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e1dritchjackal0pe · 5 months ago

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𝔚𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥 ℭ𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 ℜ𝔢𝔞𝔠𝔥

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Your husband has been deeply troubled as of late. In an attempt to guide him from his distress, he brings a concern of his to light that only serves to tip you into your own fears.

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Nonsexual nudity, AFAB implied w/ usage of "breasts," the title "wife" is used. Angst and some fluff. Small hints of morally gray reader. She's simply in love with her demented husband.

𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰: 5.6k words. Just something short and sweet; I had to write a comfort fic for our favorite, pretty war criminal after the season finale. But I may have just made it worse actually. Not proofread.

It is all teetering into chaos. Suspended along the edge of a great precipice. The depths of which you cannot spy the bottom of. The worry, the agitation looms heavily over the castle. Over the entirety of King's Landing. Buzzing and constant like the bothersome scattering of flies. And where there are flies, death is near. You see the dread in their eyes. The fearful whispers that are passed between the bowed heads of the servants as they work; the horrified, faithless gossip casted about by the socialites and bureaucrats as they traversed the halls in secretive conversations that are much louder than they believe.

The tensions have only been mounted with the news that the Blacks have come into the resources of new dragonriders, the scales are looking as though they are tipping in their favor. It has all strained and on edge. With the order of the city's gates having been closed by Aemond's decree, the smallfolk have been up in arms against the order. Cries of outrage chanting and rising up from the masses in pleas against their Prince Regent. Protests that warn of starvation, proclaiming that he is cruel and uncaring. Not even the assured decimation of Sharp's Point by the scorching breath of Vhagar's fire has done anything to calm the storm brewing.

The tides are still swelling. Churning and tossing to soon lift from above and collapse down upon all of your heads. The toll of it weighs heavy on all of you like the promise of damnation. Hope is dimming. The support it once offered giving underneath itself, curling in on its own body like a beheaded serpent. But it is the man who bears it all who is in the throes of violently crumbling underneath the burden of this war.

You see it tearing at him. Pushing down on the once prideful set of his shoulders, pressing down upon the crown of his head so that it no longer sits perfectly high in unwavering confidence. The light of the zealous fire that once blazed within his eye has dimmed. Starved and suffocated; reduced to smoldering flickers light that mean to lash out in his near crazed attempts at preserving what little footing his still has in this war.

It is almost as though he is dying right before your eyes. The final wild struggle of an animal caught between a set of fangs, claws and teeth lashing in the hopes to wound its bigger opponent. You have never seen him in such a state. The vulnerability that bleeds through the thin cracks in his armor worry you; unlike any sort of raw emotion that he has ever displayed before. It is fear. And it is almost unsettling to see on the face of your fearless husband.

He is breaking directly before you, and now the only optimism you have of keeping him whole comes from the pressure of your own hands.

His own mother has turned him away. You see it in the way she stares at him. Observing him as though he is a stranger, a monster wearing the flesh of her child - as though her name is not marked on this war just the same. It makes your skin prickle. Body flushing from heat and contempt as she silently disowns the very man who raises her banner, and fights in the name of his house. No one else will offer him solace as he labors underneath the crushing weight of the kingdom. Not his mother, not his sister, not the advisors in the king's counsel. It pains you to see him breaking. To see him scrambling to orient himself and find a way to victory with hardly an ally to assist him.

So utterly lost.

That is how you find when you slip into his apartments in the night. The candleflames flicker about the dim space in drops of amber, serving as your only guide to traverse the room in search of him. His bed and his writing desk are vacant of his presence. The latter cluttered and askew with parchment and documents, quills, vials of ink, and seal stamps strewn about its face. But it is the empty goblet of wine is what concerns you the most. He does partake in spirits quite casually, at supper and often when he evaluates the latest strategies before turning in for bed. You have yet to ever see him lose himself to the influence of the drink. Only indulging as a means to relax himself; a subtle rosy hue to dust his cheeks, but not enough to become untoward or dull-witted by its effects.

But the circumstances now are so much different. You can only hope that he has not turned to it in the attempt to drink himself into a stupor or allowed himself to become sloppy from the sway of the spirit.

"Aemond?" It is both a question and a call as your vision darts about the space, flickering back over to his bed to see if you might spot the impression of a body tucked underneath the drape of its blankets but they are flat and perfectly lain along the mattress. "My love, are you here?"

It remains deathly silent. The only bit of noise belonging to the low whisper of the flames softly darting about their wicks in the draft that drags along the room; the delicate billow of the breeze drifting through the columns of the open windows, gliding into to the room from the guide of the wind that calls outside. Most of it sneaking in through the open threshold that conducts to the balcony.

A low breath puffs from your chest. Hardly a sigh, but it dares you to feel relief as you step towards the entry way to near the stone platform the projects from the side of the castle. You notice the stars first. The bright, cosmic glimmer of them as they hang from their place within the silky black cradle of the darkened heavens. The faint lights of the city below nearly blending with the night sky, though the oily sheen of the lantern fires can hardly compete with the star dust above.

In your observations, it does not take you long to spy the form of the prince, standing along the banister as he stares down at the city, bare hands gripping onto the rough barrier. You can see how tightly he clutches onto it from the tension in his fingers, stretched and taut along it so tightly that you fear the stone may crumble and break beneath his palms. Relief floods you at the sight of him, though it is quickly dulled and banished by the worry that replaces it. Snuffed by the rigid way he holds himself, as though he is only moments from snapping and giving in on the pressures of his own mind and collapsing upon the stone floor beneath his feet.

He becomes hard on himself in times like these. No matter how indifferent he tries to project himself, the opinions and thoughts of others often swarm over him like a cloud of angered hornets, and it can be a trouble for him to shake. It is never easy to guide him out of his thoughts. You know that he is aware of your presence, but he has been caught too tightly within the chaos trapped within his mind to respond. The deluge of emotions that he often refuses to outwardly show too great. And knowing him, he has willingly turned himself in to the anger and the bitter spite that wars within him, finding solace in its familiarity. He is too stubborn for his own good, but that will never be enough to keep you from trying draw him out of it.

Your feet seem to cross the stretch of the floor that separates you, silently carrying you to him with the soft patter of their soles along the chilled stone. He does not give you any indication that he is aware of your approach. Not the tilt of his head or a single murmured word in greeting, but he does not startle when your hands lift to sweep up his back. The leather of his doublet is tepid with the slight cold in the air and the warmth radiating from his body, smooth and buttery underneath your palms as they sweep around his torso to press him against you in an embrace. You let your cheek to rest along the flat of his shoulder, the silky strands of his hair tickling your skin; your lungs pulling in the subtle spice and musk of his scent.

"You should come to your bed; it is getting late." You suggest, allowing your fingertips to toy with the metal clasps on the front of his garment, tracing the engravings in their shape. You nearly expect to get no response from him. For him to continue to wallow and torture himself alone in his silence. But then you feel it almost more than you hear it, thrumming along your hands from the depths of his chest as his voice rises out in a hum. The only verification that he has acknowledged your words.

It is better than silence. A response from Aemond is better than naught in these circumstances. It gives you some hope that you may be able to usher him from the fog of his oppressions.

"Come," you urge softly. "You have fretted yourself enough."

"Have I?" It comes from him in that serene tone of his but the bite at the edge of it is more than apparent. You know that it is not aimed at you. Not directly, at least. In his mind, and on the battlefield, he has been backed into a corner, and like an animal it causes him to lash out and bare his teeth, even at things that are familiar. "That seems to be everyone's judgement as of late. I suppose I should listen then, hmm? Roll over and brandish my belly for Rhaenyra's dragonriders to feast upon. Would that satisfy you then?"

"It would not, and you know that." Your voice comes out much firmer than intended, though you do not feel guilt over it. For someone so logical, Aemond is often swept over by his emotions and the voice of reason is easily drowned out. "Look at me, please."

He makes no attempt shift from his stance, continuing to stare out along the horizon. Watching the city in its slumber, and you have to wonder if he is imagining it in a state of ruin. Preparing for the worst already. Bracing for the destruction that has yet to come. Picturing the roofs and spires lit aflame in a blaze so great that it would turn the night into day, smoke twisting up to the heavens to brush against the stars.

You loosen your grip around him, giving yourself enough separation just to stand along his shoulder so that you are able to look upon his face. He refuses to meet you vision with his own. The pale glint of his eye now dark underneath the cover of the night as he peers ahead. But already you are able to spot so many different emotions reflecting within it. A confused storm: anger, bewilderment, sorrow, loss. You know that he must feel as though he is drowning. Caught and strung along by his responsibilities. Pulled between the pressures of his duties and the rejection casted by his mother. So many conflicting obligations with no way to properly juggle them. You know that you have no true way of guiding him through the blood and fire of this war. Of the strategies that it requires. But you can hope to be some kind of support. A beacon breaking through the thick wall of an oncoming tempest.

You lift a hand up to his face, sweeping your fingers past the shape of his jaw to cradle his cheek, feeling the texture of the scar underneath your palm. You are gentle in your direction when you guide him to look at you, and despite his earlier remark, he allows you shift his head to you willingly. Leaning into the weight of your hand as his eye darts to meet yours. The confusion and torment burn inside the pale hue of it, glinting far brighter than the traces of light reflecting along the angles carved into his jeweled eye.

You are nearly surprised that he has not removed the sapphire yet. You know that it often ails him. When the precious stone absorbs the chill around it, or the dull edges catch along the sensitive flesh of its cradle. Rattling about his socket and causing the tender tissue within to ache and swell with irritation. Another punishment for himself it seems. Intent to burry down inside his own suffering.

"You must stop this insistence on driving yourself towards your own destruction. You will find no answers by forcing yourself awake at night, ruminating over the criticisms of your mother. Of the council."

Something venomous passes through his expression, but it is quickly traded out by what looks to be exhaustion and a diluted sense of irritation. A subtle furrow pinched between his brows; lips lightly pursed. "What would you have me to? Laze about all day on my bed. Stuffing my gullet with wine as my brother would while our enemies close in around us?"

"No." You reply promptly, allowing your hand to drop from its place, running your thumb along his cheek in a final caress as it falls to your side. You do not miss the way that his head nearly bends to follow its wake. "I would have you rest. An eased mind is a sharp one. "

"Rest." He echos in a murmur, allowing the word to roll off his tongue as though it is a foreign one. "Rest is not something that I am afforded. Each moment of "rest" is another second allotted for our enemies to draw closer."

You understand his reasoning. His anxieties are not unfounded. But that does not make them any less frustrating. His intellect, the determination that fuels him and wit of his tongue have always been some of his most endearing qualities to you. It drew you towards him like a siren song. But all of those traits are currently making you feel as though you could bludgeon your head against a thick wall. You fear that he will collapse underneath their breadth.

"They will draw near regardless of your slumber or not. " That stubborn expression on his face remains undeterred. Still fully unconvinced it seems. Or perhaps he seems to be resisting against your wishes because he is merely in search of some sort of victory, no matter how measly in spirit it is. And as much as you would like to indulge your husband in his efforts in feeling vindicated, this is not a battle you can allow him to win. Not for his sake. "If you will not do it for yourself then do it for me. Comfort your wife. That is too apart of your duties is it not?"

You notice his nostrils flare, his chest rising suddenly as he draws in a deep breath. Likely to ground his own irritation. His eye shimmers lowly in the dim cast of the candlelight projecting from the confines of his room, spilling out past the threshold to dance along the dark blue of the sapphire. Like sunlight scattered about the shifting face of an ocean. He is angry. That much is and has been apparent. Left astray to dangle and thrash along the fraying support of a rope. You only wished that he would allow you to catch him instead of treating you like the ones who have tied him to the line.

But you notice something waver in him then. The breaking of a dam. The thawing of ice. The vulnerability displayed could destroy you if you allowed it. To cause you to fall apart underneath the sheer sense of raw loss and uncertainty. He is so troubled. So lost. Forced to display a facade of unwavering poise and resolve no matter the dangers that prevail ahead. Constantly trailing after the role that he was not allowed to fulfil despite being better suited and now left to stand alone as the support of his own house falters. Superior enough to be wielded as a trump piece in combat, in council, but not benefitting enough to bear the title of king in the eyes of the advisory and his family. An injustice you can hardly stomach yourself.

"Come," you urge once again. You voice much lighter than before, softened by the distress in his gaze. There is still a hesitance in him. The reluctance to relinquish what little control he still has over himself, but that control seems to snap when your hand closes over his, fingers threading to join them. It only takes a slight tug for him to follow. The fight in him absolving to trail after you, allowing you to guide him back into his chambers and away from the open, chilled air of the night.

The atmosphere within the safety of the apartment walls is much warmer. Almost balmy along you skin, perfumed with the scent of wax and ink. Another reminder of the documents and worries that he tirelessly toils over. The bloodshed and the possibility of dragonfire. But you push it all to the recesses of your mind. Burying it all deep in favor of escorting him to the side of his bed. It is only then that you allow your hand to remove from his, and you mourn the loss of his warmth against your palm.

"Remove your clothes," you order gently. You notice just the faintest hint of amusement nudging at the corner of his mouth. The possibility of a smile, though it does not fully come. You can still see the traces of his mirth. Of lust as well. Even while he does not properly convey it, you allow your delight to grace upon your expression. Your lips lifting upward as you shake your head to admonish him delicately. "Not tonight."

He makes no complaints as he begins to unfix the clasps of his doublet. Unhooking the fine metal rungs with lithe fingers to shed the garments, uncaring as it lands along the floor. He is just as nonchalant about the rest. Shedding and discarding his undershirt and his breeches just as quickly after tugging of his boots. Baring his nude form to you. It is a state that you have seen him many times before, but still, you are unable to keep yourself from tracing the agile shape of his body. Admiring the swell of strength in his arms, the defined cut of muscle along his torso, the flaccid condition of his cock hanging between his thighs.

The spike of heat that rushes throughout your being is tempting, but currently unwelcome. On any other night you would have basked in it. Pursued after the warmth and hedonism, but this is not one of those nights. When you manage to will yourself to meet his eye, you are forced to notice the smirk that lifts at the curled edges of his mouth. Satisfied and preening underneath your salacious attentions.

"Not tonight, ābrazȳrys?" His inquiry is teasing and arrogant. And finally, for the first time since you have sought him out you see the man that lies beyond the pain and distress. The man that strides about the kingdom with his head lifted high. A head deserving the weight of a crown.

"Not tonight, my love. " You answer, both a playful jab and a truth as you pluck at the neckline of your shift to allow it to join his clothes along the chilled stone beneath your feet. He only offers a velveteen hum in response as his eye sweeps over you. Just as gluttonous as yours had been as you move to climb astride the bedding, making sure to toss the blankets aside before shuffling to rest the flat of your back along the cushion of his pillows and the embellished headboard behind them. You sit, unfaltering underneath his focus. If anything, the crude nature of his observations only emboldens you. Even past the reasonings of lust. He views you as though you were crafted just for him. Sewn together by the gods and animated by stardust and earth to be worshipped and praised by his sight and hand.

You like to believe that he was born for the same purpose. A god amongst men built by fire, wind and blood. Designed to be revered by your voice and mouth. He is beautiful beyond compare. Fierce in his loyalty and cunning. Unrelenting in his determination and ferocity. Like a deity of war.

He does not wait for a cue as he follows after you, climbing along the bed and into your waiting arms to lie himself within the cradle of your hips, draping the length of his body along yours as he settles his head against the cushion of your stomach. He allows himself to go pliant against you. Indulging in your warmth just as you do with him. The heat radiating from him making you turn lax. The both of you melding to each other. You observe him at his place tucked into you. Admiring the pale fan of his lashes resting against the sharp contour of his cheekbones, the proud rise of his nose. He is gorgeous like this. As though he had been sculpted from a fine marble. The statue of a great god - a king - come to life.

You glide you fingers through the silken, silvered strands of his hair. Combing your nails along his scalp and you are all but rewarded by the way that he seems to melt even more, the tension leaving his body. Going slack and supple; his nose daring to nuzzle along at your breasts as he attempts to burrow himself closer like he wants to bathe in your warmth. That stubborn furrow is still hitched between his brows. Immediately letting you know that his troubles have yet to be fully evicted from him. His mind is no doubt just as frenzied as before even though his body relents to the comfort of his bed and the weight of you.

"You truly do stress yourself too much," you murmur. Your fingertips skirt downward, tracing along the nape of his neck, sweeping your thumbs along the sensitive skin at the edge of his scalp. A shudder trembles softly down his spine. "It does not suit such a pretty face."

His lips twitches again, though that furrow comes back with a vengeance. His brows cinching close in the guise of annoyance, and if it were not the fleeting appearance of that brief smile then you would have truly believed him to be angry. "I have no ear for listening to your jests, lady wife. "

"Not a jest," you promise playfully. "I wouldn't dare. "

Another low, rumbling hum rises up from his chest in the semblance of a response. His chin tilts back just the slightest, baring his throat to you. Offering it to you as you move your hands downward to cradle the sides of his face, fingertips gliding along the edge of his jaw. The contented noise he makes nearly reminds you of the purrs that leave Vhagar as she lounges along the forest floor. The pleased growl of a dragon. A tranquil silence drifts along the room, as though it is brought in by the tepid breeze that glides in through the threshold of the balcony. It is calm. Peaceful for once. It feels as though it has been years since an hour without fear or dread has haunted you. And finally, it is simply you and your husband. Free to relax and just simply exist. To lounge within the warmth of each other as though you were lying under the sun. Untouched by war and bloodshed.

You continue to massage your fingers along the shape of his skull, combing them through his hair and lightly scratching your nails along the sensitive skin almost absentmindedly as you allow your own head to rest against the board of the bed. The lull of sleep is already calling. Inviting and comforting in its beckon as the influence of it threatens to take ahold of you, but a part of you resists. Insistent on enjoying the dulcet pleasure of this moment. Intent to stretch it out for as long as possible before it slips away from you and the both of you must return to your duties. To the horrors of the world. It is here that you are safe. He is safe.

"We should make contingencies in the event of my death."

The quiet sound of his voice, the words abruptly registering in your mind feel as though they gut you once they are fully understood. Just the prospect of it has your heart skipping, fluttering wildly within your chest and your hands are forced to pause; smooth tresses caught between your fingers. Your eyes snap open as you head bows to look down upon him from his place against your torso. He is already watching you, the sapphire gleaming sharply in the firelight but the pale hue of his eye is soft despite the sobriety of his words. You see clearly without asking that this is not some sort of twisted attempt at morbid, tactless humor. He is well and truly serious. A dull wave of nausea wells up in the pit of your stomach as you watch him.

"What has brought this about?" You ask sharply. There is a raised edge in your tone. Defensive and unsettled, but your vulnerability is also apparent. Easily heard with the way that your breath snags in your throat.

"It is only an honest concern. " He answers, but it is clipped. A bear explanation and it gives way that he is dodging the question. Offering scrap to appease you. "One that I should have prepared for long ago, when this war was little more than a whisper on a gossips lip."

"I won't hear of it."

"You are my wife," he insists. But with each utterance it only drives a slash of phantom pains into the depth of your heart. You swear that you can hardly manage to pull in a single lungful of air. "That does not shield you but make you a target. And we cannot expect to win this battle with Vhagar alone. If I were to be slain, they may very well come for you. A trophy of this conflict-"

"Aemond, that is enough." It comes out as a warning. Or perhaps a plea. It is so difficult to know. It is impossible to tell when you feel as though you are breaking in half even while he rests safely inside your embrace, confronting you with the single thing that you have always feared. The single terror that gnaws and bites and lashes at your heart and spirit every time that he sits astride Vhagar and lifts into the air for battle. The horror that he may never come back. It had eaten at you when he had snuck off to Rook's Rest without your knowledge, only to return hours later smelling pungent of dragonfire and the acrid sting of smoke.

His lip's part, a rebuttal no doubt on the tip of his tongue, but it is quickly snuffed out by the desperate plea of your voice. A final beg of mercy.

"You are my love, Aemond. Without you I cannot live." You nearly hate the sound of the raw emotion that pitches from your chest, but you are unable to control it. The intensity of it far too great. Welling up within you until it seems as though you may drown in your own trepidations. That your lungs will be squeezed in its grip until you suffocate on your own anguish. Your fingers thread around his hair, seeking out the warmth that lies underneath as though your mind requires confirmation that he is still here with you. Safe in your bed. "You are not allowed to die. Promise me, Aemond. Promise that you will return to me."

His eye skirts along your face, as though committing your features to memory. You can tell exactly where his vision lands from the weight of the concentration in his gaze as he studies the structure of your lips, the sweep of your cheekbones, the shade of your eyes. It is awful how much it feels as he is staring at you as though it will be his last.

"Please," you whisper once more.

A plethora of emotions flicker along his countenance. Time seems to be frozen when he lifts himself from your grasp. Your hands leave him reluctantly, clutching onto the sheets alongside you to stave off the urge to reach for him. But you are stopped when he rises to nudge his head to your own to meet your eyes. It gives you no other options but to meet his eye. To face the intensity and adoration that burns within it. The flecks of violet and azure seeming to blaze with his fervency.

"I promise, ñuha dōna ābrazȳrys, I will return to you. Be it a thousand years in this life or the next, no man nor god will keep us apart."

A sob could have torn itself from your throat had you not a better grip on yourself. Though you do not have enough control to manage in articulating a response. You can only nod, lifting your hands once again to grip at the junction of his neck and shoulders. Needing to feel the warmth of his flesh underneath your palms. His lips are soft as they press against yours. Simultaneously gentle and hungry as they coax yours into a kiss. It is languid. Unhurried but no less passionate.

It is like a balm on the tearing placed upon your soul. Soothing and mild. You sigh into his mouth, drawing each other's air inside of your lungs in between the starved presses of your mouths. Holding scraps of the other within the pocket of your chests. But just as quickly as it had begun, he pulls away from you. Though he hardly gives you time to voice your complaints or to mourn as he guides you both to settle along the bedding. Mapping out your face with the fleeting brush of his lips, scattering them along your face until you both lay side by side to gaze upon each other.

You cannot bear to look away from him now. The mere idea of it sounds akin to death. You are not sure how long you remain in that state. Simply beholding each other. Counting the breaths that he takes, how they puff across your face in warm brushes along your nose and cheeks. The candlelight has lightened his hair with glows of burning amber, as though molten gold has been spilled upon the pale strands; highlighting the contours of his body. Like a deity of light. Of fire.

There is a peace in his expression now. And you are not certain if that concerns or alleviates you. The corners of his mouth have perked into a content smile, his eye unblinking in his admiration as though he is at peace. Sweeping over the shape of your breasts and rise of your hips down to the length of your legs. But it is untouched by lust. It is simply observing. Peaceful in his exploration of a body that he has touched many times already. As much as you would like to remain that way, fixed beneath the worship of his stare, you are unable to keep yourself from nudging yourself closer. Too weak to hold yourself back from returning him back into your arms where he is safe. Untouched by the war he wages. Protected from the consequence of dragonfire and sword.

You rest you nose along the crown of his head, drawing in the scent of spice and wind that clings to his hair in the hopes of calming yourself. Of ripping yourself from the influence of your own worries and escaping the control of sleep that threatens to possess your body despite your terror. You want to focus only on the weight of him. The heat of his skin. The steady rise and fall of his breath. The press of his face tucked beneath your chin.

"Sleep, ābrazȳrys." His voice thrums against your chest. It seems that even when he is not watching you, you are unable to escape his perceptiveness. That you cannot hide from the from him. He knows you too well; he feels the tension in your muscles, in your silence. Still, despite the urge to fight his tender order and to resist the weight of sleep, it is growing difficult. The urge to slumber is heavy on your eyelids, nudging them to close. And the comfort of his scent in your lungs only goads you closer. "I will be here when you wake."

It sounds like another promise. And the assurance rings heavy in your ears, giving your mind the permission that it seems to have needed in order to welcome the blanket of rest. But all the while, as you descend into your slumber, you can only give yourself the solace that he is still here. As of now he is safe. Guarded from blood and death under the shield of the night. Drawn into an embrace while you both sleep as pair of lovers.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader smut #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen #prince aemond #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #hotd

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tiramisuc0ffee · 5 months ago

Text

The Ghost of You.

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pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!reader

Summary: Mechmaru manages to succeed in informing the higher-ups of Jujutsu Tech about the patchwork curse's plan to seal the strongest sorcerer, Gojo Satoru. With this, the higher-ups begin formulating a plan on how to secure their victory and take advantage of the information bestowed onto them. However, one thing Gojo could not have thought to be suggested was, you, who supposedly died over a decade ago.

warnings/tags: Takes place before the Shibuya incident arc. Brief mention of events that took place in JJK0. Mentions of death. There is angst but also fluff! Soft sex, Satoru really loves you :(( Friends to lovers(?) SMUT. MDNI.

word count: 10k+ (I NEED HELP)

Bonus Prequels: i. Warm Afternoons ii. Cold Nights

☆~~~~☆~~~~☆

"A sorcerer that's able to amplify the cursed techniques of others? Something like that is possible?"

Itadori Yuji's eyebrows furrowed as he voiced his question, contemplating the words that Principal Yaga had just spoken to the assembled group of Jujutsu students and sorcerers.

The atmosphere in the meeting room was tense and undeniably suffocating. It had been a matter of hours since Mechumaru's warning had been delivered. A plan to seal away the strongest sorcerer, Gojo Satoru, into the prison realm, and to bring complete and utter chaos to Shibuya and its civilians on October 31st.

Those gathered in the room were fully aware of how crucial this advantage was and how important it was to utilize it. However, there was also a mutual understanding that the perpetrators had to be aware of their own disadvantage, and would have to find some way to compensate for their slip up.

This brought an endless amount of "what ifs" into question.

"Yes. Someone like that exists with such a technique. The ability to not only limitlessly amplify their own raw cursed energy but to amplify the cursed energy and the techniques used by anyone they come into contact with" Yaga responds to Itadori's question.

"What if we just simply don't send Gojo-Sensei into Shibuya?" Itadori then says with such carelessness, as if it's the most obvious answer in the world. "If that person can amplify their energy limitlessly, don't we basically have our own super soldier who can overpower anyone alone?"

It is then Megumi who cuts in with a calm rebuttal, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It's not about having unlimited cursed energy, Itadori. There are inherent limitations to such abilities. Even for someone who can amplify cursed energy, there's a threshold to how much they can sustain. Using cursed energy at such heightened levels consecutively poses significant risks and exacts a toll on the user."

Yaga sends a slight nod in Megumi's direction, confirming the information he shared with Itadori. "It is also unlikely our perpetrators will reveal themselves unless Satoru is present. Rushing in prematurely not only risks escalating the danger but also endangers innocent civilians, who could become casualties as a means to negotiate Satoru's presence."

A beat of silence fills the air.

"We, however, are getting ahead of ourselves," Yaga then continued, redirecting the focus "We have yet to establish contact with this sorcerer".

Gojo had been uncharacteristically silent amidst this discussion despite it heavily revolving around him. Between the relentless back and forth of his peers and students who each were chiming in with their own individual questions, wonders, and suggestions - he sat in his chair, arms crossed, leaned back, and sporting an expression that no one other than Shoko Ieiri could understand.

Her tired eyes fell onto the snow-haired man, noticing his stiffness and unusual quietness. She too understood where this conversation was headed and what words were about to be announced.

"Some of you already know who I am talking about. Yes. (L/N), (Y/N). A past student here at Jujutsu Tech, who was once presumed dead, has been rumored to be alive," Yaga finally discloses, his tone laced with a certain firmness. "And over the course of several years, we have finally managed to narrow down her general whereabouts".

Satoru felt his jaw clench ever so slightly. Shoko notices.

"If we wish to minimize casualties and maximize our strength- It is crucial that we locate her and attempt to persuade her to join our cause" Yaga continues with determination.

Chatter began to fill the room as Yaga took a momentary pause, his gaze shifting onto Satoru as if to gauge his reaction. The topic at hand brought forth several mixed reactions. Rumors in the form of hushed words floated around the room, some true some false as some even questioned who you were and how you met your demise.

But all Satoru could hear was your name. Repeated. Over and over.

...You... were alive...

"However," Yaga broke the silence once more, his voice cutting through the room and his gaze remaining on the blindfolded man, "we can't just send anyone to convince her. We suspect there is a veil with special conditions where she resides."

Satoru's teeth grits and his fingers dig into his sleeves ever so slightly.

"Only Special Graded Sorcerers can enter and leave the veil as they please. Though, this won't affect the plan I originally wanted to propose."

"There is only one person we can send in after her."

"Satoru."

---

It was a tranquil scene. A vast expanse of green and rolling hills for the eye to see. An empty clearing surrounded by trees. The grass swayed gently with the wind, creating this ocean-like rhythm to it. Leaves danced through the air, being carried along effortlessly and brushing past Satoru's figure.

And of course, at the utmost center, a pitch-black dome stood in contrast to its surroundings. A veil.

This was the alleged location of where you resided.

The meeting concluded with Yaga requesting that everyone but him and Satoru leave the room. As individuals shuffled towards the exit, Satoru's gaze met Shoko's briefly as she sent a small sympathetic nod in his direction. She knew better than to try and console him or give him a mess of strung-together comforting words.

His lips thinned in response, not giving any further acknowledgment to her gesture. They both knew he wasn't one to show his underlying emotions to anyone.

However, he found it surprisingly difficult to suppress his personal feelings as Yaga disclosed your potential coordinates to him. Normally, he was able to compartmentalize these sorts of things in his brain without worry. Dethatching his emotions from the work he had to do because, at the end of the day, these were the things that simply needed to be done.

"I understand how you may feel, Satoru. But I know you understand the importance of her recruitment and why you have to be the one that goes after her"

It just had to be done. There was no negotiating that.

He allowed a faux wide smile to take over his features as his eyes stared at Yaga through his blindfold.

"Leave it to me."

But deep down, he wasn't all that shocked that he had been bothered by all of this.

This was you we were talking about after all.

Satoru couldn't help but chuckle to himself quietly, he thought about how this is exactly the kind of location a sorcerer such as yourself would choose to hide. For a moment he wondered what took Yaga and the others so long to narrow down your whereabouts.

But a frown tugged at his lips. It's not like he was any better.

He began to walk towards the center of the clearing, heading straight towards the veil before him, his footsteps being muffled by the soft grass underfoot.

Everything up until this point had just been speculation. Right now everything was nothing more than mere rumors. Whispered theories. Red strings on a corkboard. There hadn't been any concrete evidence, no sightings in public, no security footage, no candid photographs that proved you still existed in today's society.

But as he approached the outer rim of the veil, his eyes boring into the deep pool of black- It dawned on him.

He picked up the lingering traces of cursed energy.

And without another thought, he walks through the veil with ease.

---

"You're wasting your time on training? Come watch a movie with me, I haven't seen you all dayyyyy!!"

Satoru's whiney voice echoed throughout the open space of the gym from the moment he entered and spotted your figure. Your back is turned to him as you swing at a punching bag in front of you.

It was both of your second year at Jujutsu High. And as per usual, Satoru was putting all his energy into annoying you rather than into anything productive. Despite your irritation, there was no mistaking the undeniable bond that you and he shared. You and Satoru were attached at the hip. Wherever you were, Satoru was there. And wherever Satoru was, you were right there at his side rolling your eyes at something he said.

He kept his gaze on your form, watching as you paused briefly before sending him a sour look. He let out a small snicker in response as he couldn't help but find your annoyance amusing.

"Yes, Satoru. I am training. Some of us take pride in putting in the hard work." You say with a pointed voice before continuing to throw punches, practically sensing the shit-eating grin that had been developing across his face.

He purses his lips, he didn't necessarily disagree with your mindset per se, but he always found it humorous to get a small rise out of you- that and he would rather die than ever utter the words "I agree" to you. You'd never let him live it down.

"Like you need to do that," He says with a careless shrug. "You're strong as is." He beams in your direction as he starts walking towards you, getting close enough to be able to watch as your face contorts into one of confusion before giving your shoulders a gentle roll. You continue to throw punches.

He huffs when he doesn't get a single word out of you, his smile only faltering for half a second when he finally gets close enough to you. He carefully studied your expression. The way you were so focused and determined, the way your eyes held that look of concentration whenever you were focused and putting your mind to something, he loved it. Even though he thought that you'd always been a bit of a pushover, he couldn't deny your dedication was admirable.

"Can you back up, you're in my space." you then say, more of a demand than an ask as you recognized how close he was getting to you.

He ignores your quip, not moving an inch, "C'mon short-stack, people like us don't have to worry about tedious things such as training." He said in turn, sending a knowing look your way. You knew that he believed what he was saying too, which was irritating. He fully knew the strength behind both yours and his techniques. The baseline of power for the two of you was lightyears ahead of many measly sorcerers.

"You're so full of yourself" You scoffed, pausing once more, letting your arms drop to your sides and finally turning to face him fully. "All you do is go on about how you're the strongest. Now please, back up Satoru," you said with a harsh glare before poking his chest with your pointer finger.

He didn't move an inch, infinity not even needed for him to continue to stand tall above you, his grin stretching out to a full-on smile.

You didn't know it, but he had just won. At least, he felt like he did.

He's gotten your full attention.

"Ooh, I like it when you get all snappy and bossy, it’s a good look on you." He looks down at you with smugness as his glasses slip down the bridge of his nose ever so slightly revealing those deep blues of his "And so what if I'm cocky? You act like I can't back it up." he said, getting in your face, grin continuing to grow.

You shot him a look of disgust, letting out a fake gag. "You're so cringy when you try to act cool to me," you said to him, letting your face continue to distort with pseudo-nausea.

He feels his heart drop to his stomach before he lets out an exasperated cry. "What do you mean cringy??", he says incredulously as his smug demeanor washes away and his ego takes a small blow.

His expression has you laughing, and he watches on as your head swings down and you drift away from his gaze, clearly showing your annoyance has melted.

The same could have been said for his heart.

He then watched as you let out a soft sigh before undoing the bandages you've wrapped around your knuckles slowly. You lift your head once more and turn to face him before gently nudging his side.

"You're insufferable... So what are we doing?" you say, flashing him the smallest of smiles, finally giving in to the request that he gave when he first entered the gym.

He let out a small cheer as you'd relent, momentarily swinging his arm around your shoulders and then grimacing when realizing you were sweaty. He'd make some sort of a remark which in turn earned him a firm punch to his arm.

He laughed watching your cheeks heat with embarrassment before whisking you away to get caught up in whatever nonsense his mind concocted for the day.

Satoru had a soft spot for you. Anyone with a brain could understand that if they had ever seen you two together.

There had always been a loneliness he shouldered in life, one that was a side effect of being the strongest. It was... a weird sort of isolation. Being above everyone else. Watching below as everyone fought to reach the summit. But- not ever stopping to realize the sharpness of the cold air and deafening silence that accompanied it.

It was loneliness that only the strongest could have understood.

A loneliness that you and Suguru understood.

You all shared some level of a similar burden, understanding how many people depended on you each waking day. The roles in which you all played, often being on the frontlines and confronting the possibility of the erasure of mankind every day. It was a pressure no one else could truly and utterly comprehend and face.

However, things were just a little more different with you.

While his friendship with Suguru provided great understanding, respect, admiration, and care-

What the two of you had always felt as if it ran so much deeper than that. There was what he considered to be a frightening amount of vulnerability that came with your connection.

A mix of private conversations. Unspoken words. Gentle touches. Knowing looks... Tears that he would normally never let anyone see.

There was love.

A love that surpassed the means of friendship.

It was unspoken of course. And he constantly used to wonder if it was mutually understood. As if you two knew what you meant to each other without having to say it. That each action, each second spent together, every vulnerable moment served as a confirmation of the ways you two depended on each other.

But after the death of the Star Plasma Vessel and soon the betrayal and departure of Suguru. You began to slowly fade away. It wasn't evident at first. Not at all. His mind was far too deep in sorrow and mourning to the point of being desensitized.

But, gradually, Satoru noticed how your face, your voice, your whispered conversations, gentle touches, knowing looks, all those things that were once a constant... slowly started to disappear from his life.

And then the announcement of your death came.

After being sent out on your own for a mission to defeat a First Grade curse, you never returned.

You were overpowered. Killed and eaten. There were very few remains that were recovered. Only your cursed weapon shattered, and tears of your uniform were found. Not even a trace of a corpse, even when the curse had been exorcised.

That was what he was told.

He didn't believe it at first. How could you have lost? To something he knew you were levels above? He spent days, texting your number only to get no answers, calling to be sent straight to voicemail. Returning to that damn worn down office building where you supposedly died, searching each floor, calling your name.

At least with Suguru, he knew exactly what happened. Even if it was by his hand.

But there was never any ease, never any reassurance when it came to what happened to you. Somehow the factor of that unknown and not bearing witness made it harder for him to comprehend it all.

It was a newfound revelation that shattered something within him that day.

He was alone. Truly and utterly alone once again.

And the summit felt as if it started to freeze over him.

---

A quaint house stood tall and nestled amidst the center of the veil, a single-story abode framed by a winding path that beckoned him forward. As Satoru approached, his gaze wandered over the meticulously tended garden, rows of vibrant vegetables somehow thriving within the sealed-off area. Each step along the gravel path stirred soft crunches of pebbles, a rhythmic accompaniment to his thoughts.

He ascended the weathered steps leading to a porch, their edges softened by what seemed like years of use. The wooden planks creaked subtly under his weight as his eyes traced the length of the porch. Potted plants brimmed with colorful blooms, their fragrance mingling with the earthy scent of the garden.

Reaching the front door, he paused briefly, hand hovering over the worn brass knob before he grasped it firmly and turned. The latch clicked softly as the door swung open and a hint of surprise sparks within him as he registers that the door was not locked.

His eyes peer into the home only for a mere couple of seconds. The interior is dim, but he can make out several pieces of furniture, decor, and appliances.

It was clear that this house was actively lived in.

However, his mind doesn't give him the room or time to even try and analyze or more so criticize the decor anymore as his eyes quickly take note of two things.

A cup of coffee steaming on the countertop near the kitchen.

And the back door is ever so slightly ajar.

Whoever lived here- was here recently.

Satoru's focus is all but shattered when the loud, whiny, sound of creaking wood fills his ears and immediately his head snaps in the direction of where the noise had come from. Now leaning away from the front door and letting the hand that once grasped the doorknob fall to his side, his eyes settle onto the only other structure in the vicinity.

A barn.

He pursed his lips, his brain processing the information and the infinite amount of possibilities at a million miles per second. It humored him that whoever this was had essentially cornered themselves and did nothing but give away their element of surprise by carelessly making such a racket.

His eyes then narrowed, and his feet carried him towards the wooden structure.

But given the conditions of the veil and the possibility that this could be you. Clearly whoever or whatever this was, was skilled and the noise made was nothing but bait. And by entering the barn, he would essentially be walking into the palm of their hand.

A smile stretched across his lips. That didn't matter though. As if anyone could lay a finger on him.

He nudges the barn door open with his foot with little to no care, the door replicating that same creak he had heard earlier. The vacant space was pitch black, only now the faintest bit of light leaking through from the now opened barn door.

Without an ounce of hesitation, he entered.

His eyes scan across the room meticulously, trailing up the wooden pillars that were lined and spaced incrementally inside the vast space. His eyes shift along the high beams and a smirk takes over his lips as he registers the faint feeling of cursed energy.

Bingo.

"I know you're in here." He said in a sugary sweet voice, his movements slow as he picked up a pebble amongst the dirt and debris that was scattered across the wooden flooring He fiddled with it between his long digits, the pads of his fingers smoothing along the rugged edges.

"If you show yourself now, I promise to play nic-"

Squeeeee

Another creak breaks the silence and not missing a single beat his eyes snap in its direction, charging the stone with cursed energy before throttling it at the source of the sound. The stone zips through the air, cutting through the air at such an intense velocity that upon making an impact with the roof of the barn- the wood relents, breaking under the sheer force, causing a gentle stream of light to now beam through the hole he created.

The barn falls into silence once more.

He sighs, raising an eyebrow. "Dead already?" he wondered out loud, a cocky laugh escaping his throat as he intently eyes the area surrounding the "mark" he's left on the infrastructure, admiring his handy work.

He is completely prepared for what happens next.

A shadowy figure zips through the air, and his eyes catch the glint of metal that reflects in the light as the attacker dives straight toward him holding some form of cursed weapon.

Satoru raises a brow expectantly, his grin remaining on his lips as he merely steps out of the way as the figure collides with the ground below, the sound of wood breaking filling the air for a second time as the blade embeds itself through the floorboards.

His eyes observed the figure cautiously, watching as it slowly rose to its feet, not bothering to fetch the weapon that was now a good foot into the ground. He smiles smugly as the figure slowly steps into the light.

"That would've worked- if it wasn't me" he quipped with a carefree laugh.

"You're just as pompous as I remembered"

It was one of those rare occasions where Satoru finds himself at a loss for words. His features are completely wiped of any smirk or cockiness and his brain all but freezes, cutting off any further taunting remarks that otherwise would have slipped off his tongue effortlessly.

It was you.

He'd be stupid to not recognize that voice from miles and miles away. It was you. Standing right before him, dawning nothing more than a pair of sweats and a tee. You had grown. You had changed. No longer sporting the same hairstyle you did back in your Second year or standing with that little bit of awkwardness that you seemed to carry with you naturally at the time. There was a new sense of confidence that you now carried with you, self-assured.

He found his footing, forcing a smile onto his lips.

"Had to keep things familiar for you, otherwise how would you recognize me?"

You let out a scoff and a wave of nostalgia washed over his senses as he watched your face- which was now fully in view- soften as you gave him a gentle smile.

But as he stared at your face he realized something was bubbling beneath his demeanor.

Anger. Hurt. Betrayal. Confusion.

No longer were there rumors, theories, or flimsy, stupid red strings.

You were alive. You were here.

And you had lied to him.

Insults started to bubble in his throat as his collected demeanor began to wash away.

The things he wanted to spit in your direction. How cowardly you were to run away in the manner that you did. Scream at you for abandoning him. Ask you, demand you, for an explanation for how you could have left him with such ease. How could you do that to him? He was counting on you. He thought you understood each other, ready to shoulder the burden of loneliness and strength together.

How could you let him brace the cold and deafening silence on his own?

"Satoru... it's nice to see you again"

And just like that it all melted away. As if the sound of your voice saying his name had been some Pavlovian experiment, he finds himself wrapping his arms around you and pulling you towards his chest.

Those emotions could be put on hold for now he thought to himself as pure relief washed over his being. He held you with such an intensity that a part of him now wondered if this was a dream that he soon would wake from. And he waited for the moment you would slip away from his arms once more and for him to find himself stirring from the depths of slumber, alone in his bed.

It was then he felt your arms wrap around his torso and his bottom lip began to quiver before he clenched his jaw, biting down on his lip, grinding his teeth into the flesh ever so slightly just to still himself. He battled with himself internally, trying to find his composure, hoping that he would come up with something, anything to say. Just one more cocky remark to allow the mask to slip back on. Anything to just prevent all these suppressed emotions from spilling out messily.

But old habits die hard. And the simple comfort that came from being at your side once more was just far too overwhelming. A tear slips from his eye, as he buries his face into the soft strands of your hair.

Just for a moment... the summit began to feel warmer and the sound of gentle conversation began to float through the air.

---

"Well, I'm assuming you're not here for a quick check-in..."

The soft whistle of a kettle fills the air as you speak, the clattering of ceramics soon follows as you reach for two mugs that had been stored in your cupboard.

Satoru is watching you intently, taking in your every move, holding onto every word you speak.

He can tell you're purposefully avoiding his gaze.

The two of you had stayed in the barn for several minutes, holding onto each other in silence. You had wanted to say something but when the faintest sob left Satoru's lips, you knew better than to say anything more.

As you felt him begin to still and his breathing becoming slightly less ragged, you invited him back into your home, a place that would be more suited for the two of you to chat.

Upon entering, you let out a soft whine, complaining for a moment that your coffee had now gone cold and you would have to make a new one. You sent him a soft smile before offering him a drink as you headed into your kitchen space.

The air was uncomfortably stiff from that point on, several beats of silence filling the air as he felt his discomfort grow. This was incredibly awkward. Of course, it was... as if the circumstances surrounding the two of you were normal in the slightest.

He let your words hang in the air for a moment as he sat silently in thought, his eyes wandering around this place that you called home. He took note of the several knick-knacks that decorated the place, his eyes landed on a guitar that hung on the wall and then a wooden trinket that sat on top of the fireplace that appeared to be home-made and he mused at the thought of you taking up carpentry and music in your free time.

He's broken from his thoughts as he sees you lean down in front of him, gently placing a mug for him on the coffee table, raising your brow expectantly, waiting for some sort of acknowledgment to your words from earlier.

He curtly sent you a nod of gratitude, leaning up from the plush couch he had situated himself on, fingers wrapping around the handle of the mug, bringing it to his lips. He took a sip of the coffee, and the taste of cream and sugar immediately coated his tongue. He felt his heartstrings tug as he realized you still remembered how he liked his coffee.

He fought off a smile, knowing that now wasn't the time for fondness.

He watches as you take a seat on a chair that sits on the opposing side of the coffee table and he sighs before speaking,

"To put it simply, you are needed back at Jujutsu Tech."

"...Why?"

Your response is immediate, without any trace of hesitation. He looks at your expression, your eyebrows slightly furrowed and a frown tugging at the corners of your lips. And for the first time in a long while, a hint of nervousness sparks within his gut.

Convincing you was not going to be as easy as he thought it would have been.

"War is on the horizon... A group of cursed spirits are planning some sort of attack in Shibuya... and I am the main target. Yaga was the one who suggested that we find you. He had a team searching for you over the past decade... since you..." His voice trailed off, and you shifted your gaze away from his. A thick blanket of silence filled the room once again. He takes another sip of coffee, and he notices how his foot begins to tap restlessly.

"...They believe that if you are present, our chances of securing a causality-free victory is more likely" he continues, regaining his composure and dancing around the elephant in the room with such carelessness. "There will be several special-grade curses present, so we are preparing for the absolute worst..." Satoru says as he continues to watch you closely, trying to gauge your reaction. Your eyes were now screwed shut, your free hand, rubbing circles into the temple of your head as if you had a migraine. Your silence was more than unnerving.

"I can't, Satoru."

Your words are curt, you provide no further explanation, no reasoning. He frowns deeply, 'You can't?' What was that supposed to mean? Were you unable to use your cursed technique anymore? That couldn't be true- he could still see and sense the intense amount of cursed energy that radiated from your being. You were more than capable. So what the hell did you mean?

"...I left that lifestyle behind me years ago... you know this"

In his mind, he had pictured you running back into his arms as soon as he saw you. He pictured tears and an apology- A promise that you would never leave again as you held onto him tightly. Promises that you would return to his side without a second thought.

But this hesitation. This unwillingness. He felt so stupid upon being faced with it, his ego took a blow, his heart tearing a little bit as he began to question the foundation of the dynamic he had with you. Wondering if he truly wasn't enough of a reason for you to return to the way things were. But at the same token, he knew you and your stubbornness, the ways you stood your ground when making a decision, and your dedication to commit to them without faltering.

And there it was, in your words, the acknowledgment of your decisions. Confirmation of your actions being given as guilt rooted deeply into each word you spoke and swirling around in your eyes as you still refused to meet his gaze.

"Why did you do it?" he then dares to ask, the tone in Satoru's voice was unreadable, it almost didn't sound like him, the words coming out as a whisper yet carrying such a heavy weight with every syllable that rolled off his tongue.

This conversation was inevitable, you knew this. Even if you were trying to steer away from this topic, you knew that from the moment you saw him enter the veil, it would wound up here in one way or another.

But you didn't want to face this reality, "I don't understand what you're saying" you then say, stupidly letting out such a poorly constructed lie. Your eyes flickered to his face for a mere second and the furrow of his eyebrows told you just how much he didn't like that answer.

"Fuck don't make me say it," he muttered between gritted teeth, "Why did you fake your death? Why did you disappear without a trace?" his voice was slightly raised but still firm and contained. He could feel his grasp on his emotions slipping quickly as his grip on the mug tightened, his foot tapping much faster than it had been originally.

A subtle tinge of pain ached within his being as he finally directly acknowledged your deceit. As if beforehand your actions had been nothing more than meaningless flimsy words, his words spoke the truth into existence, forcing him to face it directly and fully. This was no longer a weight on his mind but a hard-hitting reality that he now had to navigate.

You give him a humorless laugh, a small smile that doesn't even begin to meet your eyes, "Do you really think the higher-ups would allow something like that? For a Special Grade Sorcerer that was tied so closely to you, the beholder of the Six Eyes and Limitless Technique to just step down and walk away?"

"That's not what I mean- " Satoru interjects, his eyes narrowing beneath his blindfold, "How could you? How could you just walk away from it all like everything that happened was nothing to you?". There was a bitterness in his voice that he did not attempt to conceal, his words cutting deep, outright challenging every aspect of your motives.

And you knew right then and there that there was no more running away from this. He deserved an explanation, you knew that. If there was anything you could do right now, it was to give him the truth. You let out a soft sigh, your eyes still refusing to meet his as you set your mug down on the coffee table that separated the two of you. He watches as you lean back into the chair, a distant look in your eyes as you begin to fidget with your fingers.

"It started after I heard about what happened to Amanai from you..." your voice came out as a murmur as you began to speak. A hint of surprise washed over his face before his lips thinned tightly as you brought up the name of the departed girl.

"I remember watching the ways it changed you and Suguru... You began to work tirelessly to surpass everyone around you while Suguru began to look worse for wear." he could see a sadness swirling in your eyes as you recalled those distant memories.

"It pained me to know how much that event shook you both to the core... and I wasn't there for any of it, so how could I comfort you both? Then... Haibara died..." Your voice begins to shake, your eyes seemingly fixed on the wall to your left, your fingers picking at the skin around your nails.

"Then Suguru defected... and that was when you broke."

Those last words hung in the air heavily and he watched as you took a deep breath, through your nose and past your trembling lips. You attempted to gather yourself, doing everything you could to prevent yourself from breaking, wondering how these memories still brought upon so much anguish after a decade.

"So much happened so quickly... and I remember that night... you cried in a way I had never seen you cry before... Another one of our friends gone..." Your voice had lost all its strength by this point, dropping to nothing more than a sorrowful whisper.

"I wondered how many more people would I lose? How many more days until one of us becomes a casualty once more? Would it have been Nanami next? Shoko?... You?" He felt a twinge of hurt as you spoke. A part of him almost felt insulted that you thought he would die, but the better part of him knew you meant no ill will. He wanted to stop you there and reassure you there was no way in hell he would have let anything happen to him, but before he could begin to interject, you continued to speak.

"I started to wonder if it ever came to a point where I would have to choose between the success of some mission or your well-being, could I ever rationalize it in my head? Would I be able to make that choice? ...Would you be able to make that choice?" Your fidgeting grew more restless as the skin around your nail broke, drawing a slight amount of blood.

"...and I hate how this sounds, but we made each other weak, Satoru. The target that was placed on my back for being so close to you was evident, and I thought I could shoulder that. But... seeing you after Suguru left, I realized I would become a weight that would hold you back—an additional variable to worry about. I couldn't stomach the thought of it all."

You sighed for the nth time.

"I knew I was uncertain about my capabilities when it came to making decisions involving you... and I knew I couldn't stay and watch as the people I loved turned into statistics. So I made my bed and laid in it."

A bitter chuckle then leaves your lips, "But I'm not so stupid to think that I have free will in this world. A special-grade sorcerer just out there in the world, their powers not being monitored? As if I would have been allowed that freedom. And I knew if you somehow caught word of my plans... you would try to convince me otherwise. I knew you would find a way to pull me back, and I couldn't let you do that."

"So I left on my own terms... removing myself from the picture in the cleanest way I could..."

The two of you fell into another silence as he took in the last of your words. After all these years, he finally received an explanation for your sudden departure. The picture was now complete, and he knew every detail of what happened. And frankly, he wasn't sure how to take any of it. A part of him felt stumped, wondering how much of the blame he should shoulder despite you not placing any on him. You laid it out pretty clearly that this was a conclusion you reached on your own. But the fact that you felt you couldn't confide in him, hurt deeply.

Then there was the way you spoke about yourself, acting as if you were nothing more than a mere inconvenience in his life - oh, did that spark a rage in him... As if he hadn't thought about you in the highest regard.

His next words seemed to slip past his lips without much thought and were solely fueled by emotion. "So you left me... You made everyone—made me believe that you were gone? You forced me to cope with the hole you left... Taking away the last thing I cared about?" He gritted through his teeth, as hurt and anger coursed through his veins, any sense of composure now far gone.

"A setback? Another variable to worry about? Do you hear the shit you're saying?" Your eyes snapped to his face, finally looking at him, surprise written across your face at the aggression that laced his words as he crassly set his mug down with a hefty thump.

"If there was anyone—anyone I could have depended on, it was you," he spat, hastily tugging his blindfold down his face, letting it hang around his neck.

And for the first time in a decade, you're staring him eye to eye.

Brilliant blues swirled around in angry, hurtful waves as they stared straight through you, analyzing every part of your being to a tee.

"Fucking hell- Of course, I worried about you. Anyone with a working pair of eyes and a brain could see what you meant to me. But I knew you - I knew your strength, I knew the risks that came with being so close to you, I knew they were something that just needed to be taken in stride. Every day, there was a risk. Of course, I knew that."

You watched as he took his bottom lip between his teeth, he was growing restless. You knew there was never going to be a positive reaction to what you had done. He would have to have been insane to see anything good about you pretending to have gotten killed.

But you didn't expect him to break like this.

"But- I had enough faith in you to believe you knew what decisions to make. I had faith that you would trust me just as much as I trusted you; depend on me as I depended on you." His words lose their anger, as sadness now coats them. His voice is fragile, filled with hurt.

"We propelled each other forward. Is that not how it was?"

You didn't know when it started, but tears were now falling from both of you as you fell into silence, staring at each other wordlessly.

Almost 12 years of bottled-up emotions caused him to fall apart before your very eyes. You had felt confident with the decision you made back then, certain that it was the right thing you needed to do for yourself and him. But maybe living with the decision had only been so easy because not once did you have to face the consequences and the effects they left behind.

But there it was, the consequences of your actions, manifested in the form of Satoru Gojo, the face of strength and confidence in the Jujutsu world, shattered. Crumbling to pieces right before your eyes.

And god, it was always so hard to see him hurting so intensely.

Your legs seemed to move on their own as they carried you without a thought, and you found yourself leaving the chair you had been sitting in and taking a seat on the couch next to him.

You leaned your head against his shoulder quietly.

And not missing a beat, he pulls you into him without a second thought, and the two of you are holding each other again, tears slipping from your eyes. Your resolve is crumbling; you can feel it. Knowing that the part of you that rejected Jutujsu sorcery and the life that came with it was beckoning you once again.

It always did. You knew it always did.

As empty as the thought left you, this was something your body was made for. This was your unfair calling and a role that you had no choice but to play along with. You may not have been asked to be given such a powerful technique, but you were. And even though you held the power to save so many, you selfishly decided to turn away so you didn't have to witness the loss of the ones you loved.

"Please" you hear Satoru whisper to you, breaking you out of your thoughts as he holds you firmly against him.

"You can come back. Higher-ups be damned- I won't let them lay a finger on you. I don't care about how long it's been... just come back." he was begging you. A desperation in his broken voice that told you that there was no more pride in him left to spare. This was the bottom of the barrel and what remained of him, was raw, emotional, and shattered.

He didn't know if he had it in himself to leave this place without you at his side. Let you slip between his fingers once more and let you vanish into the background again. Knowing damn well you're smart enough to move your location since you've been found. He finally had you once more, and he wasn't going to take this opportunity for granted.

Your resolve is fading away and you can't help but feel a hint of nostalgia. This is why all these years ago you knew you couldn't face him. Just as you admitted, you were weak to him, uncertain of your abilities to make decisions whenever it came to Satoru.

And right now, you couldn't help but take him in. The tenderness in which he held you, the scent that lingered around him, his heart beating so heavily you could feel it against your chest. There was only one word that floated around your head,

Home.

How long had it been since you felt like this? How long had it been since you felt the touch of anyone? You silently begged yourself to not let the fact you were undeniably touch-starved be any part of the reason why you would relent.

But this wasn't just anyone you were speaking about here. You knew this.

You'd be lying to say that your world didn't become duller after you departed from Satoru's side. The first few months of being away from him were excruciating and you lived in hefty guilt. The routine you once built together was no more. There was no one to push you out of bed in the morning, no one to drag you away from your responsibilities to goof off, no conversations until 4 a.m. in the morning, talking until your brain couldn't form coherent thoughts. No one to hold you through the nights that were just a little too hard to deal with. No one to understand your entire being in the way he did.

You truly and utterly missed him, even after all these years.

You breathe out a deep sigh the last bit of restraint evaporating,

"Okay. Fuck... okay, Satoru. I'll go with you".

You refused to be alone anymore.

Satoru felt his world come to a stop as the words slipped from your lips. His heart came to a halt in his chest as he soon took your face in his hands wordlessly, staring into your eyes.

And the summit grew warm as a fire was lit, and there he saw your smiling face illuminated by the flames.

He was unsure of what fueled his next action- perhaps it was the intensity of all the emotions both you and him had released, maybe it was the high he was riding from the sheer fact that you were officially back in his life once more... or the unspoken love he kept within for the past few years.

It could have been for a million reasons, but none of that mattered as his lips met yours in a gentle, loving, kiss, and his thumbs ran over the expanse of your cheeks.

Your heart flipped within the confines of your ribcage as he kissed you with such attentiveness, all of your sanity far out the window as your eyes fluttered shut and you kissed him back with an equal amount of tenderness.

He parted his lips from yours for a brief moment, "Twelve years I've waited just to do this..." He murmurs before pulling you into another searing kiss, one of his hands moving to the back of your neck before combing his fingers through your hair.

Your mind felt cloudy as he all but confessed the undying love he'd had for you for over a decade. You wanted to tease him, you truly did, but as you felt his fingers playing with your hair, you found yourself melting into his touch, any snarky remarks threatening to spill out, dying in your throat.

He suddenly flips you over, letting you fall onto your back as he hovers above you. A soft squeak squeezes its way past your lips and he lets out a breathy laugh, unable to stop himself from gushing over every little thing you did.

"God you're so ridiculously perfect..." Satoru whispers to you affectionately, his head dipping down to press a kiss to your cheek, loving the way the skin tinted with a rosy red.

"...You always have been," he continues, leaving several kisses pressed against your jaw.

"...My perfect girl" his lips trail along your neck where he gently nips and sucks and you feel lightheaded at his words. Never mind the red and purple marks he was leaving along your flushed skin, the way he praised your entire being, kissing you, touching you with such softness rendered you entirely speechless and helpless in his hands.

Satoru felt himself become overwhelmed with desperation. He just needed to be as close to you as possible, he needed to make up for all the time the two of you spent apart. He needed to remind you of just how deep his love and care ran for you. And he knew no amount of words would express that, so he needed to at least try and show you.

"Bed.. 'Toru, my bed" you breathlessly murmured to him, sensing his neediness as he began to press his body into yours and his lips searched for every bit of exposed skin you had to offer.

He lets out a low hum and pulls away from your neck, pressing one last kiss to a fresh hickey, "Where?" he says, lips continuing to graze your skin as he speaks.

"Down the hall on the right," you replied, your voice nothing more than a whisper and ears burning. In a flash, he's scooping you up in his arms and making hasty steps toward your bedroom as you let out a soft laugh, amused with how easily he picks you up. He nudges the partially opened door with his hip and gently tosses you onto the bed, watching as you bounce in place before he joins you, crawling onto the bed and hovering over you once more and kissing you once again.

It's messy and wet, his tongue darting out to coat your bottom lip before nibbling on the plump flesh and tugging. One of his large hands trails down to the hem of your shirt, and he gently pulls on the material, silently asking you for permission. With no hesitation, you raise your hands above your head giving him the green light he needed as he parts his lips from yours and makes quick work of removing the article, tossing it somewhere in your room.

His eyes trail over your exposed torso, tracing over every single curve, and Christ, you weren't even wearing a bra.

"Fuck you've grown up nicely, hm?" His voice says lowly as his hands run along the curve of your waist before gently cupping your breast, giving it a firm squeeze.

Your face turns a deep red as you bite back a moan from his touches, "Don't say that Satoru! You sound like such a creep-" You hiss through gritted teeth as he continues his onslaught, massaging the flesh in his palm before giving your perked nipple a small pinch.

"Sorry princess..." He says with a snicker, "...It's true though..." he grins at you pressing his lips to yours once more in a quick peck before sitting up to slip off his own shirt and discarding the blindfold that still hung around his neck.

His sculpted body was a sight to behold. It's not like you haven't seen Satoru shirtless before, there have been many incidents during your days at Jujutsu Tech, going to the beach, catching him right after he stepped out of the shower, or waking up next to him in your dorm and receiving a poor excuse from him that it was simply too hot while he was trying to sleep.

But after several years, you can see the effects of what you assumed was nothing less than endless hours of intense training written all across his body with every swell of muscle your eyes traced along, broad shoulders chiseled abs, and a waist so sinfully cinched, anyone would be envious.

When the hell did he become so hot?

Satoru genuinely felt himself grow warm under your gaze, the way you stared at his body so shamelessly made the tips of his ears turn pink. A smirk tugged at his lips as he debated calling you out for practically drooling at the sight of him. But as your small hand reached out and ran your fingers along the expanse of his abdomen, he couldn't hold himself back anymore.

He couldn't tease you now, he didn't have it in him. Not when you were laying there looking so damn pretty, clearly needing him just as much as he needed you. As he began to make quick work of removing your sweatpants, he made a silent vow to himself that next time it wouldn't be so rushed like this, next time he would take his damn sweet time, drawing every second out and showing you everything he could do to you.

Discarding your sweat pants, his eyes practically honed in on the blatant wet patch soaking your cotton panties. "Fucking hell, you're driving me crazy sweetheart..." He growled, removing his pants, and flinging it to who knows where. He positioned himself between your legs, hooking his thumbs underneath the waistband of your underwear pulling it down your legs at an agonizingly slow pace, and marveling at the strings of arousal that hung between your wet cunt and panties.

It was embarrassing how soaked you were, he barely had done anything to you and you were already a mess. Being touch-starved was becoming a prevalent fact and you just silently hoped he wouldn't put 2 and 2 together. Not that any of what you thought mattered because as soon as your panties were completely off, Satoru was diving into your cunt and eating you out with such eagerness you thought you were about to die and go to heaven.

His tongue worked skillfully along your slit, occasionally bringing your clit between his lips and sucking and lapping at the sensitive nub. "Satoru- oh my god-" you stuttered out, your thighs threatening to clamp around his head if not for his large warm palms keeping them spread. He let out a slight hum as you said his name and the vibrations have you seeing stars.

Were you really about to finish after two minutes of foreplay?

You got your answer fairly quickly as Satoru suddenly removed his mouth from you, denying you any further pleasure. You begin to protest but as he leaves a soft kiss on your inner thigh, your voice dies in your throat. "I'm sorry my pretty girl... Can't wait much longer" he says, his voice low and gravelly as he sits up, tugging down his boxers and positioning himself once more between your legs and caging you between his muscular arms.

"Need you finish while I'm inside that pretty cunt, okay?" he murmurs, licking off the last bit of your slick that lingered on his lips. Your eyes trailed down his torso, admiring the feint white happy trail before fixating right on his dick. He was so big, so lengthy and thick, with an angry red tip that leaked with pre-cum. Your mouth watered slightly-

Of course, he had a huge dick... cause why wouldn't he?

"You ready, sweetheart?" Satoru whispered to you, pulling you from your thoughts as the head of his cock nudged at your entrance which has you gasping. You meet his eyes, seeing the tenderness those deep blues held and you smile, nodding your head softly.

Slowly, he pushes himself into you, watching your face contort as you adjust to his size. "Doing so well, pretty girl... you're taking me so well..." he cooed, leaning down to press soft kisses to your face as you struggled to keep your breathing under control. The stretch was ridiculous, and your hands found purchase on his shoulders, holding on to him tightly as your nails dug into his perfect milky skin.

"Almost there, my perfect girl..." he whispered just before bottoming out. He cursed at how tightly you were gripping him, plush walls sucking him in so intensely he had no idea if he'd ever be able to leave - not that he wanted to, of course.

A breathy sigh of your name left his lips as he gave a testing roll of his hips, gauging your reaction.

And when the prettiest moan leaves your lips, he can't help but gush, his hips beginning to move in slow, measured thrusts and he buries his face in your neck, firmly pressing his body against yours.

He could feel your heart pounding against his chest, every sinful and beautiful noise you made flooded his ears and he groaned softly. Breathless sighs of his name left your lips as the sound of skin smacking against skin filled the air with every thrust he made, fucking himself deeper into your sopping cunt.

He knew he was done for.

You were so perfect. You always were so damn perfect. Everything that he could have ever wanted. He always felt that you were his other half. From the moment you entered his life, he swore you were a splash of color in what he felt was a previously black-and-white world. The way you understood him in ways that he thought no one ever would. The way you always matched him on his childish, snarky remarks and teasing. The way you would put up with him, even on the days he knew he was being difficult.

Life with you meant reassurance and laughter, it meant being seen for something more than this power of his. Life with you meant never having to feel alone, it meant having a constant to push him through the toughest of times. It meant having a space where he could let the mask slip off, a place where he didn't have to be 'The Strongest', but simply Satoru,

Your Satoru.

And fuck, the pain he felt the day you left. The pain he felt for weeks... for months. Having to adjust to a world with you was agony.

But now that you were here, spread before him, your pretty eyes shut and those delicate lashes brushing on your cheeks, lips parted and moaning his name like a mantra- and he knew he could never get enough of you. He would never be able to get enough of you.

Never again was he going to let you get away. You were officially stuck with him until the end of time.

"Ah- 'Toru, m'getting close-!" you cried out, your hands running all along the expanse of his back, nails now breaking the skin and leaving red angry marks in their wake as his thrusts began to increase in pace and becoming sloppy.

"Me too princess, don't hold back, want you to cum for me, make a mess for me like the perfect girl I know you are" he groaned out, words spilling endlessly from his lips as began to nip at your neck once more, leaving far too many marks that made you question if your neck would be entirely purple by the end of this.

But as he hits a spot so deep inside you, your back arcs and your vision fades to white and you come undone. Legs trembling around him and hands scrambling to find something anything to hold onto as your orgasm ripples through you with such an intensity you thought you were going to blackout.

Satoru isn't too far behind as his pace quickens even more, heavy and hard thrusts pounding against your worn-out pussy and overstimulating you right before he pulls out releasing thick and long ropes of cum between your squished torsos.

He lets out a hefty sigh before his body goes limp, and he lets his full weight press into you. You let out a soft laugh, also out of breath as your hands make their way into his hair, toying with his snowy locks.

"…I missed you so damn much" his voice is delicate as he speaks shifting himself so that he can look at your face. You can't stop the smile that stretches across your face as you cup his cheek and press a kiss to his forehead.

"I missed you too… But I'm here now, and I promise you I'm not going anywhere," you whispered back to him. Letting the world slow down for just a moment more as you laid with him, enjoying that this was all life had to be right now.

You were launched right back into the world of jujutsu sorcery. You knew once you left your home and stepped out of that veil with Satoru, a whole load of ugliness was to come your way.

But at least, for right now... just in this moment. You can bask in the fact that you were reunited with the man who had always owned your heart.

☆~~~☆~~~☆

A/N: I FINALLY FINISHED IT YIPPIE I wanted to get this done a while ago but my friends surprised me with a vacation and I haven't been able to write anything until recently haha

I actually do have plans to write 2 blurbs about this fic in order to give more insight to Satoru's and the reader's relationship that I wasn't able to fit into this one less I wanted to overflood this piece with several flashbacks >_>

So expect some little pieces soonnn one will be very fluffy and just a little moment between Satoru and the Reader during their days at Jujutsu Tech after they finished a mission and the other will take place after Suguru defected (SO ANGST AHAHHAH)

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed reading, it's been years since I've written any fanfiction so bare with me if there were any mistakes LOL

Tags: @hyori2 @kalulakunundrum

☆~~~~☆~~~~☆

#gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk #I NEED THIS MAN

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satoruhour · 1 year ago

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a/n: INTENSE rambling about gojo’s dimples / jjk manga spoilers (alluding to a physical feature of gojo, rather than a plot point) + includes manga panels under the cut + mini barbie spoilers? lol, just a warning if you haven’t watched it! / 0.8k ✶

if satoru notices your recent fascination with his smile, he doesn’t say anything, and rather lets your finger trace over the skin of his face. over the stark white lashes of his eyes to the peculiar double eyelids that ran through the gojo clan. your fingers like to leave trails of unspoken admiration over the skin of his pale cheeks, blushed red from the cold of the tokyo winter to the plump, shiny pair of lips — it’s because he liked to lick them so much.

it first starts out when you’re on the brink of death (gojo puts it that way, you were just immensely tired from fighting a regenerative curse) that you’ve made such a startling discovery, poking at the dip in his cheek in an almost robot-like way before you let out one last sigh, fainting from the fatigue.

and later in shoko’s office, you’re doing it again to his sleeping form, angled toward you while he sat in an uncomfortable chair, hand tightly clutching onto yours. the sight melts your heart, moreso when he leans into your gentle finger, drawing over the familiarity of your love.

“baby! baby, oh my god, you’re awake— let me go get s—”

“stay with me, ’toru,” you mumble, already feeling tired again from the toll which took over your body.

the same soft smile that he donned matches the one in the kitchen just a week ago, enjoying the mediocrity of the morning with your lover. gojo is situated between your legs as you brush the hairs from his face, staring at you with a tug on his heart and trembling breaths. your hands have abandoned your coffee cup, left to the side while you just map out the coordinates of his eyes, his sharp nose, the same plump lips that now frequents your strawberry lip balm.

“why’re you so pretty?” you mumble mindlessly, thumbs subconsciously dipping into the dimples beside his smile. the smile that is only reserved for you, like the one in shoko’s office.

gojo’s smile widens into a grin now as he leaves the question unanswered, mainly because he’s wondering why you’re the one asking the question when he feels like you could rival a goddess and win by miles; when he feels like the ache of his knees from worshipping you is worth every bruise.

“should be asking you that, sweetness,” satoru’s voice is raspy from just waking up, scooting closer to the kitchen counter which you’re propped on and pulling your closer, “you paralyse me each time my eyes lay on you.”

you roll your eyes with a giggle, leaning in for a soft kiss laced with dawn’s morning light of blue and purple, humming needily when you feel his hands wander over your body, squeezing and kneading at your waist. and before he turns away to go ahead with the day (not without a little complaining and more kisses — he’s just so drunk on you), he doesn’t miss the way your eyes drop to his lips again, or rather, to the right side of his mouth.

satoru makes a mental note to ask you about it the next time you do it, a stroke of luck when you’re having movie night two days later and instead of staring at ryan gosling yell “SUBLIME!”, you’re admiring gojo’s smile once again and the slight tip of his head when he giggles at the movie.

“you’re not entirely secretive, y’know?” the other simply pulls you closer, satisfied with having you under his embrace and relishing in being able to see how your cheeks heat up with his six eyes. he’s watched barbie once already, so he doesn’t exactly need to pay attention.

“why’d you keep poking my cheek, baby, hm?” gojo is not opposed when you straddle him on the couch, bringing two thumbs to the corners of his mouth and pulling, an exaggerated smile spreading across his face that you can’t help but let out a loud laugh; he catches your wrists and laughs with you, littering little kisses to your fingers.

“why do you like my smile so much?”

“nothin’,” you whisper, “it’s more of your dimples, actually.”

“oh?” gojo’s lips stretch into a smile he usually gives his students, finger feeling around on his cheek for the familiar dip. to be honest, even he didn’t really pay attention to his features, pressing incessantly at the area once he’s found the dimple. “didn’t even know i had…”

“oh, you do!” satoru trails off as he lets you ramble about the many many times you’ve seen it, focused more on the way your eyes gleam in the dim living room light. he’s fixated on the smell of your shampoo and the illumination of your body from the tv’s light.

at least, in this hour, the sorcerer could wish for everything a normal life could bring; a life where he isn’t weighed down by the title of the strongest, where he could listen to you talk about the features on his face and watch barbie with you.

gojo satoru learns more and more about himself through the lens of your eyes — a love letter sealed with the saccharine strawberry you apply every morning and your whispered confessions that hold a multitude of suns to leave his fingertips blazing and heart soaring.

god i love him sm :(

#jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk drabbles #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jjk x reader #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x reader

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spicy30 · 2 months ago

Text

Modernness of 1400s 001

Pairing: HOTD x Fem!Modern!Reader

Extra: The reader is noted to be bilingual (Spanish speaking) and is familiar with the majority of Latin-based languages, No use of Y/N

cw: Misinformation, cannon-typical violence

Rating: 13+

Not proofread

WC: 4k

“Yes! I will call you both when I arrive at the airport.” You spoke in a hurried voice excited to leave. It was your first time leaving the country without your parents. Your first trip alone, well not exactly alone. Your best friend was in the car. Saying your final goodbyes you grabbed your three large suitcases and stuffed them in the back while taking one in the front.

“Why did you bring three!? What even is in there?” Your best friend spoke as she was squished to the side.

“Basically all of my clothes and shampoos, soaps, scrubs, sanitary pads, sanitary wipes, toothpaste, y’know all the stuff you need to be clean.” You listed the things on your fingers as you spoke to her.

“You can’t bring liquids on a plane.” She stared at you with a blank stare. “You’re so gonna get stopped by security.”

“If they’re over 100 milliliters. I did my research. You can never be too clean, and you never know when you might need them!” You urged with an exaggerated tone of voice.

“Girl, we’re gone for two weeks, we can buy anything we need once we get there.” She rationalized with you.

“We’re on a budget. Why waste money on useless things when we can simply just take from what we already have, duh!” You rolled your eyes and chewed some gum while smiling then offered her some. Your best friend hummed and shrugged while taking one and popping it in her mouth.

“Anyways, these jeans are gonna be the death of me, I know it. This plane ride is like 10 hours!” Your best friend complained as she unbuttoned her jeans.

“Airport crushes. Gotta look your best.” You spoke as you touched up your makeup and adjusted your sweater. “Anyways, I hope it’s cold on the plane. I hate it when it’s too hot, but just in case I wore this.” You unzipped your sweater showing a cream-colored, halter-style top with a square neckline. “The cold is better because you can always put on more layers, with the heat, only so many layers you can take off.” You hear your best friend hum in agreement.

You watched the world pass you by and the sunset as the music sounded in your ears from your headphones. The car came to a slow stop to pay the highway toll before speeding up again. You looked into the darkness of the night. This bridge that you were crossing was quite long. Deciding to prep ahead of time, you downloaded movies and songs on your phone.

Red lights flashed on your left and you heard a honk. You looked over and saw a semi-truck switching lanes. It was far too close to you. You simply sat still watching as the semi-truck hit the front of the car. There was nothing you could do. Another collision hit you from behind, jerking you forward. Your best friend screamed. You only screamed when the car began swerving closer to the edge of the bridge. The only thing below this bridge is the black ocean.

The car gave a screeching stop as it crashed into the concrete wall. The back of the car hung over the edge. Both you and your best friend were screaming and crying for help, though the driver only quickly unbuckled themselves and got out of the car. Your screaming drowned out anything else as the car hung in the balance. The car door opened on your right and your best friend was helped out by a bystander.

She called your name as the car slipped backward. Acting fast you stuffed your phone in your purse, crawled over your suitcase and finally stepped onto solid ground again. As you tried to walk forward you got stuck. Looking back, your sweater had gotten stuck in the suitcase. In desperation, you pulled, and it pulled the whole suitcase out. However, the suitcase fell over the edge. You heard your name being yelled at as you were yanked backward. You screamed and swiped for anything, your hand only hit the car. As you fell you screamed even louder as you saw the car fall after you, the bright red tail gates chasing after you. It was a long drop, every second you felt as if you would hit the cold black waters. You moved mid-air and curled yourself into a ball before you felt the sharp hit of the cold water.

As you sank down you extended your body swimming upwards, but you felt heavy. Nevertheless, you persevered. Swimming with desperation you felt a cramp in your calf. You groaned as you stopped moving your leg. Looking down, you saw nothing but black, but as you looked back up red lights crashed into you. The blow was hard and the wind was knocked out of you. Reflexively you breathed in, only to swallow water, coughing, and you swallowed more water. You failed your arms trying to get to the surface. Everything burned and you tried to breathe once more, only to take in more water before you finally gave up.

…

Your body jerked to the side and you threw up seawater while crying. More and more water came out and you couldn’t breathe. Every time you tried a water shot from your mouth. Finally, you took a big deep breath in and grabbed on firmly to what seemed to be an armored shoe.

Looking up the sun blinded you, as well as the shine from the armor.

“That’s her…we just found her…when…what…wearing?” Voices came in and out and you flipped back over onto your back letting the sun hit you. You simply breathed, looking up towards the blue sky. You simply laid back trying to refocus, though it didn’t seem to be working. Large dark figures flew in the sky, you didn’t know what they were but you blinked trying to figure it out. As your eyes focused on them, a man stepped in front of you, he was bald with thick white eyebrows and a matching beard.

“Are you…” The words he spoke sounded blurred.

“Huh?” From behind him, a large creature, what seemed like a… well a… a “Dragon?” It was the last thing you spoke before you felt your body give into the exhaustion once more.

…

“Though it is the great hope of the court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survives his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. As a hand, I speak with the King’s voice on this and all other matters.” All watched as Otto finished his speech and then sat on the Iron Throne much more comfortably than Rheanerya would like. “The crown will now hear the petitions. Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon.” Otto called upon him and he stepped into the middle of the hall.

“My Queen, my Lord Hand, the noble history of our noble houses extends to the times of Old Valyria.” Vaemond began. “For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Valeryon has ruled the seas. When the doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebears came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean an end to their bloodlines, and their name. I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother's seat. I am Lord Corlys's closest kin, his own blood. The true and impeccable blood runs through my veins.”

“As it does in my sons, the offspring Laenor Valeryon,” Rhaenerya spoke. It would be a cold day in the seven hells before she lets the heritage of her sons be questioned. “If you cared so much about your house's blood Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition.”

“You will have a chance to make your own petition Princess Rhaenerya,” Alicent spoke, a cold look in her eye as she looked at her. “Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing him to be heard.”

Vaemond turned with a mocking smirk. “What do you know of the Velaryon blood princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still wouldn’t recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours.” He turned away from the mother of bastards to address Otto once more. “My Queen, my hand, this is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of survival and my line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother’s successor. The Lord of Driftmark, Lord of the tides.”

“Thank you Ser Vaemond,” Otto said, nodding as he acknowledged the claim. “Princess Rheanerya, you may now speak for your son Lucerys Velaryon.”

Rhaenrya stepped forward, annoyed and aggravated with the whole situation. “If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding the court that nearly twenty years ago in this very-” A door opened interrupting her. She turned and saw her father, standing with all the glory, once more coming to protect his heir.

“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” Everyone in that room watched as he hobbled down the steps, then to the Throne. Dropping his crown, they watched as his ever loyal brother, Daemon, placed it back on his head.

“I must…admit…my confusion.” Viserys breathed heavily. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present who might offer a kenner insight into Lord Corlys’s wishes is the Princess Rhaenys.” Everyone looked towards her as Viserys spoke.

“Indeed your grace.” Rheanys spoke and she stepped forward. “It was ever my husband's will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor, his trueborn son,” She looked towards the dark haired boy. “Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, the Princess Rheanerya has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys’s granddaughter; Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I…heartily agree.”

“Well the matter is settled…again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the driftwood throne and the next Lord of the Tides.” As Viserys spoke a scoff broke through Vaemonds lips.

“You break the law.” He spoke to Viserys. “And centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon.” Vaemond spoke, anger clear in his voice and face.

“No!” A faint yell was heard, but no one paid mind to it.

“No. I will not allow it.” They were words of defiance. He would not let his house fall into ruin because the King was short sighted.

“Allow it?” Viserys spoke, offended that he thought he had a say in the matter. “Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.” The warning was clear.

“That!” Vaemond yelled pointing towards Luke. “Is no true Velaryon and certainly no nephew of mine.”

“Go to your chambers.” Rheanerya spoke, ushering her sons away but they did not move. “You have said enough.” She redirects herself to Vaemond stepping in front of her children.

“Lucerys is my true-born grandson and you are no more than the second son of Driftmark.” Viserys spoke once more. This was treading too close to the line.

“Let go of me!” Another voice yelled, though it was muffled and once again, no one paid it any mind.

“You may run your house as you see fit.” The initiation was clear. “But you will not decide the future of mine! My house survived the doom and a thousand tribulations besides.” He turned back to Rhaenyra. “And gods be damned…” His eyes shifted to Luke. “I will not see it end on the account of this-” Vaemond held his tongue, but just barely.

“Say it.” Daemon whispered, tempting him.

A grim smile bloomed on Vaemonds face as he looked towards Rhaenyra. If no one else had the gaul to say it, he would. “Her children…are BASTARDS!” He yelled for everyone in the Seven Kingdoms to hear.

King Viserys leaned forward. “And she…” Vaemond turned to look towards Viserys with conviction in his eyes. “Is a whore.”

Viserys stood up taking out his knife ready to cut out Vaemond’s tongue himself. “I…will have your tongue for that!”

A sharp slice followed and the top of Vaemond’s head came flying off. “He can keep his tongue.” Daemon said.

“I said unhand me you twats!” Once more the voice sounded, this time, closer, as if behind the doors.

“Disarm him!” Otto yelled, ignoring the yells from behind the door.

“You smell horrid! All of you!” The voice yelled once again and this time everyone turned as the door opened and they watched a woman nearly fall back while she gave a small yelp of surprise.

The sounds of swords unsheathing sound. “Woah!” The woman yelled once more and lifted her hands high in the air. Her accent sounded clear. She was not from here. The court watched the event unfold. Guards surrounded her. “Those look a little too real to be fake so imma need y’all to stay a healthy distance away from me!” They heard her yell, such an informal way of speaking. A common born they all deduced, but why was a common born here in the throne room, why was she even in the Keep at all? However, what most caught the attention of everyone was her clothes. What was she wearing? It looked very inappropriate.

“Listen I don’t know what kinda freaky stuff y’all got goin’ on, but as you can see.” You gestured to yourself and your clothing. “Look at my clothes, and look at yours” Your hands moved sporadically around trying to explain yourself. “Ergo, I am not a part of this … .role playing? Whatever you guys got goin’ here.”

They watched as the woman tried to reason and the guard stepped closer, and she left a high pitched scream. All winced at the volume. “Stop! Please! I’m unarmed!” She yelled. “Look! My hands are up as you can see!” She gave them all a spin and for the first time, the people of the court saw the woman’s face but only for a second. “No weapons. Please put the swords away, I don’t care if they’re fake, they’re a little too real for me and it’s freaking me out!”

“Lay down your swords!” Commanded Viserys and all the men sheaved their swords

“Oh so you listen to the man and not the girl whos been pleading for you to stop? Okay.” You spoke with annoyance. You turned finally taking a look at the court. “Ooh….” You sucked in a breath as you saw the old man in a chair or what looked like to be swords. “Uhh, good make up artist.” You murmmed.

“Step forward girl.” Viserys commanded. You looked around, the men in armor had their sharp eyes trained on your, as if they were hounds waiting to be told to strick.

“Uhhh, I’m a little hesitant to uh move…” You gave an awkward smile.

“They will not harm you, I have told them to stand down.” Viserys spoke once more, a headache become more potent by every moment that passed.

“Okay….” You moved slow making sure to show your every movement and keeping your hands visible. “I’m moving, I’m just moving, no weapons.” You spoke as you slowly walked forward. You didn’t know where you were, but you didn’t want to find out if the props were real or not. It all looked so real, a nice place they had. Their dresses and attires, it was all very surreal. Very nice wigs as well, they almost looked real. A man who had half of his white hair pulled back and the rest down looked at you. You looked down to his sword noticing a red liquid, you stopped right in your tracks.

You pointed at him while your hands remained in the air. “Uhh what about him? I’m seein’ a little…a little red there.” You looked him up and down then back at the rough looking old man who sat the sword?? Throne thingy.

“Daemon.” You watch the white haired man step aside and you gasped and turned around.

“Oh my god!? What? Is! That!?” You yelled your back turned not wanting to look any closer at the…person?? Who was on the floor. “That uh! Thats ummm…. very good props? The anatomy is uh…very good. Wow! Uh yeah… sorry I don’t… I don’t wanna look at that, I have a weak stomach, I can’t even watch animals get killed, I start crying.” You began babling.

“Take him away.” Visery spoke and the silent sisters whisked him away. As you turned you looked around taking in the sights of people. So many white haired ones. Peculiar. You eyes caught one with dark hair and a semi bad haircut, but he was good looking nonetheless. Damn, you hope you didn’t look too rough. Looking to your right, you caught sight of two with white hair.

“Damn.” You whisper wiping the underneath your eyes hoping to take away any mascara that may be running. “Please let me look good right now.” You whispered.

“Is it safe?” You called out no longer hearing the sounds.

“It is.” The old man spoke and you faced him. “Who are you girl and what are you doing here. Commons are not allowed here.”

You made a face at the word commons but rolled your eyes and introduced yourself and gave where you were from. You were met with faces of confusion. You scoffed. “Listen uh, your highness? I don’t know. Can we uh, quit role playing or whatever this is. I- I don’t do that, its not for me. So listen can we be real here for a second? I gave you my country, and my continent. There is no way, you would not know that. Unless…” You looked around and breathed but quickly covered your nose giving a noise of displeasure. “Listen you’re a..what? King? So uh forgive my insolence your highness, but uh…there no way you wouldn’t know unless you all are…uneducated?” All in the court made a face towards you.

You sucked in a breath. Wrong move. Oh well, it is what it is. “Yeah sorry, uh disconnected because uh clearly…y’know your attire, your buildings….the smell, god it’s potent, uh everything it’s just y’know.”

Everyone stared at you in confusion. They had never heard of the place where you claimed to come from. Perhaps it was a place in Essos, of in the Shadowlands beyond Asshai.

“Are you from Essos then?” An old man to your, now left, asked. “What? What is Essos?”

“Are you sure you are not the one who is uneducated.” A voice sounded behind you. You turned swifted to glare at the man who spoke. It was the one with the sword.

“Uh excuse you, I’m not the one who doesn’t the seven continents. Comeone everyone learns those. You don’t know Asia or Africa, what about Europe?” You asked him as he looked at you with an unamused face. “North America? South America? Antarctica? Oceania? No! Exactly, you wanna know how I know? Because of that stu- I’m yelling. I probably shoudln’t be yelling in my position.” You caught yourself and turned around to face their king.

“But come on Essos?” You scoffed. “Listen I may not be the best at geography, but,” The words got stuck in your throat and you sighed out a breath of defeat. “You wanna give me a hint where it’s at?” You heard a scoff behind you and your eye twitched and you smile became forced.

“It’s in the name.” The man behind you —Daemon they called him— spoke once again and you scoff. “What East?” You smiled as the white haired woman to your right gave no signs of a smile. You smile fell from your face. “What? Seriously? What do you call the West?” You laughed. “Western Land? What about the South? Southlandia?” You give another laugh.

“You’re is Westeros.” The old man on your left said.

“What kind of- Okay,” You murmured. “And South?”

“Sothoryos.” He said once again. You face morphed into an approving expresson. “That one is actually not bad. Sounds really actually cool. Okay North?”

“We don’t have a North, it’s part of Westeros.” Once more he answer your question and you nodded turned to him and pointing. “So Westeros leads to the polar icecaps?”

He furrowed his brows. You made a sound of understanding. “Ah I see, you haven’t discovered them yet. So no South pole or North pole. Okay. These are your continents? Okay…so I’m gonna assume Essos is just Asia, this seems a lot like the UK, England? The accents match, or maybe Ireland? No…I think imma stick with England. Okay so I’m in England.”

“As my uncle said…you seem to be the one who is uneducated.” A male voice rings out, and the one with the eyepatch has an aggravating smirk.

“Excuse me? You try getting into a car crash, falling off a bridge because a damned suitcase, wake up in who knows where and figure out where you are. Might I add after not being told common continents.” You looked him up and down. A shame he was good looking, well as one can be with an eye patch. Him opening his mouth really just ruined him. “Tell me, if you, I don’t know, what do you guys have here? Carriages? Do you guys have bridges? Probably not as big as the one I fell from. Have you ever fallen say 200 hundred feet or… sorry uh…. 60 meters? Thats what you guys use right? Well say you fall from 60 meters, into water, drown, then wake up on a beach not knowing where you are or who anyone is. If you fell from that hight and landed on say…oh I don’t any island on Micronesia. Do you know what or even where Micronesia is?” You tilted your head. “No? Well…I think I’ve made my point.”

“You speak to a Prince girl” The King spoke and you turned to him then back towards the one eye man who seemed a bit shocked that his father would come to his rescue.

“Thats your son? My apologies. Is every white haired person here your child?” You asked but the King suddenly let our a groan. The woman in the green dress ran to him.

‘His wife? No? She’s too young. Are those her kids? No…she’s too young…right?’ The thoughts raced in your mind.

“Get the Maesters!” The woman yelled.

‘Maesters? Masters? Weird accents, definitely in the UK.’ You looked around standing there unsure of what to do.

“Get him milk of the poppy, and the get the leaches!” The Maester called.

“Milk of the poppy? Opioids!? Well I mean, I suppose it's common, but um, as long as he doesn’t get addicted to it.” As you spoke the white-haired woman looked back at you with an expression you couldn’t quite describe. “Did you know, there are only two drugs that can kill you if you just quit them? Opioids, which is what your ‘milk’ is, and alcohol funny enough. Once your body becomes dependent on it, or in other words, you get addicted, if it is ripped away from the addict. Your body will go into shock, thus killing the addict. Just a little fun fact to think about if you feed him that stuff every day.” As you spoke the room became silent as men in white clothing came and grabbed the King. From your left, you heard a scoff.

“You think you know more than the Maesters?” The old man asked once again.

“Well…if my ears do not mislead me and I heard you still do leaching, or bloodletting. Then I think I just might.” You smiled and shrugged at him. “If anything, you’re doing more harm than good. While leeches can be used in other ways that would be beneficial, this is not one of the ways. You’re idea of leaching and blood letting comes from the notion of bad blood or good blood right? Something along those lines.” As you spoke the Maester stopped and let go of the King and another took his place walking him down the Throne. Everyone was looking at you and the sounds of the King.

“Well, there's no such thing as bad blood or good blood. What there is in the body is something called bacteria. It's on a microscopic level, don’t think you’ve discovered it yet, that's okay. Misinformation is common these days. Well in any case, when you bleed the patient, I’m pretty sure you deprive them of white blood cells and then force the body to focus on the cut instead of the actual issue that the body is facing. White blood cells are kind of like the fighters, they fight off the bad bacteria.” You continued. “Well it might not be exactly because of that reason, but it's one of the many reasons why it doesn’t work.”

“Well if there are these ‘white blood cells’ as you call them why isn’t our blood white?” The Maester asked. He had a smug expression on his face.

“Well, there is white blood and red blood cells. Also as I said, it is on a microscopic level. It’s not visible to the naked eye. They’re very very very very small. Also, there is a chemical reaction that makes blood red.” You answered with a smug smile of your own.

“How much do you know of medicine?” The white-haired woman asked.

“More than him it would seem.” You gave a blank smile.

“Would you be able to cure him? My father, the King.” The woman, who was a princess asked once more with a pointed look.

“Uh I’d have to take a look at him. Can’t make any promises.” You spoke and she nodded walking away and you stood still unsure of what to do. You looked over to the boy with the bad hair cut and gave a smile. He gave you a small curt one in return before following the Princess. The the seconds dark haired boy left. You turned to look at the man with the eye-patch and what you assume are his siblings or cousins.

The shuffling of feet stop and you look towards the Princess who looks at you with an expectant look. “Oh! Oh! Right, sorry!” You turned back, they were royalty, it felt wrong to just leave, but you didn’t know what to do. “Um, bye.” You said in a small voice giving a small bow before turn and giving a small run to catch up to the Princess.

Next I Masterlist

Note: This is self-indulgence and I'm not gonna research anything trying to make it as real as I can. If an average person was just randomly there.

To be added on Tag list: !(•̀ᴗ•́)و ̑̑

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genericpuff · 3 months ago

Note

What do you think about Reachel's new redraw?

I feel like the characters look good but the background is too gray compared to the original one 😕

It's pretty rough, ngl. Not even necessarily because of the art itself, but because it's not a panel she should have ever redrawn to begin with.

The whole point of that scene was to showcase Persephone bringing life into the Underworld, a place where only death existed, but in this redraw it completely lacks that messaging, resulting in a scene of Persephone and Hades simply hugging each other in the dark with very dead-looking foliage surrounding them.

On a structural level, the composition has gone from vertical to horizontal, giving us way too much empty space around them which, again, is failed by the background being so dull and lifeless; Persephone's somehow become even smaller; and worst of all (though I'm sure some people will think I'm overreacting) her hair isn't tucked up in Hades' arms anymore, it's just sort of falling perfectly over his shoulder as one solid goop of pink, strangely changing shape as if it's resting on something but there's clearly nothing there.

That said, my opinions should be taken with grains of salt because I also have a lot of personal beef with a redraw like this - that original panel was my phone background for like, 2 years, and the episode it came from is still one of my favorites of all time in spite of all the criticisms I now have of the series, with art that originally inspired me to want to learn how to draw like Rachel.

There's been a lot of evidence over the past year or so to suggest that Rachel has "fallen out of touch" with her own work and these redraws that she's been making lately feel like tangible proof of that. The context in which she created those original panels no longer exists so to try and redraw them fundamentally misses the point of why they were so iconic to begin with.

I can understand that feeling of falling out of touch with your own work, to the point of not even seeing the appeal of it yourself anymore, but that's all the more reason to keep moving forward, not back. The fact that she's still just muddling around with LO stuff despite announcing two more projects and seemingly not making any progress with either the TV show or Rachel Smythe Presents... it really does seem like she's stuck in limbo. The deadlines and contractual obligations aren't there to motivate her anymore, and while that may now have freed her from the burden of creating LO in such a cramped and unhealthy space - now being able to create it simply for herself - I think the years of working on it have definitely taken its toll on her ability to create the way she used to and so we're seeing those growing pains now.

The real bummer about it is that it's being celebrated as "growth" but it's about as much growth as the illustrated environment above - dead and bleak.

#ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything #lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus #lo critical

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vetteltea · 1 year ago

Text

Love Will Always Show | CL16 & CS55

Summary: The choice of a lifetime is yours to make, your husband and lover both longing for your heart. They face conflict, choices and most importantly, one another.

Word Count: 8.4K [& a bit more]

Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating and dishonesty, manipulation, hospital talk.

Note: The fact I was a newbie to F1Blr when this started and now...here we are. I want to thank each and EVERY person who has ever read this series. It's changed everything for me, it is truly my love letter to you all and I hope you enjoy the finale. You are all forever in my heart and I cannot thank you all enough.

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: ‘You Think, You Know’ | PART 4: 'Love Will Always Show'

Love is a gentle hand cradling your back.

Time had suspended when your body had collapsed onto the rough floor outside of the Scuderia Ferrari hospitality. Immediately, several scarlet-clad personnel were running over, shouts echoing across the open space, somebody mumbling that they needed to get you somewhere safe and warm before your body temperature dropped dangerously.

There’s a question of who to call; your father wasn’t in the country, ever since your mother’s funeral, he’s become silent, your siblings having been lovingly sent to stay with a close aunt. He had been absent from the previous Ferrari meeting, his assistant having sent a message to say he would be absent for a little longer. Clearly, the death of your mother was taking a toll.

The next obvious choice of course, was your husband. However, with the win that he had been craving for oh-so-long, he was currently wrapped up in press, endless ‘congratulations’ messages from celebrities and presenters alike. Nobody would know where to find the monegasqué right now, let alone how to tell him of his wife’s status whilst surrounded by endless television cameras and sly reporters.

There’s no need for him, anyway. Leaving the media pen after vigorous questioning of his loyalty to the team and his current emotions on a premature end to the race, Carlos’ dark eyes quirk to the side, registering the crowd of bodies circling the hospitality area. They only widen when the realization dawns on his clouded mind that it’s you, your body is the one thing they are all crowding around.

His steps break into a run, no signal being given to his media manager nor his cousin. He speaks a few sharp, spanish words, creating a break in the circle, able to insert his toned body into the sea of red, immediately squatting, one hand coming out to elevate the back of your head. He knows how particular you could be with your hair, how you insisted on now sleeping on silk pillowcases to keep it healthy. Asphalt ground was not comfortable nor hygienic.

There’s talk; talk about whether to take you to the hospital, whether to wait for your husband to return and make the decision. Carlos feels his blood curdle at the use of marital status. His teammate, the man who had treated you no better than the way he had treated bonds of trust, was the one to make a choice of your health and wellbeing.

He simply cannot stand for that.

“We need to take her to the hospital.” He interrupts the commotion, the strong tone settling over the panicked employees. “Surely that is the best place for her if she is unconscious, no?” The whispers and mumbles which echo the surrounding members of the team signify agreement.

There’s a discussion of how to bring you in without drawing attention to the media. Surely, if a giant ambulance or even a medical car was to storm through the paddock, no doubt endless media outlets would be creating headlines before even bothering to speak to anybody present. The Spaniard is already making his own choice, using his arms to gently adjust your body.

He shouldn’t; he really shouldn’t be moving you, not when you haven’t been checked for broken bones or concussion. Yet, the idea of the most beautiful girl, Mariposa, lying on a hard floor with no form of comfort or safety sickens him to his stomach. Carlos is still gentle with the movements, letting your head lean into his stomach, one hand is supporting your back, tanned fingers digging gentle patterns into the curve of your skin. The other one traces once, twice, three times around your cheekbone, dark eyes transfixed on your features.

You must have hit your skin when falling to the ground; there’s a graze dancing across your cheekbone, specks of dirt resting in between each knock. The man cradling you is gentle, moving his shirt just enough up his body that he’s able to take the hemmed end, feather it across your cheek in an attempt to remove the offending chunks.

Someone nudges Carlos’s shoulder, more in an attempt to tell him somebody was just outside the Paddock; that they could drive you to the hospital right now. He…he can’t bring himself to leave you. A strong grasp lifts you from the ground, holding you close to his chest, murmuring that he would get you there, and he supposed somebody would have to find Charles.

The area grows quiet; Carlos’ pace draws away from the Paddock and to the back entry. He was thankful that the entirety of the drivers were still either trapped in the media or with their own teams, celebrating or commiserating. He had enough of that for one day; an entire six laps was barely worth speaking about.

You’re still unconscious, still limp in his arms. However, there’s a rise and fall of your chest, you’re still breathing. That’s all he could ask for at this present time. He silently promises himself there and then that when you wake up, he’s making his final move. Where Charles has been playing chequers, he is playing chess; he had proven that even whilst you were stuck with your estranged husband, he would love you regardless.

There’s a people carrier in the car park, he’s certain he’s seen various drivers use it before; a built-in stretcher lies in the back, it’s ideally a discreet ambulance. The media could be brutal with gossiping when any driver had to leave the track. It would look worse if Charles Leclerc’s wife was seen leaving the paddock with his teammate. The driver of the vehicle nods when seeing the two get closer, stepping to sit in the driver’s seat whilst Carlos adjusted his grasp.

He lays you down onto the stretcher; it’s secured, you’ll be safe for the drive. The man can’t help but feel a draw of protectiveness over you. What on earth had caused it to collapse? Had he done something? Blood boiled, if your husband had done anything to cause this, he could personally guarantee that Charles would not be finishing any races for the remainder of the season. He would make sure of that.

His attention is caught by the glimmer of silver on your left hand; your wedding band. When he reaches the car, tucks you into the seat carefully and makes sure the seatbelt is secure around your frame, his fingers glide over your hand, removing the band and putting it in his own pocket.

‘It’s for your own good,’ he tells himself. ‘If your fingers swell up, they may need to cut it off.’ He could tell himself this story a thousand times; it doesn't hide the fact that his true intention in this moment is simple; for once, he could be the devoted husband, taking his wife to be nursed back to health.

The Spainard leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, murmuring that you were going to be okay, that he would stay with you the entire time. The driver shouts, telling him to take a seat so they could get there before the press figured out something was wrong. He kisses your skin once more, before closing the doors, sprinting to the backseat, throwing his body in carelessly.

Angst overtakes his senses, shouting at the driver to start the car, he doesn't care about being strapped in. This way, he’s able to lean over the backseat, one hand reaching out to clasp at your own. You need to know that somebody is there, that he is there for you. He’s always been there for you. The car pivots out of the parking space, beeling for the main road and to the hospital.

Love is a scream for your name.

“Charles, tu dois ralenir!” Joris is insisting he needs to slow down the car; turning the current Leclerc in hospital into a duo would not be a satisfying outcome.

Ever since he’s been told, all your husband can see is red mist. One Ferrari employee had sprinted up to him whilst he was in the midst of cameras, the grin on his face as he’s finally able to seek his wife out, wanting nothing more than to skip on the Scuderia celebrations and take you instead, your beaming smile radiating the energy he had been bathed in.

It’s funny how life can change in the matter of a few moments; one second, he’s on top of the world, the next, Charles is pushing through every media outlet, fan and celebrity, barging himself into his driver’s room. He doesn't have time to remove his fireproofs, to pick up any of his belongings apart from his car keys. He isn’t communicating, french profanities fall from his lips, shaking his head in rage that nobody could find him to tell him. Tell him that his wife had been taken to hospital.

Joris had been the one to sprint after him; he knew better than most, when Charles saw nothing but mist, there was no getting to him, not whilst he was determined to do something. The driver knew in his heart his best friend was not to blame; after all, he had no idea of your disappearance, he had been with Charles almost the entire time. And yet…he can’t bring himself to even speak to Joris. Not until the duo make it to his rented car, Charles is adamant he is driving.

He only starts speaking when his best friend tells him to slow down. The driver barely does, only drawing to a slower pace when he sees the traffic lights start to build in front of him. Even in a panic, he respects road rulings. Drawing to a stop, the man finally has a second to take a shaky, unbalanced breath, angry tears pooling at the bottom of his eyes.

“Why did nobody tell me my wife was at the hospital?” His voice is strained, he’s clearly holding back tears, whether they’re angry or fearful is a different question. “She’s my- she’s my wife!” He can’t stop repeating it, as if it’s a prayer. His wife. His wife.

“She’ll be okay.” Joris knows that’s quite possibly the worst thing he could say to his best friend, but it’s the only thing he can bring himself to say. “She will be. C’est juste par précaution.”

“Putain!” Charles’ words are sharp, immediately pressing on the acceleration as the light switches to green, overtaking three cars in a matter of moments. He’s a man of regret, he has been ever since he realized how much he adores you. In that moment, he can’t help but think of everything he could have done differently that afternoon. He could have come and found you right after the podium, could have given you his jacket and told you to stay in his driver’s room, he would come and get you after. He could- he could of-

He could of waited with you after the funeral. He could have come and picked you up from Milan when you went to spend time with Carlos. He could have deleted his mistress’ number, and told her he was married.

“Tourner à gauche.” Joris tells his best friend to turn left, the Hospital Car Park coming into view. Charles turns the car, immediately eyes are roaming for any space, anywhere he could put the car. A sharp whistle and point from his best friend shows him a space right by the Emergency Department, parking the vehicle in possibly the worst way he ever has done. Within three seconds, the engine is switched off, seatbelts are unbuckled, and he’s shouting to Joris to pay for the parking, he needs to get inside.

For a driver, his sense of direction is becoming worse. It takes him a solid minute to read a sign, before his legs break into a sprint, skidding into a bustling Emergency Room. There’s old men, leant over in pain, convinced they’re dying. A child snuffling, masses of paper towels on her head. A woman with a twisted ankle, her attention engrossed by the magazine in her grasp. It smells of hand sanitiser and bleach, the yellow walls are hurting his eyes.

A woman behind the desk taps the counter, drawing his attention. “Hey- Sir!” She snaps. You can’t blame her; it’s hour thirteen of her fifteen hour shift. “You can’t be in here unless you’re hurt-”

He shouts your name. It’s as if he completely forgets he’s in a building. Charles is embedded in a maze, even if a lady in front of him can pull up your immediate location, he needs to find you himself, and he needs to find you now.

It isn’t until Joris comes in, having heard his best friend scream your name, that he overtakes Charles so overcome that he’s now hiding his head in his hands, unable to say anything that wasn’t your name. His ears prick up when the second man starts speaking, giving the woman your first name, your last name- Leclerc- and when you had been bought in. There’s a light tapping of the keyboard, she tells Joris you are in the department round the corner, room ten-

Charles is gone before she can finish her sentence, catapulting down the hallway, dodging round endless people, frantically searching for doors with numbers, not names. He sees the number four. Six. Eight.

Number Ten rolls into view. Without a single word, his hand latches around the door handle, pushing so violently the door smacks onto the inside wall. His eyes immediately fly to the bed, you’re lying there, so unconscious, still so beautiful, some strips over the graze on your cheek. Still, arms to either side, one hand connected to an IV, clearly in an attempt to rehydrate you. His first question is the location of your wedding ring, where on earth was it? Has it been taken away? It’s a question he completely forgets about when his gaze travels further.

The other hand is being held by a Spanish man he knows all too much about.

Love is notes left on a coffee cup.

Both men stood, silently hovering over your body whilst the nurse came in to run a course of tests, check your blood pressure, the IV line, make sure you were being cared for in the best capacity. Each held a coffee cup, Charles’ still primarily full, he couldn’t stomach anything; he felt sick from seeing you lie here, not laughing, smiling, speaking. Carlos had downed the drink bought in by Joris in a matter of moments; to him, it was fuel. Something to keep him awake until you woke up.

Whilst Charles was the one to ask questions; ‘Do you know what caused this? Is she going to have any long-term issues? Does she need any assistance when she wakes up?’ Carlos has captured the marker which has rested alongside the clipboard of your notes, his tongue poked out in concentration. The marker grazes along the cup, leaving a note, drawing a tiny picture of a butterfly- Mariposa- and placing the cup on your table, a silent message for if you woke up and god forbid- he wasn’t there.

The nurse draws away from your body, diverting her next task to the two men.

“I need to continue the examination but…” She looks to the door. “I cannot have you both in here. You need to wait outside, the Doctor will come in for further tests-”

“Can one of us wait here?” Carlos is the first to interrupt, the look on the woman’s face tells him he’s made a mistake.

“Both.” She clarifies, pointing at himself, then at his teammate. “One and two. You need to wait outside. If she wakes up or there’s any…issues, we will let you know.”

It turns out, both men are hesitant to leave you; Charles moves first, crouching by your side, running a gentle hand over your hairline, pressing his lips carefully to your temple. He’s murmuring, french words of adoration and comfort, that he will be right there when you need him.

When one steps away, the other comes forward. Carlos doesn't say anything, instead tracing a gentle finger across your cheek. His touch tells you everything, it speaks volumes. He loves you, he’ll be outside, don’t be afraid to come running into his arms like you had done once before. The nurse begins to lose her patience, ushering both men out into the corridor, telling them to sit in the plastic chairs provided or go somewhere else; she really didn’t care.

The scene is reminiscent of two boys sitting outside of the principal’s office; Charles’ head hides in his hands, leaning forward, still dressed in his fireproofs. He’s tied the sleeves around his waist, the dark undershirt now drenched in sweat from the driving, both on track and to the hospital.

He feels movement next to him, Carlos’ hand dips into his pocket, pulling out something small, silvery. Her wedding ring. He supposes Carlos means it as a sign of goodwill, that he kept it safe. In the Monégasques mind, it’s the fuel to light the fire. Scoffing, he snatches the jewelry off of his teammate, placing the band onto his pinky finger, it’s the only one it would fit on, the only way he could keep it safe.

“Funny. You took it off her.” He’s growing mad, aggravated that Carlos wouldn’t just go away and leave him and his wife alone. Hadn’t he done enough already? “Why don’t you go back to Natasha?” The blonde ex-media woman for their team is referenced. Carlos opens his mouth, ready to snap back, it was a low blow for Charles to reference his history with the woman.

“I know what you did.” He huffs. There’s something…different. Different in the way he speaks to Carlos now compared to every other day. The polite, civil conversation is gone, the fact he couldn’t pass judgment because of his own actions has evaporated. “I know you invited her to Madrid just to make a move.” He remembers seeing the instagram stories, how your eyes were wide, full of life. He made you remember life is beautiful. “You kept her close. You wanted her and didn’t like that she was mine.”

“Yours?” He scoffs. “She’s not your property, Charles.”

“No. But she’s my wife. I’m the one she lies next to every night, I’m the one who will care for her in sickness and health, who’s shoulder was leant on through every bad time.” He pauses. “Who picked her up after you coaxed her into your bed.” He laughs. Actually, laughs. The memory replayed in his head, how sleepy you looked as he guided you back into the SUV, how your heart sank when seeing the blonde approach his front door. In that moment, you had convinced yourself you meant nothing to Carlos apart from lust.

Charles was a jealous man; he had taken pride in stripping off his teammates' clothing, wrapping you in his own, soft hoodie. You were his. Carlos wouldn’t care for you the way he did, he was a man too full of lust. He was convinced the Spainard didn’t make you laugh, didn’t make you smile, didn’t make you come-

“You corrupted her, Carlos.” He finishes. “I know what you did-”

“-And I know what you did.” Carlos snarls. He doesn't care about anything more; he knows all too well that his teammate could go crying to the Ferrari bosses, have him removed from the team in a blink of an eye, throwing some false information out which he would have to comply with. But he doesn't care. His affection has grown too strong for that.

“I know everything, Charles.” He’s monotone, he’s stating facts. “I know how she waited at home for you on her birthday, whilst you were in your mistress’ bed.” Carlos remembers asking you about your plans the previous week, how you had brushed them off. “I know how she made you dinner every night, how you refused to eat it.” Charles feels his stomach drop, the endless leftovers stacked neatly in the fridge, the meals he had never bothered to try. “I know on your wedding night, you came into the hotel room drunk, covered in bites and she slept on the sofa-”

“Enough!” Charles’ voice shouts, standing up from the plastic chair in the corridor. He doesn't have to hear this, he can’t bear to hear this. One mistake a day was something he was always able to brush off. Hearing each and every one of his infidelities laid out in front of him sent his mind into overdrive. “You have no right to comment on-”

“On what?” The Spainard is standing up now, chest out and arms folded. “On your marriage?” He laughs, he smirks. “Can you call it that? A marriage is a bond between two people who love one another-”

“I love her!” Charles cuts him off, stepping closer. “I love her.” He repeats himself. Carlos looks gobsmacked, shaking his head in denial.

“You have a really weird way of showing her you love her.” He continues to poke, to prod. “Sharing a bed with another woman is not how you show love-”

“I admitted to my mistakes!” He’s quick to defend himself, how the restraining order was placed and a lawsuit filed, how he promised if you wanted to know anything, see anything, he would let you. How he would spend the rest of his days always feeling dread and regret. “I fixed them-”

“Who says she still loves you?” Carlos has snapped.

Charles hates to admit that he may be right. Is it really fair for him to expect your love after everything that has happened in the past year? It didn’t matter how many times he begged, he pleaded or promised. The man you had married had spent the better part of 365 days in the arms of another woman, a woman that as he stood here, clinging onto any hope of his marriage, meant absolutely nothing to him.

His slim fingers trail down, circling the cool band which rested on his left finger. He had decided there and then, he would keep it on, always. There would be no more reasoning, none. If Lewis could wear his earrings, Charles would wear his wedding ring. He looks back up, Carlos still boring into him with dark eyes, the anger he radiated almost entirely visible.

“Do you love her?” He presses. He needs to know; he doesn't bring himself to care that you had spent a night in his arms, not when he had done it to you a thousand times over. The idea makes him sick, but nothing compared to the idea that you are in love with somebody that isn’t him, not when he needs nothing but for you to come home, back to your home with him.

Charles swears he feels vomit rise into his mouth when Carlos nods. He’s not stupid, not really. He knows how he fell for you properly in the past few weeks, how for Carlos who has been in awe of your affection and attention, the center of every race weekend you had reluctantly attended. It may have been to support him, but you could still enjoy the fact that Carlos would be there, too.

Your husband isn’t sure what he wants to do anymore. If there wasn’t an examination happening, he would have run into your private room and locked the door. Instead, his glassy eyes gaze up, catching Carlos’ dark ones. It hits him at once; his teammate, somebody who he once considered a close- no, best friend, was the one who had taken his wife away from him. His brain can’t catch up with his body movements, the red mist clouds over once more.

Charles Leclerc punches Carlos Sainz in the nose.

He doesn't intend for it to be a strong punch; Formula One drivers are a lot stronger than they realize, and the contact not only causes the Spaniard to knock back, shouting out in pain, but a sharp sensation rockets through Charles’ clenched fist, wiggling his fingers as they relax. Carlos’ nose is immediately red, becoming scarlet by the moment, though no blood has fallen. Your husband’s immediate reaction is ‘Should have punched him harder.’

He doesn't have time to think about anything else, not before he has two strong hands on his chest, shoving him harshly. The sudden sensation causes him to lose balance, falling to the floor and landing on his back. A shock radiates through his body, Carlos looming over him, clearly ready for a second punch.

That thought is drawn away when the door to your room opens, both men immediately staring at the nurse, her hair worn and eyes tired. Before either man can throw a question at her, she speaks.

“She’s still not awake, we’re going to bring her around in an hour, but she’s going to have to stay overnight for observation. If one of you could get her some overnight things-”

“I can.” Charles immediately cuts off the nurse, pulling himself to sit up and stand from the floor. “I’m her husband. I will get them.” It’s a subtle jab to the man in front of him, Carlos still holding his nose, convinced it was about to start bleeding any moment. He would have gone and sought out attention for himself, if he hadn’t felt a sharp vibration in his back pocket, a phone call. In any other time, he would have ignored it. But he knows who it is, he knows how important it is.

Without a word, Carlos answers the call, rapidly speaking in Spanish as he walks down the hall.

Love is a pocket square at the bottom of a suitcase.

The contrast of Charles leaving the hospital was night and day to him arriving. He hadn’t spoken a word to Joris, apart from expressing that he needed to go back to the hotel to get your overnight items. Although it was barely a ten minute drive away, every minute felt like a century; he wanted nothing more than to go back to the hotel, sit by your side and hold your hand until you woke up.

He could have sent Joris back, given him the room key and told him to grab some things, but it didn’t seem right. The idea of his best friend going through your suitcase didn’t sit comfortably with him. Moreover, he didn’t know. Charles knew; he knew what pajamas you found the most comfortable, what outfit would be easiest for you to travel back in, how you wanted your panties and socks paired together and how your phone charger had to loop clockwise.

The ornate hotel room looks dull without you; your suitcase still rests in the bottom of the wardrobe; you had hung up evening wear, dresses for the inevitable after-parties. Folded in your suitcase remained your other clothing. Charles is quick to select his items; the tropical cotton pajamas. You had bought him a pair in the same fabric, telling him that they would be the comfiest thing to sleep in. Your stitched jumper and comfiest jeans. You had worn those jeans when you had tagged along to his photoshoot for the Ferrari livery, holding his water and the APM Monaco jewelry he couldn’t wear. Your outrageously expensive hairbrush. You had brushed his hair through after a particularly bad race, whispering promises that it would get better, that the car was going to evolve for him, the best driver on the grid.

Bile rises to Charles’ stomach and with no warning, he sprints to the bathroom, dropping to his knees by the toilet and throwing up the barely-there contents of his stomach. He had barely eaten, barely drank any water, but couldn’t help the sickness in his tummy.

He pulls away from the toilet basin, eyes watery, breath trying to catch up with the speed and cries.

Charles doesn't realize it’s happening at first, he hasn’t cried like this in so long; the kind of crying where you can’t fathom words, you don’t make a sound because you’re crying so deeply. The kind where your chest is exploding and your heart feels like it’s going to explode. The kind where all he wants is for his mother to cradle him like she did when he was five, run her hands through his hair and whisper him words of comfort.

This time, he doesn't want his mother, he wants you.

It’s selfish, it’s so incredibly selfish and it hurts to know that it’s taken him until now to realize what you mean to him. It would never happen, but his wound-up head can only close his eyes and visualize you running in, pulling his head into your chest and running your hands through his dark tufts, pressing cool lips to his forehead and promising him over and over that it was going to be okay. You were going to be okay.

He lets himself cry for five minutes; he times it because he wants to collect your things and make his way back, Joris was waiting in the car. When the five minutes are over, he pinches his nose, taking short, ugly gasps until his eyes remain bloodshot but not blurred. The sound of the toilet flushing echoes through the hotel room, making his way out of the bathroom and to the items he had hurriedly dropped atop of your suitcase.

Nimble fingers cradle each item, carefully rolling and tucking them into a pillowcase; he didn’t have a bag big enough to suffice each item and couldn’t bring himself to bring your entire suitcase along, it almost seemed as if once you had it, you could disappear from his life. At least this way, he could have one final farewell if you chose to leave. The items are almost secure, until his grip on the pillowcase folds, glassed eyes catching a glimmer of blue hidden at the bottom of the case. With no hesitation, he pulls on the fabric. His heart drops on the realization of the item.

It’s a pocket square. More specifically, it’s his pocket square from your wedding.

You don’t know when you had started packing it, but you supposed it was from your mother’s own doings. After her wedding to your father, she had always carried around her ‘something blue,’ as a gesture of good luck, of safety. After the first time you had found out about Charles’ mistress, you had discreetly tucked the fabric into your bag, carrying it around, a silent hope your husband would return to you.

It hadn’t worked in Jeddah. In Imola. In Spa. In Monaco. You had reluctantly taken it from your bag one evening, on the plane home from consoling your family, using your pen to doodle in the very corner ‘Mr and Mrs Leclerc,’ a silent fantasy of the loving marriage you had dreamed of.

That night was the first time you and Charles ever shared a bed.

The fabric lingers between his fingers, the blue contrasting against the silver of your ring, still resting on his pinky finger. Now changed into his own clothes, he slides the ring off, wrapping it gently in the pocket square and sliding it into his trouser pocket. As he does, he recognises your handwriting, the titles printed in the bottom of the fabric.

He can’t help the tears rolling down his cheeks once again.

Love is a desperate telephone call.

Carlos is still pacing around the outside courtyard of the hospital, having been on hold for a grand total of seventeen minutes. He is not a man of patience, he is not a man of quiet.

The phone buzzing in the corridor had been a welcome call, despite the situation. His lawyer, finally ringing him back after what felt like days of apprehension. He had dipped from the public eye to try and grab hold of some privacy, slipping in his wireless headphone so as not to hold the device to his ear for hours upon hours.

Almost thirty minutes ago, his lawyer had called him, confirming his thoughts of the previous days.

"You're not wrong." His lawyer has already clarified it once, twice, three times. "If there is evidence beyond a shadow of a doubt, then it is the correct term for a divorce.

Carlos feels his blood run cold. He loves her, he's as certain as that as he is of the fact that the sky is blue and his win in Silverstone. The man wants nothing more than to make her feel cherished, adored. Taking a bite out of his teammate was just a bonus feature.

That had been a few days ago, when the anger had surpassed him after Natasha’s return, how that made him look as bad, if not worse than Charles. He’d immediately sent her packing, blocked her on every form of media, gone as far as to insist if she ever came for a visit, he wouldn’t be present.

The second part, the evidence, had been laid out all too perfectly.

The line suddenly clicks, signaling his lawyer had returned. Carlos doesn't wait for a verbal queue, the audible sign of his return is more than enough.

“Do you have it?” He asks, barely any time to let the man on the other end of the phone respond. “You must have it, no? It should have been sent. I made sure it was sent.”

“I have it.” He clarifies. “I have them right here.” A rustle of paper is heard from the other end of the telephone, content of an envelope being spilled onto his desk. “Are you sure you want me to send these to be confirmed as evidence? That the women in the photographs will not retaliate?”

Carlos had not been entirely honest with you. Not about his knowledge of Charles’ situation. Ever since the confession all those months ago, the understanding that you knew of Charles’ affair, he had been playing a long, patient game. He had photographs, evidence of the mistress’ appearance at each paddock, her arms snaking around Charles’ body, kisses between the duo. How he could continue to do so, whilst you, the epitome of beauty, sat in his drivers’ room, playing the doting wife. At one point, he had considered going directly to the press, directly to Ferrari themselves to out their ‘Golden Boy.’

And then…he had seen you with him in the Paddock that one race, looking through the window of his driver’s room. How your fingers latched onto one another, how genuinely shattered you looked when she had shown up yet again, lingering outside of the hospitality area. The guilt snuck through him, how he had seen her arrive, and yet failed to mention to you, give you any warning of her presence.

Even if he had been the one to invite her. Even if he had been the one to press her about sending the photographs to Charles, not blackmail. Merely a reminder of his actions, how much he supposedly missed his mistress.

“She wouldn’t.” He’s quick to respond. “She wouldn’t care.” He’s not wrong, his mistress being in the limelight would only elevate her status, with the way his teammates’ brain worked, it would more than likely draw them back to one another.

“And Mrs. Leclerc?”

It’s the first time Carlos has hesitated. Even if he couldn’t admit it to himself, he knew that your relationship with Charles had grown, that ambient it was made paper-thin, the trust was slowly beginning to come back. He thinks about how your eyes blinked widely, in awe of your husband on the podium earlier that day, how it supposedly didn’t matter he had spent most of your marriage wrapped in her arms, you still looked at him like that. Did you look at him like that? Like the way he looked at you.

This action could draw out a multiverse of reactions but at the end of the day, he had settled with two. The first was that you understood, that you would see the evidence, and understand the case. Divorce Charles and marry him, even if it meant he would give up everything.

The second is that you would see the chaos he caused and you would never speak to him again.

“Mr. Sainz?” The voice at the end of the telephone draws him from his questioning, running a hand across his red, swollen nose. It wasn’t broken, but god it was hurting. Bruised, most likely. “I need an answer.”

He needed to speak to you.

“Can you just-” He huffs, running a hand through his dark hair, his fingers almost getting caught in the strands. Of course his hair was tangled, he’d been doing nothing but pulling on it ever since he arrived at the hospital. “Let me speak to her. Hold it for 24 hours. You can do that, yes?” It’s not even a question now, nor a request. It’s a demand. He can’t do this, he can’t openly destroy your marriage for his own sake without speaking to you, without knowing for a fact that you love him.

Your name is carved onto his soul, onto his skin. The first thing he thinks about in the morning, and the last thing he would think about at night. There is no life he wishes to live in if you’re not there. Even as his friend.

There’s suddenly a light tap against glass, snapping the man’s attention from his device. He mumbles something in Spanish, telling his lawyer he would call him back, dreading who was coming out into the private courtyard.

He visibly relaxes when he sees it’s just a man, sneaking out whilst tears pool on his lower lashline, giving Carlos a warming nod.

“You don’t mind if I join you, do I?” The Spainard shakes his head. “My wife- she’s just being induced and wanted some space. She’s…” He gestures, trying to explain to a complete stranger how a few minutes ago, his wife wanted to cry and shake her head, but wanted nothing to do with him. It was all his fault.

Carlos offers a warm hand on his back, patting him firmly. “Congratulations. Do you know what you're having?” He’s invested, anything to distract him from his previous phone call, the weight of a decision on his shoulders.

The stranger grins. “A girl.” He smiles harder. “I don’t mind, as long as they arrive happy and healthy. But god- a girl, just like her.” He thinks. Carlos thinks. In an alternative universe, he’s sat by your side, pressing kisses and praises to your skin, holding you tighter as your daughter enters the world, ready to meet her mother and father. She would be like you; your eyes, hair, smile. It would be another you to love, to adore.

“Your first?” Carlos presses his question. The man sighs, shaking his head, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks into the polished corridor.

“No. She’s…” He pauses. “We got together after hiding how we felt for so long, how we wanted to be with one another.” He looks to Carlos, clearly ashamed and embarrassed of the situation. “I know how it sounds, but sometimes you can’t help it. I- I love her.”

A band snaps in Carlos’ stomach; love knows no bounds.

Love is waking up to think of your person.

The first thing you register when you come around is brightness. You’re not in the soft glow of the luxurious hotel room you and your husband had been given, nor the candle-lit bedroom of Carlos’ apartment. No, the light is bright, blinding. An off-white which made your eyes squint.

Your senses are heightened; the only scent which flares through your nostrils is hand sanitiser and overpowering lilies. Nose scrunched, you attempt to wiggle your body upwards, aware of the IV line pinned into your hand. Panic immediately settled through your tummy, until your eyes flickered to the bag, realizing it was just water, they just wanted to rehydrate you.

Hesitantly, you wiggle each part of your body. Arms, hands, fingers. You’re able to move, though you couldn’t…you couldn’t remember why you got here. Memories are hazy, you remember Charles’ podium, the way he kissed you so deeply, so lovingly. Carlos’ hand on your waist, pulling you back to stop you from the champagne trickling over your body. You were overwhelmed, overworked and…you guessed it just all became too much.

You just about manage to turn your body, the first thing you’re aware of is that your cushion smells familiar. Warm nodes, sandalwood and seasalt. It’s a smell you’ve grown all too accustomed to, burying your face into their chest whilst you took refuge in his arms, in a hotel room. Charles had been there, already. His celebrations had clearly been cut short, whether or not it was for show or because he cared.

The second thing is the coffee cup. Cardboard, the contents clearly already drained, but handwriting etched onto the side in a thick, black marker. The handwriting, the doodle of a tiny butterfly. Carlos had been there, too.

There’s a sharp pinch on your cheek, fingers reach up to your skin and feel the butterfly strips against you. Immediately, a thousand questions come back to your mind, none of them being answered through your own memory. Instead, the door opens, a nurse in clean, bright uniform walking in, closing the door behind her. She beams at the realization you’re awake, shoulders relaxing.

“You’re awake!” Her tone is incredibly warm, seemingly very happy you’ve decided to wake up on your own terms. She’s quick to move to your bedside, pressing the back of her hand to your forehead. “How are you feeling? Have you warmed up?” You’re not sure what she’s referencing, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She takes the look on your face as unknowingness, able to fill in the gaps.

“You collapsed on the track.” She’s trying to get through everything she needs to tell you. “We did some tests, you’re incredibly dehydrated for a start, you need to try and get some rest.” She pauses. “It’s nothing to be concerned about, we have collapses from dehydration every so often, more than you would realize.” Her eyes flicker down, finding it hard on how to phrase the next part of the question. “You also seem…incredibly worried.” You’re not sure how she could tell that from simply examining you, but you nod in confirmation. “Your blood pressure, it’s incredibly low. That’s why you fainted.”

“Yes.” You pause. How on earth were you about to explain the past twelve months to a nurse, a complete stranger? “There’s been some…reasons. You know, for the stress.” Her eyes soften, but the questioning continues.

“Are you trying for a baby?” You shake your head. “Moving house?” A shake. “Have you…lost somebody recently.”

You freeze, memory flickering to your mother, how in the midst of fixing your marriage, discovering your affection towards another, she had disappeared from the world. This time, you nod your head, drawing your knees up to your body, shivering. The nurse is quick to wrap a blanket over your shoulders, closer to the answer.

“I lost my mother.” You breathe out, shaking your head. “I lost my mother, and she’s the only one I can go to.” Now you’ve started speaking, you can’t finish. “I want to make them happy. I want to make him happy.” There’s tears glassing over your eyes.

You want him. You want him right now.

She sympathizes, she understands. “Sometimes, all you need is for them to tell you it’s going to be okay, right?” She lets her words trail off, turning to the door of your room. “He’s outside. He’s been waiting to see you.”

Your blood freezes.

“Would you like me to get him?”

You nod before you’ve even realized, your body clearly knows better than your mind. The nurse stands up straight, pacing towards the door as you feel your heart begin to race harder, frantically. She steps out of the room, a minute mumble on the other side, clearly a warning to be incredibly careful. It’s barely a minute before the door swings back open, dark hair and frantic panting.

You glance up, your heart softens at those eyes.

The eyes that you, the reader, wanted to see as you glanced to the door.

GREEN EYES [CL16 Ending]

BROWN EYES [CS55 Ending]

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huge-jacked-man-is-bae · 13 days ago

Text

Late night

In which you wait for Old Man Logan to come home after a job

Warning(s): conflicts, swearing, feelings (is that even a warning??), stubborn Logan

Pairing: Old Man Logan x Reader

(no use of Y/N)

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You were there...as always. Taking care of Charles when needed. Cleaning up and keeping him company. You loved to hear his stories, but Charles knew that you wanted to know Logan's stories. So he endulged in the stories of the now Old man Logan, and you just listened to Charles with a smile on your face. You knew if you wanted to ask Logan about his past, he'd just shrug it off and leave you the heck alone, as usual.

Charles....the old tricky man he is, often brings you up to Logan, he wanted to know if there was more to that hate towards us, or it was just simply cause he didn't like you, just tolerated you. But Logan is as stubborn as a kid, he refuses to show any emotion when they talk about you. Even if you're around Logan, he just waves you off or just grunts, as that's how he is communicating most of the time. He is tired, and you can see it, heck even Caliban is worried about him, the Adamantium poisoning is slowly taking its toll on Logan. But as a fool he is, he refuses to ask for help, what a stubborn old man!

You always make sure to wash his clothes, make him food and tend to his injuries if it's necessary, even if he pushes you away. And the worst part is, that you slowly start to fall in love with that stubborn old man. Every time you were around him, the butterflies in your stomach started to slowly fill up your stomach, he often side eyed you for your reaction, he could see the pinkness on your cheeks, but he brushed it off.

"Another client?" You ask as you made your way into the kitchen, seeing Logan by the kitchen table, sitting there, sipping on some already cold coffee. "But it's almost midnight.."

"Well, they don't care about time, bub. And someone has to earn money.." he said rather grumpily. Didn't even look up at him. Like you never existed.

"I am worried about you Logan..." That's it. You finally said it. A flash of surprise plastered on his face, but he shook his head and drank from his cup.

"No need to be worried about me, bub. You should focus on taking care of Charles and to the housework." Jesus he's such a pain in the ass.

"And I am doing it every day."

"Good, only concentrate on that and stop pushing your nose into my business, bub.." he said angrily and put down his cup, it was now empty. You jumped a little bit at his sudden movement but he didn't care about it, just adjusted his dress shirt and put on his jacket, and put his reading glasses into the inside pocket of the jacket. Phone in his hand.

"I am not trying to—" you started to explain.

"Enough, bub!! I'm tired of your constant nagging and caring! I don't need this! I didn't ask for it! Keep your fucken distance and leave me alone!! I'll be home late." With that, Logan grabbed the limo's keys and walked out of the smelting power plant. You were taken aback by his harsh words, like he never ever talked to you like this. Why now? Maybe there was something bothering him? Or you really believed that the problem was actually yourself. You heart ached as you thought about it, the possibility of being the source of his misery, his anger, his annoyance.

After three hours... Three hours passed ever since Logan had left to drive a client. As usual, he was exhausted, the money was great as he got a huge tip and all, but...he was still sad and miserable, but.... something in his heart ached as he saw you on the couch in the little living room he made himself. Tried to make the smelting power plant more home-y, ever since you lived there too. He didn't understand why, but he knew that if he'll act upon these feelings he is buried deep down. He didn't even want to acknowledge it at all, especially after that happened in his life, how he lost everyone he held most dear. How Jean's death still shook him till this day. He promised himself that he'll never feel things like this after her death... But there you were.... Making his heart skip a beat.

He looked down at you, as you slept. His eyes widened as soon as he realized that you were cuddling one of his jackets, his heart....that stupid heart he decided to freeze...started to melt again. Beating faster by the minute he was staring down at you, looked at how your chest fell and rose, how your hair sprawled out on the cushion of the couch. You were perfect, in every way. But he was still stubborn to realize...or at least accept it. He was reluctant to give into the feeling... Jesus he didn't even know what to do now.. So. Out of instinct, held you up in his arms bridal style, your head rested on his chest as he made his way towards your bedroom, his heart was about to burst out of his chest.

He kicked the door open lightly and walked inside of the bedroom and approached your bed, gently laying you down on it. And all he could do was....just stare.... Stare at your sleeping form, how beautiful you looked, how your hair was framing your face, he involuntarily moved his hand and tucked a stray hair behind your ear, your skin was smooth and warm, unlike his ruggedy face and skin. He thought back to the times when you laughed at a bad joke Charles was cracking, the way you took care of both him and Charles. Your heart, your soul... everything was perfect about you. but he was afraid... Afraid of screwing up, afraid of hurting you. But he couldn't resist the temptation. Often imagined what would it be to be together with you, to wake up next to you every morning, to sleep next to you every night, to kiss you, hold you, fuck you. He shook his head, pushing these thoughts aside but sat down on the edge of your bed. He was reluctant to get away, to leave you, especially when he knew that you were on the couch cause you waited for him to come home, every fucken time.

"The things I wanna do to you, bub.." he sighed and stood up from the bed, took one last glance at you and he did it... He couldn't resist. Logan leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead. It was slow and sweet, his heart....his poor heart was accelerating fast, almost giving him a heart attack. He felt so weak...but so right. "Sweet dreams" he murmured and pulled the covers over your body, making sure to tuck you in well cause he knew that you can get cold easily. Then he left, to put some food into his stomach, as he'd never miss your cooking. His thoughts were occupied by you, as always. Waiting for the perfect moment to finally snap and make a move. But when was the perfect moment? He didn't fucken know.

\|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/ \|/

Part 2?

#hugh jackman #wolverine #logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #old man logan #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you

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purifiedclitoris69 · 9 months ago

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In it together

Hiii. I am alive, just very busy and overwhelmed with living ig. College fucking sucks and so does everything else rn, but figured i get a lil blurb out before i have to lock back into my classes. hope you enjoy!! don’t really know what ima do w my series or when ima update so i am sorry bout that LOL. anyway bye for now 👋👋

You were absolutely exhausted. A 2 week mission with only 3 hours of sleep total takes an intense toll, even if you are a super soldier. Letting the burning hot water run down your back , flashes of the recent mission ran through your mind. The experiment files were horrific, so many deaths, so many children.

You had only been at the compound for about a year and a half now, the team rescuing you from Hydra’s control like Bucky. You were free of the brainwash but not of the memories and this long ass mission had brought it all right back to the surface. It was getting better, your in therapy, bonding with the team, learning how to control your strength, your growing. But this mission, feels like it’s all about to come crumbling down. It made you feel sick. Thoughts of losing yourself, the team… of losing, Natasha, it burned your throat.

What you have with Natasha is confusing, complicated, but nice. No one else knows the true nature of it but you two. Falling into each others beds continuously for the past 8 months, staying tangled in each other, every single night, cuddling, and giggling like little teen girls. The team simply thought you guys were close friends, both you two being spies, it wasn’t too hard to hide your extracurriculars. But you both knew it was more, so much more. You held each other in the most gentlest ways…the most loving, opting not to leave one another when you guys inevitably came undone. In front of the team, you had a front, a quiet brooding one, but with her, it was peaceful, relieving, you felt free, like yourself. It was absolutely terrifying.

Not realizing it tears were beginning to mix with the water running down your face and crescent marks formed in your palms from clenching your fists too hard. You love her. You’re in love with her, but how could you tell her, would you. Your whole life you’ve been used as a weapon, serving for the military, then hydra. You were dangerous…a monster. It was late, almost 2 am, you couldn’t go to her now, she need rest, not a burden. no matter how much you yearned for her warmth. Turning off the burning water, you stepped out into the steam filled bathroom. Drying off, you wrapped the towel around your waist and another draped over your shoulders, you opened the door to your bedroom-on your bed sat Nat. Dark circles surrounded her eyes, her hair was slightly ruffled, she wore an old shirt of yours, and some of her loose sleep shorts. She looked absolutely stunning, you couldn’t help but give a soft tired smile.

“hi.” she spoke softly with a matching smile.

“hi,” you answered stopped in place just taking her in.

“you gonna get dressed,” she smirked tiredly, “tho i don’t mind.”

“oh really” you joked walking over to her and cupping her face as she looked up at you, “i missed you,” you spoke softly the tiredness bringing out a transparency.

She leaned into your hand closing her eyes, “i missed you,” she answered. Your heart swelled and the flashes came back, you could hurt her, what if you lose it. Suddenly taking a step back her cheek still warm from your touch, her eyes flew open. You turned your back, getting dressed by your closet, “is everything okay,” she asked as you pulled your tank top over your head and braced yourself against your dresser.

You opened your mouth unsure what you wanted her to know, “yeah,” was all you could muster.

“I really did miss you,” she walked up behind you wrapping her arms around your waist and leaning her check against your back, just enjoying your smell, “i don’t sleep well without you anymore.”

“me either,” you turned around wrapping your own arms around her middle and looking to the side as hers went to your neck, “it was a rough mission,” you mumbled

“oh, baby,” she spoke, moving her hands to your face this time, “look at me please,” your eyes were burning with unshed tears as they met her soft deep green ones, “oh, my love, it’s okay,” she brought your head down to her shoulder as you released a shaky breath and let your arms fall from around her waist, “is there something else,” she asked dropping her own hands. You walked past her to sit on the bed not really sure where to start as you looked at your hands in your lap, “we don’t have to talk about it, it’s okay,” she spoke sitting beside you and gently take your hands in her own.

You finally looked back at her face, your eyes still glossy. You stared deep into each others eyes, “you’re so beautiful, Natasha,” you said memorizing every detail of her. She laughed quietly as a soft blush rose to her face.

“Shut up,” she said putting her forehead against hers.

She closed her eyes at the action as yours remained open, “I mean it, you’re the prettiest girl there is.”

Her blush grew as she pulled back and looked away slightly, “god i love you,” she mumbled out casually bringing shock to both your faces. She immediately pulled her hands away and stood from the bed, her mouth opening and closing unsure what to say as you looked at her, overwhelmed with emotions, “y/n i’m sorry i-“

“You do?” you asked getting up from the bed with her, “you love me?”

“I..” She spoke uncertain, taking a deep breath in, “y/n i’m in love with you.” You laughed slightly in disbelief. You moved towards her with purpose grabbing her waist and pulling her into a bruising kiss, pouring every amount of love into it as possible, like it was the last time, like you were consumed by everything Natasha. You both grinned wide into the kiss, forcing the two of you to break apart.

Taking a deep breath, “Tasha, I..,” the thoughts all came rushing back. Your going to hurt her, you don’t deserve this love, your going to lose it all.

She moved her hands down from your neck to intertwine with your own, “I know,” she whispered.

“I really do,” you said, your foreheads still pressed together, “I..,” your mouth fell open and closed absolutely terrified to say something wrong, “Im just scared,” you mumbled, closing your eyes, but never dropping your hold.

“Don’t be,” she answered, moving her hands back up to cup your face, “we’re in this together.”

#enhanced!reader #marvel fanfic #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #super soldier #natasha angst #angst with a happy ending #fluff #marvel #black widow x reader

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andreafmn · 6 months ago

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Kinktober ⛓️ Day 20

Word Count: 3.1K Paring: Stiles Stilinski x Fem!Reader Prompt @kinktober2023: Foodplay WARNINGS: SMUT 18+ (minors DNI), food play, oral (male and female receiving)

Summary: Stiles Stilinski is forgetful. Everyone knows that, but no one more than his girlfriend (Y/N). There have been far too many occasions where the boy has forgotten special events or details for her to be mad when he fails to mention they have only one afternoon to bake a hundred cupcakes for a bake sale. And, instead of growing angry, she goes down a sweet turn.

A/N: I should be ashamed how long it has taken me to finish this damn series, but at least we are one step closer. Hopefully I finish before october 🫣🫣

MASTERLIST

In hindsight, volunteering to make a hundred cupcakes for a fundraising bake sale wasn’t the best idea. Even if it was for the lacrosse team, it sort of ended in disaster. Sweet, sweet disaster.

It was the first time since Stiles had been on the team that the lacrosse Cyclones had made it to the state competition, and they were not ready for the financial toll it would take. Since Jackson had left the school, most of the sports teams had their budgets slashed, as the Whittmores felt no need to continue contributing to their son’s extracurriculars.

However, the kids at Beacon Hills High School were nothing if not resilient, and they were determined to get the team to Santa Barbara.

Somehow, the idea of a bake sale made its way to the top of the fundraising list, and everyone and their mother had to come up with an item to bring to the school. Somehow, Stiles had roped him and (Y/N) into baking a hundred cupcakes by Monday morning, and it just so happened that it was Sunday afternoon.

It wasn’t the first time Stiles had gotten them in a pressing situation—most times, it was more life and death, but nevertheless, still pressing. The worst part was, he’d only just told his girlfriend two hours before they had to get to work. The pair had quite a long night ahead of them. Not that (Y/N) wasn’t used to it.

If the girl ever said that Stiles forgetting crucial details was a sporadic event, she’d be lying. In the years they had known each other, it had become a staple in their relationship. Even when they were only friends, she’d had to make sure anything they were meant to do was told to her first, or else she’d only find out when it was too late.

(Y/N) didn’t mind, though. She understood that the boy’s brain had always been riddled with far too many thoughts, and juggling it all could be quite frustrating. That’s why, when he woke her from her Sunday morning sleep-in, she simply said she’d shower, change, and head to his house. The girl knew he hadn’t done it in malice, so there was no point in being angry at him. At least he had remembered.

Thankfully, the journey wasn’t long since all she had to do was walk to the house next door. But she did notice the lack of a sheriff cruiser on the driveway. Only Stiles’ blue Jeep stood there, a layer of dirt gathered on the paint. Not only were they meant to bake a hundred cupcakes and decorate them, but they had to do it by themselves. And (Y/N) could only laugh at the situation.

“Stiles, I’m here,” she called out as she walked into his house as she had done a million times before. “I hope you’ve already gotten started.”

“Well, about that,” he chuckled awkwardly. It wasn’t until the girl walked into his kitchen that she saw he had only gone as far as getting the groceries they needed. “I didn’t know where to start, so I was waiting for you to get here.”

“This is gonna be a long night, huh?” she sighed with a smile as the boy nodded. “Alright then. Let’s get to work.”

In a matter of minutes, (Y/N) had set a game plan for the pair. She divided the ingredients into four stations for the four flavors they’d be doing, making sure that each recipe was visible and easy to follow. The last thing they needed were more setbacks. They only had so many hours to do 25 cupcakes of each flavor and make sure they were cool enough to be decorated. Everything had to be done precisely as written.

And for the first couple of hours, it had worked. Stiles and (Y/N) were working together like a well-oiled machine. While one mixed, the other served. While one set the timer, the other cleaned. It was all coming together nicely—too nicely.

It was only a matter of time before disaster struck.

Stiles had started to grow angsty with the repetitive tasks, his veins itching for more spontaneity. He knew he had brought this upon himself. Worse even, he had brought it upon (Y/N) as well, who, for some reason, never seemed annoyed with his constant brain scatters. Since he had known her, she had always been understanding of the way his brain worked. Where others would have chastised or criticized him, she took the time to ground him. It had been one of the many reasons he found himself falling in love with her. No matter how many times he would screw up, she was always supportive and sympathetic, finding ways to help him rather than bring him down.

And that afternoon was no different.

They were merely done with the vanilla cupcakes when Stiles had begun to grow bored. (Y/N) had instructed him to put away the dirty bowls and whisks used for that flavor before they started on the chocolate ones, but all he could think about was the chocolate syrup he had bought to drizzle on top of the dessert. His mind filled with some very unhygienic ways he could use the sweet liquid and where he could use it.

Suddenly, as though she had been reading his mind, the girl took the bottle and let it stream into her mouth. A few drops landed on her chin, and she wiped them up with her fingers before popping the digits back into her mouth. There was no subtext to it. Just a girl enjoying chocolate syrup.

But in Stiles’ everything was different. Wind was blowing her hair back, the lights had dimmed, and sensual music played in the background, all in slow motion. He was turned away from (Y/N) at the sink when he felt his erection press against the zipper of his pants, making for a very uncomfortable position as he washed the dishes. Stiles moved his legs from side to side, pressing his knees together as he searched for some much-needed friction.

But to (Y/N), he looked like he had been holding his pee in for the past few hours. “If you have to go to the bathroom, you can, Stiles,” she chuckled as she slithered her arms around his waist, grinning as he stiffened under her touch. “I don’t mind cleaning this up.”

“Oh, uh, that’s not it,” he stammered awkwardly. “I don’t really have to pee.”

“You can take a break if you want, then,” she said. “I know this is not the most thrilling task. At least, not compared to chasing down supernatural creatures. But you still made the compromise, so we have to get this done tonight.”

“Yeah, I know,” he continued fidgeting. His front was pressed against the counter, trying his best to keep his hardening bulge from her sight. “I just need a second.”

(Y/N) noticed the way Stiles froze against the counter, not even turning to give her a kiss on the cheek like he normally did. Instead, he washed the same bowl three times before noticing that he had yet to take another dish. His legs were pressed together, and his knees buckled back and forth in search of… friction, she realized. Her boyfriend was sporting a raging hard-on while they baked cookies.

She couldn’t fathom what about their situation had turned him on. They were covered in flour from their hair to their clothes, they had been standing for a couple of hours, and they hadn’t as much as touched hands since they had begun working. But the sweet taste in her mouth reminded her of what she had done only a few minutes before. The image of (Y/N) dripping chocolate into her mouth sparked a vivid picture in the boy’s head, and he succumbed to his wild imagination.

Any other girl would have ignored their boyfriend’s problem and focused on their long task. They had no time to waste, and certainly not many ingredients to spare. But (Y/N) wasn’t any other person, and she couldn’t let such a moment pass her by. For that split second, she thanked her lucky stars the Sherriff had gone to work, and the couple had the whole house to themselves. Things were about to get messy, and the carpet in his bedroom was hard to clean.

“Are you, by chance, turned on right now, baby?” (Y/N) purred in his ear as she ran her hands up his chest. “Are you seriously thinking about sex when we have so much to do?”

“I, uh, well, you know,” he stammered. “Things happen.”

“And what happened, Stiles?” she continued, sliding her hands now downward and landing on his cock. She squeezed it softly, chuckling as he whined at the touch. “What got you all hot and bothered?”

“Oh, uh, n-nothing really,” he replied. (Y/N) unhanded him then, allowing him to let out a breath of relief. “You know us teenage boys and our hair-thin trigger.”

“Right,” the girl said. “Turn around, Stiles.”

“I’m quite good here,” Stiles chuckled awkwardly. “I just need a minute.”

“Stiles, baby,” she called. “Turn around. I need to see you.

Once he did, he regretted not turning around sooner. Behind him, (Y/N) stood in nothing but her underwear, a mischievous grin adorning her face. In one hand, she held the bottle of syrup that had started it all. In the other, a can of whipped cream. And all Stiles could do was groan as his already painfully hard erection pressed against the seam of his jeans.

“W-what are you doing, (Y/N)?” he swallowed hard. “We, uh… you, uh…”

“I told you, babe,” she smirked. “You need a break.”

Stiles didn’t need to be told twice as he crossed the room to reach her. He took the image of her in, running his eyes from her head to her toes, as though he had never seen her in that way before. And, well, to him, that’s what it always felt like. (Y/N) was everything he had ever dreamed of, and most of the time, he felt like he had fallen asleep and never woken up when he was with her.

“You seem very intrigued by this bottle of chocolate, Stiles,” she teased, giggling softly as he placed his hands on her hips. “Is there something you wanna tell me? Maybe a little kink we’ve never explored before.”

“I didn’t know I had it until today,” the boy confessed. “The thought just popped into my head, and now, well, it’s all I’ve been able to think about.”

“So, what do you want to do with this, baby?” (Y/N) whispered as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Tell me what you want.”

A groan escaped Stiles as she pressed her body against his, his hands exploring the exposed skin of her hips. The cupcakes were long forgotten, and all he could focus on was the excitement he felt to fulfill the fantasy he had dreamed of only a few minutes before. “Whatever you want,” he said. “I don’t care where you use it as long as I get to lick it off your body.”

“You’re giving me so much freedom,” she smiled. “Hope you don’t regret it later.”

“I don’t think I could ever regret anything that has to do with you, babe.”

“Well then, let’s start you off slow.” (Y/N) unhanded Stiles before letting a stream of chocolate fall into her mouth, allowing a bit to drip down her chin and neck. “Oh, no! I’ve made a mess of myself.”

Laughing at her overexaggerated acting, Stiles licked his lips before running his tongue from her neck up to her chin, reveling in the taste of her skin mixed with the chocolate. Mixing food with sex had never been something he had thought to do, but after the first taste, he wondered why it had taken him so long to do so.

The way (Y/N) sighed as he licked away the liquid made his cock twitch in his pants, yearning for a touch he knew would take time. And he didn’t mind. Especially after his girlfriend removed her bra and let the bottle of syrup drip down her chest, exciting him even further.

He seemed like a starved man as he feasted on the girl’s breasts, making sure not a single drop of chocolate was left. He lapped at her skin, traveling the expanse of her chest before landing on the hardened peaks of her breasts. He nipped and sucked as he teased her, chuckling softly as she moaned and threaded her fingers through his hair. Chocolate on (Y/N)’s skin shouldn’t have excited him as much as it did, but he would risk a cavity if it meant tasting her this way every chance he got.

Even though (Y/N) had been the one to initiate contact, it didn’t take long for Stiles to take control of the situation. As he kissed his way down her stomach, he hooked his fingers through the elastic of her underwear and pulled it off until she was completely exposed to him. Then, he took the bottle from her hand and let it drip on her skin until it reached her cunt. His eyes were trained on the drops of brown that stained her body, watching as it slowly moved.

Before it could reach the ground, Stiles licked it up, groaning as he tasted her wetness mixed with the sweetness of the chocolate. If he had ever questioned what the nectar of the gods tasted like, after that afternoon, he’d gotten his answer. He lapped at her core like a starving man, acting as though she was his first and last meal.

(Y/N) braced herself with the counter behind her as Stiles hooked one of her legs on his shoulder for better access to her cunt. He teased her clit with his tongue, the syrup long gone but the sweetness forever lingering. He circled the bundle of nerves with the tip, applying just enough pressure to have her panting and moaning.

“Fuck, baby,” she groaned. “I’m so close.”

All Stiles could do was send vibrations through her body with a chuckle. He wanted her to come undone in his mouth, to have her knees buckle under the weight of the orgasm he was giving her. Because, regardless of where he was lacking, the Stilinski boy was always giving.

He was relentless in his pursuit of her climax, sucking and flicking, waiting for the tell-tale signs that she was reaching her end. Signs that weren’t too far behind as he continued his attack. She threaded her fingers back into his hair, pulling at the strands while she pushed his head tight against her until, with a loud shriek of his name, she came.

She pulled him to his feet as she recovered, crashing her lips onto his. She tasted herself in his mouth and moaned at the mix with the chocolate. “That was…,” the girl panted with a laugh. “Who knew you’d be this excited over a little chocolate?”

“Well, you know I’ve always had a bit of a sweet tooth,” he grinned. “I’m just surprised it took this long for us to do something like this.”

“Oh, and we’re not done yet,” she said. In a swift move, (Y/N) flipped them over, pressing Stiled against the counter as she reached for the can of whipped cream behind them. “It’s your turn, baby.”

“What’re you…?”

Before he could continue, the girl’s hands were unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down his legs, his boxers following in tow. She smiled as his erection sprung free, red and wet from the anticipation. Poor thing looked like it was ready to burst. And who was she to deny it the touch it was yearning for?

With a playful smile on her face, (Y/N) took hold of the base of his cock, chuckling as he took in a sharp breath at the touch. She then squirted a line of cream on his length, licking the excess from the tip of the can before turning back to Stiles. The boy stared at her with giddy anticipation, trembling as she hovered over him. Her breath tickled his skin, making his body erupt in goosebumps as he waited for her to move.

And, as much as she wanted to toy with him, (Y/N) knew how long he had already been waiting for, and they still had so much to do. So, instead of making him work for it, she swirled the tip of her tongue around Stiles’ cockhead, making him grow weak at the knees. The taste alone was enough to make her want more.

She ran her tongue across his length, memorizing the feeling of his skin on her tongue, the mix of his pre with the silky sweet of the whipped cream, and the way Stiles bucked his hips forward. It was a mix she wanted to experience again, sooner rather than later.

Once she was satisfied with the cleanup job, (Y/N) finally engulfed her mouth around Stles’ cock, drawing out a loud groan from the boy. She knew he was not going to last long, but she would make them the best few minutes of his day.

(Y/N) started at a slow pace, burying him in the wetness of her mouth while she swirled her tongue around his shaft. But with the way Stiles was wriggling with every stroke, she sped up quickly. Her head moved up and down rapidly, one hand gripping the base of his cock while the other worked to massage his tightening balls.

“Oh, god, baby,” he croaked out. “Fuck, I’m almost there—don’t stop.”

And she wasn’t planning to. Instead, she kept her pace, letting him reach the back of her throat as she sucked her cheeks in. She bobbed her head until saliva was dripping down her chin, and her breath was being cut off. Just like he had done for her, she was working to reach his climax—that wasn’t too far behind.

All it took was a perfectly timed squeeze of his balls, and Stiles was stuttering forward, holding (Y/N)’s head as he emptied himself in her mouth. Strand after strand painted the inside of her mouth until there was nothing left, and with a satisfied grunt, he exited her mouth.

Still knelt on the floor, (Y/N) swallowed Stiles’ finish before looking directly into his eyes and squirting whipped cream into her mouth. She said, “Much better,” and stood up.

Stiles grabbed the sides of her face and kissed her roughly, sighing at their mixed tastes in his mouth. “That really was something else,” he smiled as he released her. “We have to try that again.”

“Tell you what,” she grinned. “If we finish these cupcakes on schedule, I can promise you a very sweet treat after.”

“Then why are we standing here?” Stiles exclaimed as he pulled up his pants. “Let’s get this done!”

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purplesoulcollection · 2 months ago

Note

Hello, I really like your fanfic about Suho😊🤩😘. I imagine Suho accidentally catching Reader, who is free falling in the air. They don't remember anything about their past. Suho will have to learn how to take care of someone who doesn't even have an ID and there is no missing person news or missing case. The police are also stumped by Reader's case.

Hello, anonym, I tried my very best to fulfill your request. Hope you enjoyed it.

Fallen Angel?!

Aargh--

There was a faint sound that seemed to come from nowhere.

It was the kind of sound that was easy to overlook, too indistinct to pinpoint, so most people simply ignored it because they think it's just an illusion

But Suho caught it—the echo of a scream that felt distant and unstable But he can't pinpoint where did that sound come from the sound echoed faintly in his ears.

Beru, who was with him, also noticed it, his senses heightened at the thought of an impending confrontation.

Suho scanned his surroundings, finding nothing unusual, until he finally glanced up at the sky. That’s when he saw her—a woman plummeting from above, with no tall buildings around to indicate where she might have fallen from.

There was no time to being surprised and ponder how she ended up there; if Suho didn’t act fast, she would hit the ground hard, with no way to soften her fall.

Suho didn't hesitate for a moment as he dashed to save the woman, who was plummeting faster due to the pull of gravity. In his panic, he completely forgot about the Monarch's authority and his own abilities.

With a loud thud, Suho managed to catch her, his body jolting from the sudden weight and force of the fall. Thankfully, he held on tight, letting out a sigh of relief as he realized he hadn’t let her slip away.

If my reflexes hadn’t been quick, I wouldn’t have been able to catch her at all.

Gently, Suho placed the woman on the ground. She was unconscious now, despite having screamed just moments before. Perhaps the shock of her near-death experience had taken its toll.

I was left with a burning curiosity about what had happened to her without nobody I can asked. I can I can rub my hair in annoyance, don't know what to do with this sudden incident.

I analyze the girl appearance further. The beautiful woman had long hair and wore a simple shirt and pants, showing no visible injuries. At first glance, she appeared perfectly normal, but Suho sensed something was off.

He realized that something wasn’t right. With no tall buildings around, there were only two explanations: she had either flown through the sky or had been dropped from above.

"Young master, I believe that she part of itarim, an ordinary human being cannot possibly fall from the sky without knowing where she fell from." Beru wisely tried to persuade Suho that the woman was dangerous and should be killed immediately before causing trouble to his young master.

Suho pondered the possibility that what Beru was said might actually be true.

Beru had a point; ordinary humans typically wouldn’t encounter bizarre occurrences like this, even in a world where dungeons could appear unpredictably.

For an average person lacking special abilities, the worst fate would be to get pulled into a dungeon and perish without a chance to escape. However, falling from the sky certainly indicated that this woman was mixed up in something questionable.

He realized why Beru suggest to kill this woman; there was a desire to protect him from any potential danger, as his responsibility was to accompany and safeguard him on his father's orders, who was far away fighting.

Yet, Suho couldn’t bring himself to do what Beru say, His human sense does not allow that, harm an innocent person who had fainted from shock simply because he suspected she might be connected to Itarim is unacceptable.

He was resolved to grow stronger so he could reunite with his parents, but he also didn’t want to resort to senseless violence against those who were uninvolved.

"No Beru, I won't kill her just because your suspicions. We have to bring her to the hospital to check her condition. Even though he doesn't have any wounds, it's possible the wounds are internal."

He picked her up again in princess style and ignored Beru's protests until he circled around Suho.

Even if she was really part of the itarim, he should at least save this woman's life for interrogation.

It seemed to validate Beru's concerns. The woman's identity remained unverified.

She lacked any personal identification in Korea's advanced system, and there were no missing person reports that matched her description from the internet.

This left Suho feeling overwhelmed; he even reached out to his uncle Yoo Jinho for assistance in allowing the woman to receive treatment without needing to establish her identity.

The risk was significant if it became known that the woman had no identity here. Suho and her could face arrest and deportation without any warning. Indeed, if someone have a connection with powerful people, it can make things easier for the shady things too.

Now, all Suho and Beru could do was wait for the woman to wake up to answer their questions whether she like it or not.

The doctor said that she's fine, but he have to analyze more deeply once she wakes up to see any illness that only appear once she awakes.

Suho was restless, tapping his feet in a display of impatience, while Beru shot disapproving glances at the woman. He was uneasy about leaving potential threats unaddressed, but the young master had made his choice, and all he could do was comply.

As time passed, Suho's anxiety grew when the woman remained unresponsive, despite the doctor assuring them she was fine.

Could he really leave her alone in the hospital? Should he head home and just hope she wouldn’t wake up before he returned?

Perhaps fate was on his side, nudging her back from the depths of unconsciousness.

Both Suho and Beru noticed the woman stirring when her finger twitched, prompting them to ring for the doctor.

The doctor arrived promptly, conducting a thorough examination that included checking her eyes, asking questions, and performing responsiveness tests—leaving Suho and Beru puzzled by the process.

After completing the tests, the doctor approached Suho with a concerned look. "Mr. Suho, we believe the woman you brought in may be suffering from amnesia. She seems unable to recall any events from her life." Suho felt a jolt of shock at the doctor's revelation.

Amnesia?! A mysterious condition that could conveniently obscure someone's past identity. He never imagined he would find himself in such a predicament.

The doctor departed after advising Suho not to pressure the woman into remembering anything and to allow her to remain calm. Suho merely nodded, his attention fixed on the woman, who appeared lost in thought, nobody knows what in her mind.

"Do you even know your name atleast?" Suho's voice emerged slowly, momentarily shattering the silence. The woman, who had been lost in thought, finally turned her gaze toward him for the first time.

Her eyes, filled with confusion, reflected her struggle to process the question Suho had just posed, though she remained silent.

Impatiently, Suho drummed his fingers, eager for a response, but ultimately, she shook her head, signaling her lack of knowledge.

Watching her confused expression and the way she shook her head left Suho feeling uneasy and drained. He took a deep breath, knowing that the challenges ahead would be tough.

Yet, he couldn't bring himself to leave this woman, whose identity remained a mystery. The chance that she could be an adversary loomed large. It was up to Suho to keep a watchful eye on her.

"Do you want me to pick a temporary name for you, or would you like to choose one yourself until you can recall something from your past?"

He didn't want to call her this woman all the time, at least if this woman remembered her name, it would make his life a little easier.

Instead of answering, the woman just stared at me, looking puzzled as if she thought I was joking. "Don't you recognize me? Aren't you the one who brought me here?"

"I only brought you here because I found you unconscious. I don’t know you at all."

"Then why not choose a name for me? I'm not sure if the name I come up with will suit me."

"You may have lost your memory, but you still remember that you might not pick a good name?"

"It's just a gut feeling…" The woman turned her gaze away, embarrassed by her struggle to think of a suitable name for herself.

Suho pondered over a fitting name for her. She was a woman with an unknown age and identity, and he didn’t know her well enough to determine if she was part of itarim or not.

However, as an art student, Suho understood that a name plays a significant role in shaping a person's identity, so he took the time to think of a beautiful and appropriate name for her.

"...Name, do you like that name?"

She looks surprised with that name. Her eyes widened and her breath caught, as if I had struck a chord. I noticed the person flinch, scratching at the smooth skin marred by a wound. A nervous sound escaped her lips, leaving me uncertain if I had truly guessed her name.

"I like it. Name, huh?" Those were her first words since waking, her voice raspy from sleep. Perhaps that was why she had been silent at first. I offered her some water and reassured her that I would look after her.

"Suho, help me!" A cry that has echoed in my mind countless times since I chose to care for someone who lost her memory.

Whenever I see her in distress, she ends up shattering something I just cleaned. Perhaps she meant to lend a hand, but it always results in an accident.

This same person, whom I decided to look after, has indeed brought chaos into my life, just as I had anticipated.

I can't tell if she was always this way before her memory loss, but it seems she is quite careless. I have no idea what her life was like before we crossed paths.

When I first welcomed her into my home, her actions turned my home upside down, testing my patience to the limit. It's hard to believe that someone so beautiful struggles to take care of herself.

Honestly, I've grown accustomed to tidying up my own space because the harsh teaching from my parents, unlike my friends, who can be just as messy as she is, but of course less careless as her antics. So when i see her mess, i became more sensitive to it.

I could only tell her to leave the rest to me, and she ran away quickly avoiding my babbling which I was already tired of doing. It's faster if I do it without talking.

I've actually reached the stage where I doubt that she's part of Itarim because she's so careless and she doesn't show any suspicious signs. Maybe she only the ordinary people who was caught in a certain situation that caused her to fall from the sky.

I want to believe from my bottom heart that she's not the worst, that I should fight with. I only hoping that Name is a good person so that we can have good relationship and maybe become closer…

Because even when I mad at her antics to destroy my home, she still accompany me like now, she think she hide herself but i can still see her, peeping with guilty face. I don't feel lonely in this wide home again when my parents being missing and leaving me alone.

Even Beru can't understand this lonely. Because he'll left me once my father call him, to nowhere I don't know.

"Name, do you want to go outside?"

Nama's expression, which had been filled with guilt, instantly transformed into one of joy. Her eyes widened in surprise as he realized I was speaking to him.

"Can I go outside?" she asked, moving closer to me, his excitement palpable after being cooped up for so long since his hospital release.

I nodded; Nama wasn’t a prisoner who needed to be confined all the time. She just had to be cautious about not being discovered without an identity in this world.

"Come with me. I'll take you for a stroll," I said, and his face lit up with a smile.

"That sounds perfect! You have to take me somewhere nice, Suho," she exclaimed joyfully before heading to his room to change into the clothes I had ordered for her online.

Soon, we made our way to the mall and eventually strolled through a park that wasn’t too crowded. Seeing several small children playing together and adults also walking around like us created an indescribably peaceful scene.

I’m really eager to paint this scene, but sadly, I forgot to bring my supplies.

"This is for you," the name rings a bell. I glanced at Nama, puzzled, until I noticed what she was offering.

A drawing book and a pencil. Where did she bring those?

"Suho wanted to draw it, right? Your hands always seem to move when you want to create something. Plus, you’re always painting, so I thought you might need this," she explained to me and i take it.

"But you didn’t bring any paint?" My question made Nama hesitate as she rummaged through her bag, which I assumed held my drawing book earlier.

With a hint of sadness, she looked at me and asked, "Do you need some? You usually just use a pencil, don’t you?"

Seeing her worried expression made me laugh; she really thought I was in trouble. "Just kidding! A pencil is all I need." I waved my pencil dramatically before focusing on capturing the scene.

My pencil danced across the page, creating a sketch until I finally completed it.

"Is it not done yet?" Nama asked, eyeing the unfinished sketch.

"I’ve just made a rough draft; I’ll polish it up at home. If I finish it here, I might not get it done tonight…"

As we walked home, I still had my doubts about Nama’s true identity. I want to believe that her name isn’t tied to Itarim and that I can genuinely like her, but that’s depends in the future that will happen.

For now, i will try to enjoy this company...

The End

Do you like it, whoever request this fic?

#fanfic #x reader #manhwa #manhwa x reader #fem reader #reader insert #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling ragnarok #sung suho #oneshot #solo leveling

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midnight1nk · 2 months ago

Text

PRESENTING:

THE OFFICIAL WOTFI 2024 BINGO CARD

Come one and all to Puzzle Park, where fun truly never ends...

[BOX EXPLANATIONS & EMPTY CARD UNDER CUT]

BOX EXPLANATIONS (+CREDITS)

Mario Ruins The Show — me, @sardix

No matter what Mr Puzzles does, Mario is the only character he can't control. The one who never obeys. The one who ruins the show. So, it wouldn't be the first time Mario would save the day.

Past Arcs Or Trauma — /sardix

it's bound to happen some time, right? :)

Karma

After what he did to Meggy, it makes sense that Mr. Puzzles will face the same demise. The fate that's popular within the fandom would be his death. But if he lives, he could turn into Leggy himself, his TV head with tiny footsies. Or just his head. Either way, he would end up harmless.

It also refers to Puzzles's defeat. He tried to destroy the crew multiple times, it's only natural that the SMG Crew will try to fight back.

Mr Puzzles having a grudge against SMG4 — /sardix

We already knew that Puzzles hates Four, jealous even. How did Four, a ridiculous YT shitposter, get more attention than him? His original ideas pushed aside for memes? To add salt in the wound, Puzzles's steaming service of 5 episodes only managed 4.5 stars at his highest while Four surpassed him with 5.5 stars within an hour. An hour. And then, Four had the nerve to destroy his perfect screen at the end of the Puzzlevision movie. Then, there's the Meme Factory arc. Four took his only friend away, it's only fair if Four gets what he deserves. Why don't we have some fun with it while we're at it? :)

Park Destroyed — @34saveme34

By the end of WOTFI, Puzzle Park gets destroyed similar to how the simulation lab crumbled by the end of Western Spaghetti, seeing that there are a lot of similarities between Wren and Puzzles with the whole wires thing going on.

It's Gotta Be Perfect — me, @time1srunout, and literally everyone

Interestingly, the show crew brings back moments/parallels from IGBP. After all, everything started at that arc. Perfection, the keyboard, the eyes, the goo, the Showgrounds, Puzzlevision. And of course, Four and Puzzles being Narrative Foils(TM). I mean, you gotta love it.

The reason why it's in its own box is because of how significant it is. And besides, many theories stem from this arc. For me, I'll be looking for eyes, Goop!Four, and absolute karma.

References, confirmed theories, motifs, flashbacks, it all counts.

Freak Show

Referring to the poster made by the SMG4 crew with Tari, SMG3, Boopkins, and Bob being labeled as freaks. Someone's gotta bring this into WOTFI somehow.

(Carnival-Themed) Rap — me, @porschas-palette

Just as a heist-themed WOTFI happened in 2023, an awesome carnival-themed rap will happen this year. And it will be a BANGER!

Puzzles' Backstory — me, @yullalightk

As much as Puzzles is an interesting character, we have yet to learn more about his past. We have already seen some in his Creative Control song and in the 'Mr Puzzles' Clubhouse' episode with his dad. There simply has to be more. The puzzle pieces of his past :) ...I'll see myself out

The Bell Tolls 🔔

For the past few weeks, Ben and Shadow have been trolling the SMG4 twitter with their ;) and the bell emoji.

Stop stop [*points at SMG4 twt*] they're already dead/ref

On one tweet, Ben posted a few lyrics of the song "For Whom the Bell Tolls", a 1984 song by Metallica that was apparently inspired by a book of the same name, which basically tells a scene in the story where 5 soldiers died in the Spanish Civil War. Exploring death in modern warfare. As for whom the bell tolls, it's all of us, being bounded together. It's all of them who the bell tolls for.

Any reference to the heavy metal song, signs of bells, or even death, it marks this box for sure. Sure, it may be trolling, but hey, anything's possible.

Not So Different

With Four and Puzzles being Narrative Foils(TM), I've been waiting for a scene of Puzzles telling Four:

"You and I, we aren't so different. You wished to make people happy. I'm simply doing the same..."

It also be in reverse with Four OR Three telling that to Mr Puzzles that they get where he's coming from but he doesn't have to go down this path. They know what it's like. Whether Puzzles accepts defeat/change, it'll be up to him.

(Ending) Twist — me, /porschas-palette

At the very end of WOTFI, Mr Puzzles finally came out in all this glory of a model, showing he also pulled the strings of WOTFI 2023. Aside from IGBP and Western Spaghetti, of course. It's likely to happen again. Old/new characters, foreshadowing, fake death. It all counts.

Merch

...I mean, it's pretty obvious, right? I'm gonna bet on a poster, shirt/hoodie, a keychain, and something related to the WOTFI ticket. 5 bucks, all in.

Star Rating System

This whole arc constantly comes back to the ratings. Mr Puzzles in the negatives in the "Lowest Point" episode, Mickey referring the single star as the power source in the Engine Room in "Mr Puzzles' Clubhouse". And no, we're not going to forget about the broken star Mr Puzzles had left at the end of Puzzlevision. With Mr Puzzles being THE power source, it has to come back.

Sacrifice — me, /sardix, /porschas-palette

"Character Death" and "Character Fake Death" were great suggestions. But then, when sardix stated "Mario saves the day doing something stupid/protects someone from dying", it made me realize something. That's right, each one of the Crew would do anything to protect the others. Even if it costs them their lives. But it's worth the risk if it means they're safe. Three technically did in the "Welcome to Puzzle Park" episode, trying to warn Four and Mario. I mentioned in my theories that someone will sacrifice themselves, so this might be it.

It could also mean in terms of the exchange of something else, not necessarily a life. It could be Meggy's physical condition, knowing that she was forced to become Leggy again. Based on all those screams, I think her body's not going to be the same. A loss of a limb or something. Or perhaps, after seeing what he's done, Mr Puzzles might admit defeat. The sacrifice of his dream for creative vision.

Tender Tunnel — me, Nicc

What other reason would there be to have the equivalent of the Tunnel of Love in Puzzle Park? Literally, why would they do that? They could've put anything else in there. Popping balloon stand, the horse racing game, any other ride. Why this? And not just that, they keep pointing the camera right at it as if they're like "hey, this is going to become relevant later, so remember it".

SMG4 Kids

This whole arc also revolved around the children. Karen's kids, Beeg4, Eggdog, JubJub. Like I said in my "The Unexpected Guests" theory, they could still be relevant here. Also, the whole Didney thing and their large kid audience and the carnival being fun for kids (and all ages ofc).

Puzzles Dies 💀 — Nicc

As much as some of us don't want it to happen, Mr Puzzles may die, similarly how Wren did. For how to defeat Puzzles, it seems like the Crew would have to destroy the power source that's currently controlling the park... aka Mr Puzzles

Meggy Confronts

By the near end of WOTFI, in the final showdown between the Crew and Puzzles, Meggy might be back to normal and might have a few words with him in regards to what happened to her. In song or pure dialogue, she might confront him about his wrongdoings.

Or perhaps, for the very first time, Leggy might defy him. The whole time, Leggy is like "Join the winning team, he was such a great boss". And what if something snapped in Leggy that made her say "no" to Puzzles? That, no, this is going too far. No, I can't let you do this.

"You Saved Me" 💫 💣 — me, /sardix

SMG4 x SMG3 shippers, we're all too familiar with this line. Ever since SMG3 redeemed himself, the two have constantly said this line, after one indeed does save the other. Actually, it kind of happens in every movie if you think about it. And it works just as well here.

SMG3 being in a horrible minigame trap might get saved by Four and Mario with Four pulling out of it,

Three: "You... saved me?" Four: "Why wouldn't I? You were literally in a trap, dude." Three, hitting the back of Four's head: "I... Augh, just forget it, baka."

OR in reverse, when Four thanks Three for trying to save him and Mario. They didn't exactly escape in time but Three really has grown to become a true friend.

This box also works as a "Four and Three moment that can be seen as romantic" box :)

Brand New Look

This could be new outfits, bringing back old ones (like Three's bunny ears or WOTFI '23 suits), a new Puzzle face, or a new look of the Puzzle Park.

Puzzles Tune

Puzzles' musical motif dubbed as "TV Time", the one we're all familiar with, could come back. Either in the background, as a new arrangement, or as part of the Rap(TM) instrumental. It did that for WOTFI 2023 to foreshadow his subtle involvement so I don't see why it couldn't happen.

Dynamic Change

After rewatching "SMG4 and SMG3 come up with an episode", I predicted that something would change in Four and Three's dynamic, for better or worse. (For better, hopefully). As I said, it could be Three's revelation. Sure, the episode is a silly one, it should not be taken so seriously. But it's also the same episode that "hinted" the idea of a carnival coming to the Showgrounds, so anything could happen at this point.

And it doesn't have to be between Four and Three, it could be anyone in WOTFI. Leggy and Puzzles, the Crew within, etc.

Leggy's Flag

As shown in the "Lowest Point" episode, Mr Puzzles kept Leggy's flag after all this time. It wouldn't be a surprise that it might be used for a turning point in the plot in some way. Maybe it could be used as evidence of Puzzles' humanity, or for Puzzles to realize the damage he has caused. That he lost himself. All for creative vision.

BLANK CARD

If you want to fill in your own card, I leave here a blank version for your use AND a marker png:

Also, feel free to post this on other platforms, the more the merrier. All I ask from you is to credit me.

.・-: ✧ :--: ✧ :-・.

Have fun with it, bring in your moots or discord server! But as always, enjoy what WOTFI has to offer. "Love always wins", after all.

I would like to give a big thanks to everyone who has given me suggestions, great job honestly!

And feel free to share your cards after WOTFI either by tagging me or using #wotfi 2024 bingo, I would love to see them! I'll see you all on the other side, my dear fellows.

#smg4 #wotfi 2024 #smg4 wotfi #wotfi 2024 bingo

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angellesword · 6 months ago

Text

BAGGAGE | JJK (08)

Summary: Drowning in debt and blood, Jeon Jungkook knows he's better off alone, lest he brings people down with him.

But one drunken night changes everything.

In a blink of an eye, Jungkook found himself drowning not only in debt and blood, but also in dirty diapers and judgmental stares from you, a.k.a his long-lost love and the guardian of the son he didn't even know existed.

Genre and warnings: best friends to lovers, co-parenting, idiots in love, mutual pining, angst, fluff, implied smut, kissing, minor character death, slight getting back together, cursing, blood, stabbing, loan sharks, OC cusses excessively so watch out, Jang Min and OC being intimate, non-graphic smut (barely a smut)

Pairing: dad! Jungkook x adoptive mom!Reader

Word Count: 3.1k

←Previous Chapter (07) | Next Chapter (09) →

****

Present, 2023:

When a nurse approached you, you were close to dozing off on the waiting bench. You didn't understand the nurse initially, your eyes drooping a little as the last forty-eight hours inevitably took a toll on your mind and body.

"You can visit Mr. Jeon now." The nurse said gently, yet it startled you.

"Oh." You abruptly stood up. Your legs wobbled and cramped after long hours of sitting. "Thank you."

"But you can also go home for a while." The nurse frowned at your strained voice. You looked exhausted. The nurse feared your lack of sleep would make you agitated.

The nurse didn't feel like breaking another fight of yours with Jungkook.

"No need." You shook your head and forced down the lump stuck in your throat. "I promise him I'll be here when he wakes up."

"If you wish." The nurse relented and simply led you straight to Jungkook's room. You had to pause for a while, though, steadying your breathing and cupping your trembling hand on the door knob.

It's going to be alright. You cheered yourself. You can stop yourself from beating the shit out of that reckless bastard.

Thankfully, your mini pep talk worked as you spotted Jungkook obediently sitting on the bed, lost in his thoughts, but he immediately snapped his head up the second he heard the door open.

You two briefly stopped in your tracks, eyes meeting and throats constricting.

You were the first to move. You averted your gaze and went beside Jungkook. On the table was the basket of fruits you brought before. You picked up an apple, flopped on the chair beside the hospital bed, and wordlessly peeled the apple.

The silence soaked through the room, leaving Jungkook feeling suffocated as if someone was gripping his throat and ants were crawling his skin.

You finished peeling and cutting the apple into bite size. You put it on a plate and settled it on Jungkook's lap.

Jungkook merely looked at the fruit, throat dry. He forced himself to speak, "I can't eat that."

"Why not?" You narrowed your eyes, feeling your temper heat up. Calm down, you reminded yourself.

Jungkook looked pitifully at the apple. He couldn't remember the last time he ate a fruit or a proper meal. It was always canned crab or a small meat bun.

"The doctor told me not to eat solid foods for a while. It will aggravate my stomach wound."

"Oh, so now you suddenly give a fuck about your health? Didn't you say you want to die, you suicidal freak?"

Jungkook flinched slightly at your sharp voice. You seemed to realize your aggressiveness, prompting you to school your expression to calmness. This is not how it's supposed to go. You thought. You promised yourself you’d talk to Jungkook like a real adult.

"I'm sorry." So you apologized. You rubbed your face in frustration. Your eyes hurt. "I didn't mean to lash out like that."

Even your apology felt rehearsed—like you didn't mean it. However, Jungkook didn't mind your anger. He thought it was warranted, so he sighed softly and said, "It's alright. You're just tired."

Jungkook's eyes zeroed in on you. You were still wearing your clothes from before. "Did you not go home...?"

"No." You shook your head and licked your lower lip. "I promise I'd be here when you wake up, didn't I?"

Something inside Jungkook felt like it was unraveling—like his heartstrings were knotted and unbelievably tight to the point of discomfort. But now, he felt his heartstrings were falling into the right place.

Jungkook couldn't help but hum. He swore he wasn't emotional, but the hospital's white walls, his aching body, and you honoring your promise made him want to cry.

"I was being silly." Jungkook was ashamed. "I-I shouldn't have asked you to stay."

He was sure you had other commitments. You had Soobin to look after. Jungkook wasted your time, and now he was feeling guilty about it.

You probably thought the same way because you scoffed.

"I would have stayed, anyway. I looked for you even when you didn't want to be found, remember?" The implication behind your words was clear. If Jungkook hadn't forgotten to update his emergency contact, you might never have heard from him again. He didn't even want to take your calling card. Jungkook only did so to shut you up.

"I'm sorry."

It was a general apology. You scoffed again.

"I'm sorry for what? You've done a lot of fucked up things, you know."

"I know." Surprisingly, Jungkook did not refute it. The apple on his lap was discoloring; if you look at it, you will realize that the darkening fruit resembles Jungkook’s relationship with you. Leaving it untouched for a long time made its appearance look worse.

You and him had not talked in years. Your relationship was good as severed, so why? Why did a tiny part of Jungkook still hope he could remedy it if he came clean now?

"I lied." Jungkook started. But it was vague. You both knew he lied about many things.

Jungkook expounded, hoping to lessen the hatred in your eyes.

"I didn't do this..." He gestured at his body. "I never wanted to live, but I swear I wasn't trying to kill myself that time."

It worked. Your fiery eyes died down a little. Or maybe not. It was just not directed at Jungkook anymore.

"Who did this to you," you demanded.

Jungkook's heart was turbulent. He was used to seeing your current expression: protective and ready to snarl at anyone who dared mess with him.

Jungkook realized just how well you had treated him back then. It broke his heart knowing that he was the one who broke your trust—that he was why you wouldn't look at him like this anymore (save for special circumstances like this.)

"I don't know." Jungkook lied. Old habits didn't die simply because he wanted to. Jungkook couldn't be completely honest with you, not because he didn't trust you but because he was embarrassed by how his life became this fucked up.

So he lied. He lied because this was the only thing he was good at.

"It was a random guy. I don't think I was his target." Jungkook twisted the truth by saying that the guy who stabbed him mistook him for someone else.

"Son of a bitch!" You were indignant, thinking that Jungkook was a poor victim. You suddenly felt guilty for lashing out and insulting him.

You had always been like this. You’d run your sharp mouth, and only after things had calmed down would you try to salvage the mess you’d made.

"We should call the police! Why didn't you say so earlier? This is un—"

"No need.” He cut you off, feeling the weight of his guilt for lying to you. "I don't want to make this a bigger mess. You know those kind of people. He’d probably come back to mess with me if I snitch about him..."

It was half-lie and half-truth. Jungkook refused to make an enemy of Lee Sung. Besides, no matter how one looked at it, it was Jungkook's fault he was in this predicament. He was the one who owed money to someone he couldn't pay. No one forced him to loan for money. It was all on him.

"But..."

You wanted to protest, but Jungkook acted as if he were in pain. He dramatically cradled his stomach and whined, "I'm tired."

At least the thing he said wasn't a lie. Jungkook was indeed worn out. He thought he could talk to you; a silly part of him even believed that honesty would save him.

But nothing will. Jungkook was utterly useless. He realized now that he couldn't even tell you the truth about him being stabbed. It was humiliating.

You conceded, but for a different reason.

"Alright," you said. You could barely hold on, too. You picked up a blanket to cover Jungkook’s body, and as much as you wanted to say you did it absentmindedly, you knew it wasn't the case.

You meant for Jungkook to feel comfortable while he slept in the hospital bed. It was pathetic, really. Verlaine warned you about this before. You remembered the professor shaking his head when he said, "The problem with you is you're loyal." There was a pause as if he needed to study you from head to toe first.

"You're loyal to a fault."

The context back then was different from today, but the gist was the same: your forgiving heart was your downfall. Sometimes, you choose to set aside your pain whenever you see the people around you in pain.

"I'll be back later." You tried to ignore Verlaine’s opinion. You were headed to the door. "We still have a lot to talk about."

You barely talked. You had yet to tell things about Soobin. Surprisingly, Jungkook did not react violently. He nodded his head in concession.

"But you need to go home." Jungkook gripped the blanket, desperately hoping he could still feel the warmth of your hand there.

He couldn't.

"Let's talk soon. When we're not tired."

Your hand lingered on the door knob. You had a bad feeling. You didn't want to leave.

But...

"Okay." You yielded, too.

The door opened and clamped shut after that. Jungkook waited 10–-30 minutes to make sure you left before he forced himself to stand and leave everything behind.

****

Considering that you were sleep-deprived, you knew it was unsafe to drive. You had no choice but to call your boyfriend’s assistant to bring you home.

“Hello~~” The assistant, Lee Sung, greeted you like his usual enthusiastic self.

You merely raised your brow as you settled on the back seat. You closed your eyes and said, “How’s Soobin? Jang Min?”

You broke your promise to little Soobin. Your son probably missed you like crazy—This was the thing about Soobin; he had never been separated from you for more than a day as he suffered from separation anxiety. Luckily, Lee Sung brushed off your worry.

“Soobin-ah is sleeping. He never once called for you since he’s busy playing with the boss. Speaking of, should I drive you to the boss’ house? Soobin-ah is there.”

Lee Sung’s boss was naturally your boyfriend, Jang Min. You had been dating for a year now. You never really left Soobin to Jang Min, save for emergencies like this. Thankfully, Soobin seemed to like staying with Jang Min.

“Yes,” you answered Lee Sung, even though you knew the answer should be obvious already. “I’ll stay at Jang Min’s tonight.”

Lee Sung’s jaw tensed up, but he didn’t say anything. He just stepped on the gas harder. You didn’t mind; you were itching to shower and see Soobin, too.

The drive to Jang Min’s house was pretty short. You silently hopped out of the car. Your boyfriend was already waiting at the front door, cigarette in hand.

“Hi.” Jang Min extinguished the cigarette stick and threw it away. Normally, you snorted and refused to embrace your boyfriend, not when he smelled like smoke. However, you couldn’t care less now. Your whole body ached for comfort, and Jang Min’s warm chest was the perfect relief.

“Hello, Cолнышко мо.” Jang Min kissed the top of your head, and you melted. You liked this. You liked it when Jang Min called you “my little sun” in his native language. He was half Russian and half Korean. Jang Min said that endearment suited you best: “You brighten my day like the sun.” Jang Min used to say as he kissed you silly.

“Did Soobin give you trouble?” Unlikely, but you still asked.

“No.” Jang Min kissed you again. “He just slept a lot. He misses you.”

“Really,” you snorted. “Lee Sung-ssi said Soobin barely talked about me.”

“Not true. You know your son loves you a lot. As I do.”

Your eyes fluttered shut when Jang Min kissed you for the third time; his big hands roamed around your body.

“Wait.” you bit your boyfriend’s lips to get him to stop. Jang Min just moaned and continued kissing you.

You sighed between kisses. You were forced to push your boyfriend’s chest. “Stop. I’ve got to see Soobin first.” You felt guilty and offered another peck to Jang Min’s lips. “And shower. I need to shower so badly.”

Jang Min looked a little disappointed, but his eyes were indulgent. He let go of you but not before squeezing your ass, “I missed you. Let’s see Soobin first, then I’ll help you bathe.”

Like Lee Sung said, Soobin was sleeping, so you didn’t dare disturb him. You watched your son sleep for a few minutes before taking up Jang Min’s offer to help you clean yourself up. Thankfully, Jang Min already ran you a bath while you were in Soobin’s room. You stripped off your clothes and got into the tub at once.

“Relax,” Jang Min whispered as he kissed your exposed shoulder blades. You shuddered but calmed down when Jang Min started lathering shampoo into your hair and massaging it.

Good. This feels so good.

Jang Min did everything for you—he washed your hair and massaged your sore body.

“Are you doing good?” Jang Min was filthy rich. His tub could fit four people at once. He couldn’t help but join your bath; his wet body engulfed you into a tight embrace.

“Hmm,” you answered simply. You rested your head on Jang Min’s chest, stiff when you felt your boyfriend’s cock on the soft plush of your ass. You liked Jang Min; you really did. But you weren’t in the mood for anything physical tonight.

Jang Min felt it, too. He stopped kissing your trembling skin.

“Are you okay?”

It was a simple question that had a complicated answer, but you hadn’t developed a habit of lying. Your worn-out state also made you more vulnerable; you had no filter when you responded to your boyfriend.

“No.” You splashed water on your face to feel more alive. “I’m worried about him.”

“Jungkook?” Jang Min asked mildly but repeatedly trailed possessive kisses on your shoulders.

“Yeah. Did you know he’s been stabbed?”

“Stabbed.” The word rolled off Jang Min’s tongue. You couldn’t see his expression as Jang Min settled behind you, but you still elaborated on Jungkook's story.

“Jungkook…Jeon Jungkook, is it?”

“Yes.” You clicked your tongue, feeling like your boyfriend was focusing on the wrong thing. You had said many things, but Jang Min could only repeat your ex-best friend’s name.

“I see.” Jang Min’s fingers trailed your upper body, cupping your boobs. “You said he was your best friend and Soobin’s father. Do you wish to reconcile with him, or do you merely want to inform him that you take care of his biological son?”

This was an uncharted territory for you two. You only mentioned to Jang Min that you were meeting with Jungkook, but you hadn’t told him anything more. Frankly, you didn’t even know what you wanted Jungkook to do, and maybe that was why you started off on the wrong foot. You barged into Jungkook’s life after years of no contact. Lee Sung actually helped you locate Jungkook, and you disregarded your rationality and just went straight to Incheon to see Jungkook.

“I don’t know what to do. I just know I am worried about him.” Because even though Jungkook didn’t intend to kill himself, someone else might do so. Jungkook said it himself—he didn’t have any will to live. What if, one day, he just decided to stop thriving?

“Hmm,” Jang Min’s eyes were dark. “Your departed sister wished for Jeon Jungkook-ssi to meet up with Soobin, right? Why don’t you talk to Jungkook-ssi again tomorrow? See what he thinks about co-parenting.”

You almost choked on your spit upon hearing that. While that was the most obvious thing to do, you had to admit that you had never thought about it. You had never thought about sharing Soobin with anyone else—especially not with someone like Jungkook.

You felt silly now. You were overtaken by your emotions and only focused on telling Jungkook he had a son. Looking back, you realize you did such a thing to spite Jungkook. You couldn’t lie; it was satisfying to see him lose his mind, knowing that his betrayal had consequences that could be felt until now.

A baggage.

Your heart trembled, realization dawning on you. You wanted to use Soobin to hurt Jungkook, but your fragile heart couldn’t take it if Jungkook really saw your little Soobin as baggage.

“I’m scared, Min-ah,” you admitted. You tried to focus on feeling Jang Min’s hands touching every part of your body. It didn’t work. Your heart was inconsolable.

“Don’t be.” Jang Min bit your earlobe. “I am here if he doesn’t want Soobin.”

You balled your hands into fists. Right. Soobin had you and your boyfriend. But Jang Min laid some options for the disoriented you. Jang Min was so considerate that he opened up about letting Jungkook stay with you and Soobin if the situation called for it.

You were surprised. You tilted your head to see Jang Min’s expression. No trace of humor could be seen on his face, though.

“Are you serious?” Your mouth parted wide

Jang Min shrugged off, “Why not? He’s Soobin’s father.”

“Ah, yes?” You arched a brow. “But cohabiting with him? Did you miss the part when I told you I was in love with him?”

“Are you in love with him now?” Jang Min shot back, his hand spreading your folds.

You moaned. You were tired, but you couldn’t help but roll your hips against Jang Min’s thighs.

“N-No,” you answered at once. You were turned on. Jang Min trusting you was hot.

“Then I don’t see a problem with it.” Jang Min's hand moved with a slow but confident caress, sending a wave of ecstasy to your body. “You are still mine.”

You completely let your guard down; all thoughts of Jungkook were set aside as you drowned with the pleasure Jang Min willingly made you feel.

It was a long, passionate night for you, but come morning, you were again plagued by the thought of your ex-best friend. Jang Min couldn’t bear seeing you distressed, so he let you go and promised you that he’d look after Soobin.

“Thank you.” You bid your boyfriend goodbye and then went straight to the hospital. To your surprise (and anger), you had come to learn that Jungkook, that fucking bastard, ran away again.

**** ←Previous Chapter (07) | Next Chapter (09) → Hi! This is an ongoing fic and I just write this for fun. I know I am the author, but I still have no idea how this story will progress. There MIGHT be more upsetting tags in the next chapters, so if you are not up for surprises and major tags, please, please--drop this fic now. And as usual, if you have tags suggestions, please don't hesitate to reach out to me.

You can point out obvious errors in the chapter too because this is not beta-read.

What do we think about this chapter? I rushed writing this today! I still have work and a meeting in an hour, so I'll see you guys soon! Thank you!

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook x reader #ficswithluv #jungkook x you #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x oc #bts fic #bts angst #bangtan

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