voice, he speaks, hoping against hope that you’ll break down and let him handle everything. Let him erase this life with your husband and give you a better one. He knows you can keep living under a mountain of lies, but he’s suffocating.

“Okay, I’m really sorry if I hurt you,” he murmurs.

“If you were that sorry, you wouldn’t lie about using me whenever you please. You wouldn’t just act how you want without asking me what I truly want or need. Why? Because you’re selfish, Gojo,” you snap, your voice cracking slightly. You rise abruptly from the chair, intent on leaving the room before you explode.

He immediately grabs your wrist, pulling you into him, and tilts your chin up to meet his eyes. The panic in his movements betrays him—he’s afraid you’ll say something that will tear him apart.

“Don’t—Don’t call me that. Sweetheart—”

“You know what? Just tell me I’m your slut. Because that’s clearly what I’m meant to be for you,” you cut him off, tears pooling in your eyes and threatening to fall. You yank your wrist out of his grip with a sharp movement.

His hands move to cup your face, desperation bleeding through his trembling fingers, even as he tries to conceal it.

“Okay, I messed up. But please, don’t degrade yourself. You’re not my slut. You’re the only person I love and care about. I—” He exhales shakily, his jaw tightening and relaxing in quick succession. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just… I’m so damn jealous. I get so jealous when I think about him… with you. I can’t stand it anymore.”

“Is that all this is? Jealousy? What’s the fucking point of it?” you retort, shoving his hands and arms away with enough force to make your blood boil. Then, in a blind fury, you hurl the concealer bottle across the room, the sound of it hitting the wall echoing like a final, deafening blow.

Satoru flinches slightly at the sound of the concealer bottle hitting the floor. He knows you’re holding back, teetering on the edge of exploding. “It’s not just jealousy,” he admits softly. “It’s fear, anger... and love, I guess.” He runs a tired hand through his snowy hair, sighing deeply. “And knowing I can’t have you the way I want to… that drives me insane.”

A vein pulses visibly in your temple, your frustration bubbling over. “You drive me insane!” you snap, jabbing your finger into his chest.

For a brief moment, Satoru’s lips almost curl into a smirk, but he stops himself when he sees the fire blazing in your eyes. He knows you’re serious, that this isn’t the time for his antics. Yet he can’t help but find you captivating like this—unapologetically yourself.

“Yeah, I’d say the feeling’s mutual, sweetheart,” he retorts, raising an eyebrow, his gaze dropping momentarily to the finger poking his chest as though he’s admiring your nerve.

The silence that follows is suffocating. The only sounds are your heated, shallow breaths, echoing in the small space between you.

You take several slow, deliberate steps back, your eyes fixed on his ocean-blue gaze. You catch the flicker of a moment—a split second where his eyes dart to your lips.

The tension between you is almost unbearable. The faint brush of his hips against yours as he steps closer sends a ripple of unease and anticipation through you. Your breaths mingle in the narrowing space. You both know exactly what’s happening, yet neither of you moves to break it.

“I hate you, you know that?” you whisper, pouring all the bitterness and hurt from your chest into the words.

Satoru raises an eyebrow, his face a mere breath away from yours. His broad, powerful form looms over you, trapping you against the wall without lifting a single hand. The tension radiating from him is magnetic, suffocating.

“That’s a lie, and we both know it,” he says, his voice soft and calm, but laced with that maddening confidence.

His heart pounds wildly in his chest, the light graze of your body against his and the fiery defiance in your darkened eyes making him dangerously close to losing control. He wants to kiss you—devour you—so badly it hurts. But he knows he’s already crossed lines, already messed up.

He clenches his fists, willing himself to stay composed. He would never take advantage of you like this. He’d rather let you hurt him, use him, break him into pieces.

Oh, screw it.

“Sweetheart,” he mouths, barely audible. His lips form the words so softly that you have to read them. His intense eyes stay locked on yours, unwavering. “What are you thinking right now?”

“This isn’t the time for your stupid jokes—”

He silences you with a single, long finger placed gently on your lips. “Answer the question, love.” His towering frame looms closer, his voice a deep rumble, and the tension only thickens.

You take a shaky breath. “Y-Yell at you, hit you, throw everything I have at you to finally make your goddamn mouth shut for good,” you hiss, your anger slipping through the cracks in your voice.

“Do it, then. I’m the one who’s wrong.”

Your lips part, and your eyes widen in surprise.

Satoru grabs your trembling hand and firmly places it against his chest, right over his racing heart. His voice softens. “Go on. Yell at me. Hit me. Use me however you need to.”

His pulse mirrors yours, beating in sync, loud and unruly.

Your gaze catches the subtle flicker of his eyes darting to your lips again, the ever-so-slight sway of his body bringing him closer.

When you lift your hand, Satoru doesn’t flinch. He braces himself, ready to take whatever you’re about to give him.

But instead of striking him, your hand fists the collar of his shirt. With one hard tug, you pull him down, crashing his mouth onto yours in a desperate, fiery kiss as though it’s your last breath.

Satoru responds immediately, kissing you back with the same raw intensity. His large hands snake around your waist, pulling you flush against him. His lips, teeth, and tongue all move in a fervent, chaotic dance with yours, each touch more intoxicating than the last.

When he finally pulls back, his breath is ragged, his lips still brushing against yours. He doesn’t let you go, his arms holding you close as if letting you go would shatter him.

“Sweetheart,” he rasps, his voice low and rough, chest heaving against yours. His hand trails to your neck, then your jaw, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “What are you thinking now?”

His warm, uneven breaths ghost over your lips, and you fight the overwhelming urge to kiss him again. Your anger hasn’t fully subsided, still simmering beneath the surface.

“You. You’re haunting me. Sometimes so much that I can’t think of anything else,” you admit, your voice trembling with emotion.

His eyes burn brighter, the ardor in them impossible to miss. “God, sweetheart…” he murmurs, pressing soft, fluttering kisses along your neck, his lips scorching your sensitive skin. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted this. Wanted you. Only you. No more lies, no more heartbreak.”

Each kiss he plants on your skin draws breathy, unsteady sighs from your lips. “Y-You’re selfish…” you manage to say between ragged breaths, your nails digging into the firm muscles of his biceps. “So fucking selfish…”

“If being this desperate for you, for your love, is selfish, then I’m on my knees, my love,” he replies, his voice like velvet. He kisses the marks on your skin, the ones you tried to cover, with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “I’m all yours. Completely yours.”

He slides the strap of your tank top down, revealing more of the skin he adores. His lips graze it gently as he whispers, “I didn’t mean a single word about you looking like a clown. I just want you to be happy… with someone who loves you and doesn’t cheat on you.”

His hands cup your face delicately, tilting it up so your eyes meet his. His voice drops to a whisper, raw and sincere. “I’m deeply sorry, sweetheart.”

The genuine vulnerability in his gaze hits you hard.

You punch his chest — not out of anger, but because you don’t know what else to do with the emotions clawing at your chest. “I hate you, remember?”

A smile spreads across Satoru’s face, soft and warm, despite the tension in the room. “As much as I’m obsessed with you.”

Your free hand tangles itself in his silky white hair, tugging lightly as your fingers weave through the strands. With just enough force, you pull him down once again, capturing his lips in a searing, passionate kiss that holds every ounce of anger, frustration, and longing you feel for him.

As surprising as it may seem, Satoru lets a smile stretch against your lips — pressed together in a sloppy, wet kiss that blends tongues, lips, and teeth. Your chest, magnetized to his, feels the pounding of his heart, each beat drumming against you like a bass drum.

Your teeth part, biting his lower lip cruelly, hard enough for a faint taste of blood to seep into your mouth. Yet, he doesn’t seem fazed by it. In fact, he lets himself get intoxicated by your steamy breath, swallowing every gasp of air you exhale as if it’s his only source of oxygen.

With a natural ease, one of Satoru’s hands grabs yours and pins them above your head, pressing them against the wall as his pelvis grinds into yours. You feel the growing bulge you’ve provoked pressing against you.

“See what you do to me?” he breathes in your ear, breaking the kiss sloppily.

“And you’ll lose it completely when I fuck you until I’m the only one you’re thinking of,” you snap back, wrapping one leg around his hip before climbing fully onto him. With both legs now locked around his waist, your back is pinned to the wall, and your newly freed hands are poised to ravage your lover.

Blood rushes through your temples, creating a buzz in your ears. Your flushed ears mirror the crimson tips of Satoru’s. Supporting you with one arm, he uses the other to trace a finger across your lips, smearing the remnants of his blood there.

“Can’t wait to think even more of you — even though you already fill all my dreams and nightmares,” he murmurs with a sly grin. Then, both hands slide to your thighs, gripping them as he carries you to the bed—the same bed where you had your last steamy session with him.

Kneeling at the foot of the bed, Satoru settles between your legs while you lay back comfortably, fully aware he plans to take care of you before you ruin him. With practiced ease, his rough but tender hands remove your pajama shorts and panties, discarding them to the floor with a soft rustle. Your skin is adorned with earlier marks—purplish bruises, handprints, and hickeys — all of which tell a story (a decidedly sexy one, at that).

Just the sight of your spread legs, offering him an unobstructed view of your glistening, swollen folds — still slick from earlier—ignites a fiery tremor in his core. He’s practically salivating at the sight but regains focus when your heel presses sharply against his shoulder, a silent demand for urgency.

“Don’t make me wait,” you mouth, locking your gaze with his as his mouth inches dangerously close to your core.

Impatience mingles with the tension crackling between you. The moment his lips close around your clit, a hiss escapes your mouth.

Your fingers thread through his snow-white hair as though it’s the only lifeline keeping you from falling into the abyss. His warm, skilled tongue laps at your folds with slow, ravenous intensity. Every stroke of his tongue sends jolts of pleasure surging through you, spurring him to drink you in until his thirst is quenched.

“Satoru, f-fast—ah,” you stammer when his tongue flicks your now puffy, sensitive clit with pinpoint precision.

Your eyes roll back, your breath quickens, and your body trembles with each wave of pleasure. Your hands tug incessantly at his hair, driving him absolutely wild.

“Faster?” He looks up at you, his mouth still latched onto your center. “Is that what you—lick—want? Keep ripping my hair out, then.”

And that’s exactly what he makes you do. Your hips buck involuntarily toward his face, and he grunts in approval, gripping your hips with his large hands. Then, he lifts your legs over his arms and shoulders, perfectly positioning himself to devour you even more deeply.

Determined to make you cum as quickly as possible, the tip of his tongue teases your dripping, needy entrance. He feels your walls fluttering, your core pulsing and throbbing, empty and desperate.

The idea of filling you crosses his mind.

“Poor thing needs to be filled, huh?” he chuckles darkly, his voice thick and gravelly.

When he slides a long finger into you — slowly, carefully — the way your velvety walls clench tightly around him nearly makes him lose control on the spot. You grip his digit so tightly, drawing him deeper, that every movement inside you elicits louder, breathier curses laced with frustration.

“Don’t try to mock me, you bast— ah!” you moan, throwing your head back on the mattress the second after the pad of his forefinger reached your cervix — a spot that you can never reach yourself and even your husband. “Oh my God, I hate you so much…”

“You know what I love the most when we’re doing it?” Satoru whispers with a smirk, bringing his damp lips back to your clit to suck your bud at the same time as he’s fingering you. “When you lose all—kiss—your—lick—control—suck—only from my touch, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he purrs against your core, his finger curling up right in your sweet spot. “Say you hate me baby, I’m just waiting for you to be ready and take care of me.”

“I—you buck your hips harder—hate you,” you groan louder and firmer than earlier and clench around him right before cumming hard, hips bucking up against him and arching your back with no control over it.

Your vision blurs and star-like spots pop on your darkening vision. The intensity of your orgasm crashes over you so hard that for a few seconds, you’re losing almost all your senses — hearing, sight and touch — because of your mind going dizzy.

When the sensation wears off, a quick glance to the side reveals an already undressed Satoru, his impatient length just waiting for your attention — already twitching and hard like rock for you.

With a wry smile plastered to his lips, he reaches over you to grab your hips and gently lift you up and switch places — him lying on his back and you sitting so sensuously on top of him with your thighs delicately wrapped around his hips. He can't resist submitting to you completely.

Your still pulsing core rests straight on his cock, like you are riding him for real — or not yet.

Your senses restored, you don’t wait long before raising your hips, Satoru’s hands still holding them, and taking in his drooling length of precum with one hand. As you lower your hips, the fat tip of Satoru's dick pushes forward your hole and gets trapped in your walls glistening with your juices.

You both moan at the same time, head throwing back and mouth open ajar from the strong pleasure. Each inch that was moving further more into your cunt until the mushroom tip kisses your cervix was already being milked because your walls are so fucking sensitive that it’s making Satoru’s eyes roll back and babble nonsense.

“Sweet— Sweetheart, don’t squeeze y-yet, I need time to—” But you cut him off with your forefinger pressed against his handsome lips.

“Nuh-uh.” You lean in with a mischievous smile plastered on your face, eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of being on top of him. “You’re going to be a good boy and take my pussy, understood?” And you punctuate your warning with a sharp bounce of your hips that makes him moan with pleasure then nod hurriedly.

“Mhh—hmph!”

So you start moving your hips up and down with purposeful slowness.

Your hand wraps around his throat and squeezes gently. Your hips bounce harder each time, and you ignore Satoru’s uncontrolled moans, which, despite his clenched jaw, can't help letting out moans and whimpers of pleasure.

“Who’s a good boy, tell me?” you ask, thrusting down your hips along his cock harder once more.

“N-Not gonna say it, sweetie,” Satoru chokes out between breathless hiccups because your hand squeezes his throat harder. “You can bet it— God…” He can feel your walls tightening around him, your core pulsing and his length throbbing inside you and at the verge of spilling out all the cum his sensitive balls were holding back. His hands grip your hips with more force that it’ll leave marks but you both don’t care anymore.

It’s just you and him having sex to see who will break first.

Your heavy, noisy breaths — not to mention the wet sounds of your skin slapping against each other — fill the room. Hot blood courses through both your veins, but nothing can stop your hips from slamming mercilessly into Satoru, tightening every time you’re bouncing on him.

Even though you two are at the verge of reaching orgasm, you wanted to have your way with him this time.

“I hate you, Satoru Gojo,” you groan, leaning your chest against his before moving faster as your breath. His arms wrap around your back to get you close and then he can start matching your movements.

He presses his lips on your ear and whispers breathlessly, “I’m your, utterly yours,” right before cumming at the same time as your, his semen filling immediately your cunt as you clench around him and let out a similar pathetic whimper like him.

Toes curled up and eyelids shutting down, you both hug each other until the orgasm goes away. Not before a good one minute. Silence fills the room before your brain melts away to focus on the still rapid beating of your heart against Satoru’s chest.

“After this, I’ll help you pack your important things and we go home. Our true home, okay?” he murmurs against your ear. “I’ll give you the life you want and deserve, sweetheart. No need to think about anything or anyone else.” And he concludes with a loving kiss on your temple as you nod, resting your cheek on his collarbone.

His big hand runs through your tousled hair before continuing to tenderly kiss your burning faces.

“I hate you,” you mumble, your mind growing heavy for a sleep.

“I love you too.”

a/n: it's been a while that i didn’t write a long one-shot like this one but it’s relaxing in a way lol. a big thank you for @/lymsfm for helping me through this hell, i genuinely don’t know what i would do without you and sorry for all my rants and your patience by listening to me getting crazy for literally everything 😭. so on this, i hope you guys enjoyed this fic and see you soon! <3

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422

@drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t @wawuwe @catrizzz @sanemistar

@monokaix @moonlitwitchdaisy

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2hightocare · 10 months ago

Text

DOWN BAD! 03

Synopsis: Despite undeniable chemistry, your guys’ relationship remains undefined, caught between playful teasing to deeper, unspoken longing.

Pairings: bad boy! jungkook x fem! reader

Genres: college au. slowburn!

Warnings: drugs. mention of abuse, abusive household, fighting, screaming, crying, reader is down bad.. unprotected sex, reader is a virgin, making out, throwing up, fluff if you kinda squint, love confession, angst, banter between them both, cussing, Jungkook sucks at showing his feelings, complicated relationship, flashbacks.

a/n: hi.. sorry this took longer to put out but finals week is here— but here🥳 i recommend reading the first parts before this for it to make more sense k bye bye🤍

01 02 playlist board

The aching feeling in your chest didn’t disappear; it only increased the more you cried. Your palm clawed your chest, soothing over your clothes as if it would help lessen the pain. Your heart felt like it was getting repeatedly run over by a train. Each time you would gasp for air, another heartbreaking sob came flowing out of your mouth. It was crazy how down bad you are over this boy.

Seeing the person you love the most lose themselves to drugs was the most heart-wrenching pain you have ever experienced. The worst thing was you were losing yourself over him.

“I want a big house, with all that white picket fence shit,” you say, your hands playing with his hair as he melts into your touch.

“Not happening, baby,” he chuckles, his hand on your waist squeezing. “And I want a ring the size of my fist,” you ignore him, extending a hand out, imagining how a ring would look on your ring finger. “We’re not getting married or getting a house,” he rasps out, a hint of amusement displayed on his face matching yours.

“I think we should get a dog as well, don’t you think?” You continue, making him throw his head back with a laugh. “There would be no dog, and house, baby. Because I will be in jail after trying to rob a bank to pay for your big-ass ring,” Jungkook states, tilting his head to the side to drop a kiss on your cheek, the gesture sending your heartbeat skyrocketing in your chest.

“So you do want to get married!?” You jest happily, tugging on his hair playfully, making him let out a low groan before shaking his head, laughing. His laugh was one of your favorite sounds in the world.

The memory was like a punch into your gut, over and over again without stopping. Him leaving you on the floor of your room crying keeps replaying in your mind. The thought of him actually leaving never crossed your mind until now. He always comes back, you thought to yourself as you pick yourself up from the ground. Your knees weaken as another cry rakes through your body as you drop onto your bed face down.

As much as you wanted to run after him, you knew better not to. Your self-respect was hanging by a thread, and you were scared of what you would do if you see him at this very moment. The thought of you on your knees begging him to change burned in your mind.

You knew love shouldn’t be this hard, but that didn’t stop your mind from trying to convince you otherwise. Memories of him started circulating around your head, sending a strong shot of pain to spread through your body. You try your best to control your sobs, but it is almost useless as sixteen-year-old Jungkook appears in your mind.

“Hi,” you quip, skipping towards him.

“Hi,” he says, the edge of his mouth lifting into a smirk. “Finally, I see you again. You aren't in my homeroom.” You pout, noticing how his eyes go from your eyes to your lips to your body. “That's good, no? I wouldn't want to be a distraction.” He flirts almost nonchalantly, which sends a swarm of butterflies to flap around your stomach. You bite your lip before crossing your legs.

“Do you always flirt with every woman that comes up to you?” You tilt your head to the side, letting your hair fall beautifully over your shoulders, making Jungkook admire.

“Nah, only with cute girls I met on the first day of school in the front office after she got in a fight with someone for ripping holes in her tights,” Jungkook shrugs. You smile as you look him up and down. His hair is messy but not so messy that it looked like he got in a fight. His uniform fitted his body perfectly, making you jealous that girls got to look at him. His tie was tied neatly around his neck—but your mind was playing tricks with you as you imagined him using his tie in other ways that weren't exactly appropriate, but that's what reading Wattpad did to a girl.

“Is that so?” you chuckle as you watch him nod.

“What's your type?” he asks, catching you off guard. Your hands play with the hem of your skirt. “Dimples, brown eyes...” You tap your chin as you playfully look up as if you were thinking. “I like them tall as well. How tall are you?” you ask him, pointing at him, waiting for his reply. “Five ten,” he replies casually, amusement clear in his eyes.

“Yeah, I like them five ten.”

You felt as if you had a ball stuck in your throat. The more you tried to calm down, another batch of fresh tears pooled down your eyes. Your eyes were bloodshot, tears mixed with your mascara leaving streaks of black all over your cheeks. Before you knew it, you fell asleep with a broken heart.

Jungkook's hand shakes as he lights up the cigarette between his lips, his body craving the drugs. Instead of running to his dealer's house, he imagines your distraught face. He takes a large puff from the stick, letting it fill his lungs, but it's not enough. His tattooed hand tugs on his hair-body shaking, which he would like to think is from the cold, trying to ignore the fact he's going through withdrawals.

He didn't dare go home; he couldn't face his mom. He knew he would lose his mind if he saw another bruise decorating her skin. Another chill ran down his spine as he exhaled. His muscles ached, and sweat started to form on his forehead. The feeling of wanting to throw up was almost unbearable. Before he knew it, he was puking over a bush. He couldn't catch his breath before another roar of vomit came rushing out of him.

"It's fine," Jungkook repeated under his breath. Before he knew it, his feet moved towards the only person who could help him.

"You look like shit, buddy," Yoongi chuckles. "The regular?" He raised an eyebrow, and Jungkook nodded eagerly, his hands shaking as he watched Yoongi pull out a small bag of white circular pills-oxycodone.

"Here." Yoongi shoved the bag into Jungkook's hand, harshly taking the dollar bills from him and counting them.

"Thanks," Jungkook nodded, his feet moving to the door before stopping abruptly.

"That pretty girl that's always running behind you, that's your girl?" Yoongi says, licking a piece of paper with his tongue before rolling it up into a perfect small joint. Jungkook's body stiffened; he didn't like the fact that Yoongi knew who you were and that he mentioned you as pretty sent a chill down his body.

"Nah, she's just someone I know from school," Jungkook says, his voice stoical, showing zero emotion as he lies through his teeth. "Why?" Jungkook added a couple of seconds later. A small smirk appeared on Yoongi's face.

"She came looking for me," Yoongi starts, placing the rolled-up paper between his lips while his other hand uses a lighter to light it up. He blows a couple of times before he takes a hit, letting it fill his airways.

"She told me she'd give me a shit ton of money if I stop selling to you." Yoongi chuckles the words out, making Jungkook's throat close up and his lungs stop working.

"She also told me to go 'fuck myself," Yoongi mocks you in a high-pitched voice before bursting into laughter. "She's fucking bad, though. She had this tiny ass skirt-and her tits, man-" Yoongi whistles lowly.

Before Jungkook knew it, he was striding towards Yoongi, yanking the joint out of his mouth and throwing it somewhere around the room. Jungkook's hands gripped both sides of Yoongi's shirt, pulling him upwards from the couch.

"Don't. Fucking. Talk. About. Her," Jungkook seethes, his jaw clenched as Yoongi lets out a surprised gasp.

"Don't even fucking look at her." Jungkook shakes Yoongi. "The fuck is wrong with you?" Yoongi pushes Jungkook off. The smirk he always had plastered on his face is long gone, replaced by a shocked expression.

"Listen here, whatever the fuck I got to do with you has nothing to do with her. I don't give a single fuck if she came up to you. Next time you ever see her, don't even glance her way, don't even breathe near her. Because I promise you l will fucking kill you. I'm not scared of jail." Jungkook growls before pushing Yoongi back onto the couch.

Before he could reply, Jungkook strode for the door and slammed it shut.

Jungkook's heart rapidly beats in his chest. The adrenaline and anger fueling his body has him cursing under his breath. As much as Jungkook wanted to punch Yoongi straight in the jaw, he knew things wouldn't end well. So instead, he walked straight to the house where he knew was the last place he should go.

It was almost five in the morning when a small sound woke you from your sleep. Your head pounded, and your body and heart felt numb. You rubbed your eyes tiredly, blinking fast as you caught a shadow outside your window. Immediately, you shot up from your bed.

Your heart started again as you rushed to open the window. With a small gasp, you pulled the boy inside your room.

“You’re here! Are you okay?” You took hold of his face, checking him frantically. “Look at me.” You grabbed his face and made him look at you. His eyes bored into yours—the small glittering light in his eyes sparkled for a second before being replaced with empty eyes, almost angry.

“I’m not high,” he groaned, removing your hand from his face. You let them fall beside you with a small, weathery breath.

“That’s good.” You sniffed, but he stepped back when you reached for him, as if your touch was poison. He felt distant and gone, like he wasn’t really in front of you. “You met Yoongi,” he said, his tone cold, lacking the warmth he always used when talking to you.

“I did,” you nodded, your eyes welling up with tears threatening to spill at any moment. “He told me what you did.” His voice was almost nonchalant, which sent a shiver down your body. He was slipping through your fingers like water, no matter how hard you tried to hold on.

“You went to him?” you said, your hands forming into fists beside you as you pressed your nails into your palms, possibly leaving red marks.

“None of your business,” he replied. “I don’t know what sort of shit you tried to pull, but never fucking do it again,” Jungkook bluntly stated.

“You always say it’s not my fucking business, but it fucking is.” You gritted your teeth, anger bubbling in your stomach.

“How the fuck would that be any of your business? From what I recall, we are nothing.” He scoffed, his heart cracking in his chest as the words left his mouth, watching your face fall before recovering.

“Why the fuck are you here, then? It is my fucking business,” You said, tone deadly.

“It is my fucking business because I fucking care about you, Jungkook! You might not notice it, but I love you. I’m so tired of acting like I don’t when all I want is you. I just want you. You.” You cried almost erratically, Jungkook's mouth opening before closing.

“I love you,” you sobbed, tears streaming down your face just like the raindrops on your closed window. “I know you do too; if not, you wouldn’t be here.” A shaky breath left you as you wiped your eyes with a sniffle.

Jungkook’s heart suddenly felt lighter, but the pain in his body didn’t go away. When your words left your mouth, his heart stopped, and the thoughts he came to tell you about were long forgotten. He looked at your puffy, smudged mascara eyes and your pouty lips that begged to be kissed, making the thoughts in his head vanish into thin air.

“You don’t mean that,” Jungkook finally said, and you could almost hear the faint sound of your heart cracking at his words.

Before you could reply, Jungkook dropped onto his knees, shaking. It was pathetic how fast you dropped beside him, getting a hold of his body. “I’m going to die, fuck.” Jungkook shook in your arms, closing his eyes with a loud curse. “Fuck, fuck,” Jungkook growled. You frantically touched him; his body was burning up as he shook in your arms.

“What’s going on?” you cried, coaxing him. Small reassuring ‘you're going to be okay’ left your mouth repeatedly as you held him tight to your chest while he shook and whimpered in pain. “Fuck, need this to go away,” Jungkook shook as he reached for his pocket and pulled out a small bag of pills. His hands shook as he tried to open the bag, fumbling.

“Baby, help me. I need this to go away.” Jungkook cried, tears rushing down his face as he struggled to open the bag.

A heart-wrenching sob escaped past your mouth as you noticed the position you were in. It was like a scene in a film. Jungkook shook his head repeatedly as you took the bag out of his hands and placed it behind you, somewhere he couldn’t reach. “Help me,” Jungkook pleaded, his calloused hands tight on your waist as he shut his eyes in agonizing pain.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, your fingers wiping his tears.

“Make it go away,” Jungkook cried, the most vulnerable you had ever seen him as he begged you to give him the drugs. It was like you were stuck in a love triangle with him and his last drug of choice.

Jungkook looked at you, his face desperate. “Make it go away,” he pleaded. And that’s exactly what you did, just not in the way Jungkook was thinking. Your lips smashed into his, making his eyes widen before fluttering closed, melting into you.

His tense shoulders immediately relaxed, dropping as the furrowed crease between his forehead softened.

As your lips molded with his perfectly, Jungkook felt his walls start to drop, brick by brick. Your hands held his face tightly, each kiss feeling like a battleground where you both fought with your mouths instead of words. The taste of bitterness mingled with the intoxicating sweetness of longing-a drug that left Jungkook craving more as you tore apart to catch your breath.

Heat surged through your veins, a fiery storm of conflicting emotions raging within. Each touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a hunger you couldn't deny, even as anger simmered beneath the surface. Before you could say anything, Jungkook grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

Your body melted against his, a wave of warmth flooding your senses as his lips met yours again.

It was a moment you had dreamed of, yearned for with every fiber of your being, and now it was here, surpassing all of your wildest expectations. Time seemed to stand still, allowing you to savor every precious second of it.

"Use me," you moaned between the kisses as you gasped for air.

"Forget about everything and just focus on me." You gasped as his lips shut you up once again.

His hands caged your face as his lips molded against yours. Tongues danced together, exploring each other with an unspoken hunger, lost in the intoxicating rhythm of the kiss.

"Fuck, I should've kissed you sooner," Jungkook groaned, his hand sliding gently into your hair. He tugged it back, exposing your neck to his hungry gaze.

A shiver of anticipation raced down your spine as his lips found a new place to explore.

His head dipped to your neck, peppering kisses all over. A soft moan left your lips as he sucked on your sweet spot, leaving a red-purple mark on your collarbone. "So pretty," he said before capturing your lips with his again.

As your lips molded together, a surge of clarity washed over him, drowning out the incessant whispers of addiction that had haunted his mind for so long. With each kiss, the cravings faded into oblivion, replaced by a singular focus- you.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Jungkook groaned as your lips made contact with his neck. The sucking sensation of your lips had him throwing his head back with a heavy sigh. His hands tightened on your waist before pulling you up from the floor onto his lap. "I don't care," you breathed out, pulling him in closer to you. A loud groan ripped out of Jungkook as you sucked on the nape of his neck.

"Baby, I don't wanna take advantage of you," Jungkook said between kisses as you held his face to kiss him roughly. A sudden wave of heat rushed down to your center as Jungkook tried to pull back, only for his bulge to rub against you.

"Use me," you moaned, your arms pulling him into you.

His head rested over your chest, listening to your heartbeat. A shiver ran down his spine at your words.

"Baby, please," he pleaded, his eyes shut from the pleasure of your hips rubbing against him at a slow, almost agonizing pace. All he could think of was you.

"Look at me," you said, your hands holding his face to make him look at you. The once dull, empty eyes he came in with were now long gone, replaced with a sad, almost yearning look. His pupils were dilated as he looked at your face.

"I want you. I want all of you," you started. He nodded, his face the most vulnerable you had ever seen on him, which created a warm, fuzzy feeling in your stomach.

"And I want you to use me," you confessed, your voice trembling with honesty.

As your lips lingered against his, you breathed out the words, your voice a gentle plea, "Let me be the one you turn to when the cravings hit, the one who reminds you of all the reasons to stay, because every time you choose me over drugs, you're choosing yourself. You're choosing us."

Jungkook fumbled with his bottom lip, biting it as he felt his heart slowly start to mend itself. He was sure when he left your room earlier that day that you would never want to talk to him again. But here you were, not giving up on him, instead believing in him. Jungkook's lip trembled before a tear fell down his cheek.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice cracking. The words hang in the air, the complete opposite of how your heart is feeling. Before you can reply, he's pulling on your shirt and smashing his lips onto yours.

The kiss was desperate, filled with unspoken words and emotions. His hands roamed your back, pulling you closer as if he couldn't bear to have any distance between you. His hands clutch at you as if you're his lifeline, grounding him in this moment.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Jungkook's tears mix with your own as the intensity of the moment overwhelms you both.

Your lips part for a breath, and in the brief pause, you see the raw emotion in his eyes. It's a look of longing, of need, of a love that's been buried beneath layers of pain and addiction. Without another word, you capture his lips again, pouring all your love and hope into the kiss.

Jungkook's walls crumbled completely as he let himself be vulnerable, feeling your warmth and acceptance enveloping him. The kiss deepened, both of you losing yourselves in the moment, letting the world outside fade away.

Finally, you broke apart, both gasping for breath, foreheads resting against each other. Jungkook's eyes were no longer empty but filled with a mixture of love, determination, and a glimmer of hope. You cupped his face, your thumbs gently wiping away his tears.

"We'll get through this together," you whispered, your voice filled with unwavering conviction. "One step at a time."

Jungkook nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "I promise I'll try," he said softly, his voice laced with sincerity.

You smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. "That's all I ask." Before capturing his lips with yours once again.

You moan into the kiss, and your hands move to his hair, pulling, messing, and tugging. His hands drop to your bare thighs beside him, caging him in. A small whimper makes past the kiss when he dips his finger onto the waistband of your black small shorts you wear underneath your school skirt.

The feeling was foreign, but it felt right. When his fingers dipped into your panties a loud moan was coming out of you. "Shh, baby, your parents will hear you.” Jungkook whispers. “Not here; gone for the weekend.” You pant as you feel his middle finger dip between your delicate folds, spreading your wetness over your clit.

You never had anyone touch you this way; the only thing that has ever come close to your center were your fingers, but as he enters one of his digits, it makes you realize your fingers were nothing compared to this. “Ah-fuck,” you moan, your head falling onto his shoulders.

“So fucking tight, holy shit.” Jungkook exclaims as he adds another finger to your soaking cunt. Your back arches as he pumps his two fingers in and out of your hole, and your hips roll on his lap, trying to relieve your clit. You let out a whine when he pulled them out, but it was quickly replaced with a loud, heavy sigh of relief when three fingers pressed hard on your clit, rubbing circles.

“That feels so good; don't stop.” You cry into his ear; your pussy pulsates on his fingers. The pleasure from his fingers on your pussy has you digging your nails into his arms. “Do you like being fingered?” Jungkook asks as he inserts three fingers, stretching you out. “Yes, fuck yes.” you moan heavily. Your walls clench around Jungkook's fingers anytime he curls them into your g-spot, sending waves of shock to unravel in your abdomen. The squelching sound of your pussy mixes with your loud moans, making Jungkook's dick harden underneath you.

“My bed,” you pant, your eyes shut close as he continues to rummage his fingers into you. Jungkook gives a hum and nod of acknowledgement before pulling his fingers out of you, picking you both up in a quick, swift motion before dropping you on the bed with a squeal.

Jungkook lets out a small, breathy laugh, and his fingers fumble on the button and zipper of his jeans. Your breath gets caught up in your throat when he drops his pants on the ground, revealing the outline of his cock in his boxers. Your eye of vision suddenly went up to his chest when he took his shirt off in a split second, giving you a sight of small scars and bruises on his ribs, sending a punch to your stomach.

Your heart squeezed in your chest when he suddenly realized what you were staring at. You quickly made your way to the end of your bed, pulling him closer. Your lips dropped to the side of his rib cage, leaving a little chaste kiss on one of his bruises. A shaky breath leaves Jungkook as he watches you kiss every single purple, reddish mark and scar on his body.

Jungkook puts a finger under your chin before tilting it up, and your teary eyes make contact with his.

“Hi.” He whispers softly.

“Hi.” You whisper back, a small smile plastered on Jungkook's face, before his lips make contact with yours. His hands this time worked on pulling down your shorts, which ended up taking your light pink-drenched panties down as well. Heat flowed through your body even though it was freezing in your house. You both broke apart from the kiss when Jungkook pulled on your shirt, pulling it over your head.

The white shirt gets added to your guy's discarded clothes on the floor, and your hands wrap around his neck before pulling him down with you onto the bed. “M’gon squish you to death.” Jungkook groans as he lifts his weight on you, “What a heavenly way to die.” You joke, cracking a small smile at Jungkook.

You couldn’t even think of anything else because, before you knew it, Jungkook was in between your legs, sucking on your folds. The feeling was unfamiliar, but it felt so good. Your legs squeezed both sides of his face, caging him. His tongue worked magic on you, flicking his tongue all over your pussy. Your hands tangled with his messy raven hair, pulling harshly whenever he would suck on your clit for a little too long.

Your chest heaves as you try so hard to catch your breath. Jungkook moves his head from side to side erratically, earning a pornographic sound from you. Your walls clenched on Jungkook's fingers as he pumped them rapidly. “I’m g-gonna cum,” you cry out, your back arching as he hums onto your center, sending vibrations all over your body.

Your mind is fogged up with invisible smoke, and your lungs burn as you hold onto your breath. Your teeth bite roughly on your bottom lip to contain the moans that are threatening to spill out of you. Before you could say another word, white dots blurred your vision. "Your body squirms into Jungkook's face, coming in a loud moan.

“Hurts, ah” You cry, and a low chuckle rumbles against you as he begins leaving between your legs, but not before dropping a kiss on your inner thigh. Your thighs are pressed together, and your legs are sore as your center aches for more. “Felt good?” Jungkook kisses your cheek, and you nod with a whiney hum as his hand wanders behind you, unclasping your white cotton bra and untangling it from your arms before throwing it somewhere on the floor. Jungkook didn't waste any time putting his mouth on one of your nipples. His warm tongue plays with your bud, sucking, toying, and licking. Your head rolls back as your hands behind his head push him into you more.

“You're so good at this; should I be worried?” You moan as he grinds his hard-clothed length into you. “Don't think about that, baby.” He replies that a sad tone in his voice makes your heart feel as if it were being stabbed. “Oh.” You let out a sigh, and Jungkook planted a kiss on your collarbone.

“I'm a virgin,” you say, tilting your head to the side to catch a look at Jungkook's face. His brows furrowed slightly before he dropped another kiss on your neck. “I’m not.” Jungkook says, planting a chaste kiss on your cheek. “What a slut.” You joke, playfully rolling your eyes, earning a laugh out of him. “You're annoying.” Jungkook laughs, his head dropping down beside the crook of your neck.

“But you love me.” You pip, moving your body underneath him, making him chuckle.

“But I love you.” Jungkook looks up, a small smile displayed on his lips. “If I were having sex with someone I care about and love,” He whispers, “This would be my first time as well.” Jungkook finishes, making your heartbeat skyrocket. You feel as if you were on the moon, flying around with the stars.

“Pinky promise.” You smile, you raise your pinky finger up in front of his face, and you watch how he tangles his pinky with yours before smashing his lips with yours. “Pinky promise.” He whispers back into your lips.

Kissing Jungkook was everything and more than you had ever wished for; his soft, cracked lips molded against yours, fitting like perfect puzzle pieces. “Fuck me, please.” You whine, and your hips rise up, trying to rub yourself against him, which has him pushing your hips down into the mattress with his tattooed hand. “Be patient, baby,” he whispers into your ear.

“Please,” you cry. Your hand slides between you both, palming him over his boxers and making him groan. “Please, fuck me.” you beg this time. Your palm squeezes his cock, making him thrust into you.

Jungkook didn't reply; instead, he pulled down the last remaining clothing item that was covering him. He opened your legs, a shaky breath left your lip, and your eyes took him. His hair disheveled in a brown mess, his lips puffy and red, and the most mischievous grin on his face had your stomach fluttering with fireworks and roller coasters.

“Nervous?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow as he settles between your legs; his length rubs against your cunt. “It's big,” you bite your lip, as you look between you both. Jungkook bites his lip as he moves closer, placing his cock on you, his tip reaching your belly button. “It’ll fit, if that's what you're wondering.” Jungkook lets out a small snicker, and his thumb runs against your bottom lip.

“It's going to hurt, right?” You ask, your voice low and filled with lust, has heat rushing to Jungkook's cock. "Yes, baby, you’ll probably bleed a bit. But I promise it'll feel so good.” He comforts you; kisses are peppered all over your face, easing your nervousness. “Does this mean we are basically doing blood oaths?” You joke, your heart fluttering when he lets out a deep, throaty laugh.

Jungkook opens your legs, his eyes drop to your glistening pussy, and your juices spill onto your pink sheets. His hand wraps around his cock, tugging roughly before slapping it on your pussy, making you let out a choked moan. "Ah,” you moan.

“Fuck.” Jungkook curses, "Baby, I don't have a condom,” he remembers.

“I'm on the pill.” You rush out and say, “I got on them for my periods.” You explain which Jungkook nods. “You sure? We don't have to right now, baby,” Jungkook says, only to be received with a disapproving head nod from you. “No, I want you right now.” You say, your hand wrapping around his cock, giving it a small pump.

You moan when you place his cock in front of your entrance, and with a small, reassuring smile, Jungkook is pushing his cock into you. “Ah, oh, my god.” You moan, and pain shoots up through your body as he pushes his length into you inch by inch, giving you time to get accustomed. “I know I'm sorry, baby.” Jungkook coos, dropping kisses all over your face as you feel his cock go in deeper.

“So full.” You moan when his cock is fully in. Your fingertips dig into his back, leaving crescent moons. “Hurts?” He asks, his thumb rubbing your clit trying to help ease the pain. “A little.” You reply before giving him the green light to move.

Jungkook's movements started slow, pulling his cock out of you and leaving his tip in before pushing in again at the slowest pace. Jungkook's eyes squeezed shut at the intense pleasure his body was feeling. Making him forget everything outside of this moment. You clench around him whenever he hits your g-spot.

The pain turns into pleasure as jungkook plunges into you at a faster pace. Your headboard hits your wall over and over, matching his thrusts. “Taking me so fucking good, fuck.” Jungkook groans, your moans mixing with the sound of the squelching of your juices.

Your mind is hazy, your bodies are hot. As beads of sweat start to form on Jungkook's forehead, a moan flushes out of you when he pushes one of your legs backwards, picking up his pace.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head when he hits the spot in you repeatedly. Drool starts dripping down the sides of your mouth, and your hands find your sheets tugging hard, turning your knuckles white.

“So good.” You cry out; his thrusts are harder, knocking the air out of your lungs, making you gasp for air each time he slams into you. Jungkook's cock twitches in you as he presses slightly on your belly, making a bulge of his cock appear inside of you.

“I’m going to cum,” you moan. “Not yet, baby, not yet.” Jungkook groans, pulling out. He flips you onto your stomach, presses your legs together before slipping into your pussy again with a loud groan.

"Shit, so fucking tight.” Jungkook moans, His hands squeeze your ass as he fucks you from behind. Your moans and screams get muffled by how you bite into your pillow. The position had him being able to go deeper, and tears started streaming down your cheeks.

“I’m going to cum.” You scream into your pillow, as he grunts with each thrust he fucks into you. “Come baby.” He groans, giving your waist a squeeze of reassurance. He didn’t have to tell you twice, your orgasm all over his cock. Your body shakes, and you clench hard around him. His eyes roll to the back of his head as he spills into you.

Your bodies heave heavily, as he fucks you both through your orgasm. Soft moans and whines leave your lips as he pulls out of you, and the white fluid drips out of your hole, making Jungkook groan in satisfaction.

“Are you okay, baby?” Jungkook asks, his tone sweet and gentle as he flips you over to your back, catching a glimpse of your red cheeks and teary eye expression. “I think I just had an out-of-body experience.” You chuckle. Jungkook's eyes look over your body, looking for any bruises, but are met with none, which makes him sigh in relief.

“Yeah?” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows, dropping a kiss on your lips before getting up from your bed and making his way to your vanity. He opens a couple of your drawers before picking up the package of wet wipes and making his way back to you.

“We need to change your sheets, baby.” Jungkook comments as he takes notice of the blood stain on them. He pulls one of the wipes out of the package, wiping you clean in a delicate manner. When he finished cleaning you up, he followed along with cleaning himself before disposing the wipes in your trash can beside your bed.

He also quickly changes your sheets before jumping into bed with you. His head lies on your chest. Hearing your steady heartbeat, your fingers work on his back muscles as he relaxes further into you. The sound of rain outside pebbles against your window.

As you both lay intertwined, your breaths slowly returning to normal, Jungkook felt an overwhelming sense of peace wash over him. The familiar gnawing urge for drugs was conspicuously absent, replaced entirely by thoughts of you. Your touch, your warmth, and your love.

And for the second time in his life, the voices finally stopped as he fell asleep to the sound of your breathing.

2K notes · View notes

girlkisser13 · 22 days ago

Text

being married to ryomen sukuna would include

• your wedding was far from traditional. it was more like a ritual, a claiming, an unbreakable vow that binds you to him forever.

• your wedding rings are ancient, inscribed with curses that tie your souls together. no magic, no force in the universe, can ever sever the bond.

• he is possessive of the title. he loves calling you "my wife" or "my husband"— always with that cocky smirk, like he owns you.

• sukuna is a king, and your home reflects that. luxury, power, and absolute security— all tailored to your comfort, whether he admits it or not.

• your home is massive, grand, and completely impenetrable. he ensures no one can step foot near it unless he allows them to.

• he spoils you WITHOUT hesitation. whatever you want, it’s yours—but don’t expect to ask. he already knows and will have it waiting for you before you can even think about it.

• everything in your home is built for your pleasure. soft cushions, rich silks, the most exquisite food and drink— he makes sure you live like royalty.

• he demands your presence near him at all times. if you’re in another room for too long, he’ll simply come find you and drag you back. "where do you think you’re going, love?"

• he watches you constantly. not because he doesn’t trust you, but because he enjoys seeing you move through his space— your space.

• he rarely lets you do anything mundane. if you even attempt to do household chores, he will look at you like you’re insane. "why are you wasting your time with that? if you want something done, tell me."

• despite his arrogance, he listens to you. if you tell him you like something a certain way, it stays that way, no questions asked.

• sukuna does not show love softly. every touch, every look, every moment of affection is a declaration of ownership, a reminder that you are his.

• his touch is always firm, always possessive. he does not simply hold your hand— he grips it, intertwines your fingers with his, staking his claim on you.

• kisses with him are slow, deep, and consuming. he doesn’t kiss you just to kiss— he does it to make sure you never forget who you belong to.

• he LOVES to leave marks. bite marks, love marks, scratches— he enjoys seeing proof of himself on your skin.

• you are never out of his reach. even when sitting across a room, he will extend an arm, grab your wrist, pull you close until you’re right where he wants you.

• he plays with your hair absentmindedly. when he’s deep in thought, his fingers will find their way to your scalp, brushing through your hair as if grounding himself in your presence.

• if you ever pull away, he does not allow it. he will simply grab you and pull you back, smirking. "trying to escape, darling? how adorable."

• sukuna is beyond protective. he does not tolerate threats, disrespect, or even the mere idea of you being in danger.

• if anyone so much as breathes wrong in your direction, they are dead before they realize their mistake.

• he does not allow you to fight your own battles. not because he thinks you are weak, but because no one is worthy enough to challenge what is his.

• he is always aware of where you are. no matter the distance, he will always know if you are safe or in danger.

• if you ever get hurt, even slightly, he is furious. his rage isn’t loud— it’s quiet, cold, a slow-burning fire that destroys everything in its path.

• he doesn’t just protect you from physical threats— he protects your honor, your name, your status. anyone who dares speak ill of you will regret it.

• if you cry, he becomes still. he doesn’t know how to handle it at first, but then he pulls you against his chest, stroking your back, murmuring in a voice only you get to hear.

• arguing with sukuna is like going to war. he does not back down. ever.

• if you ignore him, he does not let it slide. he will grab your chin, tilt your head up, and demand you look at him. "you don’t get to shut me out."

• his temper is unpredictable. some days, he will laugh at your defiance. other days, he will have you pinned against a wall, reminding you exactly who is in charge.

• he doesn’t say "sorry"— but he makes up for it. he’ll pull you into his arms, press a kiss to your forehead, and mutter, "don’t be stupid. i’m not going anywhere."

• if you cry in an argument, his entire demeanor shifts. he will wrap you in his embrace, stroking your hair, muttering threats against whatever upset you.

• he doesn’t need to say "i love you"— he proves it. every act of protection, every glance, every possessive touch is a declaration of utter devotion.

• he thinks about eternity with you. not just years, but lifetimes.

• he does not believe in "till death do us part." if you die, he will bring you back. he will tear through existence itself to have you by his side again.

• even after centuries, he still treats you like the most important thing in existence. his love never fades— if anything, it only grows stronger. <33

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vsimp · 3 months ago

Text

Bittersweet (part 2)

bitter part 1 | part 3 (coming soon, fr this time)

pairing: kamisato ayato x f!reader

word count: 2k

warning: negative thoughts

The cherry blossoms fluttered down one by one. The silk fabric of your wedding attire slightly swayed in the wind. You sat with your husband in front of your families, and you looked upon the guests who enjoyed themselves at the matrimonial ceremony.

A happy smile washed upon your expression as you sipped the ceremonial sake. Unbeknownst to you, his amethyst eyes watched your every move and expression that day.

Later on, when people grew more and more inebriated, and some time had passed, he looked at you with an unknown glint in his eyes. He placed his hand over yours, the one that had laid rested on his lap. And as if he had just placed a mask directly over his face, he gave you that smile you were all too familiar with during the present day.

You felt that you could get lost into the light and beautiful colors of his eyes. And before you knew it, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to yours, so softly, so tenderly, that it felt like you could melt right then and there. His scent overwhelmed your senses, his touch was ever so gentle. Even the beauty of the cherry blossoms themselves could not distract you from how much affection you had held for this man before you.

You shut your own eyes as you sank deeper into his kiss.

That was when you had fallen in love with him for the first time.

Overcome with emotions, your eyes then fluttered open like a gentle breeze in the plains of Teyvat.

Instead of seeing the man you had fallen in love with, you found yourself staring at the familiar wooden ceiling above you. It was just a dream. A very familiar dream. Your hand had instantly made its way to find the ring that was centered on your left fourth finger.

Letting out a sigh of relief, you brought the ring to your chest, holding it close to your own heart so that you could never lose or forget those sweet memories again.

Then, after you took some time to yourself, you got up early that morning, getting yourself ready as you made your way to breakfast.

Your duties as his spouse was to oversee the staff and make sure the interior and exterior of the house were up to par. In short, you worked with Ayaka closely, taking on the other half of her workload. Days were busy as you greeted guests several times a week, trying to behave as courteously as you could, while your sister in law went out of the estate to pay political visits to other prominent people.

The morning air carried the faint scent of cherry blossoms, though the season for their full bloom had long passed. You let the memories of that dream linger as you walked through the estate, weaving through your responsibilities. The stillness of the household awakened with the first rays of sunlight, the staff bustling in preparation for the day ahead.

At breakfast, Ayaka mentioned the upcoming event hosted by the Kanjou Commission, her words lighthearted but laced with the weight of duty.

“It will be an important gathering,” Ayaka said, her calm voice like the gentle ripple of a stream. “The merchants will be in attendance, along with several envoys from Liyue and Fontaine. It will give us an opportunity to strengthen alliances.”

You nodded, already knowing your role in such events. As his spouse, you were expected to play the part of a gracious hostess, perfectly polished, and in sync with your husband’s impeccable image. But beneath your poised demeanor, you felt the familiar weight in your chest. These events always served as a reminder of the distance between you and Ayato, that mask of formality that the both of you put on to appear as the perfect couple.

He arrived at the breakfast table later than usual, his amethyst eyes meeting yours for a fleeting moment before he took the tea that you had poured for him. He looked tired as usual, his gentle smile masking his fatigue. “The preparations are coming along well, I trust?” he asked, his voice calm and measured.

“Yes,” you replied with a small smile. “Everything should be in order.”

He gave a short nod, taking a sip of his tea before speaking again. “Good. I appreciate your attention to these details.” There was no warmth in his tone, only polite acknowledgment, and you had long since stopped expecting more. But still, a compliment was a compliment and you could only bask in the small amount of attention he showed you.

⊱ ─── ⋅♡⋅ ─── ⊰

The estate of the Hiiragi sparkled with lanterns and elegant decor. You and Ayato arrived hand in hand quite early, and as more guests arrived, you greeted them with a smile that you had perfected over the years. Your kimono was intricately detailed, the colors chosen to complement Ayato’s attire, though the two of you felt like mere actors on a stage rather than a married couple.

Ayato was by your side, as expected, and his demeanor was calm and charming as he greeted prominent figures. His gentle words flowed with ease, and the guests hung onto every syllable. Occasionally, his hand would hold yours, but it was fleeting, a mere formality rather than a gesture of affection, causing your heart to ache briefly before you force that pleasant smile onto your face.

As the evening progressed, the air buzzed with conversation and subtle power plays. You found yourself caught in the intricate dance of politics, where every word and gesture held weight. But you were used to this, you had been his wife for years now. One of the envoys from Fontaine, a stern-looking man, started to engage you in conversation. At first, the exchange was cordial, but you quickly realized he was testing you, his tone growing sharper with every word.

“I see the Yashiro Commission’s manners are as refined as ever,” he said, his gaze flickering to Ayato before settling back on you. “Though I wonder, Lady Kamisato, do you share your husband’s understanding of the intricate trade agreements we are discussing?”

The subtle condescension in his voice made your pulse quicken. You smiled politely, trying to recall the specifics Ayaka had briefed you on earlier. But the man’s relentless questioning caught you off guard, and a slight misstep in your response sent a ripple through the nearby conversations. A murmur spread among the guests, and the envoy’s sharp laugh cut through the air.

“I suppose not everyone can grasp the complexities of international trade,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. Before you could respond, he picked up a cup of tea from the table and tipped it over, the warm liquid spilling onto your hair and shoulders. It dripped down your body, staining your kimono. For a moment, you couldn’t move or breathe. Your vision blurred as the murmurs around you grew louder, your pulse pounding in your ears.

The shock of it froze you in place. Your composure shattered as you felt the heat reach your face and the sting of humiliation in your chest. Gasps erupted from the surrounding guests, but the man seemed unbothered, already turning away to rejoin another group.

Ayato stepped forward, his expression unreadable, and his hand reached out toward you. But before he could speak, you bolted from the room, the tears you had fought so hard to hold back finally spilling over as embarrassment filled your entirety.

You knew your husband wouldn’t defend you if it meant trying to keep those trade dealings ongoing. You didn’t want to blame him for doing so, but you also wouldn’t dare to look him into his eyes. Thoughts after thoughts flood your mind. You weren’t good enough for him. You’ll never be good enough for him. Everything was ruined because of you, and you were sure he thought the same.

After all, Kamisato Ayato was a man who strived for the best. He sacrificed a lot for the sake of his clan, including his own happiness and leisure. How could you, of all people, ruin that?

You ran through the dimly lit halls of the estate, vision blurred by your hot tears. The air of the cool night hit your face as you stepped outside into the garden, seeking refuge among the quiet cherry blossom trees. The hum of the party grew faint behind you, but your sorrow only grew as time passed.

It wasn’t long before you heard footsteps behind you. You turned to see your husband standing there, his usually composed expression slightly off.

“Y/n,” he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of urgency. “Are you alright?”

That simple question broke something within you. The dam you carefully built over years of silent suffering had burst, and the words spilled out before you could stop them.

“Alright?” You echoed, your voice trembling. “How could I possibly be alright, Ayato? Do you know what it feels like to be humiliated like that in front of everyone? Do you even care?”

His eyes widened slightly, but he said nothing, and his silence only fueled your anger.

He must have thought you looked like an idiot. Surely, he must have. Maybe he was even disappointed in you. Maybe… he didn’t even want you to be his wife anymore.

Something broke within you.

“All of these years, I have tried so hard to be the perfect wife for you, to support you in everything you do, even when you barely acknowledge my existence. And tonight, when I needed you the most, you just stood there, just watching me be humiliated.”

“Y/n…” His voice was soft, almost hesitant, but you shook your head, tears streaming down your face. You don’t notice how he reached out to touch your cheek gently in an attempt to comfort you, only to retract it like he had just touched a flame once you had looked up at him.

“No,” you said, your voice cracking. “I’m done pretending that this doesn’t hurt, that you haven’t hurt me. Every day, I feel like I’m just a burden to you, like I don’t belong in your world. I wait for you every single night, but you’re never there. I want to hold your hand and… and help carry your burdens… I want to kiss you and love you. That’s why I can’t do this anymore, Ayato. I just… I can’t. You kissed me once, so sweetly, on our wedding day. I dreamt about it last night, and it hurt because that was the last time I felt like you ever truly saw me.”

There was a long silence after that. For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to say something, but the words never came. Instead, his expression softened into something you couldn’t quite place—regret perhaps, or even pity.

You didn’t want him to pity you. You just wanted him to love you. You wanted to be his light, his world. His wife.

“Do you even love me?” You finally asked.

That large question was met with even more silence. His lips parted slightly as if to answer, but no words came. His gaze then shifted, somewhere between anguish and restraint, before it fell elsewhere.

You then let out a shaky breath, the weight of your emotions finally left you feeling hollow.

“I’m sorry for burdening you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

And before he could respond, you turned and ran away, leaving him alone in the moonlit garden.

Surprisingly, you felt free after those words. Free, yet the sorrow in your heart kept pouring out. It kept pouring out like the most bitter tears in the world.

You collapsed onto the ground in your room, gripping your wedding ring. You wanted to hold on to the sweetness of your memories, but they slipped through your fingers like grains of sugar dissolving in water. You thought about your dream from last night, your wedding, the way he had kissed you so sweetly.

Even now, the memory felt like a trick your mind had played, a fleeting glimpse of something that was never real. And the more you tried to cling on to it, the more you realized that the sweetness of such memories had faded into a bitterness within your heart.

A lonely, bittersweet love.

bitter part 1

#kamisato ayato x reader #ayato x reader #genshin impact x reader #ayato x reader angst #genshin impact #kamisato ayato x reader angst

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corroded-hellfire · 4 months ago

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More Munson Than Expected - Eddie Munson x Reader

An As You Wish story

Written with my beloved @munson-blurbs 💜

Summary: The ultrasound for your second pregnancy brings a new wave of excitement to the Munson household.

Note: The excitement I have to let this secret out of the bag after cooking it up for over a year is real. I hope you enjoy!

Warnings: pregnant!reader

Words: 4.1k

[As You Wish masterlist]

“Eddie, you didn’t have to come with me,” you remind him again as he pulls up a chair next to the examination table he just helped you get situated on.

Your husband gives you a disapproving look as he makes himself comfortable in the seat. He shakes his head as he reaches out and takes one of your hands in his.

“Did you really think I was going to miss this?” he asks. “No way. I was there for Eliza’s first ultrasound, I’m going to be there for this one’s too.”

“What about the boys?”

Eddie sighs. “I was there for Ryan’s. But I wasn’t aware of when Luke’s was, so I missed it. Don’t tell him.”

“I won’t,” you say, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “He would know it wasn’t your fault, though.”

“You keep your mouth shut too, hmm?” Eddie leans over and presses a kiss to your emerging bump.

“I don’t know if he or she developed a mouth yet,” you say, the sanitary paper crinkling beneath you as you try to get comfortable.

“Not gonna find out if you’re a he or she,” Eddie continues talking to his developing child. He reaches out and rubs a hand over your stomach. “Wanna see you, though. And make sure you’re healthy.”

The door to the examination room swings open, bringing with it the distinct smell of antiseptic. The ultrasound technician walks in and closes the door behind her.

“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Munson,” she greets with a smile. “My name is Tara and I’ll be doing your ultrasound today. The doctor tells me that you don’t want to know the sex. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” you respond with a nod. “We want this one to be a surprise.”

“That is no problem. Let me just set up here and we’ll get started.”

While she gets to work, Eddie helps you as you attempt to tug your shirt up enough to avoid the cold and sticky goo that will inevitably be squirted on your stomach for the ultrasound. You’re able to tuck it into the underwire of your bra just to be sure that it won’t slide back down and get all messy.

One of the sleeves of Eddie’s jumpsuit falls down and he shoves it back up past his elbow. You take in the navy material, your eye tracing over his name sewn on in red thread over his heart.

“What time are they expecting you back at work?” you ask him.

He shrugs. “They know where I’m at. They know it might be a little while.”

“Alright, are we ready?” Tara asks.

“Yep.” You offer your hand to Eddie again and he laces his ringed fingers with yours.

Tara picks up the bottle of the dreaded goo and squirts a healthy amount on your abdomen. The chill against your skin sends a shiver throughout your body. At least the wand should warm it up as the tech spreads the substance around to get the best view of the baby.

To you and your husband it feels like you’re just looking at a black screen with wavy white lines on it. Somehow, everything seems to make sense to Tara as she positions the wand on different parts of your stomach.

“Oh,” she says at one point, stilling the instrument against your skin. “Here we go.”

A soft but steady thump thump thump fills the air of examination room 5. Tears immediately well up in your eyes. You look at Eddie to see him grinning from ear to ear.

With the slightest movement of the wand sliding against the goo, you hear thump thump thump thump thump thump.

“Oh wow,” you say through a sniffle. “You can hear it even better now.”

“Sounds strong,” Eddie adds.

“Actually…” Tara trails off.

“What?” Eddie asks. You feel his hand tighten in your grip. “It’s…not strong?”

“Oh, no, no, it’s very strong. It sounds perfect to me. But I want you to listen.” There are a few moments of silence as the three of you listen to the heartbeat.

“It sounds fast,” you say.

“It does,” Tara agrees. “But if you listen, you can hear some of the beats overlapping one another.”

She leans in towards the screen and moves the wand again, just slightly. A smile grows on her face as she spots something in the mess of gray shapes on the machine. “Hear it?” she asks.

“Yeah, kind of,” Eddie says. “What does that mean?”

“Well, if you look here,” she replies, pointing towards what looks like a small blob, “that’s your baby.”

Pure glee radiates throughout your entire being. It’s your first glimpse at your and Eddie’s new baby. Another life that the two of you created together. You share a quick loving look with your husband before you both become engrossed in the image on the screen again.

“And here…” Tara says, sliding her finger slightly to the right, “is your other baby.”

The room goes silent save for the sound of the heartbeat. Or rather, heartbeats. Though your ears heard the words, your brain is still processing what they mean. It’s clearly the same with Eddie, as he stares at Tara just like you are.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie finally says. He chuckles and licks over his lips. “Did you say, ‘other baby’?”

“I did, indeed.” Tara taps a few keys on the machine, and it looks like it takes a screenshot. “There are two babies here. Two distinct heartbeats and two little nuggets showing off to the camera.”

“Twins.” The word comes out of you as a whispered breath. “We’re having twins.”

“Not just Baby Munson #4,” Eddie adds in a voice as awed as yours. “Baby Munson #5, too.”

“And they both appear to be developing well,” Tara says.

Eddie laughs. “No. No, we, uh, we’re not having twins.” He looks down at you, then back at Tara. “We decided we’re just having one more. I’m already forty-one, so just the one newborn is already pushing it.”

Tara grins, clearly used to this kind of reaction. “Well, you’d better rest up. Because you’ll be a father to two new little ones in a few months.”

Eddie grabs your hand, still stunned by the news. You can’t say you’re faring much better, although it does explain why this pregnancy has been so much more intense than when you were expecting Eliza. Part of you feels relieved that it wasn’t all in your head. But another part…

“Twins.” The word leaves your lips in an exhale. “We’re…babe, we’re gonna have five kids. We’re gonna be a family of seven.”

A clammy hand squeezes yours, and you glance up to see Eddie visibly trembling. “How am I gonna raise five kids?” He murmurs. “That’s one more than Harrington, and that dude was pretty much born to be a dad.”

Tara’s brows furrow as she cleans off your belly. “I’ll, um, leave you two to discuss.” She starts for the door, then turns around. “Take all the time you need.”

As soon as the door clicks shut, Eddie starts pacing around the tiny exam room. “Okay, okay. We’re having two babies. At the same time.”

“Yes, that’s generally what happens with twins.”

He rolls his eyes in annoyance. “I could do without your sarcasm right now, Sweetheart. I just found out that I’m about to out-kid Steve Harrington.”

“Out-kid?” You tuck your lips into your mouth to stifle a laugh.

Eddie doesn’t pick up on your joking tone. “Yes! He has four, and I’ll have five. Five!” He rakes a hand through his hair. “I was barely keeping two alive before you came along, and now I’m gonna be responsible for five?!”

“First of all,” you say, pushing yourself up, “you were an amazing dad before we got together. Even before I started watching the boys, when you were basically doing it on your own. Give yourself some credit. Second, Ryan will be going to college soon enough, so we’ll only have four kids in the house.”

Your attempt at consoling your husband falls flat. “Oh my god, I’m gonna have infants while my oldest is gonna be in college! I’m supposed to be slowing down, not re-babyproofing the house!” He buries his head in his hands. “What were we thinking? And why do you always have to look so hot? I wouldn’t be tempted to jump your bones all the time if you weren’t so goddamn sexy.”

You sigh. “I mean, you’re the one who’s always telling me you want to ‘pump me full of your babies.’ Guess now you really did it.”

“Holy shit.” Eddie runs his hands down his face and takes a deep breath. He stands in the same spot, staring at you for a few silent moments before a smile begins to crack through his fog. “Holy shit.”

“Calming down now?” you ask, raising an eyebrow. “Or realizing I’m the one who has to push two of them out of my body?”

Eddie ambles over to you on the examining table and rests his forehead against yours. His shoulders have gone down to their usual height again, no longer bunched up around his ears with tension.

“Okay, I had my mini freak out,” he says softly, reaching up to tug the hem of your shirt down back over your bump. “You may have yours.”

With a low chuckle, you reach up and cup your husband’s face in your hands.

“I still don’t think it’s hit me yet,” you admit. “Or maybe trying to logic-out your fear helped me with my own, too. I mean, you said something about being too old to re-babyproof the house? Sweetheart, we would have had to do that with one baby anyway.”

“Common sense left me there for a little bit, I’ll admit.”

“And I’ve got one more bone to pick with you,” you say, leaving one hand on his face and using the other to poke him in the chest.

“What’s that?”

“You said Steve was pretty much born to be a dad. Eddie, out of all the people I’ve ever met in my life, you are definitely the one who was always meant to be a dad.” You lower your hand to your bump. “Because it doesn’t matter if there were one, two, three, or even eight babies in here. You’d still love them all unconditionally and try your hardest to give the world to them.”

“I love our babies,” Eddie replies softly. His hand moves to rest on top of yours on your bump. “I love our twins.”

“Hey, we’ve got some extra resources this time around, too,” you point out. “Ryan drives now. We can recruit him for diaper or formula runs. And he can take Luke and Eliza places if we’re not able to. Luke is old enough now not to be intimidated by being around newborns. He’ll definitely be more hands-on than he was with Eliza. And speaking of the little firecracker…we already know she’s going to be like a mother hen to them. See? Recruiting the kids to help with the kids. And that doesn’t even mention Wayne and all of our friends. At least ninety percent of them owe us from watching their kids at one point or another.”

“My wife is so smart,” Eddie praises with a small smile.

“She is,” you reply coyly. “Do you think you could help me off this table, though? Makes sense why it’s been harder for me to get up from things lately—two against one here.”

Eddie gently takes your arms and leads you to a comfortable seated position before helping you hop down from the high table.

The two of you walk hand-in-hand out of the doctor’s office and across the parking lot to your car. The sun seems warmer and brighter than when you went in. There’s not a cloud in the sky—were there any before? Birds call to one another from the trees that encircle the medical plaza, and their tune brings a smile to your face. Everything seems so light and airy around you that it almost makes you feel like you’re dissociating. But there’s Eddie’s hand in yours. The sneakers you wear knock against the concrete with every step, reverberating the vibration up your legs. You’re very much here in this moment. The magic in the air comes from knowing the amount of love you carried for the bundle of joy in your belly has just doubled. The thought of kissing two little button noses goodnight every day instead of one has you giddy.

“Baby,” you say as Eddie opens the passenger car door for you. “We’re gonna have double the cuddles.”

“Double the drooly kisses.” The smile on your husband’s face tells you that he’s excited about the prospect. “Double new baby smell.”

You secure your seatbelt and rest both of your hands on your belly as Eddie walks around the car and slides into the driver’s seat.

“Double the love we give and receive,” you muse softly, looking down at your protruding bump. “I wonder if I’ll get double the pain meds when I’m in labor.”

Eddie laughs as he pulls the car out of the parking space.

“Time will tell,” he says. “Are you hungry, princess?”

“Yeah. I mean, makes sense, since I’m eating for three,” you reply. “But don’t you have to get back to work?”

“There is no way I’ll be able to focus on anything,” Eddie says with a breathy chuckle as he shakes his head. “I’m taking the rest of the day.”

“Okay. Do you want to get lunch at—oh boy.”

Eddie’s eyes glance over at you before looking back on the road.

“What?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

“No, not wrong,” you say. “Just…I-I don’t know how we’ll keep this from the kids. We didn’t think we’d have anything to report to them other than the baby being healthy since we’re not finding out the sex. But there’s absolutely no way I won’t slip up and say ‘babies’ or ‘them’ or something that will give it away. I’d rather they hear the news from us directly than catching us in a slip.”

Eddie nods in agreement. “How do you think we should tell them?”

“Umm…” You purse your lips as you start to ponder different scenarios. Both you and Eddie think in silence for a few minutes before he speaks.

“Oh, I’ve got an idea…”

Eliza is thrilled to have both of her parents picking her up from school. The way she goes on and on about an arts and crafts project they did in class today reminds you of when you were just the babysitter and picked Ryan and Luke up from school. Luke always had something interesting to babble on about—much to your amusement.

Your second oldest is already at home when you walk in the front door holding Eliza’s hand and Eddie trails in behind with a few bags from the store. Usually, Ryan drives both himself and Luke home from school every day, but now Ryan takes SAT Prep classes once a week after school, forcing Luke to take the bus home. Which you’d think was one of the trials of Hercules with how often Luke shares his disdain for the form of transportation.

“Whatcha got, Pops?” Luke asks from the couch. His hand is buried in a bag of white cheddar popcorn and an episode of Supernatural is on the television.

“You’ll see,” Eddie tells him, taking the bags straight to your room. Best to keep them out of the way of the two nosiest Munson children. Although, you wonder to yourself if that will change with the new additions.

Eliza spies the snack her brother has and quickly sheds her Little Mermaid backpack and pink Mary Jane shoes to climb up on the couch next to him. She sticks an arm in the popcorn bag and brings out as big a handful as her little fist would allow her.

“There’s food in the bags,” Eliza says to Luke through the kernels stuffing her cheeks.

“Huh?” Luke clearly doesn’t speak four-year-old-with-a-full-mouth.

“The bags Daddy has,” Eliza says once she’s swallowed. She wipes her white cheddar covered fingertips on her white tights. “There’s food in them. I smelled it in the car.”

“Good job, Watson,” he tells her.

“Uh, who?” Eliza gives her older brother a look that clearly relays she thinks he’s crazy. It doesn’t stop her from taking another handful of popcorn, though.

“Watson. Sherlock Holmes’ assistant. They’re detectives, Lize.”

“Oh,” is all she says before shoving more popcorn into her mouth.

You putter around, cleaning up the kitchen and tidying the living room to keep yourself from spilling the beans too early. It’s important to wait until Ryan gets home later. You just know time is going to crawl by at a snail’s pace for the next hour and a half.

When your oldest son finally arrives home, you usher everyone around the kitchen table for a family meeting.

“Am I in trouble?” Luke huffs. “Because if I am, I’d like to plead not guilty.”

Eddie raises his brows. “Not sure why you’d be in trouble, but I’m sure we’ll find out.” He clears his throat, placing a loving hand on your bump. “No, this family meeting is to tell you guys some exciting news we got at the ultrasound today.”

He reaches over and plucks a grease-soaked Burger King bag from the counter. “Ry, you get the first clue.”

Ryan practically tears open the bag, the hungry teenager ready to devour the Double Whopper without even unwrapping it.

“Is the baby a hamburger?” Ryan asks mid-bite. He pulls out the fries you got along with it. “Or is it small? Is the clue ‘small fry?’”

You shake your head. “Nope. Nice try, though.”

Luke’s clue is next, though he’s too busy trying to get his brother to share his food to really pay attention. When Ryan finally relents and tosses a fry his way, Luke looks down at the Gameboy game box in front of him.

“A Looney Tunes double pack?” He wrinkles his nose. “Are you naming the baby Tweety Bird?”

Eliza sticks out her little tongue in disgust. “That’s a horrible name for a baby!”

“Maybe it looks like Elmer Fudd, like Eliza did when she was born,” Ryan chimes in, licking ketchup off of his thumb.

“Who?” Your daughter glances between the boys, unaware of the joke being made at her expense.

Luke doesn’t hesitate to fill her in. “The weird guy who hunts Bugs Bunny. The one who always goes, ‘ooh, I hate that wabbit!’”

Eliza shoots him a glare that’s equal parts adorable and terrifying. Luckily, she’s easily distracted by her clue.

“For Eliza,” you say as you tug the crinkling Target bag off of the biggest hint of all. Eddie already made sure to open the box and cut any wires attached so your daughter can get right at the twin Baby Alive dolls.

The four-year-old gasps. “Babies!” She holds her arms out as you deliver the box to her.

Little fingers grab onto the first doll, and she gently places it on the table in front to her before removing the second doll. The rest of the family watches in amusement as Eliza covers the baby on the table with a blanket, and cradles the other one in her arms, holding its bottle to its mouth.

“So,” Eddie asks, rubbing his hands together, “what do these gifts have in common?”

The three of them begin to think. At least, you’re pretty sure Eliza is thinking about it. She’s gazing down at the doll in her arms with the most heartwarming compassion.

“There’s two burger patties, two games, two dolls…” Luke muses.

“Wait,” Ryan says, his head perking up as an idea occurs to him. “Is it a girl? Like, two X chromosomes?”

Your husband simply stares at your oldest son for a moment before responding.

“In what world would I be smart enough to come up with that?” he asks.

Luke nods his head in your direction. “Ma is, though. But I think it’s a boy because there’s two of us boys already.”

“Then the hint would have to do with three, genius,” Ryan scoffs.

The younger brother contorts his face and mocks his brother’s words in a high-pitched voice.

“Maybe Mama has two babies in her belly.” Your daughter’s words are spoken with the most casual tone, the majority of her attention on the plastic doll she’s gently rocking to sleep in her arms.

The boys both laugh, Ryan rolling his eyes at what he considers a silly idea from a little girl. The Munson brothers turn to you and Eddie, expecting you to be joining in on the laughter, but all they find are your excited and hopeful faces. The chuckles trail off as the boys pause and consider what those faces mean.

“Wait, you don’t mean…” Ryan starts.

“Oh my GOD!” Luke shouts, banging his hands down on the table in front of him. It rattles the doll Eliza isn’t holding, and she gives her big brother a glare over the disturbance.

“No way!” Ryan stands up, excitement nearly paralyzing him. He doesn’t know what to do except smile as he holds his arms out in front of him awkwardly. “It’s really…twins?!”

“It’s twins!” you confirm. You make an attempt to stand as well, but the two babies inside of you are keeping your center of gravity low enough to make you give up.

“Two babies!” Luke hoots. “This is insane!”

Eddie chuckles, his heart at once light as air and completely full at seeing the excitement of his boys.

“Do you have a picture?” Luke asks.

“The sonogram,” Ryan adds.

“Yeah! Can we see it? Let us see the picture!”

“Do you even know what you’ll be looking at?” Ryan asks as he sits back down next to his brother.

Luke shrugs. “They’ll show us.”

“Okay, okay, here it is,” you say, handing over the image that’s been sitting in your back pocket. “That little spot right there is one baby, and that one right there is the other baby.”

Their stunned faces make you giggle softly as you lean back.

“Oh my God,” Ryan says. “I can’t believe it’s twins.”

“Holy sh—crap, we’re going to have two new siblings.”

“We’re going to need a bigger house,” Ryan says, looking around the room everyone is seated in.

“Wow, there’s going to be a lot of people living here,” Luke says. “Dad, were you going for twins?”

“That’s not how it works, doofus,” Ryan says as Eddie shakes his head in amusement.

Luke scoffs. “Explain it to me then, Mr. SAT.”

Eliza heaves a deep sigh for someone with such a tiny body and small lungs. She sets the baby doll in her arms down on the table next to its sleeping sibling.

“You’re so loud!” she complains.

“Lize, it’s twin babies!” Luke tells her, gently shaking her frame back and forth.

“I know, I know, you keep saying it over and over!”

“Aren’t you excited?” Ryan asks her.

Your daughter shrugs her shoulders once before picking her doll back up and cradling it in the crook of her arm.

“Sure.”

Both boys look to you and Eddie at her lackluster reaction. You give a gentle shake of your head.

“Don’t worry,” you tell them. “It’ll click at some point.”

“Oh, what a day,” you sigh as you slip under the blankets to lay down next to your husband. Eddie lifts his arm, and you immediately cuddle up to his side, resting your head on his shoulder. Your bump nudges his side, and you rub one hand over the soft material of your worn t-shirt. “Makes sense why my bump is more pronounced earlier than it was with Eliza.”

Eddie wraps one arm around your shoulders and brings the other one down to place his hand on top of your own.

“Can't believe there are four of us in this bed,” he says with a light chuckle.

“Daddyyyyy! Mamaaaaaa!”

A four-year-old with wild curls runs into your room and leaps onto the bed, landing at your and Eddie’s feet.

“Make that five of us,” Eddie says.

“You’re supposed to be asleep, Little Miss,” you tell Eliza.

She pushes herself onto her hands and knees in her purple piggy pajamas and quickly crawls up the infinitesimal space between you and her father.

“Careful, careful,” Eddie cautions the closer she gets to your belly.

Eliza halts her ascent and leans back on her heels. Her chocolate brown eyes are as wild as her bedhead is.

“I’m gonna be a big sister to two babies?!”

Across the hall, a chuckle reverberates in Ryan’s chest as he turns to lay on his side in bed.

“There it is.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #older!eddie #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #dad!eddie #eddie munson imagine #AYW #AYWS

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starry-bi-sky · 6 months ago

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"Uhp-uhp-bup-bup." Danny says loudly, cutting off the crime lord bleeding all over his living room. He presses a finger to his lips, despite knowing that Red couldn't see it, and stifles his rage behind a playful smile.

He's lucky he's facing the kitchen, his back turned to Hood. He can see the fury green of his eyes reflecting back at him in the chrome of the sink, he's threatening to crush the rag in his hands. His vision is futzing out in the corners of eyes.

"We don't speak the 'J' name in this household." He says in almost a sing-song, because if he doesn't, then the Gotham oil sitting, boiling, behind his teeth and coating his tongue will spittle out and Danny's already haunting his apartment just by his mere presence. He doesn't want to haunt it more.

He can hear the whine of the lightbulbs, threatening to burst like a popped balloon. He turns the water off and and rings the rag out tighter than he perhaps should.

"You don't like the clown?" Hood asks him, and Danny's not sure if he's mocking him for it. There's a knowing lilt in his voice that throws back Danny to their first meeting on that balcony. If he were anyone else, Danny might've just punched him.

His heel turns sharply towards him, a tight smile on his face and an even tighter look around his eyes. At least he knows that the green has faded because the pounding behind his eyes are gone, his grief-born, death-made rage sizzling back beneath his veins. "I think you already know why, Ridin' Hood."

A grief like this don't stay buried, after all.

#*cutely gives Danny pit rage* dont worry yall he's just. in a mood. nothing to worry about :]#its not officially pit rage but hey it may as well be interpreted as such #dpxdc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #cfau #childhood friends au #dead on main #dp x dc #dpxdc crossover #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #is this canon?? bitch it might be. god i wanna write chapter four but the plot bunnies are just not breeding #danny fenton is a banshee #banshee danny fenton #cfau danny #dpxdc ficlet #dpxdc au

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waayoutofline · 5 months ago

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Like Seeing A Ghost.

Marvel Masterlist

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Prompt: Married life and family core.

Summary: Your teenage daughter changed styles, and you cant help but be remained of a certain someone.

Warnings: None. Just love and fluff.

WORD COUNT: 1489

AN: I wrote this under the wonderful influence of sleep depravation. I just corrected it grammatically. It’s the first time I have written a family related prompt, so sorry but it’ll probably be a bit cringey :´). YDN stands for: Your daughters name btw—

It was a quiet day in the Maximoff household, a rare sense of calm settling over the space. Humming softly, you switched off the vacuum and put it away, satisfied with the tidiness of the room. The peaceful silence was soon interrupted by the doorbell, drawing your attention with mild curiosity. “I’ve got it!” you called, making your way to the door. You didn’t need to check the peephole, you already knew who it was. “Darling, finally! Your mother is almost finished with—oh dear gods.”

You froze as your 16-year-old daughter stepped inside. Taking in her appearance, your eyes widened in surprise. She shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, clearly bracing herself for the reaction that didn’t come as quickly as she expected.

Gone were her typical morning clothes, replaced by a more alternative look. She wore an oversized black t-shirt featuring an old rock band, her arms covered in fishnet sleeves, fingers adorned with silver rings and chains. Her makeup, though still a work-in-progress, was heavy with black eyeliner and smudged dark red eyeshadow. A silver cross dangled from her freshly pierced ear. She completed the outfit with a mid-length skirt and red Converse sneakers. If it weren’t for her eyes—the same color as yours—you might not have recognized her at first. But even then, the look wasn’t unfamiliar. She resembled someone else you knew all too well.

“It’s… it’s—” you began, voice faltering. Your daughter braced herself even more, her posture defiant, though you could see flickers of uncertainty in her expression. That defiant stance finally broke your composure.

“It’s like seeing a ghost! Oh, my beautiful girl,” you exclaimed, bursting into delighted laughter. “It’s like going back in time. Wanda come here please!” you called out, grinning at the uncanny resemblance.

Your heart swelled with nostalgia and amusement. You never thought you’d see such a familiar look on your own child, yet here she was, carrying a piece of the past into the present.

“What is it, love? Is it Y/D/N? I made her favorite,” Wanda called, wiping her hands with a kitchen towel before stopping abruptly. “Oh wow. This is… definitely a surprise.”

Your daughter, tired of the mixed reactions from both of you, crossed her arms defensively. “Before you say anything—no, I didn’t get any piercings or tattoos. But this is how I want to dress from now on. And if you have any issues with it, then…”

Your eyes softened at the sight of her defiance fading into vulnerability. You glanced at Wanda, who nodded. “Honey, you don’t owe us any explanations,” she said gently.

“I… don’t?” Y/D/N repeated, tentatively. You took a step forward, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Of course not. You know your mom and I want you to discover who you are. All we care about is that you don’t hurt yourself in the process. Why would you think we’d be upset?”

Your daughter’s shoulders relaxed as the tension eased. “A… friend of mine dresses like this, and her parents didn’t take it well. They told her if she didn’t dress ‘normal,’ they’d send her to some creepy summer camp.”

Wanda frowned. “Well, they’re idiots.” Your daughter smiled at that. “They are! Like your mom said, we’ll never judge you for who you are. All we want is for you to be safe and happy.”

With that, she smiled and pulled you both into a hug. “Thanks for being such cool parents.” You exchanged a glance with Wanda and hugged her back.

“I mean… if we weren’t, we’d be total hypocrites.” Your daughter tilted her head in curiosity, prompting a laugh from you as you moved toward the living room.

Wanda scoffed. “Oh, don’t you dare, Y/N,” she warned playfully, following close behind, already anticipating your next move. Before she could stop you, you pulled out the family photo album. Your daughter plopped down next to you on the couch, while Wanda took her place on the armrest, wearing a mock pout.

Flipping through the pages, you found what you were looking for. “Why haven’t I seen this before?” Y/D/N asked, eyes wide with interest.

“These are from years before you were born,” you explained softly, turning the album’s pages with care. “Most were taken when your mother and I first met. We kept them hidden… because she was a little shy about them.”

Wanda playfully nudged your arm, her smile a little bashful. “Do you really have to show them? I’d like for our daughter to still respect me, you know.”

You grinned, glancing at your daughter. “Of course, I do! I mean, just look at her. You two are practically twins—it’s adorable.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, though her blush deepened. “You’re having too much fun with this.”

As you flipped another page, your daughter gasped, eyes widening in disbelief. Wanda’s face turned a deep shade of red as she quickly covered her face with her hands, her embarrassment palpable. You, however, couldn’t stop the grin spreading across your face. “Mom, why didn’t you tell me you were so cool?” Y/D/N exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over as she snatched the album from you, flipping through the pictures like a child on Christmas morning.

“What do you mean “were”?” Wanda huffed in mock offense. “I’m still cool!”

A brief silence followed, punctuated only by Wanda’s playful exasperation. You reached out, squeezing her hand, the warmth of her skin grounding both of you. The resemblance between mother and daughter was striking, as if time had folded in on itself. “That picture,” you said, pointing to a particular one, “was taken around the time I first met your mom. She was this emo, tough, and incredibly intimidating girl—” You started dramatically, glancing at Wanda, who shot you a half-hearted glare.

“Okay, okay, no need to humiliate me further,” Wanda cut in, trying to maintain some shred of dignity.

“Humiliate?” You softened your voice, your eyes meeting hers. “That was the version of you I fell in love with.” You turned another page, your tone warm and nostalgic. “I mean, the whole ‘bad girl’ thing really worked for me.”

“Mom, gross!” Y/D/N laughed, wrinkling her nose in mock disgust.

You nudged her playfully. “Oh, hush. What I’m trying to say is… I fell in love with that Wanda, and every version after her.”

With each page you turned, years passed in the photographs. Different styles, changing haircuts, moments of growth captured in still images. But one thing remained constant—your love.

“…and the next,” you continued quietly. “Because that’s what love is. It’s not about how someone dresses or looks. It’s about loving them for who they are, through every version, and with how they express themselves to the world.”

You closed the album gently and reached for your daughter’s hands, holding them tenderly. “That’s why no matter how you choose to present yourself, it will never change how we feel about you. You are our daughter, and we will always love you—no matter what.” Y/D/N smiled, her eyes bright with relief and understanding. Wanda, still blushing from your words, looked at both of you with so much love that it was almost overwhelming. A sudden thought crossed her mind, her lips curving into a small, playful smile.

“You know,” Wanda began, her voice light, “if you’re interested, I still have some of those clothes.”

Your daughter’s eyes lit up. “No way.”

“Oh yes, way. Why don’t you start by heading up to the attic? I’ll join you in a sec.”

In an instant, your daughter gave Wanda a quick, excited hug before practically running towards the stairs. You and Wanda exchanged a glance, bursting into quiet laughter. As you stood up, Wanda caught you by the waist, pulling you close, her eyes filled with nothing but love. For a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you. She leaned in and kissed you, slow and tender.

“Mama! Do you still have that red jacket?” your daughter called from upstairs, breaking the moment. Wanda sighed, chuckling under her breath as she pulled away.

“I do!” Wanda called back, her voice filled with affection. “In fact, that jacket I stole from Auntie Nat!”

Another excited shriek echoed down the stairs, and you both shared a fond look.

“I better go before she tears down the attic,” Wanda said with a small smile, taking a step back.

You nodded, watching her as she began to leave, but she paused at the doorway and turned back, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Hey,” she whispered, “I am cool, right?”

A full, hearty laugh escaped you, the sound filling the room with warmth. “Yeah, Wanda. You’re the coolest.”

Wanda grinned, the playful tension melting away as she disappeared up the stairs, leaving you with a heart full of love and a smile that lingered long after she was gone.

#wanda maximoff #mcu #fluff #wanda x reader #blurb #wanda maximoff x reader #future AU #one shot

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moonxknightx · 6 months ago

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♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ : LITTLE MUTANT: :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Logan Howlett x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff :))

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆FANDOM: X-Men

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: None!

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: You are spending a peaceful afternoon with your four-year-old son, Tommy. While playing, you notice his toy plane suddenly floating in the air, revealing the first signs of his mutant abilities. Startled, you call Logan, who rushes back home. Together, you both watch as Tommy uses telekinesis to stack his building blocks, completely unaware of the gravity of what he's doing. Logan reassures you that, just like him, Tommy will learn to control his powers, and you both find comfort in knowing you'll handle it as a family.

Based on this request.

IT WAS A QUIET SUNDAY AFTERNOON AT THE HOWLETT HOUSEHOLD, the kind of peaceful day that felt like a rare gem. Birds chirped outside the open window, sunlight streamed into the living room, and the air smelled of fresh laundry. The idyllic scene was only made more perfect by the sight of you and your four-year-old son, Tommy, curled up on the sofa together.

Tommy sat in your lap, giggling as you tickled his belly, his small fingers clutching a toy airplane. He looked up at you with those big brown eyes, the ones he’d inherited from his father, Logan. That same scruffy intensity, but softened by the innocence of a child.

"Mommy, fly!" Tommy exclaimed, holding the plane above his head and wiggling it through the air. "Look! I'm a pilot!"

"You sure are, sweetie," you said, grinning. "You're the best pilot I've ever seen. Where are you flying today, Captain Tommy?"

He squinted, thinking seriously about it for a moment. "To the moon! And then... and then to the jungle to find the lions!" His arms wobbled as he made dramatic sound effects, roaring for the lions.

"The moon and the jungle? Busy day!" You played along, tousling his messy hair. He was so full of energy and imagination that it felt like every day with him was an adventure.

Just as you leaned down to kiss his forehead, you noticed something odd. The plane in his hand seemed to... well, it seemed to be shaking.

No, not shaking. Floating. It was barely perceptible, but it was definitely hovering, just a few inches above his hand.

You blinked, rubbing your eyes, thinking maybe you were just tired. Four years of motherhood didn’t exactly do wonders for your sleep schedule. But when you looked again, the plane was still floating, a soft blue glow surrounding it like it was suspended by some invisible force.

"Uh, Tommy?" you said, trying to keep your voice calm. "How are you doing that, honey?"

Tommy, completely oblivious to the phenomenon, just giggled and shook the plane in the air again. "Doing what, Mommy?"

You felt your heart skip a beat. Oh boy. Logan was going to want to see this.

You carefully placed Tommy on the sofa and reached for your phone. Logan had gone out for one of his "I need some space to clear my head" walks in the woods behind the house, but it looked like he was about to get pulled back into dad duty.

You quickly dialed his number. It only took one ring before his gravelly voice answered, laced with that familiar grumpiness.

“Yeah honey?”

“Logan, you need to get back here. Now.”

There was a brief pause. “Why? What’s wrong? Is Tommy okay?”

“He’s... fine. Sort of. Just... hurry. I think something’s happening.”

“Be there in five.” You heard the rustle of leaves and the faint sound of him running before he hung up. Classic Logan. Always ready to bolt into action the second his family needed him.

You turned back to Tommy, who had abandoned his floating toy plane in favor of drawing on the wall with a crayon. Normally, that would’ve driven you crazy, but given the circumstances, a little crayon art felt like the least of your worries.

True to his word, Logan burst through the front door exactly five minutes later, his rugged frame filling the entryway. His flannel shirt was half unbuttoned, exposing his muscular chest, and his hair was as wild as ever. He looked like he’d sprinted the entire way back.

“Okay,” he grumbled, striding into the living room. “What’s going on?”

You pointed toward Tommy, who was now sitting on the floor, happily stacking his building blocks... without touching them. The blocks were arranging themselves in mid-air, each one glowing faintly, as if magnetically drawn into place.

“Logan...” you whispered, your eyes wide. “Our son is a mutant.”

Logan’s brow furrowed as he knelt down to Tommy’s level, watching intently. He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just observing the floating blocks. Then, he sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he muttered under his breath. “He’s got it.”

You knelt beside Logan, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Do you think... do you think he knows what he’s doing?”

Tommy, blissfully unaware of the significance of his new abilities, just grinned up at the both of you. "Daddy, look! I'm a magician!"

Logan’s gruff expression softened, a rare smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, buddy. Looks like you are.”

You leaned in closer, feeling the warmth of Logan’s body next to yours as you whispered, “What do we do?”

Logan huffed a small laugh and shrugged, his usual stoicism breaking just a little. “Hell if I know. You think there’s a manual for this? He’s a kid. He’s got a mutation. We’ll figure it out.”

“But... what if he can’t control it? What if it gets worse?”

Logan glanced at you, his expression serious now, but not without comfort. “He’s our kid. We’re not gonna let him go through this alone. We’ll teach him, just like I was taught.”

You nodded, feeling the tension in your chest ease slightly. If anyone could handle this, it was Logan. He’d been through enough in his own life to know what it was like to have powers he couldn’t control. And now, with Tommy showing signs of being a mutant, it felt like you were entering uncharted territory as parents.

Tommy, meanwhile, was completely absorbed in his floating blocks, giggling as they danced in the air. “Look, Mommy! I’m making a tower!”

“That’s... a very nice tower, sweetie,” you said, forcing a smile as you watched the blocks stack themselves higher and higher.

Logan chuckled softly and ruffled Tommy’s hair, his gruff exterior melting just a little more. “Hey, kiddo, maybe we should keep the floating stuff between us for now, huh? Don’t want to freak out the other kids at daycare.”

Tommy looked up at Logan with wide eyes, as if he was processing the most important secret of his life. He nodded seriously. “Okay, Daddy. I won’t tell. It’s our secret.”

Logan shot you a look, raising his eyebrow as if to say, *See? Easy.* You rolled your eyes and nudged him playfully.

“So, what now, oh wise and experienced mutant dad?” you teased, leaning your head against Logan’s shoulder.

He smirked, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. “Now? We teach him how to use those powers right. And maybe... we start bolting down the furniture.”

You laughed, feeling the tension finally break as Logan kissed the top of your head. It wasn’t exactly the parenting journey you’d imagined, but with Logan by your side, you knew you could handle anything. Even a four-year-old with telekinesis.

Tommy, now bored of his floating tower, climbed into Logan’s lap, resting his head on his father’s chest. “Daddy, can we play with the lions tomorrow?”

Logan smiled softly, stroking Tommy’s hair. “Yeah, buddy. We’ll play with the lions. But remember... no floating lions.”

“Okay, Daddy,” Tommy murmured, his eyes fluttering shut as he dozed off.

As you watched your little boy fall asleep in Logan’s arms, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of love for both of them. Your life might not have been normal by any stretch, but it was yours. And honestly, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“Guess we’ve got our hands full,” you whispered, resting your hand on Tommy’s small back.

Logan glanced down at you, that familiar glint of affection in his eyes. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, darlin’.”

And as the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over your family, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe parenting a little mutant wasn’t going to be so bad after all.

🏷️: @twinky-wink @fidgetingbee @astarions-girl-dinner @layladestiny8 @birdy-bat-writes @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @shybluebirdninja @boomveronika @wolviesgirl @slowlikehoneyyyy @lanabobana @corvusmorte @seamlessepiphany

If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know!!

#logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett fluff #wolverine fluff #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett imagine

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anakinstwinklebunny · 3 months ago

Note

Request!! Sam buying you a mistletoe belly button piercing for Christmas as you spend Christmas at his mom’s house this year with his stepdad and family. After everyone opens their gifts you go in the kitchen to grab a glass of water where he follow you and hands you a small gift box with the piercing, he then sneakily goes to town on you in the kitchen making sure you keep a lookout since you have to kiss under the mistletoe🙈

- 🌺

Author's note: yayyyy first - the request is FIREEE and so sam-coded 😔🙏 second - WELCOME TO THE RABBIT FAMILY NONNIE

Also this is for @litt1e-misssunsh1ne who requested some smut with Sam!

MONROE household on Christmas morning was cozy and extremely chaotic - from Sam's stepbrothers running all around, to his parents trying to both calm the kids and prepare the food. Wrapping paper strewn across the living room floor with the faint sound of Christmas carols coming from the old stereo. You were perched on the arm of the couch, sipping your hot chocolate and watching as Sam’s mom fussed over her husband’s new socks, her laugh ringing out as she teased him about his gift. Sam sat beside you, looking effortlessly handsome in his black Henley, his dark eyes soft every time they landed back on you.

After the last gift was opened and the room settled into a lazy post-present bliss, you excused yourself to the kitchen for a glass of water. You barely had time to reach for the cabinet when you felt Sam’s presence behind you, his body warm and solid as he pressed against your back.

"Hey, got something for you," he murmured, voice low and teasing as he placed a small box in the palm your hand.

Your brow arched “Another gift? Thought we already did that.”

He smirked, tongue flicking over his bottom lip in that way that always made your heart do a flip “This one’s special. Open it.”

With a playful roll of your eyes, you untied the tiny ribbon and popped the lid. Nestled inside was a mistletoe belly button piercing, delicate but cheeky, the kind of thing that made your cheeks flush and your thighs press together.

“Sam…” you started, but he didn’t give you a chance to finish.

He hooked his finger under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “Figured you’d like it. And, y’know, tradition says mistletoe means kissing, so…”

Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, warm and insistent, stealing your breath as his hands slipped around your waist. The kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made you weak in the knees. You tried to pull back, to remind him you were in his mom’s kitchen, but he was relentless, his mouth moving down your neck to that sensitive spot just below your ear.

“Sam, we can’t,” you whispered, even as your fingers tangled in his hair.

He grinned, breath hot against your skin. “We’re under the mistletoe, babe. Gotta follow the rules.”

His hands slid under your sweater, fingertips grazing your bare skin as he pressed you against the counter. One hand traveled lower, tugging at the waistband of your leggings while his lips found their way to your collarbone. Your breath hitched, your heart racing as his hand slipped beneath the fabric, fingers teasing the edge of your panties.

“Sam, your mom…” you hissed, glancing toward the doorway.

“She’s busy,” he murmured, lips trailing lower. “Besides, I’ll be quick.”

Before you could protest again, he was on his knees, pulling your leggings and panties down in one swift motion. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, dark and full of mischief. “Guess I’m the first to kiss under the mistletoe,” smirked, kissing the spot just below your navel, his tongue flicking over your skin.

Your hands gripped the counter as his mouth moved lower, his tongue and lips working magic that left you trembling. Every swipe of his tongue, every gentle suck, had you biting your lip to keep quiet, your body arching toward him as he held you firmly in place.

“Keep an eye out, baby,” he teased, his voice muffled against you. “Don’t want anyone walking in, do we?”

You tried to focus, tried to listen for footsteps, but it was impossible with the way he worked you, his tongue pushing you closer to the edge with every calculated movement. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your breaths coming in short, shaky gasps as you fought to keep from crying out.

“Sam,” you whimpered, your body tightening as you hovered on the brink. “Oh, God…”

He hummed against you, the vibration sending a shiver up your spine as you came undone, your body trembling under his touch. He didn’t stop until you were shaking, until you had to push at his shoulders to catch your breath.

Standing, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, that cocky grin firmly in place. “Merry Christmas, babe.”

You glared at him, still breathless. “You’re impossible.”

He kissed you, soft and sweet this time, before tucking you back into your leggings and smoothing your sweater. And as the sound of footsteps approached, he winked at you. “Better keep that mistletoe piercing in. Never know when Santa might stop by.”

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @deceptiive @anakinskwkler @bimbo-baggins17 @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @litt1e-misssunsh1ne

#bunny's replies ૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა #bunny's anons ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ #hayden christensen #star wars #life as a house #sam monroe x y/n #sam monroe x you #sam monroe fanfiction #sam monroe smut #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe #sam monroe x female reader #x you smut #anakin smut #anakin skywalker smut #hayden christensen smut #anakin skywalker x reader

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sinstear · 7 months ago

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— ABBY ANDERSON ꫂৎ ★ nsfw ☆ sfw

FICS ꫂৎ ☆ winter kiss ★ cockwarming lawyer!abby ☆ home is where you are ☆ we fell in love in october ★ nerd!abby x reader x ellie ★ nerd!abby x reader x ellie part 2 ☆ in your arms, where it’s safe ★☆ taste me when she’s kissing you — being friends with benefits with abby is no easy feat, continuously finding yourself at odds with what you know is logic and a heavy heart but at tess and joel’s wedding, push comes to shove. putting you and abby between a rock and a hard place. collab with the amazing @vifilms

DRABBLES ꫂৎ ★ i hate you ★ nerd ☆ walk me home ★ meanish lawyer!abby ★ mean abby ☆ heart eyes ☆ lawyer!abby being obsessed with you ☆ soft and gentle ☆ tender and careful ☆ hold my face in the palm of your hands, and kiss me ☆ gold brings out the brightness in your eyes, i think it’s perfect designer!abby ☆ hold me close, because i fear i’ll be lost without you ★☆ soft and silly sex with abby ★ bestfriend!abby 2 ★ abby + slaps ☆ do you know it ain’t hard to love you? ☆ if she lookin’ and she my type, oh no ☆ time hurries on, and the leaves that are green turn to brown ☆ kisses with abby ★☆ first time with abby ★ abby likes to watch ☆ playing with & braiding abby’s hair

HEADCANONS ꫂৎ ★☆ lawyer!abby 02 ★☆ lawyer!abby 03

BLURBS ꫂৎ ★☆ lawyer!abby ★ lawyer!abby + video (PL) ★ mean abby ★ brat tamer abby ★ ellabs thirst ★ abby christmas thought ★ abby pussy slapping ★ gym abby ★ finger sucking ★☆ abby + polaroid of your tits ★☆ lawyer!abby touches ★ abby tongue piercing ★ clit playing ☆ cafés and crosswords ★ sub abby ★ lawyer!abby ★☆ gym abby 2 ★ abby’s face ★ bestfriend!abby ★ dealer!abby ☆ soft touches ★☆ short and sweet ☆ tired and needy ★ tattooist!abby ★ sub!abby ★ scissoring with abby ★ abby in a skirt ☆ obsessive abby ☆ cookies & love ★ needy abby

SERIES ꫂৎ ★☆ electraplayer — infamous for their presence in the ring and their unrelenting talent when they’re on the court dribbling the basketball in their god like hands, being met with nothing but net. the renown nickname followed them whenever they went. a blessing? a curse? whose to say. in a blink of an eye, it becomes more than they bargained or even wished for when a certain blonde comes stumbling into their lap.

★☆ poisoned by lust — wealthy, well-known, and has the best drugs in the state. abby is feared by everyone in new york. she’s a queen at putting people out of money just by shutting down their shitty weed operations. what happens when shy old you catches her eye?

★☆ call me if you’re with it — Abby Anderson, the southern peach of the neighborhood, the sweetest to ever be in the bluebonnet state has built a family to be proud of. With a blue collar wife, Ellie, and her baby cub Remi to take care of her life should feel complete, whole. Yet on the cusp of a failed marriage, she’s lonely, struggling to do everything this household requires. She seeks solace in someone else and that friend just happens to be you.

☆ secrets will kill you, keep it hush — what was once the best times of your lives, what happens when the one you loved more than live itself, your best friend; vanishes without a trace and it’s up to you and your friends to figure out what happened? can you save her in time?

★☆ HOW MANY YEARS OF CRAZY?

REQUESTS ꫂৎ ★ jealousy ★ loser!abby breeding kink ☆ lawyer!abby meeting you ★ abby + tit groping ★ abby spitting on your pussy ★ tribbing with abby ☆ soft abby ★☆ abby + spanking ★ ice play ★☆ hip kisses ☆ sugar mommy lawyer!abby ☆ mini me

#sinstear abby masterlist #abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson smut #abby anderson fic #abby anderson angst #abby anderson blurb #abby anderson drabble #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson headcanons

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regressionschool · 5 days ago

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MOMMY KNOWS BEST: A NEW APPROACH TO MARRIAGE?

By Emily Dawson, Investigative Reporter

In an era of rising divorce rates and failing marriages, one company believes they have found a radical yet effective solution—one that redefines the roles within relationships rather than dissolving them.

The "Mommy Knows Best" (MKB) program, developed by Pampers Corporation, offers struggling couples an alternative to separation. Instead of counseling or legal battles, the program transitions one partner—typically the husband—into a fully dependent little.

By removing the stress, ego, and responsibility that often cause marital tension, Pampers claims to create a more balanced, harmonious household where the wife assumes a nurturing role, and the husband embraces a simpler, carefree existence.

To its supporters, it’s a long-overdue revolution. To its critics, it’s a disturbing erasure of masculinity.

“A Man Should Be a Man” – A Former Husband Speaks Out

Not everyone is thrilled with the program. Joseph, 38, once a participant in MKB, now lives alone after divorcing his wife of ten years. He remains a vocal critic of what he calls “forced regression”.

“They stripped men of everything that makes them men,” he says, his jaw tightening. “This isn’t love. It’s control.”

According to Joseph, his wife enrolled him without his full understanding. “She made it sound like therapy,” he scoffs. “Like something that would help us communicate better. But the ‘communication’ part? That was just me being told what to do while I sat there in a… in a… damn diaper.”

His fingers twitch on the table as he hesitates on the word, his cheeks flushing slightly, as if the memory itself still holds power over him.

I ask him how long he was in the program. He sighs. “Seven months.”

And when he left?

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, avoiding eye contact. “It… took a while to adjust.”

Adjust?

His face darkens. “By the time I got out, I couldn’t even remember how to use the potty—eh, I mean toilet.”

He corrects himself quickly, but the slip is noticeable. A shadow of something uncertain flickers in his expression.

Does he still struggle with… certain habits?

His knee bounces under the table. "No. No, I’m fine now.” But he doesn’t sound convinced.

Though he claims to be fully independent again, he admits that certain instincts—like waiting for permission before making decisions—have been harder to shake.

“They train you to obey,” he mutters bitterly. “And for some guys, I guess that’s fine. But me? I lost everything.”

“He Finally Listens to Me” – A Wife’s Perspective

For Claire, 34, the experience couldn’t have been more different.

Before enrolling her husband, she says their marriage was on the verge of collapse.

“He never listened,” she explains, folding laundry as we talk. “Worked late, ignored housework, expected me to handle everything. It was like having a man-child already, just without the cute parts.”

She gestures toward the living room, where her husband—once a domineering, independent man—now sits in a soft playpen, happily occupied with colorful stacking rings.

He’s sucking a blue pacifier, his thick, crinkly Pampers diaper peeking out from beneath his cozy footed onesie. When Claire strokes his hair, he coos softly, leaning into her touch like an affectionate toddler.

“Now?” she smiles. “He actually listens.”

She explains that, in the past, every conversation turned into an argument. Now, there’s no stubbornness, no backtalk, no stress.

“When I tell him it’s naptime, he lays down. When I say he needs a change, he just giggles and lets me handle it. It’s the first time I’ve felt truly respected as a wife.”

But does he ever resist?

Claire chuckles, shaking her head. “Oh, of course. He still has little moments.”

Right on cue, her husband huffs and crosses his arms. "No change," he pouts, shaking his head. "Diaper fine."

Claire sighs. “Sweetheart, you’re soaked.”

He scowls, his lower lip jutting out petulantly—but when Claire raises an eyebrow, her voice firm yet patient, his resolve wavers.

“If you don’t let me change you,” she warns, “I’m turning off your cartoons for the rest of the day.”

His eyes widen. "Noooo!" He shakes his head frantically, the pacifier bouncing against his chest. “I be good! I be good!”

With a resigned sigh, he clambers onto the changing mat, his thick, swollen diaper squishing loudly beneath him. Claire ruffles his hair affectionately.

“See? So much easier than before,” she says with a smile.

Is This the Future of Marriage?

The Mommy Knows Best program is growing in popularity, with thousands of struggling couples enrolling every year. Pampers Corp reports that over 92% of participants choose to remain in the program permanently, claiming it strengthens marriages, eliminates conflict, and improves household harmony.

Psychologists point to reduced stress, structured routines, and positive reinforcement as key elements of its success.

And, of course, Pampers ensures that no participant ever has to worry about leaks, discomfort, or independence again.

For some, like Joseph, the program represents a loss of identity. But for women like Claire?

She simply smiles. “For the first time in my life, I’m happy. And more importantly?” She glances at her husband, who is now happily sucking his pacifier, waiting to be changed.

“So is he.”

(Sponsored in part by Pampers Corporation. Because a happy marriage starts with a happy little.)

#ab dl diaper #ab/dl diaper #diaper stories #ab/dl stories #regression school #diaper captions #ab/dl caption #wetting diaper #diaper bulge #ab/dl

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suguwife · 7 months ago

Text

𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧

tags: CEO gojo x f!reader, mean gojo, enemies to lovers trope, 18+ mdni, profanity, teasing, clit play, dub con (?)

- 4.8k wc

(series masterlist) -> chapter two

Silent.

The master bedroom of Gojo Satoru's sky-rise was deathly silent. Neither of you spoke to each other after you came home from the wedding. It was beautiful, yet the moments spent with him weren't. He was nothing but cold.

Neither of you spoke on the way back home, he hasn’t even spared you a single glance yet either. A mutual disdain for the situation you were in, an arranged marriage, one that neither of you truly wanted but was forced upon by his father for the sake of an heir to their family company.

Satoru stood in his master bedroom, loosening his tie from when he slid the ring onto my finger, binding us two together.

A complete joke. He hated this. He hated you. He didn't want to be married and now he was. His ring was now discarded on the bedside drawer.

In a few hours, you were both expected to attend a family dinner back at the Gojo Estate. Right now there was only silence.

Gojo POV

I wash my face in the bathroom, wiping it away with a plush, Egyptian cotton bath towel. Staring into the mirror, as I analyse the exhaustion in my expression. 27 years of being controlled under my father's rules were tiring. My whole childhood was just my father rambling on to me about the company and business and how I should behave. My family, apart from my biological mother, never loved me, so I’ve never really believed in love either. And hell, I don't think I'd ever fall in love with her either.

Not when I was surrounded by an angry and distant household my whole childhood, how could I ever believe in the joke of love? Marriage is useless to me. I didn't want to get married, especially not to some woman I barely knew.

Turning away from the mirror, I walk out the bathroom in just a pair of black sweatpants. The door separating the bathroom from the bedroom slowly opened.

When my eyes locked onto her sitting like a lost puppy on my bed I swallowed. My eyes were travelling over her figure, and it stayed there. How she was wrapped up in that cream, satin dress. How it highlighted every curve of her.

I push his hands into my pockets and lean against the bathroom door frame. I don’t say anything yet, waiting for her to speak first instead. My eyes continued to wander over her figure sitting on my bed. I take a deep breath and cross my arms over my chest, still leaning against the door frame, still staring at her.

I silently analyse her.

I hated her. I hated that she was the one that had father arrange this marriage. Hated that her family and mine were already friends, making it easier for this arrangement. I hated her so much I could strangle her.

Cruel, yes, do I care? No.

However, I couldn't deny her beauty.

I move away from the bathroom door frame, taking long strides towards her until I stood in front of her.

A soft sigh left my lips as my eyes continued to look over her. I hated her so much. She was only attractive, that’s all.

I slowly raise my right hand, and placed it under her chin, comfortably grabbing a hold of her entire jawline. Slowly, I raised her face, forcing her to look up at me.

Reader POV

You’re confused. Why is he touching you like this? Is he doing this for his own pleasure or is he trying to show affection? No idea. “What is it?”

His thumb finds your bottom lip, playing with the flesh as his eyes fixated on them whilst he speaks in a quiet and steady tone, “How do you feel about all this? The marriage?”

It was as if a predator was staring down you, the prey, trying to decipher what part of the body he should feast on first.

The more he rubs his thumb against your lip, the more your core tightens and you hate how sensitive you are to touch.

It's embarrassing, really. He didn't pay you any attention during the wedding or the way back and now he’s showing you affection?

You think to yourself. You wanted this marriage. You wanted him to love you, but he never wanted this.

After you told his father that you found an interest towards Satoru, he immediately arranged the marriage. You were unable to take back your words as he didn't listen. He just assumed you were too shy so he ignored your pleas, “It's fine really sir! I don't want to get married to him, I just found him attractive and interesting! That's all!”

You wish you never told his father how you felt about his son. His son is nothing but cold and you know he hates you. It's evident.

Now you’re stuck in a loveless marriage.

And yet you find yourself leaning into the touch of his fingers.

His fingers grab your chin with more pressure, “How do you feel about this marriage? Be honest with me.”

“Um...”

“Be honest with me, doll.” He repeats. That nickname was anything but endearing. It sounded cold, it was mocking you. Mocking you as his doll to control and play with.

Closing the gap further between you both, he leaned forward. His face hovered a mere few cm away from yours. Eyes sharp, breath scorching hot against your face. In fact, he seemed to almost enjoy seeing you all nervous and vulnerable. How cruel. Never mind, that little bit of arousal within you was gone like the wind.

“Are you okay with this marriage?” you say.

He was almost taken back by the question, loosening his grip on your chin. He stared at you silently for a few seconds before responding, “Why do you care?”

It’s not that you care, “I just want to know since you're asking me.”

He rolled his eyes at your response. “What do you think, hm?” he spits, his tone laced with sarcasm. He took a deep breath before continuing. “I feel like this is a mistake.”

It's only a mistake if you make it a mistake.

He continued to lean above you, his body hovering over yours. He was practically pinning you in place with his height and body size.

“This whole marriage was a mistake.” His voice still steady and sharp.

The tension in the air was thick, so thick it was suffocating. It felt as if trying to cut it with a damn knife wouldn't even work. That's how thick it felt.

He spoke again, his voice still cold and harsh. “We are only married because of the fucking elders of my family wanting an heir for the company soon. I don't love you, and I never will. Never.”

You knew he didn't. But you didn't expect him to stab you with those words with such force. You wished he'd just leave you alone.

But he wouldn't.

He's your husband now. You’re married to him. What a blessing.

“Don't get any ideas that this marriage is some goddamn fairytale. It's not. This isn't some happy end to your pathetic life. I can't even stand you. From the moment we met, I found you nothing but annoying.”

You get it, You understand. Why does he keep rambling?

If he can’t stand you why is touching you like this?

He paused and for a brief moment, an amused chuckle escaped from his lips.

He really seemed like a spawn of satan. You didn't expect this.

Tauntingly, and slowly, he began to push his thumb into your mouth, forcing your lips to remain parted, leaving you both uncomfortable and confused

“You're absolutely pathetic. You've been fawning over me for how many years now? And now what, you're my wife?

... I almost pity you.”

His thumb began to gently rub against your tongue inside your mouth. A cold chuckle escaped him as he watched your expression, your saliva coating his thumb. “You’re so goddamn easy to toy with. You want me so desperately, but I don't want you. Isn't that a funny joke?” He continued his little game, gently rubbing the pad of his large, rough thumb against your tongue.

All you could do was furrow your brows and muffle. You couldn't tell if you felt hurt or if you were enjoying this.

God, why are you even debating between two?

You should feel hurt, shouldn't you? So why is your body telling the opposite? Why does his thumb in your mouth feel so good?

Tears were brimming your eyes already from his words and the feeling of his thumb as he pushed further inside your mouth almost reaching for your throat making your lips quiver.

He moved his thumb slightly out again, but still inside your mouth. Gently moving in circles, the pad of his thumb rubbed against the soft flesh of your tongue. “What's wrong? Did I hurt your damn feelings?”

You knew you probably looked so flushed right now, heavy breaths and whimpers escaping you as his thumb continued. And he chuckles.

“Come on doll, say something. Use your pretty little voice.”

You can't speak. You let out a shaken muffle against his thumb in your mouth. He chuckles again. Clearly he found your inability to speak amusing. Dickhead.

He continues pressing his thumb against the flesh of your tongue, your warm saliva coating his skin.

“Did my words take your fucking voice away?” You can’t help but twitch.

“You're so easy to mess with, letting me do whatever the fuck i want. Even when I hurt your feelings. You're basically a toy.” He slowly pulled his thumb out as he spoke, his fingers still grabbing the bottom of your chin in a tight grip.

A string of saliva was still connecting his thumb and you mouth as he pulled it out. He moves his thumb back in as you swallow, making your mouth clench around his sudden entrance.

All you could do was let out another muffle and furrow your brows in frustration. He was messing your damn lipstick up. You’re supposed to go to the family dinner soon and he's messing you up.

What's that supposed to fucking mean?

“Ah, right. Forgot you're a little doll who has to be all prim and proper for the family dinner.” He titled your chin higher, leaning down with his burning breath blowing into your face. “You're so stupid. Getting all flustered and nervous from just a few shitty words, and your biggest worry is your makeup getting messed. Don't you worry about that, sweetheart. Your makeup will get messed up soon enough.”

Why is he taunting you? If he hates you, why is he saying such words? You’re so confused, questioning everything everytime he speaks.

“I said I don't love you, right doll?” His hand traced down from your chin to your neck and slowly wrapped itself around it. Tightening his grip.

You’re scared. You’re so scared. And yet your body is enjoying it. The between of your legs are heated and soaking wet with his behaviour.

You don't know if it's because you’re attracted to him and because he's giving you attention or if it's simply because you enjoy being hurt.

Probably both.

Are you a masochist? Surely not.

“What's the matter? I thought you would say something to defend yourself, or at least try to stand up to me. But I guess it's too much for you, huh?” He slowly began to push you down, forcing you to lay down on the bed, his large hand still wrapped firmly around your neck.

As he hovers over your body, he looks down, slowly applying more pressure onto your neck, pinning you in place, “You're pathetic, doll. You really are.”

Is he going to kill you?

He’s chuckling again darkly at the expression of panic on your face, “Ah, did I scare you doll?” He says with a mocking, soft tone.

He continues to slowly apply more pressure and you can feel your heartbeat and breathing pace up, but he’s chuckling. Again. “What's wrong, doll? You look scared.”

Why does he keep saying that damn name?

He leans closer to your face, his breath scorching hot against your skin, his body hovering mere centimetres away from yours. “Are you afraid that I might hurt you?”

That sentence, that sentence caused your fear to overcome your feeling of arousal. He's being serious.

You can’t move.

You can’t breathe.

His grip on your neck slowly started to loosen again and you immediately start to catch your breath, but his hand begins trailing downwards, moving towards the fabric of your satin dress, “Don't worry, doll.” He paused, leaning even closer, his lips making their way to my ear.

“I won't hurt you too badly, for now.” He whispers into your ear. Jolting fear and terror right through you. What does that mean?

Is he going to abuse you later? Have you really married an abusive man?

You can't help but whimper in response, fear running through your veins.

“Look at you, doll.”

He keeps calling you that and you hate it. You hate it so much. You hate it because when he calls you it, it's to show you as pathetic, as something he can toy with.

He continues to move his large hand, pushing up the fabric of your dress and resting it on the fat of your thigh, just above the strap of the garter that you hadn't bothered to take off yet.

“You look so damn nervous and scared right now. Maybe you should be. It's not fun if you're not.” He slowly began to trail his hand up your thigh, pushing the fabric up in the progress.

“Stop.. we have to attend the dinner soon-“

“Oh, my Y/N is so damn worried about being on time for these stupid dinners, isn't she?” He starts to slowly slide his hand up further underneath your dress. “Calm down, doll. Theres no need to worry about the fucking family dinner. I'm sure they won't mind if we're a little late.”

Slowly, he began to toy with the strap of your garter, gently teasing the fabric with his long, cold fingers. “Maybe I just want to keep you all to myself.” He whispers into your ear and you can feel his breath hot against your neck, making you hitch your breath.

“Maybe I just want to mess you up before this stupid family dinner, and show everyone the way you fall apart under my touch.” He's right, you are falling apart.

How pathetic.

“You look so damn pretty in this dress. It's too bad that I know it wont stay on for much longer, doll.”

You flush, like an idiot.

You can literally feel the heat radiating off your cheeks. A cold, distant chuckle escapes him as he stares down at you.

What the fuck are you doing?

“Oh, doll.” He whispers into your ear once more. “You're getting all excited at the idea of me messing you up, aren't you?” His fingers gently push your underwear to the side, tracing and smoothing his digits over your already wet folds, up and down. Your eyeslids flutter in response, completely flushed as you let out a shuddered breath.

He chuckles again. He keeps fucking chuckling.

“Look at you, so desperate and needy, but I know you want this. You want me to mess you up. Don't you?”

Slowly, he removes his hand, tracing his finger up your body in a taunting manner, gently tracing the curves and dips of your figure before stopping at your chest, just above the fabric of the dress.

“Well it's not gonna happen.” He snaps in a low, frustrated tone looking down at you with nothing but immense hatred.

Oh, okay.

He removes his hand away from you, pushing himself back slowly, moving off your body that he finds so much disgust in. He sits on the edge of the bed.

That's it? He built up your breathing, made you get wet from his sickening words, and then just.. moves away?

"What the hell did you think was gonna happen here?" He says in a bitter tone.

You have no idea. You don't know why you’re being so passive either. This isn’t you.

Maybe it is you.

God get a grip!

“Did you think I was gonna give you what you want?” He paused, running a hand through his hair with a frustrated expression. He's so frustrated. He's always frustrated. “You really think you're that damn lucky?”

He pauses again as he sits on the edge of the bed. Then speaks again. “Y/N, you're so fucking desperate. It’s almost embarrassing for you.”

You lay on your back in that same position he had pinned you down on by holding onto your throat, almost killing you.

You’re left dumbfounded.

He continues to look down at the ground, avoiding eye contact with you, his fists clenched at his sides. “You’re so desperate for my touch. So desperate for my attention. You’re so obsessed with me it’s almost sickening.” He says in a low, annoyed tone.

That’s not true.

Maybe it is.

“Do you have any idea how much I hate this? How much I hate you?” He clenched his fists tighter and let out a bitter scoff, still avoiding eye contact. “I despise you, Y/N. Every single damn thing about you pisses me off. You’re nothing but a headache to me.” He paused for a moment, his voice becoming ice cold. “Honestly I wish I could just rip your fucking heart out and snap it in two.”

You flinch at the words, a single tear rolling down your eye that you didn’t even notice until it itches down the skin of your neck.

How could he say such things? Does he mean that?

You don’t like him. Forget it. All that attraction is gone.

“What, are you about to cry now?”

You don’t respond, another tear escaping as you stare at the ceiling.

Why are you crying? You don’t care.

“Ah look, another tear. Do you want me to comfort you or something?” He mocks tauntingly. “Want me to tell you that it’s just a little joke?” “Want me to say I love you?”

Stop it.

He continues to watch the tears escape your eyes as your face remains expressionless, an expression of disgust now on his face. You slowly sit up, hair messed from him pinning you on the bed, your lipstick smudged by his thumb.

“Look at you, you look a fuckin’ mess.” He chuckles as he takes in your current state.

You continue to stay silent. What's the point of biting back? He’ll just bite back worse.

“You look even more pathetic when you don’t speak Y/N, but I guess it’s better this way. It’s better when you don’t speak.” He says in a mocking tone. Always mocking you. “Because every single word that leaves your mouth pisses me off even more than I already was.” Bitter. “Honestly, I wish you would just shut your mouth all the time. It’d be better for the both of us.” He lets out a bitter scoff as he glares at you sternly. “But of course you never do. You’re always whining or begging. You’re so fucking loud.”

What the fuck is he ranting about now? You’re irritated.

He’s just throwing random delusions in his mind that he’s created in his small pea-sized brain to justify his hatred towards you. Well you hate him too now. “I’ve barely spoken since we got married this morning-“ But of course he cuts you off.

“You still spoke plenty at the wedding.” He says irritably as he rolls his eyes. “And all those people saw what a desperate, clingy mess you are. You were practically begging me to say I love you at the altar.”

That’s not true either.

“They saw you cling onto me like a toy. They saw you holding onto my arm. They saw the way you were all flustered when I said my vows to you.”

You were just playing the act of a happy bride.

“They saw how you looked at me when I slid that ring onto your finger. Like you were seeing your whole world fall into place or whatever other bullshit.” He lets out another scoff, his voice laced with bitterness. “God, you make me sick.”

“Well why did you agree to this arrangement if you never wanted it?” You bite back, irritated by his stupid accusations.

“I agreed to this arrangement because I didn’t have a damn choice, doll. Did you really think I would choose to marry you?” He clenches his fists at his sides again.

He does that quite often and you can't tell if he’s trying to ease his tension or if he’s doing that to hold back from punching you.

Probably the second theory.

What is it that he has against you so badly? Did he have to break up with someone to be with you or what?

“Now I’m stuck with you because father wants a fucking heir. I hate you, it makes me sick to think about a child with you.” He continues to glare at you, his expression still filled with hatred and annoyance. “It's like he knew exactly how to make me suffer. He knew that marrying me to a clingy, desperate doll like you would really piss me off. And he was right.”

He keeps saying you’re clingy. You’re not clingy?

He was the one with his thumb in your mouth a couple minutes ago. Not the other way around.

“Father knew that having a wife like you, who's obsessed with me, would be the worst possible nightmare for me. And now he’s trapped me with you forever, doll.”

You’re the trapped one here. You don’t know why you’re not arguing back as much. Well, mainly it’s because you know he won’t listen, won’t care and would just stick to his stupid thoughts.

“I’m not clingy, where the fuck do you keep getting that from?”

“Doll, you’ve been clinging to me since morning. At the damn wedding, you were hanging onto my arm the whole time, and you were blushing like a damn idiot when I slid the ring onto your finger. Do you really think that's not clingy?”

“Thats because we needed to show the guests that the marriage is fine.” You grit your teeth in response. Is it not obvious?

He sneered at your comment. “Ah, there it is. That bullshit excuse. You were doing it for the guests, right? To show them that everything is fine. You were just faking your clinginess to show the damn guests that it's ‘fine’, huh? Is that what you're telling yourself?”

He chuckles bitterly “You were not just faking it for the guests, doll. You wanted to cling onto me in front of everyone. You wanted to let them all know that you're mine now”

You let out a sigh as he speaks, nothing you say will go through his thick head. Whats the point in arguing back? You’d waste your breath.

He lets out a scoff. Always scoffing. “What? Is that a sigh of defeat, doll? Finally accepting that you're just a clingy, desperate, obsessed mess?”

“I’m not obsessive.”

He rolls his eyes again. “Oh? So you're not obsessed with me?” He paused for a moment, sarcastically pretending to think before he continued. “So you don't spend your whole day thinking about me? You dont think about when you get to touch me again? You dont fantasize about when you can get my attention again?”

Is he fantasising that? Are his memories messed up?

You don’t do any of that. You almost want to laugh, holy shit.

“You just have a big ego.” You say as you turn your head to glare back at him, scoffing a laugh. Frustration evident across your features.

He lets out a bitter chuckle at your comment. "Maybe you're right, doll. I do have a big ego.”

You sigh again as you begin to stand up.

“What, you giving up now?”

Ignoring him, you make your way to the large walk in closet and fix yourself in the mirror, and you know he’s watching you.

“Doll?” He calls out in a cold tone.

He calls out again, this time raising his voice slightly “Doll, get back out here and stop avoiding me.”

You brush my hair, still ignoring him. Now he wants you back near him? He’s just contradicting himself.

You’re hurting his ego by ignoring him yet you’re giving what he wants by leaving him alone.

Clearly his ego is winning.

“Y/N.” He says in a stern tone. No longer using that awfully sick nickname of ‘Doll.’ “I said get out here, now.”

Why does he want you near him again? He just said you make him sick. You reapply your lip liner.

He groans irritably when you continue to ignore his calls and you can feel his presence nearing you.

You tint your lips with a gloss, he’s right behind you now, peering over your shoulder as you continue to touch up your appearance. He watches in silence, his expression still filled with resentment and annoyance.

He lets out a scoff when he sees you running the liner over your lips again. He rolls his eyes at the sight. “Jesus Christ, doll. How much lipstick do you have on right now?”

You continue to ignore his words as you rub your lips together and dab them with your finger.

His expression remains cold and annoyed, but you don’t miss the way his pupils trail and take in every feature of your face and body through the mirror.

Finally, you turn around, his gaze still locked on you. His eyes slowly wander over every inch of you, taking in the way the light reflects off your skin, and how the fabric of your dress hugs your body. He takes in every little detail, from your hair, to the blush on your cheeks, to the shine on your lips.

You still ignore him, walking past him.

He lets out a scoff, clearly annoyed. “Are you just gonna pretend l'm not here now?”

He steps forward, stopping you in your tracks as he places a hand on your shoulder, forcing you to stop. “Don't ignore me.” He said in a cold, irritated tone.

He steps closer, closing the distance between the two of you. He grabs your chin between his thumb and index finger, forcing you to look up at him. “Don't ignore me when I'm speaking to you, Y/N.”

He’s so close to you now, again, his icy gaze locked on you. His body is pressed up against yours, trapping you in his grasp. He holds your chin firmly, keeping you in place as he speaks in a cold, commanding tone. “You will look at me when I speak to you. You will not ignore me. Understand?”

Who the fuck is he talking to?

He waits for your response, his gaze fixated on you. He keeps his grip firm on your chin, not allowing you to look away or escape his grasp. “Answer me, y/n.”

You look up at him, taking in his presence. He’s beautiful. His heart is not. His heart is just as icy as his eyes. His beautiful eyes.

He holds your gaze for a moment, “Good.” He says in an approving tone. He releases his grip on your chin, but doesn't move away from you. He remains standing closely to you, his body still pressed against yours

He lets out a scoff, his expression still cold. “You really are a pain in the ass, you know that?” He paused for a moment, before continuing in a mocking tone.

Now he’s complaining? “You don’t even want me near you.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I don't want you near me, doll. But that doesn't mean I'm gonna let you ignore me or avoid me when I'm speaking to you.”

Oh, so it’s about control.

You’re bored of being in this room. You’re bored of his childish behaviour. You sigh as you speak, “We should get going, your father’s estate is an hour away.”

He scoffs at your sigh. “Yeah, yeah we should get going. And don't sigh at me again, doll. You know that pisses me off.”

Do you care? No.

He takes a step back from you, giving you some space to move. He walks over to his wardrobe putting on plain black pants and a white shirt, leaving the first 2 buttons unbuttoned. God, he looks so good.

He fixes his hair quickly then you both head over to the penthouse entrance and pull on your shoes.

“Come on.” He grabs his car keys and you both make your way out. He steps into the elevator alongside you, his expression still cold and emotionless. Standing silently in the elevator, he crosses his arms over his chest.

The elevator dings and you both enter the garage. He leads the way to his car, unlocking the doors with the key fob in his hand.

He walks over to the driver seat but doesn’t open the passenger door for you.

Why would he anyway? There’s nobody around.

Nobody to fake your appearance to.

🏷️taglist - @shokosbunny @kalopsia-flaneur @ssc7514 @labelt-san @esposadomd @wrldwyde @katbug37 @raging-hormonal-emotion-blog @mutsu422 @sebastianlover @reneny @chososg1rl @blissingtaehyung @dazailover1900 @blindbabycadder @kurookinnie @sillyfreakfanparty @eolivy @n0tviv @lavender-hvze @lilastimeee @nothingseenstuff @gentlebeari @itawifeyy @yung-notorious @vymeimei @holeylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @sinn-clair @akirawatchestv @chanslazyrap @jjili @sharkerino

(names in red couldnt be tagged - pls fix this!)

#gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo smut #arranged marriage #gojo satoru smut #jjk gojo #satoru gojo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #enemies to lovers #suguwife #jujutsu kaisen #depthsofpain:🖤series

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madamspellmans-met-tet · 3 months ago

Text

🍷Illicit Affairs🍷

Lilia Calderu x fem!reader

(2nd person narrator on tumblr & OC with 3rd person narrator on Ao3!)

tags: Wine Mom AU, Lilia is Alice's mom, Lorna is Lilia's ex wife, divorced lesbian!Lilia, reader is Alice's best friend, and has a crush on her mom, Crushes, Yearning, Family Fluff, pet names,

wc: ~ 3.1 k (Chapter 1/4)

summary: Alice has been your best friend for years—you're a familiar face in the Calderu household. But recently, you have developed a crush on your best friend's mom Lilia.

A/N: canon Lilia is Sicilian but I couldn't find enough resources on the language and culture to write it confidently, and since this is an AU anyway, I went with her being Italian and got some advice in from a friendly reader <3

-> 3rd person/OC version on Ao3

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

The setting sun shone in your face through the large window, casting a golden glow over your face, your hair, and your fingers moving over the frets of the guitar. It was magic. Golden. A sparkling spell wrapping around Alice and you.

You swung the guitar into the air as the last riff rang out and Alice struck the final chord behind you on the piano. You wiped the sheen of sweat from your forehead that two hours of band practice had put there and dropped onto the piano stool next to your best friend.

"I think we're good for Saturday," you said, gasping for breath, and rested your head on Alice's shoulder.

"If you still have a voice by then." She nudged you with her elbow. "Seriously, don't stress so much about it."

"It's our first real gig." Your tone had a bit of a pout to it. Alice was right: you were overdoing it and straining your voice, but the thought of a room full of people listening to you just made you want it to be perfect. No. The thought of Alice's mother, Lilia, who she lived with, watching did.

"And so what? It's only my other mom's pub."

"As if your other mom wasn't Lorna fucking Wu!"

"That was a long time ago."

"Damn right it was!" Lilia called as the front door fell shut and you heard her dropping her bag onto the floor. "That old hag couldn't carry a tune if her life depended on it these days!"

You both laughed, familiar with Lilia's crude yet harmless sense of humour, and followed Alice into the hallway, leaning against the doorframe as she greeted her mother with a hug and a kiss to each cheek. But then Lilia focused on you and frowned, beckoning you closer. "You don't wanna let mamma go without a hug from her dolcezza, do you?"

Blushing at the term of endearment she always used on you, you joined them, and as you wrapped your arms around both, Lilia pressed a sloppy kiss into your hair and then her daughter's. When you'd first befriended Alice in college, you'd envied her for how open and loud her family's love was, but you'd quickly learnt that there was no reason to. They treated you just the same.

"Why are you home so late?" Alice asked as Lilia released the two of you. "I thought with the new concierge things were running smoother at the hotel..."

"I wish, piccina!" Lilia exclaimed with a sigh and headed for the spacious kitchen, where she took out a bottle of Bordeaux and poured each of you a glass. "If they weren't all behaving as if they didn't have a head on their shoulders."

Her grey, shoulder-length hair cascaded in waves down beside her neck as she tilted her head, contrasting the white blouse and pastel plaid scarf draped across one shoulder. She handled the bottle with elegant flicks of her wrist, light catching in the golden rings on her fingers, and set it down to pick her own glass up.

"To the imbeciles I work with!" she toasted with a subtle shake of her head that made her bangs swing and took a generous sip from her glass, leaving a crimson lipstick stain behind that you eyed longer than you should.

"Will you be there on Saturday?" you asked her, slipping onto a stool at the kitchen island as Alice had done.

Alice sent you a scolding look. You knew that Lilia refused to go anywhere near Lorna since the divorce, but you couldn't help but want her there. Alice and Lilia had been the best support you could've wished for when you'd first figured out you were into women: Lilia had let you stay at her house for a week after your first situationship had ended horribly, and... you liked Lilia. A lot. More than someone should like their best friend's mom.

"Oh, I'm not sure, honey," Lilia declined politely and hid behind her glass. For all that she was cocky about Lorna and their divorce, you'd known her long enough to know it still stung.

"It's okay, mamma."

The mood dampened a bit. It was easy to tell that Alice would like her there too, but she'd long gotten that idea out of her head due to the situation—but you couldn't let it rest.

"It would mean a lot," you said, biting your lip as her eyes locked onto yours. So big and brown and beautiful.

"Oh, my dolcezza." Lilia gave a loud exhale, her eyebrows pinched together as she softened for you. "You know I can't say no to my favourite girls."

It was your turn to hide the effect of her words behind a sip of wine. The cotton comfort it washed over you was much needed. These days, her proximity was enough to send your stomach into a flutter.

It had started a few months ago. You'd been tidying up after band practice, alone, since Alice had had a date that night and needed to leave early, and that's when you'd heard Lilia sing in the kitchen. It was the first time you'd heard her voice, and you hadn't been able to believe your ears. It was so rich and melodious, with a strong vibrato and an unfathomable depth of emotion that pulled you in.

And so you'd gone to investigate, tiptoed through the polished hallways, all decorated in apricot and pale blue, towards the kitchen, careful not to alert her to your presence. She'd been washing up the pile of dishes, putting some in the dishwasher, soaking some in the sink, drying others, and putting them away, all the while floating through the kitchen and singing Time After Time, a nearly empty glass of red on the counter.

You'd been mesmerised. She'd still been in her work clothes—a knee-length black dress, long-sleeved, with a low-cut neckline and lapels, tied at the waist—but her hair had come loose from its updo and whirled around her head as she moved. You haven't looked at her the same since.

"Thanks, mamma," Alice said, and Lilia cupped her daughter's cheek.

She'd done that the night you'd found her singing to you. When she'd finally noticed you—startled and nearly dropping the plate in her hand—she'd invited you to sit with her. You'd complimented her singing, but she'd insisted she was terrible and that she was embarrassed you'd heard her. It had been adorable to see the proud woman you knew all flustered.

You'd filled hours with banter and laughter without noticing. She'd touched your hand here, patted your cheek there, brushed your shoulder—all without intent, but it had already been too late for you. She'd let you sleep on the couch, covered you with a blanket, and then... she'd kissed you goodnight. The brush of her lips against your temple, however brief, had followed you into your dreams and left your heart aching.

"Now girls, what d'ya want for dinner?"

"Oh, I was just leaving," you said, gesturing over your shoulder. "Got work in the morning."

"Macché!" Lilia huffed as if offended, her fingers tightening around the stem of the glass like your stomach at the sight. "You're staying."

"But I won't get enough sleep if I get home too late."

"Then you sleep here. End of discussion."

You raised your eyebrows and muttered, "Yes, ma'am," into your glass as you drank the rest of your wine and shared a conspiratorial grin with Alice, who was used to her mother's antics.

***

As was the custom in the Calderu household, everyone had to help prepare the meal. Pasta. Lilia found it terribly cliché, but it was the go-to dish when nobody was in the mood for an endless discussion about what to cook.

You were assigned the tomatoes, Alice cooked the spaghetti, and Lilia was in charge of salt, pepper, and spices, because everyone knew she wasn't beyond yelling if someone ruined her pasta.

Cyndi Lauper played in the background, and Alice and Lilia were talking a mile a minute about the outdated plumbing at the hotel, about Alice's new job as a security guard at the casino, and about your music. No one was more excited about your band than Lilia. She'd already promised she'd let you play at the hotel and use her connections to get you more gigs, but Alice had wanted to do a test run first and spoken to her other mom, who was equally supportive, though Alice saw her less.

She'd moved back in with Lilia when she couldn't find a job after college right away, and when she did, Lilia and Lorna had just gotten divorced, and she hadn't wanted to leave her mom on her own. The house was more than big enough for two people anyway, and they all did their own thing, but they took comfort in knowing that they always had someone nearby.

You were washing the tomatoes under the sink when Lilia's perfume, rose and jasmine, filled your senses. Then two warm hands settled on your hips as she tried to move you aside so she could reach something in the cupboard above the sink. She tiptoed and stretched her arm out, using your hip for stability, and her front brushed against your back. Your heartbeat quickened, and you held your breath until she'd taken what she needed.

"You okay, hon?" she asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Should I turn the heating down? Your cheeks are burning up."

"I, um..." You squirmed. "Yeah, it's a bit hot in here."

"Should've said something!" she said and went to turn down the thermostat while you had to set the tomatoes down for a moment to collect yourself and do everything in your power to erase the shape of her breasts from the tactile memory of your shoulder blades.

Alice, having taken note of your change in demeanour, put her hand on your shoulder and grabbed a few tomatoes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just thought about someone."

She wiggled her eyebrows. "Someone, huh?"

You picked up the remaining tomatoes and headed back to the counter, where Lilia had already prepared a cutting board and knife for you. "It doesn't matter."

"Come on, spill the tea." She bumped her hip to yours. "You met someone?"

"Alice, shut it!" you snapped and surprised yourself with the sharpness of your tone. Even Lilia stopped her rustling and looked over her shoulder. You closed your eyes for a moment. "I'm sorry. It's complicated."

"Right."

Alice returned to the stove, still a bit put off, and you began to chop the tomatoes. It was quieter now, each caught in their own heads, until Lilia stood behind the both of you and rubbed your backs with one hand each, though to you she leaned in and spoke close to your ear. "Don't you want to talk to me, my dolcezza?"

To Lilia, yes. You always wanted to talk to her, in private, close, but not here in front of Alice. But her voice was so soft in your ear, her breath caressing warm down the side of your neck. You gave yourself a push and spoke, though you couldn't look at anyone for fear of giving yourself away. "There's a woman... who's older."

"Hm!" Lilia hummed teasingly, her eyes flashing with amusement. "Hear that, Alice? Our girl's got her eyes on a cougar!"

Alice chortled, and though you didn't appreciate the show Lilia was making of it, you were glad that she always knew how to bring Alice around. She might be the cornerstone of your long-lasting friendship.

"You being serious?"

"Well, I didn't mean to." You shrugged apologetically. "And besides, nothing can happen anyway."

"Why's that? She your boss or something?"

"No, but..."

"Honey, look at me," Lilia interrupted, and you couldn't help but obey even though it was the last thing you wanted to do. The moment your eyes locked on hers, your heart leapt and your mouth ran dry. "Give me your hand."

She put her own on the counter and wiggled her fingers until you relented and put your hand into hers. The way she squeezed it made warmth blossom in your chest, and you had a hard time not averting your eyes despite the burn that built behind them.

"Now, listen to me. Love is the law." Your breath hitched, and your fingers crumpled the hem of your dress. "It knows no ethics between consenting adults. So she's older; now what? So she's your boss or goes bowling with your mother. It does not matter. You hear me?"

You nodded, pressing your lips together, holding back your confession of how you couldn't stop thinking about her, how you persuaded Alice to practice at hers not because the acoustics were better but because you so desperately and pathetically wanted to be near her.

"And you've got us. Alice and I won't judge."

"Yeah," Alice joined in and patted your shoulder.

"Thanks, guys," you said and slipped your hand from Lilia's—you couldn't bear it one second longer—and hugged Alice.

"What about you, mamma?" Alice asked once you'd all continued your respective tasks. "You haven't dated anyone since the divorce."

"You know how old I am."

Alice scoffed so hard you feared she might've spat into the boiling water. "What sort of excuse is that?"

"It's not an excuse, piccina. Most women my age are either married or dead—"

"Don't be so morbid!"

"—and don't see the point in dating anyone anymore."

"You could take a younger lover," Alice suggested in jest. "Like your dolcezza."

You choked on your own saliva, eyes widening as the other women fell into bright laughter, and coughed.

"Yeah, yeah, wrinkly old thing like me," Lilia snorted and chuckled more.

The sound made your skin tingle, although her words chafed at your heartstrings. "Your age doesn't make you any less desirable," you said as neutrally as you could muster.

Lilia stared at you for a split second, then cracked a small smile.

***

You'd eaten at the long table in the dining room, with a matching pale blue runner across it and a hearth at one end with a fire crackling in it. The pasta was perfect; no less was allowed at the Calderu's, and the conversation light as opposed to the one in the kitchen. More wine had flowed and had put you all in a sleepy haze.

You and Alice were going over a few details for the gig when Lilia returned from the living room. "The couch is ready for you, hon."

"I'll be off too," Alice announced, stretching her arms and yawning. "Day's catching up with me."

"And I've got an early start," you said and stood up. "I'll see you after work tomorrow?"

"Don't think we need another run-through, but sure."

"Night, then."

You went to the bathroom first and readied yourself for bed with a wine-clouded mind. While you brushed your teeth, your gaze drifted to the towels, and you wondered which one was Lilia's, which one wrapped around her form like your arms did in your daydreams when you swayed together. The tins of anti-ageing creams saddened you.

After you were done brushing your teeth, you picked up the wooden hairbrush with the distinct grey hairs in it and turned it in your hands, ran your fingertips over the bristles as if they could tell you what her scalp felt like and how her moans sounded at the gentle massage after a long day of having her hair pinned up.

"Will you be long, I—"

Lilia cut herself off, stopped in her tracks, and blinked at the image of you clutching her hairbrush to your chest.

You scrambled for an explanation. "I—I didn't bring a hairbrush; I'm sorry. I should've asked—"

Shaking herself out of her state of surprise, Lilia stepped up to you and took the hairbrush from your hands. "It's no problem, honey." She began to comb your hair for you as if it were second nature to her, brushing the ends first and working her way up, your hair slipping through her fingers. You watched her in the mirror, at a loss for words. "But I would've cleaned it for you, you know."

"No, I... I don't mind."

"There we go," she said, finishing up and setting the brush back in its place. "You should go to bed now. It's late, and you've got an early morning."

"Yeah," you breathed, still all over the place after she had touched you like that, brushed your hair with her hairbrush. "Goodnight."

You left on autopilot and headed into the living room with the wall that was more window and sat on the couch. Lilia had readied for you with a sheet and a duvet. She'd also put a folded pair of pyjamas of Alice's out for you, and you wished she'd given you one of hers instead.

Changed and tired, you fell into the sofa cushions and pulled the blanket over you, listening to the sounds of the house: Alice in her room, Lilia in the bathroom. It smelt of scented candle. Everywhere in the house, it smelt of vanilla, even in the bathroom. It mixed well with Lilia's perfume.

"Have you settled in?" Lilia's voice reached your ears, quiet and tentative. She approached in her white nightgown and cream silk dressing gown and bent over you, putting her hand on the curve from your waist to your hip. "It's not too cold, is it? I can get you another blanket just in case—"

"No, no, I'm fine, Lilia. Thank you."

Would she give you a goodnight kiss again?

She nodded, and you thought she'd leave when she removed her hand, but instead, she sat on the narrow space in front of your stomach. "I was a little worried about you earlier. You wanna talk some more?"

Your breath stuttered, and an invisible hand clutched your heart. You wanted to put your head in her lap, wanted her to stay with you all night.

"No, I'm okay," you assured her. "Just a little nervous about Saturday, that's all."

"Are you sure?" She reached out and ran her fingers through your hair and along the side of your face, nudging your nose with a tender smile on her lips. You couldn't help but return it.

"Yes."

You wanted to say more, ask her for a hug, anything—but you stayed quiet.

"I'll hit the hay too then." She leaned down and kissed your forehead, and your stomach promptly did a somersault as your cheeks rounded with an even bigger smile. "Sleep tight, dolcezza mia."

#Lilia Calderu #Lilia Calderu x Reader #Agatha All Along #patti lupone #my fics #Spotify #fic: illicit affairs

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historiaxvanserra · 3 months ago

Text

In Hades I Am With You | Chapter Three

Pairing: Azriel x Hewn!city reader

Word Count: 3k

Summary: Reader is the ill-fated daughter of a cruel Lord of Night; plagued with prophetic dreams and cursed with rare, arcane gifts. Azriel is the stoic spymaster; forged from violence, lethal and honed to a fatal sharpness. The pair find themselves bound to one another through readers strange, prophetic dreams.

Tags: Forced proximity, strangers to lovers, Night Court lore, Priestess reader, discussions of SA and abuse, discussions of sex work, criticism of misogyny, sexism, and general abuse in all its forms, eventual smut, slight corruption kink, reader is incredibly romantic and horny.

I hold my hands up, as if in prayer, steam coils in feverish tendrils around the exposed curves and divots of my breasts and shoulders. The dark waters roil and spill over the lip of the turquoise pools as I surrender myself to their warmth. From here, the world is obscured by the gossamer haze that glitters like spun spider-silk. Like the veil between two worlds. An oppressive breeze cuts through the chamber like a shroud and the scent of wisteria and moonflowers smothers the putrid smell of the city in the wet heat of a summer storm.

The cruel laughter of the other court ladies rings like a siren song in my ears. A symphony of high-arching sound that echoes off the moonstone pillars. I filter it out; focused instead on my own trembling hands, turning them to admire my fingers which are adorned in rings of amethyst and onyx, mined from the bowels of this wretched mountain that I call home. Then another's fingers interlock with my own, breaking my reverie.

Melinoe’s voice is lyrical and velvety as she wades through the waters before me. Steam rises in columns about her hips and waist, becoming entangled in the damp lengths of her silver hair. It curls over her sloped shoulders like a white raven’s plumage, casting her in a halo of opal light.

“Where were you last night?”

Melinoe is one of the Lord Protector’s favorites. She is tall and graceful with beautiful smoke-kissed skin and glassy, onyx eyes that mark her as a daughter of this court. Melione was once the companion of Morrigan; The Lord Protector’s only daughter. Though she had been exiled from the Court long before I was born. She had been assigned to my household when I came of age. My eternal companion.

Though we are bound by duty, there is still something of me that is kindred to her, a shared pain perhaps. She had grown up here, as I had, she too knew the anguish and oppression of this wretched mountain. The longing it can bring. It is why when I decline to answer her question she doesn’t feel the need to interrogate me further.

“There are whispers amongst the Darkbringers.” Melinoe starts, a conspiratory gleam in her eyes as she looks around the room. The low cadence of her voice echoes dangerously off the mountain stone when she moves through the waters with a serpentine grace. She emerges from the bubbling pools like the image of some dark Goddess, born from the sea to lure men to their watery deaths. Her voice is laden with malice as she eyes the younger girls. How they hunger after every whispered word, circling her in merry rings like dancing water nymphs, or the coiling tendrils of some monstrous chimera.

“That the High Lord will return to court by the moon's turn.” The dancing tide turns volatile and the ladies eyes glint with something dark and predatory in the pallid light.

Long ago, the first Princes of the Night Court had made their home here, in the cruel depths of the Mountain. The Moonstone Palace had been hewn from onyx stone of the mountain. Hence its name. The facade of the palace itself was adorned with great stalactites of opal that form a series of dark coronas that line its gothic archways, and its stained glass ceilings cast the palace in a wretched emerald light. When Rhysand had ascended the throne, after his father before him, he had abandoned his ancestral seat in the Palace in favor of his ‘Court of Dreams’.

For millennia Velaris had been shrouded by ancient night magic; kept hidden from us here, under the mountain. Even as war ravaged these lands, and Amarantha made slaves of us all. A city shaded in veins of lavender, amethyst and violet, and saturated in perpetual starlight.

The people of Hewn City had been afforded no such grace. Left to rot and ruin under the oppressive stone of the mountains. The forgotten vestiges of a dying regime; clinging to the archaic traditions of our forebears, coveting the dark whispers of power inherited from ancestors long dead.

Now, we cower in the cruel, emerald light of the Moonstone Palace, like shadows.

“The High Lord has no tenderness in his heart for us, why would he return if not for ill?” I ask, looking up at her through dark, curious eyes.

“Because it pleases him to impose his wrath upon us,” Melinoe shrugs, running a fine-boned hand through the tresses of her hair, that refract like smoky quartz in the cold light.

“And because it serves him to appease the Lord Protector.” Medea insists gently, leaning down to cradle my jaw in her slender hands. The mere mention of his name is enough to bring forth the ferrous taste of blood and hatred to my mouth, and yet, any ill I’d speak against him lives and dies upon the tip of my tongue.

“Or to bring him to heel.” I interject, parroting the words I had heard from the Darkbringers in the Jade Pearl.

After a few aching moments, Melinoe agrees as a smoke-skinned wraith drapes her body in a robe of fine, dark silk. The garment is held together by iridescent emerald ribbons that cinched around the curve of her waist, its lapels and cuffs are trimmed with black lace and the hems adorned in the black, floral embroidery favored by the Velarian tailors. A gift from her Lord husband, and my barbarous keeper.

None of my own garments are nearly so beautiful. My dresses are the austere, high-necked gowns of a novitiate; dark swathes of fabric that cover me like a shroud and veils of silver and alabaster to conceal my face.

“Perhaps the High Lord and his Illyrian dogs have already fucked their way through all of the dreamers in the so called ‘City of Starlight’ and hope to find some solace here, in the dark where they belong.” Venom laces her words, though her tone is pleasantly breathy and she smiles prettily when she speaks.

Melinoe only ever speaks to me like this here, in the quiet of the bathing chambers, where the words we speak are our own. Her mother had told us once, a long time ago, that a woman’s first blood does not come from between her legs, but from biting her tongue. I hadn’t known what she meant then but I think I do now. The women of this infernal court are like well trained bitches; obedient, meek, and loyal. I was taught young not to bite the hand that fed me. Taught me how to beg prettily, how to crawl on my hands and knees and throw myself down upon a man’s mercy.

And there is so little mercy in this world for women like us.

“He is afterall, his father’s son.” I hum lightly, musing on her words and I sink further into the misty wakefulness that usually speaks to a coming vision.

A few beats of silence pass between us and then the bathhouse is a cacophony of liliting voices and girlish chatter as the other girls dress; whispering and dancing across the tiled floors of the bathhouse at the prospect of our High Lord’s return.

“So…are you going to tell me where you were last night?”

“I was here.” I say lowly, as I gesture to the bathing chambers. These apartments are one of the view places I am permitted to be without one of my sworn Darkbringers.

When I was a girl I wandered the Moonstone Palace at my pleasure; I knew every narrow corridor of these hallowed halls. The statue of Astarion that lay beneath the Palace itself, the desecrated temple at the foothills of the mountain, the botanical gardens which held blossoms of foxglove and dhalia’s, and arches of wild flowering jasmine and climbing ivy, the atrium with its stained glass ceilings, through which I observed thousands of constellations that painted the black tapestry of the sky like threads on a loom, and the High Lord’s personal libraries, its high paneled walls holding tomes and scrolls as ancient and arcane as the palace itself.

Over the years. Those freedoms had been stripped away from me for one infarction or another.

“I came here - after Aelios left - you weren’t here.” Melinoe says dangerously, a thin brow arching towards me. My heart hammers traitorously against my chest.

If Aelios had sent her it would be under the instruction of my guardian and the Lord Protector of the city. If Keir had the slightest idea of my transgression I would have been summoned by now.

“Did Aelios send you?” I ask tentatively.

“No - when do I ever do as that barbarous fool asks?” Melinoe retorts, an air of offense on her beautiful face.

“I thought I heard you leave your apartments. I wanted to make sure you were well.” Melinoe approaches the lip of the tub and takes my hand in hers. She touches me gently then, her eyes full of care and affection.

“The dreams have been getting worse, haven’t they?” She was right, though, that was not the reason I ventured out unseen last night.

Melinoe runs a fine boned hand through my damp hair, and coos softly.

“Please don’t tell Aelios.” I beg her, feeling guilt coil in my chest for the sympathy that lights her eyes.

These visions that plague me are prophetic and dangerous, they speak of sacrifice and sacrilege, of war and ruin. I know that Keir covets the power I possess, I know what this foreknowledge could bring about, in the wrong hands. His hands are mottled with rage and cold with death.

“I won’t,” Melinoe swears solemnly, “and where did these visions lead you this time?”

I look up at her through dark, curious eyes from my place in the bubbling pools. Unsure if I should tell her.

“Th-the lower city.” Melinoe’s eyes widen, sparkling like starlight in the blue light.

“You mean…you went to the pleasure houses?” She asks aghast. She takes a deep breath and pushes away from me, pacing in circles on the tiled floor.

“How?”

“I-I borrowed some of Leda’s clothes - left through the servants quarters - no one saw me.”

“How can you be so sure?” She asks her voice low.

“If anyone recognised me I would have been dragged before the High Council and exiled before I even had the chance to tell you.”

After a few aching moments of silence Melinoe softens, her head tipping towards me.

“What was it like?” She begs for something tangible to cling to. Some small sliver of knowledge of what lies beyond these castle walls. So I tell her and the whole while she stares at me enraptured.

I tell her of the whores, who swarm merchants like sirens, singing sweetly to them. I tell her of the sailors and the smell of the ale, the bawdy songs they sing and the vulgar words that color their language. I tell of of the games, coins minted with the faces of our High Lord glint in the light as it changes hands.

“I-i can’t believe you went out there,” Melinoe sighs enthralled. “Did you see anyone from the Palace?”

“I saw a few of the Darkbringers - I didn’t speak to them though - and…” I hesitate, unsure if I should tell her about my encounter with the Shadowsinger. Who touched me with reverence, whose lips had claimed mine so devoutly.

That night, I returned to the Moonstone Palace filled with such strange…longing. For what, I am not entirely certain but the Shadowsinger has opened something within me, some old wound, festing and aching for touch.

“And?” She asks.

I want to tell her. I want to kneel at her altar and confess that his kiss tastes like cedar and night-blooming wisteria. That his eyes hold the darkness from which we were born, and to which we will one day return. The confession dies when she looks at me again.

The vows I had taken were solemn ones. Last night, I had forsaken every one. If my keeper ever discovered my treason I’d be exiled as Morrigan had been. Disgraced and forced to debase myself amongst the High Lord’s court of whores and tyrants.

What’s more is that kiss, sacrilegious and sacred as it was, belonged to me. A secret contained between myself and the city.

“The soldiers were talking about the war.” I exhale slowly, swallowing the fallow lump in my throat. “An-and the High Lord’s return.”

I cast my gaze out of the large, gothic archway that exposes the city in the wet heat of the storm. A dark mass of shadows bleeds across the vast black tapestry of the sky until the world is veiled in black.

Was the Shadowsinger out there?

Somewhere in the depths of this mountain with the same longing in his black heart?

Melinoe strides towards my discarded clothes, draped over the tiles as she coaxes me out of the baths. Her slender hands glide over the heavy swathes of fabric and she procures my veil from the pile. The elegant spider-silk is almost iridescent in the sapphire light of the Moonstone Palace. It is a cruel reminder of my place here. I feel its heaviness settle over me like a shroud.

Beneath my faded robes I observe the champagne silk of the slip I had worn last night. It was trimmed with lace and tailored to fit my body. It had been a Solstice gift. Imported from Velaris. I wonder if its usual scent of jasmine and bergamot had been tainted with something darker.

Wisteria and frozen pine.

“The City Watch said that there had been trouble on the borders,” Melinoe offers. She did this a lot; always hearing whispers of one thing or the other. “Apparently the Princes on the Continent are working with him.”

“With who?” I ask, tucking back a loose curl.

“The Death Lord.”

“The Priestesses say that The Lord Protector is willing to join them…for a price.” Melinoe says grimly.

“What could possibly be worth such a betrayal of our traditions?” My stomach turns, a warring and violent storm. Anxiety coils around my throat like the tendrils of some monstrous creature borne from the depths of the ocean.

“That’s what it is to thrive in this world, sweet girl.” Her voice is softer now, a whisper of gentle night.

“To make your black deals in the dark and decide what you will trade for power.”

I knew very little of power.

But I know this: I had forsaken sacred vows at the mere suggestion of it. So what might desperate a desperate man desecrate to know the kiss of that dark, ancient power that bleeds from the infernal heart of this land.

“I probably shouldn’t have brought it up.” Melinoe turns away from me.

“It- it’s just that with the High Lord’s return…” She stalks towards the open windows, taking in the view of the city from this height, “and your dreaming…does it not speak to something - a coming storm?”

In truth it had never occurred to me that my foresight might serve as anything other than a shackle. That it might be a warning from out of time. Of things yet to come.

“Come, sweet girl,” Melinoe coos kindly, turning from me, “it is not for the likes of us to worry about.”

“I will follow in a moment,” I acquiesce, reclining further into the water, running a cloth over the junction of my neck and collarbones and loosing a sigh as the steam envelops me once again, “I will take the waters a while longer.”

She lingers for a moment more before taking her leave, the other court ladies following her in a daze as they trail out of the bath chamber; in a throng knotted curls and flashes of laughing violet eyes that glint in the seraphic light.

The vision comes with the quiet, fleeting images of the blue light of a bleeding star and a dark-winged angel.

“Are you quite alright, my Lady?” The voice of my handmaiden, Leda, cuts through the arid heat of the bathing chamber. The young wraith's fingertips dig into the tender flesh of my arms as she drags me upward and out of the scalding waters. Leda is a lithe creature, with yellow eyes and thin, arched brows that she furrows when she casts her amber gaze on me in the cruel light. Her features twist grimly at the alabaster film that shrouds my vision, a testament to the fleeting visions and prophetic dreaming that haunts me in my waking hours.

“Another dream?” Her voice is accusatory and laced with concern. The wraith’s touch is careful and deliberate as she cradles my chin in her cupped palm. A reflexive hand tightens around her as she runs a hand through the loose tresses of my hair as my ragged breaths soften to a gentle exhale.

“The worst of it has passed, I think.” I assure her, smiling lightly, though I am sure it does not reach my eyes. The wraith looks at me warily and there in the darks of her irises I find a small flicker of courage that coaxes sound from me again.

“I- I dreamt of a winged angel -- a blue star that bleeds over the mountain.” I say gravely, my voice wane and ghostly. My body feels like a conduit of someone else's pain. A vessel of nerve endings and synapses that sear white hot with the last tremors of the dark power that lives in me.

“Dreams may yet be just that, sweet girl.” Leda embraces me thoughtfully, the crease in her brow deepens and the set of her jaw falls into something akin to sorrow. She wraps me carefully in a dark navy robe, the soft cotton against my skin working to untether me from the ether.

“Now get dressed.” The wraith speaks gently into my unbound hair. Leda’s voice is stern but her face unserious, one brow arches high and her eyes glitter with devilment in the fireglow.

“The Lord Protector wishes to speak with you.” I falter then and Leda watches carefully as my fingers descend upon the discolored flowering bruises that mottle my skin.

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