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starcursedluvrs · 4 days

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"TALK"

I suguru x pregnant!reader

“And I’d be the immediate Forgiveness In Eurydice. Imagine being loved by me.”

part I of suguru x pregnant!reader (this isn’t completely canon compliant, and will probs be 3 or 4 parts and will go up to December 24th, 2017 on the current JJK timeline).

summary: you loved suguru more than anything in this world. and you could argue he felt the same for you. actually, he would end the world for you. so, he took you with him the night he defected, and you happily obliged. however, in the midst of the chaos of leaving your life behind, two little lines appear on a certain test causing you to rethink your entire plan.

A/N: heyyy!! i'm arden!! this is my first try at ever posting the fanfic I’ve written so please enjoy! I started this specific fic as a hobby back in December, and I finished it a little over a month ago (I’ve just been kinda nervy to post hehe) so here goes nothing! likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated <3

MINORS / AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. YOU WILL BE BLOCKED.

warnings!: SPOILERS FOR GOJO’S PAST ARC. THIS IS A PREGNANCY FIC! 18+. nsfw. f!reader. suguru and reader are over the age of 18. explicit sexual content. unprotected sex/oral (f!receiving). breeding kink. fingering. creampie. pregnancy. unplanned pregnancy. lactation kink. mentions of child abuse. cute domestic fluff hehe.

wc: 14.5k

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September 2007

4:27 PM (16:27)

“Wait…so what are we doing again?” you asked, riding atop one of Suguru’s many curses. You were straddling the pink alien-looking curse, legs dangling off either side. One of Suguru’s large hands held your waist steady while the other controlled the motion of the cursed spirit. His chin was buried in the crook of your neck, so that he had easy access to press kisses into your skin.

Suguru left a line of sweet pecks down your shoulder before answering.

“This village in the sticks was reported to have kidnappings and abnormal deaths. Shouldn’t be anything unusual,” he said nonchalantly.

You leaned back against him so that you could look up into his honey irises, pouting. His hand left your waist, moving comfortably behind him to support both of your weight.

“Then why did you ask me to come along? Seems like you could handle it yourself, you’re a special grade. I’m only a semi grade-one,” you reasoned, reaching up to play with his stray bangs. He grabbed your hand before you could reach his neat, inky bun, pressing light kisses into your knuckles.

“Well, if all goes well, maybe we can find a hotel or do something nice. Charge it to the school and say it took longer than we expected, so we get to stay somewhere overnight without waking Satoru,” Suguru replied, smirking a bit on the last line of his speech.

“I like the way you think, my love,” you beamed, melting into his touch.

…

January 2007

You and Suguru had been in a committed relationship for the past nine months, and friends for even longer. You started secretly fucking around at the beginning of your third year at Jujutsu High. You had always been attracted to him, but given your tiny class size and the complexity of Jujutsu Society, you didn’t want to cause any drama or make things weird between you two.

Well, life doesn’t always go to plan.

Especially that one night at the beginning of your third year when you, Shoko, Satoru, and Suguru broke into Yaga’s liquor cabinet, stole two bottles of sake, and got a little handsy. With your judgment impaired, you might have let it slip that you thought Suguru was very attractive and often wondered how his sculpted body would feel beneath his Bontan pants and uniform shirt. The thought was reciprocated by the raven head.

One thing led to another, and the next morning, you woke up in a tangled mess of inky black hair and bedsheets. Suguru just held you, keeping your body close to his, whispering sweet nothings into your ears. It was nice, you did not have to say anything to fill the comfortable silence that had fallen upon you two.

Eventually, he placed a kiss on your forehead and started to pull his clothes on from the previous night.

Last night. Was last night a mistake?

Should you have let Suguru taken you out to dinner or something before he fucked you into tomorrow?

“Wait…Sug hold on.

What does this mean?

For us? Our friendship?” you asked in a panic before Suguru reached the door.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to,” he replied in his calm, collected tone, looking at the floor with his back to you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you sat up, still covered by the soft sheets, pulling your knees into your chest, slightly offended.

“Just that we don’t have to make a big deal out of this if we don’t want to. We also don’t have to do this again if you don’t want to. I know this could complicate things if we keep at it,” he paced around to face you again, the distance still rather daunting.

“Okay.”

“Cool.”

The comfortable silence from before slowly turned awkward.

“Um…thanks,” you offer.

“…for…what?” Suguru inquired.

“Last night. It was…fun,” you flashed him an unsure smile.

A deep rumble came from his chest as he chuckled, “Yeah, let’s see how much fun you have walking today. See ya in class,” before leaving the room.

“SUG-“ you called after him, blushing at the cheesy line as he left the room, disappearing back into the cocoon of sheets.

…

March, 2007

You tried to keep your distance from him. Being a child of the Kamo clan, you were probably destined to be forced into some relationship that benefitted Jujutsu society, and not your happiness. This was just one of the many things that you hated about Jujutsu Society. Therefore, Suguru was all that more enticing to you.

You found yourself perched on Suguru’s desk the next week. Your legs were spread wide, held apart by his large hands to assure you didn’t squirm around too much and get away from him. Suguru was lapping at your folds like a man starved. He dragged his tongue up and down your slit, and worked his way up to your clit, giving it a little kiss and suck.

“Ngh Suguru. More.” You moaned, bucking your hips up to his face.

“That’s not how we ask,” he replied, pulling away.

“Suguru. Please.”

“What happened to complete sentences?” Suguru pressed one of his large thumbs to your nub, holding pressure, but refrained from moving it.

“Fuck YOU Suguru I-“

“That’s what I’m trying to do, doll. You’re just not behaving.”

He started to swirl his thumb around gently. It wasn’t enough to make you cum, but the pleasure was still intense.

“Suguru please, I need som-something inside. Fingers. Yours. Please.” You croaked out, your head going dizzy with pleasure.

“Awww, what’s wrong? Can’t think straight?” He said, plunging his slickened digits, adorned with a few silver rings, right into your core.

“At least you said please, so I guess I’ll let you cum this time,” Suguru voiced in that smooth, sultry voice of his.

He started moving those two digits back and forth in a “come here” motion, not giving you a chance to adjust to their circumference. A lewd squelching noise filled the room as he continued his ministrations. “You’re being such a good girl for me, taking my rings and fingers so well. Yeah, you like that, don’t you?”

You let out a loud moan, and Suguru immediately pushed his thumb in your mouth for you to suck on. That way, you wouldn’t draw attention to any unwelcome visitors who might be walking the halls of the school.

“You don’t even have to answer with that pretty mouth, your body is answering for you. You’re so tight. Gods, you’re gorgeous.” he whispered into your ear.

He put his mouth back on your clit to suck, and added a third finger. He kept thrusting it in and out, hitting that sweet spot that had you seeing stars, as if he had your g-spot memorized.

If Sugru ended up drowning in your juices, he would die a happy man. He absolutely loved lapping up at your sweet pussy, the earthy scent intoxicating to him.

Soon, you felt the familiar coil in the depths of your belly start to come undone, and your cunt fluttered around Suguru’s fingers, the stimulation becoming too much.

“Come apart f’me. I got you love. I got you. Cum f’me,” Suguru commanded in his pussy-drunk haze.

You let go as your orgasm washed over you, relishing in the pure bliss as Suguru helped you through the aftershocks. When you came to, he captured your lips in a hungry kiss. You could still taste your essence on his tongue.

The next night, you were folded over the same desk as he pounded into you with his fat length. The bathroom stalls. The pantry. Behind the bleachers at the field. You could not get enough of each other.

You and Suguru both fell hard and fast for each other. His unwavering sense of morality, intelligence, and kindness towards others drew you even further into his grasp. The way he spoke, his scent of freshly done laundry, his loyalty to his friends; these were all things that you loved about Suguru Geto. He was one of a kind.

As Jujutsu Sorcerers, you were well aware that your tomorrow was not guaranteed. Suguru made you feel alive, which, to you, was worth more than any amount of fame or glory that your clan could bestow upon you. He truly wanted to make the world a better place for you, and any future you might have together. On the third month of your official relationship, you confessed your love:

“Suguruuuu,” you giggled as he kissed up your neck.

You had been laying in Suguru’s bed, in the midst of a heated makeout session. Your back was pressed flat into the mattress, knees at an angle, and feet flat against the soft duvet. Suguru was positioned right on top of you, in between your knees. He held your face in both of his hands, and your arms clung to the back of his head, getting lost in the inky strands.

“I love you.” He whispered, as if he was telling a secret.

In lieu of an answer, you brought his head down into a deep, passionate kiss. Your tongues danced together for what seemed like forever and no time at all, until you broke the kiss and said, “I think I may love you more.”

“Unfortunately, doll, that’s simply not true. I’d end the world for you.”

You were hopelessly in love with Suguru Geto.

…

May 2007

“You have a list of baby names picked out? Dude you’ve been together for like a few months.” Shoko taunted, a cigarette tucked between her lips, clicking away on her silver flip phone.

“Oh, come on Ieiri, I think every person has a baby name list.”

“I don’t.” Shoko deadpanned.

“You’re a lesbian who has no desire for kids,” you shot back.

“Touché. I do have a cat name list, though, if that counts,” Shoko added.

“I think it does.” you replied.

“Ugh, fineee, gimme the list,” said Shoko, already grabbing the journal out of your hand. After scanning through the list of names, Shoko looked up at you and burst into laughter.

“Ok, you cannot name your kid Shigure. Or Kyo. Or any character from Fruits Bask-“

“Yo, WHO’S having a kid” interrupted the lanky, white-haired person with blacked-out sunglasses and a mischievous smile. Suguru appeared next to Satoru, holding a basketball, running to kiss you hello.

“NO ONE’S having a kid,” you replied.

“Ok, wait I need to know, do either of you have baby name lists? I feel like every person has them.”

Satoru sighed, and thought about the question for a second. Suguru sat on the ground and started rolling the basketball in the dirt.

“I haven’t even thought about baby names. To be honest, kids are kinda hard to have when you’re a sorcerer. You have to go on missions and then come home and change diapers, no thanks. Like, what if it poops on you? Also, I kinda wanna spite the old geezers in my clan.” Satoru added.

“You raise an excellent point, Gojo. This is one of the reasons why I love being a lesbian. Less of a risk for accidents,” Shoko took a drag from her cigarette.

“I can’t be the ONLY person here who has a list,” you sighed.

“Lemme see that-“ Satoru said as he grabbed your journal from Shoko’s grasp.

“…These are just Fruits Basket and One Piece charact-” Satoru snickered.

“Wait Satoru, have you read the new One Piece chapter yet? I heard it’s crazy.” Suguru cut in.

“Oh, no not yet, I haven’t had a chance to get the new volume,” Satoru whined.

“What are you doing right now? Wanna go pick up some coke from the vending machine, then get to that bookstore in Shinjuku and grab a copy?” Suguru explained with excitement.

“Honestly, a coke sounds amazing right now. Either of you wanna come?” Satoru gestured to you and Shoko.

“Nah, I think we’re gonna go steal some of Yaga’s booze,” Shoko informed.

“Yeah, he’s on a mission for the next day or so. Might as well take advantage of it,” You said, a little defeated and disinterested.

“…’kay see you guys later then.” Satoru said in a sing-songy voice.

Suguru walked up to you, pressed a quick peck on your lips, and said, “I’ll be back. Love you.”

But that wasn’t all.

Under his breath, so that no one else could hear, he whispered, “Don’t think this conversation is over yet, doll,” and walked away as if he hadn’t uttered anything. Your stomach was filled with butterflies and you felt your cheeks go hot as he walked away.

…

Later the same day, May, 2007

You were sitting on Suguru’s lap as he twiddled on his PS3 controller playing one of his games. Suguru was sitting on the floor, his legs criss-crossed while you leaned against his back, feeling his warmth though his clothing. You were sporting one of his large white t-shirts, wearing only your favorite pair of panties underneath.

“Sug?” You question softly, turning around to face him.

“Yeah, doll?” He replied not looking down from his game.

“So…about that comment earlier. Why did you say the conversation wasn’t finished yet? And which one? About the One Piece chapter? Or the baby names? I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable asking that question, I was ju-“

Suguru paused his game and looked at you, a smirk on his face.

“It did the opposite of making me uncomfortable, actually. It made me feel a little more normal, or as normal as we can be given our lifestyle. I have a baby name list too.”

Your heart fluttered. Of course he did.

“I saw the list over Satoru’s shoulder. And we actually had one name in common.”

“Which name?”

“Riko.” He replied softly.

His answer made you happy and sad all at once. You wish you didn’t have that name on your list. Riko Amanai had meant so much to the both of you. She represented the freedom that you could have from Jujutsu Society, as well as everything that was broken and corrupt about it. Riko’s death is what radicalized the both of you. She set you both on a path to work towards a better world.

For a moment, you thought about what your life would be with Suguru had you not been Jujutsu Sorcerers. You would probably get married as soon as you graduated, get a job somewhere. Buy a cozy house in the countryside. Make home cooked meals, have children, adopt some dogs. You would grow old together and not have to constantly worry about the fact that you could die a gruesome death in the morning.

You were lying down on your side now, your back against Suguru’s chest. Suguru moved a hand under your shirt, to your stomach, slowly rubbing circles, drawing you out of your trance.

“I love your tummy, it’s so cute” Suguru sighed into your ear.

You giggled.

“What’s so funny about that, love?”

“I’m sorry that just sounded so funny in the moment.”

“I don’t think it’s that funny, especially when my baby’s gonna be in there one day.”

He said it so nonchalantly and matter-of-factly that you thought you had misheard him. You blushed, hoping you didn’t mishear.

“SUG-“ you turned around and gave a playful slap to his arm.

After a pause of giggling from the both of you, Suguru just couldn’t let the topic get away from you.

“Ya know, I think about it a lot,” he continued.

“Think about what,” you questioned.

“Think about what our future would be like. A house that is actually full of love. And little feet running around.”

“Tell me more,” you said against his lips.

“Maybe we’d live in a really remote village away from everything Jujutsu related. We could get a little farm, raise some sheep, horses, chickens, crops. We could add to the world instead of just taking.”

“Why do we have to wait for the future to do that? Money isn’t the issue here,” You answered, referring to the handsome compensation you receive for such a risky career path.

“True, I could just fuck a baby into you right now.”

“I was talking about the house, and you knew that.” You shot back, a laugh escaping your chest at an attempt to be serious.

“That’s another thing I think about.”

“What?” You were taunting him now. You wanted to see where this was going.

“You, your tummy all round with my baby. God, you look so good when you’re stuffed full f’me,” Suguru slurred. From the dim light of his paused video game, you could see that his pupils were blown with lust. He kissed you hard and messily, tongue intertwining with yours.

Suguru removed your (his) shirt and started to kiss down your body, landing at your breasts, hovering right over a nipple.

“These would look so good with milk. So pretty and soft,” he purred, taking a nipple into his mouth.

The warmth of his mouth felt so good against your pebbled nipples, you couldn’t help but let out a moan. He licked and sucked until you were a drooling, wet mess underneath him.

“You like this, huh. Baby, I’ve barely touched you. And you’re already this worked up?” He taunted, moving to give attention to the neglected nipple.

“What else?” you slurred, ignoring his question. He still hadn’t admitted it.

“Everyone would know who you belonged to. All because of me.” He continued, releasing the nipple from his mouth.

His words sent shivers down your spine, and you felt your arousal start to pool uncomfortably in your underwear. You needed them off.

“Suguru, what do you want?” you asked the obvious question, just wanting to hear him speak more on the topic.

“I wanna stuff your pretty cunt full of cum ‘till you can’t take any more, doll,” he grumbled, grinding his impressive erection on your clothed cunt.

“Wanna get you pregnant so bad,” he continued pressing feverish kisses down the length of your body. “You’ve been asking a lot of questions about what I want.” He made his way to your panties, “But, before I take these off, I need to know what you want.”

Your hole was clenching around nothing at his words, you were getting rather impatient.

“Please touch me.” You whined.

“Hmm, I have been touching you my love,”

“Sugu- stop t-teasin-nghhh.” you moaned as one of his thick fingers started moving in a circular motion on your bud. Soon, one finger became two, and he moved them from your clit to your slick folds, swirling the juices around, occasionally ghosting your eager cunt.

“Suguru gimme your dick,” you begged.

“Baby, one, you can ask nicer than that, where are your manners? And two, I have to get you ready to take me first. Gotta make sure I can fit the most amount of cum in there as possible,” he let out a small moan on the last word.

“Open your mouth, doll,” he commanded.

You complied, opening your mouth as he stuck his two slickened fingers in, pushing them as far back as they could go. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see a dark stain forming on his gray sweatpants. He must have been impossibly hard.

Your moans and gasps vibrated against his digits, and when he thought you had been teased enough, he finally offered you the sweet relief of his fingers filling you. Definitely not as large as his cock, but they reached the parts of you that you could not with your own hands. Suguru started thrusting in and out, curling his fingers along the way, hitting your g-spot with brutal precision.

“Sug-nghhh, I’m gonna-”

“Shhh baby, you can let go for me, I got you. So good f’me.”

With the thumb of his hand, he lightly stroked your clit, and you felt the familiar heat bubbling in your core. After a few more thrusts, and praises from Suguru, you were cumming all over his fingers. He helped you through your orgasm, your head full of wool as you came down from your high. Suguru brought his drenched appendages to his mouth and sucked, cleaning your fluids from his fingers.

“If only curses tasted this good. I can’t get enough of you.”

In your post-orgasm clarity, you realized that your boyfriend was still clothed. That wouldn’t do. You sit up, rummaging through sticky sweats and underwear to pull his dick out. A long strand of precum dripped from his tip, breaking away as you pulled him out of his boxers. His penis would never fail to surprise you; he was of average length, but so thick, you could barely close your hand around him. You wrapped two hands around his cock as your mouth watered at the beautiful sight before you. But, just as you were about to taste him, two of his strong hands pushed you back against the bed, forcing you off of his dick.

“What was that for? I wanna suck you off,” you pouted.

“Sorry, doll. We can’t waste any cum,” he said as his nose ghosted against yours.

“But I just wanted to make sure, you never said it out loud. Do you actually want this? Can I actually get you pregnant? Don’t wanna pressure you if it was just a kink.” He looked into your eyes with concern, needing your verbal confirmation to continue.

“Suguru. Put a baby in me.”

You think you broke your boyfriend after saying that. He let out a grunt from deep within his chest and grabbed a pillow from the pile that fell off the bed in during your earlier activities. He placed the pillow underneath your lower back and whispered choruses of “I love you,” on your skin. Suguru’s fingertips traced over your skin, eventually grasping your legs, throwing them over his shoulders.

“I don’t deserve you, doll.” He pressed a quick kiss to your nose.

“This is called a mating press,” Suguru explained as he grabbed his cock and lined up with your twitching hole. “I did some research as to what position would get you pregnant the fastest, and I think this one has a good success rate.” He sounded so methodical in his explanation, which was so in character for him. Of course your Suguru would do research into this. He would do anything for you to make you happy. And you would do the same for him.

When he pushes the head in, you both gasp at the contact. He kept sliding in until his balls slapped against your ass and your pelvic bones met. There was such little resistance, and you let out a sob as he bottomed out.

“You ok, baby? You’re taking me like such a-a, nghhh- good girl. Feels like heaven in your pussy. My pussy.” It was so attractive when he got possessive over you, your ovaries felt like they were about to burst in more ways than one.

“Sugu- ngh- move-“

Instead of moving, he licked the inside of your upper thigh, dragging his tongue impossibly slow to tease you.

“NGH- plea-ahhh please,” you could feel tears pricking in the corner of your eyes. He made it so easy for you to fall apart.

“Good girl, look at you using your words,” he sounded wrecked, his voice gravely with arousal. And with that, he began moving. At first, his thrusts were slow and deep; you could feel every vein and ridge on his dick. His balls slapped against the fat of your ass, creating an embarrassingly loud clapping sound that bounced off of the walls. It felt delicious.

You weren’t just having sex - he was making love to you. It was emotional and sensual. The tears you felt earlier spilled over on to your cheeks as Suguru picked up the pace, his cock pistoning in and out. He kissed your tears away as you muttered broken moans of both his name and explicits.

Suguru’s grip was surely going to leave bruises in the morning. One hand was holding your body in place around your waist, while the other kept your leg over his shoulder. He let go of your leg for a moment as he grabbed another pillow that was somewhere in reach, and gently slid it under your hips so that he could reach you at a deeper angle. Your vision went blurry. He was impossibly deep, you thought you could feel him rearranging your intestines.

Finally, his thrusts started getting sloppier. You knew Suguru was close.

“Gonna fuck my baby into you,” he half moaned. “Fuck, love, I’m close. Want ya to let go first,” and with that, he moved his possessive, bruising touch to rub your clit. After a few rotations around your nub, you let go, your vision going white as you came hard, your cunt clamping down on his cock.

The vice grip of your pussy is what finally sent him over the edge, and Suguru began to fill you up with his thick load.

“Thank you, baby, thank you,” Suguru chanted, like it was a prayer, and you were the goddess who was receiving his offering. You laid like that for a while, him still inside, your hips tilted up to keep his cum inside of you. He left a trail of kisses down your sweat-drenched neck as his cock softened in your walls.

After about fifteen minutes, you felt Suguru starting to fill out again, his body gearing up for round two.

And then three.

And then four.

You lost count of how many times you had cum that night. Your tummy sported a small bump with the amount of Suguru’s seed trapped in your womb. You were so full that you couldn’t possibly take any more. And Suguru loved you like that.

Of course, he loved you always, but this was different. He took one of his large hands and gently massaged your sore, slightly swollen belly, pressing wet kisses all around.

“I hope our baby looks like you,” you whispered into the crown of his head.

“I was just thinking the same thing. I hope our baby at least has your eyes. I get lost in them sometimes,” he responded. “Ya know, your eyes are probably my favorite part of you, besides your tummy. And your beautiful brain. And every other part of you.”

“I love you so much, Suguru. I don’t think I can put it into words. You’re such a good man, so good to me. You’re gonna be the best dad one day,” you confessed.

“Hopefully, that day will be soon,” he smirked, “I’m gonna go get you water and a hot washcloth to clean you up. Want anything to eat?”

You smiled back at him and shook your head, blowing a kiss to him before he left.

You expected yourself to be more freaked out by his comment, “hopefully, that day will be soon,” but you couldn’t help but feel excited. Life as a Jujutsu Sorcerer was so unexpected, you never knew when a mission was going to be your last. You decided it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have a little mini Suguru running around, allowing the three of you to finally have the family that neither you nor Suguru ever did.

…

August 2007

It was a disgustingly hot day outside. You were so sweaty, you felt your clothes sticking to you, and the humidity felt as if you were walking through a sauna.

Since it was so unbearably hot outside, you and Suguru decided it would be a nice day to go to a water park. Of course, that meant Satoru and Shoko had to tag along.

You and Suguru were in charge of packing, as the other two would not have chosen enough food or towels for your journey. They would probably also forget things like sunscreen and umbrellas, opting to fill your beach bags with bottles of booze and sweets. You and Suguru were practically the parents of the friend group at this point; sometimes the other two would even refer to you as “mom and dad.” Suguru would give you a smirk any time this happened, reminding you of the conversation you had back in May.

After you fought Satoru on the fact that he could not in fact take an entire box of ice cream mochi to the water park, you were set to leave on your adventure. The four of you and your bags all piled in the car of an assistant director. Excitement and easy conversation flowed through the vehicle, as all of you relished in the relief of the cool air conditioning.

Shoko sat in the front, smoking a cigarette, choosing which CDs to play, while you sat in the back with Satoru and Suguru. Suguru, being the gentleman that he is, gave you the seat behind the driver’s side. You tried to resist, explaining that he and Satoru would have more leg room if you just sat in the middle, but Suguru insisted.

The four of you finally arrived at the water park about an hour and a half later.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

As you walked through the wooden gates, the park was swarmed with families, teenagers, and college students. There were colorful slides entangled in each other at the center of the park, with a lazy river surrounding it. To the left, there was a wave pool with people attempting to surf, and to the right, there was another large pool with buckets of water that would dump on patrons randomly. The lounge chairs were spread throughout the park, and it seemed like the entirety of Japan had come to this one water park to beat the summer heat.

“Ok guys let’s stay together and try to find some lounge chai-”

“Shoko! I’m gonna beat you down those slides, ready?” Satoru screamed with glee, like a young child.

“Hold on, lemme finish this,” Shoko replied, motioning to her cigarette.

“NO! We. Are. Going. To. Sit. Down. Let’s just stay together, it’s a madhouse here,” You put your foot down.

“If I wanted to be mothered, mother, I would have gone home for the summer,” Shoko rolled her eyes at you. You just ignored her, too bothered by the heat to even come up with a good comeback.

“I sent out a curse to go find us a spot - wait. Where’s Satoru?” Suguru chimed in.

“Let’s be logical about this. Where is the nearest ice cream stand?” You asked.

“Ha, there he is,” Shoko nodded her head towards the nearest ice cream stand. In the line of children, there was one with white hair who was almost as tall as the stand itself. Bingo.

You marched over to the line, and went to tug Satoru by his ear back to the group. Alas, his Infinity was on, and you could not touch him.

“Oof, I would not wanna be him right now, that one has a temper,” Shoko joked, as she put her cigarette out over the trash can next to them, watching you and Satoru argue. In that moment, Suguru couldn’t help but stare at you, taking in how beautiful you looked against the summer sun. You were glowing, radiant, even as you berated his best friend.

“I haven’t seen you look at someone the way you look at her.” Shoko broke Suguru’s thoughts, pulling him out of his trance.

“Yeah.” Suguru responded, smiling.

“Wow, you didn’t even try to deny it,” Shoko smirked back. “OOooo someone’s in looovee,” Shoko teased.

“I am. And I’m so lucky. I love her more than anything in the world,” Suguru said with a content sigh.

“Ok, now you’re just gonna make me vomit, that’s so sappy,” Shoko stuck out her tongue, making a fake gagging sound.

“It’s true,” Suguru responded, still in his trance.

“What if I can treat her better than you,” Shoko teased.

“Maybe,” he said, the slightest flicker of insecurity in his eyes. “I don’t think I deserve her sometimes. She’s not as tainted by curses and cursed energy as I am. She’s not the one who absorbs curses day after day.” He looked tired. Shoko noticed the bags under his eyes, but just as she was about to say something, you came running with Satoru’s wrist in your hand, pulling him with an ice cream cone in his hand. The ice cream was beginning to drip everywhere.

“I can’t believe they only had vanilla. What a ripoff,” Satoru sighed, annoyed.

“You dumbass, you didn’t even get napkins!? How am I supposed to call you a functioning adult, you’re literally about to turn 19, and you didn’t even get napkins?!” You berated him again.

“Oh, looks like the curse found a place for us to sit. It’s keeping the area clear so non-sorcerers aren’t determined to sit there,” Suguru interrupted.

You all walked towards a little spot in the shade with three lounge chairs and a table. You figured you would just share your lounge chair with Suguru and sit in his lap. Or he could use your lap as a pillow and you could braid his hair. Either worked.

Just as you were setting out your towels on the chairs, you heard a PLOP and crying following after. A little kid had slipped and fallen down on the concrete. He used his hands to break the fall, and the skin of his palms were broken a little bit, blood splintering through the cracks. He started hysterically crying.

“Oh no, sweetie! Are you okay? Where is your grown up?” you rushed over to the kid.

“I think I packed a first aid kit in the bag, let me get it,” Suguru added.

Of course he did, that man was prepared for the end of the world.

Suguru took an antiseptic wipe from the kit, and bent down so that he was at eye level with the kid.

“This is probably going to sting, but it will feel better I promise. Your bathing suit is dope by the way, I love the colors,” Suguru cooed at the kid, trying to calm him down.

“You remind me a lot of my little brother, his name is Noritoshi. He’s really brave. Are you brave like him?” you added.

The child stopped his hysterics and let Suguru clean him up, listening to both of your kind words. He nodded his little head of pink hair at your question and pointed towards an elderly man slowly, but frantically making his way over to the kid.

“Yuji! What happened?” the old man asked.

“I falled and getted a boo-boo,” the kid, called Yuji, sniffled.

“He slipped and hurt his hand, we have some antiseptic disinfectant and bandaids though, so we fixed him right up,” you told the man as he got closer.

“He was really brave,” Suguru added, smiling down at Yuji.

“Thank you, so much. You two are very kind,” the man said in a monotone voice. Though his voice showed no emotion, his eyes did. His eyes looked tired, but definitely grateful to the kindness of you and Suguru.

“Feel better, dude!” Suguru yelled to Yuji as his grandfather led him away.

After about an hour of tanning on the lounges with Shoko, you looked to see where the boys went. It wasn’t very hard to spot the two best friends, as they were acting like children, making big waves in the lazy river. On Suguru’s shoulders, you noticed something: the kid with the pink hair from earlier.

Suguru and Satoru were having some sort of chicken fight with him, all three of them laughing and having the time of their lives.

“You are hopeless,” Shoko rolled her eyes, a new cigarette in between her lips.

“What do you mean?” You replied.

“Don’t play dumb, I know what you’re thinking,” she smirked back.

…

September 2007

“Suguru, you look like you’ve lost weight, are you okay?” Satoru asked, as he twirled a pencil in midair with his Infinity technique.

“Just tired,” Suguru responded.

Over the past few weeks, Suguru had developed dark circles and bags under his eyes. He looked pale, and was often exhausted. Not too exhausted for you though, apparently.

It seemed the two of you spent more and more time together holed up in one of your rooms when you weren’t on missions. It was just so nice in your own little world, away from everything. You didn’t have to care about who lived and who died. You only had to focus on each other.

Satoru attempted to carry on the conversation.

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“You probably won’t see me for a while again.”

“Yo, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I need to get out of here. Both of us do. We’re not fit for Jujutsu Society.” Suguru said, referring to the two of you.

“Ha, ha, so funny.” Satoru sarcastically added.

“It’s not a joke.”

“What do you mean? Dude, you’re a special grade, you seriously think they’re gonna let you quit?”

It was true. The elders wouldn’t just let Suguru run away and walk free. If he was not with Jujutsu society, he was probably against it. And letting a special grade sorcerer and his grade one partner roam free would pose a threat to the stability of the elder’s iron grip on the status quo of Jujutsu society.

He’d have to get the elders to denounce and force you out.

So, here you were, flying with the man who was your boyfriend, your one and only, on the back of a curse, headed out for a mission, and hopefully, some much needed seclusion with Suguru.

…

7:03 PM (19:03)

You and Suguru decided to split up for the mission. It had been reported that there was a sighting of two possible curse users and a separate cursed spirit. Thus, Suguru wanted to deal with the curse users, and you to deal with the curse itself.

You exorcized the curse with ease, using piercing blood to slice the monster in half. There were a few other lower level curses, which you could have eliminated with your eyes closed. It seemed too easy. If Suguru was sent on this mission, there had to be something else, another factor. After a few minutes of patrolling for any other cursed energy residue, you decided to find your way back to Suguru.

You found him standing outside of a small house on the outskirts of the village. He seemed out of it; he was staring right at the door, but did not enter. As you approached, you saw the strong cursed energy residue leading from the door.

“Sug, I exorcized those curses. I know you hate the taste of swallowing them, I didn’t want to make you do that if you didn’t have to.” If Suguru heard you, he showed no acknowledgement.

“Suguru?” You pinched the sleeve of his white collared shirt.

“Dude? Did you hear me?” You squeezed his thick bicep, pushing your manicured nails into his skin, effectively bringing him back from whatever plane of reality he was on.

“The locals in the village told me this is the home of two little girls, twins. Their descriptions match the ones for the curse users. So…” He insinuated, leaving the rest for you to figure out. His amber eyes were dark and cold.

“Oh.” You said. You and Suguru had both been through a lot and hated Jujutsu Society. You and Suguru had your incident with Amanai a little over a year earlier, and your uppity clan kept you from your mother, a heartbreaking decision by the family head in order to give you the best possible chance of becoming the leader of the clan. A position which you despised.

Over the past few months, in the afterglow of sex, you two would lay there, embraced in each other's arms, dreaming of a world without curses, without clans, without people to produce those curses. “Monkeys,” as Suguru referred to non-sorcerers, from which curses were created. In your and Suguru’s fantasy world, you wouldn’t even have a reason to use curse techniques. You could get married, have children, live a peaceful life without fear of a curse coming to take that happiness away.

The bottom line is you knew Jujutsu Society was unfair, but never would you think you would be asked to harm a child. What was wrong with these people? You thought of your little brother, Norotoshi, who was also six years old. He was supposed to be your “competition” for the title of family head, but you never really wanted to fight him. He was just your sweet little brother.

How could you harm someone that is the same age as your little brother?

A wave of nausea ran through your body as the reality of the situation dawned upon you. Suguru kneeled down on the floor with you, rubbing your back and holding your hair back as you vomited.

“Shhh, I got you.” He wrapped you in an awkward embrace on the floor, and pressed a kiss to your sweat-sheened forehead. “It’s going to be okay. I have a plan.” Suguru’s entire demeanor changed in an instant. He smiled, but there was no emotion behind his eyes, and his voice sounded like it was coated in honey.

His behavior was strange, but helped you to feel more at ease. Suguru gave you some hope to cling on to.

…

8:46 PM (20:46)

You were both sitting on the stairs leading up to the front of the house. You were leaning on Suguru as he brushed a hand over your hair, occasionally placing a kiss on the top of your head. You had finally finished sobbing into Suguru’s chest after an hour, the teardrops staining through his white collared shirt. You felt so many emotions. Anger at the broken system. Hatred, for the Jujutsu Society elders. Confusion, for what would happen once you committed to your plan. Grief, for the people in your life that you would lose. Betrayal, from the society that was supposed to protect people. Suguru sat with you and validated your feelings, making you feel like you and your emotions were the only things in this world that matter.

The plan was simple. You were both going to defect.

Both you and Suguru were sick and tired of the way the world functioned. You were sick of watching comrades, comrades who were teenagers, who were children, die.

During one of your late night conversations, Suguru once said,

“If being a Jujutsu Sorcerer is like running a marathon…

What if what’s at the end of that road…

Is a mountain of our fellow sorcerers’ dead corpses.”

In that moment, Suguru had played it off as some dark joke, but part of you knew that he was right.

As for the plan, you two were to wait until some of the elders of the village led you into the small house, as they apparently kept multiple locks on it to keep the supposed dangerous young girls at bay. Then, you were going to take the young sorcerers on the back of one of Suguru’s curses and run to Kyoto and find somewhere to stay for the night. Suguru said he would “take care of the rest.” You trusted him with your whole being, even if that meant him ending the lives of a few non-sorcerers. It would serve them right for causing the very existence of curses.

…

9:01 PM (21:01)

The two elders from the village arrived shortly after. You took Suguru’s hand and shared a reassuring glance, his thumb rubbing gently over your hand as if to say, it’s going to be okay. Shaking with exhaustion, anxiety, and some of the nausea from earlier, you slowly made your way up the stairs as the elders parted the shoji doors. The building seemed to be one long room with some sort of wooden cage at the end, almost like the house was made to hold animals at some point.

The building was dimly lit, but you could see the outline of two small figures huddled together in the center of the wooden cage. Your stomach turned once again, and you tightly squeezed Suguru’s hand.

“What is this?” Suguru firmly questioned, his free hand going up to brush his bangs away.

The two of you stepped closer to the makeshift prison, and the two small figures were shaking. As you made your way towards the children, they had obviously been beaten. They were covered in dry blood, scratches and bruises. They both had one black eye.

How could these children, these SIX year olds, legally be kept like this? THESE were the scary curse users that were terrorizing this village? It was disgusting.

“My grandchild was on the verge of death because of these two,” spit the woman who led you in.

“These two use strange powers and often attack the villagers.” defended the other man in your presence.

Suguru dropped your hand and squatted down to be at eye level with the girls, pinching his nose bridge between his pointer finger and thumb.

“So you mean to tell me that you monkeys think that these little girls, these children are responsible for the incidents that have been occuring, is that correct?” Suguru grumbled, his voice icy and dangerous.

“I already dealt with the cause of the incidents, they’re innocent children, what is wrong with you people,” you cried. You were full of rage, tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

One of the young girls, clutching a well-loved stuffed animal, bravely spoke up and declared, “We didn’t mean to hurt anyone on purpose, they were trying to-”

“SHUT UP YOU MONSTERS!” The elder woman screamed.

“Your parents were the same. I knew we should have killed you when you were born,” the man added.

“Exactly, twins are bad luck. We should have known better,” the elder woman snorted.

Suguru looked down at the girls and whispered something that would not have been obvious to someone who did not know him as well as you did, “It’ll be okay.”

He started drawing a curse from his arsenal of cursed spirits, and gave you a nod. The signal to go ahead with the plan.

That same silky smooth, almost frighteningly nice, voice that Suguru only used when he was especially angry.

“Let’s step outside for a second, shall we?” Suguru tutted, producing the same pink cursed spirit you flew on to get to the village. He walked out the door with the two older adults and shot you a glance.

I’d end the world for you.

It was the same expression he bore when you confessed your love for each other, all of those months ago.

The girls immediately stood up when they sighted the curse. They were terrified, understandably so. You moved towards the thick metal lock of the wooden cage and knelt down.

“Hey girls, I’m not going to hurt you, I’m here to help. You’re safe. I know it must seem so scary right now, but me and the other man you saw me with are going to get you out of here.”

You told them your name, and assured them that you were like them. Using your piercing blood to cut through the thick lock, you explained to them about your technique and talked to them about your little brother to keep them (and yourself) calm.

As soon as the lock broke, the girls ran to you and hugged you tightly. They were shaking, crying, and clinging to your body. A series of thank you’s flooded from their mouths, and you kissed the top of their heads, attempting to dry their tears away.

“The pink curse over here is going to take us to safety. Suguru, that man who’s talking to them, is also a sorcerer, and he’ll meet us wherever we get to.” you explained.

You sat the girls on the curse side by side, and then climbed in back of them to make sure they did not fall. Using Supernova, you blasted a hole through the roof, and the cursed spirit started to levitate off of the ground. Quickly, you gained altitude and left the village behind. You covered the girls eyes as you looked back, just to see what was happening. The entrance to the house was ablaze and you could make out Suguru’s cursed spirits crawling throughout the village.

Shit. Well, there wasn’t any turning back now.

…

The Next Morning

Overnight, you had flown the girls to a small hostel on the outskirts of Osaka. You purchased a small, private room for the three of you to stay in.

As the sky turned from a deep purple to a ombré of orange and blue, nausea from the previous evening returned in full force. You held yourself over the toilet as you threw up what felt like your entire gut. You stayed like that until you heard four small feet walk into the bathroom behind you.

With the light properly shining on them, you got to see how truly filthy they were. The girl, who called herself Mimiko, had short brown hair that was knotted, matted, and crinkled with dry blood. Her sister, Nanako, was not faring much better. Her blonde curls were also matted, and there was crusted blood left on her forehead. They both were covered from head to toe in bruises, had dark circles around their eyes, and seemed to be alarmingly skinny.

“Um… are you okay?” Nanako asked. You took a deep breath, happy to focus on something other than your churning stomach for a moment.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. I think it’s just nerves.” You answered.

“Let’s worry about you two, I’ll run you a bath, then we can go to the 7/11 across the way and pick up some food. Sound good?” You declared.

Mimiko’s stomach rumbled. “I think your belly answered for you, Mimiko,” you chuckled softly.

…

While the girls bathed, you went down to the Lost and Found of the hostel and grabbed a few items that looked like they would fit the twins: some hoodies, leggings, and a skirt. You also fixed yourself up, washing the vomit out of your mouth and splashing your face with hot water from the sink.

Once the girls looked decent enough to go outside without raising suspicion, the three of you ventured out to the 7/11 across the street.

The smell of food was a welcome scent as you walked up and down the rows of food, snacks, and other items. You grabbed whatever you thought a few six year olds would like, and on your way to the cashier, something caught your eye. A row of 100 yen pregnancy tests and other feminine care products. Whether it be a metaphorical gut feeling or the actual nausea that had persisted for the last few days, something told you to purchase a stick to pee on, just in case.You snuck the test into the pile of items you and the girls were purchasing.

When the three of you got to the hostel, the girls scarfed their food down, and you tried to take little nibbles and sips of water. You put the twins down for a nap.

You tried your best not to think about Suguru. You didn’t know what to think of him anymore. The man you spoke to the previous night could not have been your boyfriend. The Suguru you knew would never kill without a point. He would never just murder an entire village of people.

You hoped and prayed that you were wrong. That he didn’t actually harm anyone and just showed off his curses to teach the people of the village a lesson.

Wait.

What if he was killed?

It was all so confusing. You loved Suguru. He’s the one person who seemed to have love for you, besides your younger brother.

Noritoshi. A pang of guilt wracked through your frame, heightening the gurgling of your stomach.

If he murdered those non-sorcerers…you would have been deemed an accomplice.

So…

What would he think?

Your baby brother?

Would he be okay?

He’s a boy with an inherited technique in the Kamo clan. But would people look out for him? Would they keep him from your mother as well?

In your spiral of thoughts, you noticed the 7/11 bag on the counter and remembered the supplies you bought earlier that day. You grabbed it as quietly as possible, as to not wake the girls, and stepped into the bathroom, clutching the goods inside. Your hands were shaking from lack of food over the past day and a half, but as carefully as you could, you retrieved the pregnancy test from the bag.

The box was small, but felt so heavy in your hand.

Why not? It probably won’t be positive, you told yourself.

Why do I have to convince myself it won’t be positive, you thought.

You know what, it will get my brain off of Noritoshi and Suguru for a bit, you reasoned, pulling apart the tucked in top of the box.

After you fully unwrapped it, you read the directions, and followed suit. You put the test in the cup on the sink of the bathroom, and walked out to see the clock in the room. You waited five minutes until the results developed.

Wait…this was probably a bad idea.

What were you thinking?

This was so stupid why would you go and do this in the first place?

You needed to get some air, your chest felt tight. You felt the nausea creeping back again.

Suguru, where are you?

You grabbed a room key off of the counter and slowly walked out into the hallway, desperately trying to keep yourself from waking the girls. One of the first things that caught your eye in the hallway was a vending machine.

Maybe some soda would help settle your stomach?

You walked over to the machine and plucked a few coins from your pocket, listening to them clink through the slot. You selected a Ginger Ale and Coke, reasoning that if you didn’t drink it, Suguru would when he got back.

If he got back.

No. You can’t think like that.

You took as long as you could getting back to the room, stepping on every other square of the carpeted floors, trying to ground yourself back to reality somehow. You arrived at the door a few minutes later and opened the door.

The windows in your room were wide open, allowing a little breeze to blow the curtains. You dropped both bottles of soda.

You had locked the windows before leaving the room. You made sure of it.

You panicked, running for the girls to make sure they were okay. Alas, they were sleeping soundly, no new scratches or blood on them.

You turned your attention to the bathroom, where the door was closed and you heard some rustling.

Slowly making your way towards the door, you lined up your piercing blood technique, in case you were about to be attacked.

“Baby, is that you?” you heard from the other side of the door.

“Suguru.” You didn’t know if you should be more frightened or relieved.

Part of you wanted nothing more than to run into his arms and kiss the scratches and dried blood away from him. Other than that, he looked relatively unharmed. His usual neat bun was not apparent on the top of his head, instead he let his hair hang loose, his bangs tied up in a messy half-up-half-down. He was dressed in all black, a dark oversized crew neck and baggy black sweats. As insinuated by the dark bags under his eyes, he didn’t look like he had eaten or slept in the past day or two.

“Whose blood is that? Yours? Or someone else’s.”

“That’s one way to say hello.”

“Answer.”

“Doll, what’s wrong?”

“Suguru, are you okay?”

“My love, I took care of everything. We’ll be safe for the next few days, alright. We just have to lay low for a little while.”

“Suguru, answer me.”

“Shhh, everything is okay, doll. Your body's working overtime right now, and the pregnancy hormones can’t be helping.”

What?

You stared at him. No way.

“That test is your’s, right?” he questioned, his face filled with concern. “It’s positive.”

You stared at him, then at the test. It was.

“I- I’m gonna be a dad,” Suguru’s face cracked into a sincere smile.

He picked you up and spun you around, planting kisses all over your head and face.

“And you’re gonna be a mom! To my baby. Our baby. You’re gonna be the best mommy, you're so good with kids.”

You stayed silent; you were still processing everything that just happened.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he cradled your face gently in his hands.

You stood frozen, thinking of words to say, but they never made it out of your mouth. Your vision went blurry with water, and the churning feeling you had been trying too hard to suppress returned to your stomach. You gagged, running over to the toilet.

As you held yourself over the bowl, your body felt like it was trying to expel all of your organs out through your mouth. Suguru leapt to your side and held your hair back as you threw up, rubbing soothing circles into your back.

“Shhh, baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out, this is just one of the best things that’s ever happened.” Suguru cooed.

You took a deep breath and wiped any stray vomit from your lips with the back of your hand.

As you hurled your guts out, you felt his large, warm hand, rubbing circles on the small of your back. The other of his hands went to hold your hair out of your face.

You stayed like that for about an hour, just sitting there, pondering your impending motherhood.

Mother.

You were going to be a mother.

It simultaneously freaked you out and surprised you. Suguru, the person you loved most in this world, actually got you pregnant. Of course he did. He always stuck to his word.

When that man was committed to something, he was going to have it. He was possessive, territorial even. That made him all the more dangerous, but it wasn’t him you were afraid of or for. You were afraid for the rest of the world.

I’d end the world for you.

His promise echoed in the back of your mind.

“Sweetheart, it is going to be okay. I think I may have gotten too overexcited and freaked you out. You don’t have to keep it if you don’t want to, I’m here for whatever you need. But, thank you. Thank you for this precious gift.”

It was a gift that forever linked the two of you together.

…

September 2007

You found her waiting on a bench in the center of Shinjuku, trying to find something in her pockets, probably a lighter for her cigarette.

“Hey, need a light?” Suguru asked, offering out a lighter.

“Hi,” you waved shyly.

“If it isn’t the criminals, trolling girls who smoke?” Shoko replied

“Just testing our luck I guess, '' Suguru joked.

“Mmhmm, well, I’ll go ahead and ask. Any chance the charges are fake?”

“No, unfortunately not

“Then I’ll ask another question, why?”

“To create a world of only Jujutsu Sorcerers,”

“We don’t want anymore of our comrades to die,” you doubled down on Suguru’s point.

“Ha, that doesn’t make sense, but whatever,” Shoko said, picking up her phone and dialing a number. Someone on the other line answered.

“Hey, Gojo?

Yeah, found ‘em.

Shinjuku.

No way, I don’t wanna get killed.” She said before quickly hanging up.

“Do you have the thing we talked about?” Suguru asked before walking towards the area his best friend was said to be.

“Yes, I’ve got her,” Shoko looked into his eyes,

“Okay, I love you,” Suguru said, placing a kiss on your forehead and walking off.

Shoko put her cigarette out.

“Shoko I’m okay, just, um, okay how do I put this…”

“Dude, spit it out, you're scaring me.”

“I’m pregnant.” you blurted out.

“Shit.” the mousy brunette replied.

“No, it’s okay, really, I’m happy, we’re happy, just…scared - ”

“Did you not use protection? You of all people? The mom friend? Well, now, I guess literal mom friend,” Shoko put her hands in her hair, scrunching it out of stress, “And you’re a fugitive! Both you and Geto have been sentenced to death by the elders. Jesus Christ Y/N, how the fuck are you going to raise a child as a fucking criminal.”

“I’m sorry Shoko, I-I couldn’t,” your last word was muffled by the huge lump in your throat. You knew Shoko of all people would rip you a new one, but you didn’t expect it to hurt this much. Tears clouded your vision, and you were sobbing so violently, that you started to choke on the snot and water running down your face. People were staring.

“Woah, dude. Shhh, it’s okay, I’m here now,” Shoko reached down to wipe some of the snot off of your face with the sleeve of her uniform. “Come on, let’s go get you cleaned up, I have some supplies that I brought in my bag.”

Shoko grabbed your hand and led you into the nearby metro station. You rushed past the crowds of people, until you made your way into the gate. Shoko kept leading you further underground until you reached a room that was sectioned off for mothers and infants.

“Get inside, we shouldn’t be bothered in here for a while,” Shoko stated, her tone gentle. You walked in, and she locked the door behind you.

The room was small, but cozy. There was an infant changing table to the right, and to the left, there was a small blue couch with a table next to it. There were a few blankets packaged in sanitary wrappers laying on the side of the couch, and the room was decorated with pastel flowers all around. You felt completely safe for the first time in a while.

“Sit,” Shoko commanded. You complied and took a seat on the couch.

“I got one of those portable ultrasound things from the infirmary. I don’t know why we have these things but, hey, it’s coming in handy.”

“How did you know to bring an ultrasound kit with you?” you asked suspiciously.

“Oh, Geto told me to bring one. So, I kind of already figured you were pregnant, or you had some kind of internal bleeding. But with the way he was being so secretive, I figured the former.” Shoko replied, fiddling with the machine. It looked like a tiny foldable computer, the probe attached to a wire that fed into the screen.

She KNEW???

“If you knew, then why the fuck did you make me say it out loud?” you demanded.

“Because I needed to be sure this wasn’t a trick or something to kill me,” she shot back, “If ya didn’t know, your boyfriend -”

“Fiancé -”

“Fiancé, whatever, killed an entire village of people.”

“I know, but he did what he had to do. We’re trying to make the world a better place, a place without curses, so you don’t have to keep seeing people die.” You refuted.

“I’m not talking to you about this right now, I’m here to make sure you and the fetus inside of you are okay. You chose your path, and I chose mine. I’m not trying to change your mind, what’s done is done. I don’t support what you two did, but you’re still my best friend. I’m here for you,” Shoko finished and scooched on the couch to give you a hug. You were crying again, fat tears streaming down your cheeks.

After five minutes, you two finally parted, and Shoko reached into her bag to produce some supplies. She pulled out sanitizer, a bottle of gel, a pair of gloves, and a little blue cloth. Shoko sanitized her hands, and gave some to you as well. She then put the pair of gloves on and asked you to pull up your shirt to reveal your abdomen. Finally, she tucked the blue cloth into your pants, so that the gel would not get on it.

“This might feel cold. I also don’t really know if I’m doing this 100% right, so, you should probably find someone with a medical degree and not just reverse curse technique to look at you,” Shoko added, the usual banter reappearing between you two.

She squeezed some of the cold jelly-like substance on your abdomen. You winced at the uncomfortable feeling. Shoko took the end of the probe and started gently pushing it around on your stomach. After about a minute, something appeared on the little screen.

Woah.

That’s your kid. Your and Suguru’s baby. You started crying again.

You loved them already, and only wished Suguru could have been here to see this.

“Yeah, there’s a whole-ass kid in there,” Shoko confirmed.

“As opposed to a half-ass kid?” You joked. Shoko laughed.

Next, Shoko reached into her bag, producing a thick textbook. She turned to a page that was marked by brightly-colored post-it notes.

“Okay, based on this development textbook, you’re probably about 9 to 10 weeks along. Can you use your technique and give me a blood sample fast?”

9 to 10 weeks.

That’s a lot farther along than you thought.

You took a deep breath. “Okay,” and slowly produced a handful of blood from your palm, dropping it with a PLOP into the test tube Shoko held out for you.

“I’ll run a test on this once I get back to the infirmary at school, I just wanna check your hGC levels to make sure they’re good. But in the meantime, start taking these,” she produced yet another item from her bag. “They’re prenatal vitamins. Also, I know Geto has to have some connections somewhere with doctors. Have him find one for you. I can check on you once in a while, but not all the time or it will get suspicious. I love you, but I’m also an eighteen-year-old who doesn’t have a medical degree yet. I’ll leave first with Satoru to make sure there aren’t any sorcerers around so that you and Geto can escape. Stay safe and healthy, please,”

“Safe and healthy, coming from the chainsmoker?” You joked.

Shoko rolled her eyes as she gave you a final hug, exiting the room, leaving you alone with the bag of medical supplies and textbook.

…

Mid January, 2008

As the months passed, you did not think it possible, yet you fell deeper in love with Suguru. He doted on you and the twins constantly, spoiling you with gifts, having his followers help construct a lavish living space for you in the back of the monastery. Mimiko and Nanako shared a large room, their western-style four poster beds were adorned with silks and all of the stuffed animals they could desire. They had large walk-in closets full of dress-up gowns and expensive designer brands.

“Only the best for my girls,” Suguru would say.

As for you, he had a beautiful master suite built, the double walk-in closet filled with comfortable, yet elegant, maternity clothing and a California king bed dwarfing the rest of the room. The walls were painted white with navy and gold accents throughout the room.

When he was not tending to his cult, Suguru also kept you close to him as much as possible. Sometimes, he would even have you sit with him as you both tended to his followers throughout the day, him consuming their curses and you collecting their money.

Though he saw you as an equal, he was still overly protective and territorial of you now that you were carrying his child. He would sit you down on his lap in front of your followers, his hands caressing your now-evident baby bump, proclaiming to both you and the people in the cult that you were a goddess among mere mortals. When the monastery was empty, sometimes he would just sit and hold you, breathing in your scent. You would sit like that for an hour sometimes, him feeling the baby kick against his large palms, trailing kisses up and down your nape. You would curl yourself up as much as you could to put your ear to his chest, his heartbeat drumming with excitement.

When you weren’t helping Suguru, you were with the twins. Playing with them, going on walks, teaching them little things about the world that they missed while living in that cursed village. They were really excited to have a new sibling and talked about all of the clothes they would dress the new baby in. You had to remind them, of course, that the baby was not a doll. They also threw out name suggestions, but you had to tell them that unfortunately, “Princess,” and “Hello Kitty,” were not appropriate names to call their soon to be baby sibling.

At the end of your long days tending to the needs of non-sorcerers that were actually useful to your cause, Suguru would have you both change out of your robes and start to cook dinner while you played with the girls. True, he could have hired someone to cook for your little family, but he wanted to take it upon himself to make sure that you were getting all of the nutrients and rest you and the twins possibly could.

You somehow succeeded in carving out a nice life for yourself under the harshest of circumstances. Sure, it wasn’t the utopia you and Suguru had always imagined all of those nights back at Jujutsu High, but you had a little family of your own and were working towards a better, safer world.

…

After he finished tucking the girls into bed one night, you curled up with Suguru on the couch, your head tucked against his chest, and knees in between his hips, using him as a body pillow. One of his hands was around you and the other was used to cradle his head on the arm of the couch as you both laid there.

None of your pre-maternity pants fit you anymore, so you threw on a pair of Suguru’s gray sweats and a white t-shirt. You practically lived in his clothes at this point.

He started rubbing small, gentle circles on your swollen belly, seemingly in awe of your changing body. If you ever got insecure about your stretch marks, or how much weight you gained, he would make you stand in front of the mirror in your shared chambers, kissing every inch of your body. In the shower, he would take the time to wash your hair and help you shave. He wanted to let you know that you weren’t alone. Suguru was right there the whole time.

You felt a fluttering in your stomach where he was rubbing your belly, and Suguru gasped, breaking the serene silence.

“Hi, baby,” he whispered to your bump. Joy flashed through his tired eyes as his lips curved into a dopey smile. Then, he leaned up to press sweet, wet kisses into your neck.

“The most beautiful woman in the world. How did I get so lucky?” Suguru cooed.

“You’re stunning,” he continued, pulling you into a deep, passionate kiss.

Since falling pregnant, you were sensitive to the slightest touch. Your fiancé was sensitive to the slightest glance from you. Your sexual appetites had grown increasingly insatiable.

From his words and kisses, you could feel yourself drenching your underwear. As Suguru’s tongue continued to slither into your mouth, you absentmindedly started grinding against his muscled thigh, the friction feeling delicious on your clit.

“Ngh- Sugu- p-please touch me. No teasing. Need you,” you moaned.

“Do you need my fingers? I bet I can take you right now from how soaked you are,” he purred.

“Don’t care. Want something inside,” you whined.

“Lemme check you first. Don’t wanna hurt you.” And with that, he felt your soaked, clothed cunt through your pants and underwear. You were so wet, that a dark, sticky patch was starting to form on your sweatpants. You nearly ripped the pants off of you in the midst of your carnal need to have some part of him, any part of him, filling you.

Suguru got right to work, stripping you of the layers concealing you from him. After a few circles on your clit, he sunk his middle finger into your cunt. There was no resistance; he was able to sink his finger all the way down to his knuckle. So, he added a second finger, which you took just as easily.

You felt relieved to finally have something for your fluttering hole to suck on, but you needed more. You needed to be stuffed to the brim, completely full of him.

“Suguru I need you inside,” you gasped, your cunt continuing to clench on his thick fingers.

“Whatever you want, my love,” he replied, slipping his fingers out. You almost cried at the loss of contact, but you knew you were about to be rewarded tenfold. Suguru pushed his sticky fingers into your mouth as he rearranged the two of you. You licked his fingers clean, and he let out an unrestrained moan at the way you deepthroated his digits.

Suguru sat you up, and scooted himself against the back of the sofa. He took his length out from his underwear, letting it smack his stomach, the tip weeping precum. Suguru removed his fingers from your mouth and used the remaining spit to cover his cock; a makeshift lube for the two of you. While he stroked himself, you climbed up on his lap and attacked his mouth with fiery, desperate kisses.

He helped you remove your top, and then shed his remaining clothing articles. When he took your top off, you could tell that Suguru’s thoughts about the day had gone out the window. Suguru always had a fascination with your tits, now even more so that your tits had grown at least 2 cup sizes since pregnancy. He took one of your pert nipples into his mouth, sucking softly and grinding up into your wet heat, letting a grunt rumble through his chest.

“Love, please,” you cried out, tears threatening to spill down your face.

With your pleading, he helped you to climb on top of him and lined his cock up with your greedy cunt. You slowly sunk down on his dick, feeling every ridge and vein inside of you. You both hissed as he breached your tight hole.

Finally, you thought.

Suguru resumed his sucking on your nipple, moaning around your soft mound, sending vibrations through your body. You were so overstimulated and sensitive that you felt like you were about to cum right there and then.

He could feel that you were close by the death grip you had on his cock. So, he reached one of his large hands down from your waist and found your clit. You sunk your nails into his wide shoulders in response.

“Give it to me,” Suguru growled on his way to give your other nipple the same treatment.

The coil in your tummy snapped, the sensations driving you hard into your climax. Suguru moved to nibble on your earlobe, whispering what a good girl you were.

As you came down from your high, Suguru’s hands moved down to your bump, staring in awe.

“I told you I love this tummy,” he commented, his large hand splaying across your bellybutton. He pressed his forehead against yours. “I think it’s so beautiful, that your body submitted to mine.”

“Mr. Geto,” you said with a fake gasp, sarcasm dripping from your voice, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re getting off on my predicament, you pervert.”

“Touché,” he smirked. “I think it’s hot your body is going through all of these changes, just because of me. You’re mine,” he growled out the last words.

“I’m yours,” you confirmed.

“Suguru, I’m tired, I don’t know if I have the energy to ride you like this.” You realized he still hadn’t cum yet, he was probably in pain with the deep arousal he felt.

“Okay, I’ll carry you to bed and we can finish there,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead and slipped out of you, your juices trailing behind in a sticky string where you were formerly connected

He then picked you up, bridal style, and started the short walk towards your room. The cool air felt sensitive against your hot pussy and swollen clit, your arousal and cum now rolling in small beads down the back of your thighs.

He set you on your side on top of your California king mattress, covered in fine fabric sheets. Then, he took one of the large decorative pillows and pushed it in between your knees to allow him easy access to your cunt. This position would also allow some relief to your aching lower back. Suguru knew you loved it when he massaged your back, so he started there, pushing circles into the sore muscle and kissing up your spine.

His erection rubbed up against the back of your thighs, rendering the both of you delirious.

When you both couldn’t take it anymore, he finally slipped into your warm, wet heat again.

“How would you like me to fuck you, love?” Suguru questioned.

“Slow and deep. Wanna feel all of you,” you drooled.

“Mmm, sounds perfect,” he responded, pressing wet kisses into your neck. With that, Suguru started a long, deep thrust into the depths of your pussy. You felt every part of him; every ridge, every vein. You made a sound that you didn’t even know could come out of you.

Suguru picked up the pace a little bit, leaving little whimpers and groans in your ear as he rutted into you. Suguru was usually pretty reserved during sex, but he recently started to be more vocal for you. It spurred you on even more, made you even more aroused, which felt impossible at this point.

“I love it when you whimper-nGHH,” you moaned, as Suguru punctuated the end of your sentence with a particularly harsh thrust. The sex started to feel desperate, animalistic almost. Suguru felt something primal within him snap. He needed to fill you, to stuff you so full, he would watch his cum leak out of your pussy.

“Suugguuhh-“ you felt your second orgasm of the night closing in on you.

“Cum with me, doll, lemme fill you, ngh, u-up,” he grunted, moving a hand down to toy with your clit. “You look s-so good, full of me. Ngh- your tummy all round, tits all plump, making milk for my m-my baby,”

For some reason, that sent you over the edge, clamping down on his cock and coming hard. Your cunt sucked him in with a firm grip, and you could feel that he was close too. As he continued to fuck you through your climax, his heavy balls slapped once more against your thighs, and he came with a gasp, a series of, “I love you’s” and “Thank you’s” flooding from his mouth.

He fucked himself through his orgasm, and finally collapsed into the mattress. After a few minutes, Suguru pulled out, watching in awe as his release dripped out of your hole. His fingers traveled down to the mess the two of you made and swiped his pointer and middle fingers through your folds.

“I probably sound like a broken record, but I don’t know what I did in my past life to deserve you,” he said, kissing the top of your head, moving both of his hands to rest on your bump again.

“C'mon, let’s clean you up, doll,” he said, trying to drag you out of bed. But you were already fast asleep.

Suguru smiled to himself, running to the bathroom to get some warm compresses and clean towels. When he finished cleaning you up as best he could, he made his way to his closet, where he fetched his favorite graphic t-shirt. He handled you with more care than he would a butterfly or a flower as he dressed you, and headed to the bathroom to clean himself up.

After he deemed himself decent enough, Suguru walked over to your sleeping form and bent down to the level where your belly was. He criss crossed his hands and rested his chin on them.

“I love you and your mommy so much, little one. You’re so loved already,” he whispered, reaching one of his hands towards your belly.

Suddenly, he felt a small fluttering beneath his hand. Suguru smiled, his eyes alive with pride and wonder.

…

The next morning, you awoke to the smell of something delicious.

And four little feet running across the floor.

“Shhh, Nanako, you’re gonna wake up Kamo-san,” Mimiko warned her sister.

“It’s okay girls, I’m already up,” you sighed, yawning. “You girls sleep good?”

“Yeah. Can we get crepes today?” Nanako asked, changing topics rather quickly.

“It depends on what time me and Suguru get done at the monastery, but there should be enough time. The baby has been craving some chocolate,” you chuckled.

“I have a new name for the baby,” Mimiko declared, starting to climb on your bed.

“Oh, yeah? What?” You scoop her up and bring her into your lap somewhat successfully.

“Peach. Like the princess,” Mimiko said, matter of factly. She looked down right proud of herself.

“Mimiko, that’s a fruit. I think it should be Sparkles,” Nanako responded back to her sister.

“Well, we’ll have time to think about what the baby’s name should be, but for right now…I think we should eat some breakfast and see who can get dressed the fastest,”

“Geto-san made some breakfast,” Mimiko stated.

“And I helped,” Nanako exclaimed, attempting to have her voice heard in the conversation.

“I helped too,” Mimiko scolded with jealousy.

“Why don’t you girls go help set the table too and I’ll be there in a minute,” you said, pressing kisses to their foreheads.

“Fineee,” Mimiko rolled her eyes playfully.

You freshened up, brushing your teeth and wrapping your body in a luxurious silk robe Suguru had purchased for you.

As you made your way down the long corridor and into the kitchen, you could hear the sizzle of something cooking. You turned the corner to find Suguru, shirtless, standing over the stove of your enormous kitchen. You decide to sneak up on him, letting your finger creep around his waist as you pulled him back into a hug. You couldn’t press yourself flush against him, as your stomach got in the way.

“There’s my girl,” Suguru cooed.

“You’re making breakfast?” You beamed with tears in your eyes at the stack of American-style pancakes next to the stove. For some reason, this small gesture was making you really emotional.

“Of course, baby. I let the chef take off this morning to spend some time with my beautiful girls before I have to head over,” he replied, snaking his arm back to grab on to yours and place a kiss on your palm.

It was so domestic. It was so normal.

“Okay, order’s up. Mimi, Nana, will you help me put these on the table?” Suguru asked.

“Yes Geto-san,” Mimiko sang as she skipped towards the tower of the fluffy, golden deliciousness.

“Thank you, sweetie,” Suguru whispered, giving her hair a ruffle.

…

After the pancakes were eaten, and the syrup had ended up on the faces of the twins and Suguru, you pried the girls out of their seats to get dressed for the day. You and Suguru headed back to your quarters to change into your robes.

As you let the luscious silk fabric cascade off of your body as down to the floor of your shared closet space, you felt the presence of your fiancé behind you.

“Hi,” he smirked into your shoulder, starting to press kisses up your neck.

“Hi,” you whispered back.

One of his large hands reached down to your bump, caressing it with the lightest of touches.

“Can I listen to her?” He asked like a giddy child.

“My love, you never have to ask, you’re always welcome to,” you beam as he excitedly makes his way towards your protruding bump. “Baby’s been hanging out towards the bottom today if you want to feel them move,” you added.

“Hi baby girl, this is your da-”

“Baby girl? What makes you think the baby's a girl?”

“What makes you think she’s not?” he quipped, his usual banter-like tone making you giggle.

“As a wise man once said to me; touché.” The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, soaking in each other’s presence. After all, slow moments like this would be rare when the baby arrived.

Your peace was disrupted by a loud knock at the door.

“Geto-sama, Kamo-san, there is someone here to see you, he says it is urgent” you heard Suguru’s assistant shout through the door.

“Tell whoever it is that they have no right to request my presence. I will meet with them when I am in my proper attire,” Suguru snapped.

“Of course, master. It’s just… this kid…”

“No exceptions, I don’t care if it’s Satoru fucking Gojo himself, whoever it is can wait,” Suguru pressed, getting annoyed now.

“Yes, of course, I wi-AHHHHHH,” a blood curdling scream erupted from the other side of the door, followed by a loud thump.

Sensing danger, Suguru leapt into action, putting himself in front of you and summoning a curse. “Who’s. There,” he demanded.

Blood started to leak under the door and into the marble tiles of your room.

Suddenly, the door flew open to reveal the collapsed assistant on the floor, covered in her own blood. Next to the body, there was the figure of a small boy drenched in the scarlet substance.

“Noritoshi?” you questioned, tears filling your eyes.

…

END OF PART I

dividers by @bunnysrph

#geto #jjk #jjk geto #jjk suguru #jujutsu kaisen fic #suguru smut #suguru geto smut #suguru x you #jjk x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #jjk spoilers #gojo satoru #shoko ieiri #fem reader

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fettuccin-e · 1 year

Text

The Wonderful Way Things Change

A/N: hi there everyone... shamefully, very shamefully, I have not posted anything original since i think like february. it was an unplanned hiatus! promise it was completely unplanned, this semester just really kicked my ass lol. BUT HERE WE ARE! with matt smut of course how could I not because he is the loml so please enjoy! love you!

Description: Based off this ask, and can be read as a loose sequel to this (my first ever fanfic oh boy oh boy). In which Foggy calls you to check in on Matt, and the sight of your boyfriend all disheveled in a suit is making you a tad desperate. Thankfully, neither of you have the self-control to keep your hands to yourselves.

Tags: Matt Murdock x Reader, afab!fem!reader, no use of y/n, smut like so much smut who do you think I am, fucking Matty in a suit, oral (f!recieving), unprotected piv (pls wrap it up irl fuck them kids) (w/c: 2.5K)

Yours and Matt’s relationship is new, somewhat, but you both know that it’s been a long time coming. It’s only been a few weeks since he finally kissed you for the first time, since he healed your poor, pining heart. It’s not like other relationships you’ve had, with the talking stage at the beginning, where you’re still asking each other about your childhoods, favorite movies, and songs. You and Matt already know everything about each other.

He knows about your shitty job that you hate but manages to pay the bills. He knows all about your childhood, all of your hopes and dreams. Up until a few weeks ago, the only secret you’d kept from him was your frankly ridiculous crush on him.

But you know that it’s the same way for him. You already know about Daredevil, and to Matt’s unending surprise, you accept him, love him for who he is. You don’t want him to give up either side of himself; you’re happy to just have him. Matt is still trying to get used to the feeling of actually having you, instead of just being by your side, letting you slip through his fingers.

Up until a few weeks ago, Matt had resigned himself to only being your friend. The friendship he’d found in you at Columbia would remain just that. Unbeknownst to him, you’d resigned yourself the exact same way. But a misunderstanding and a frustrated and ridiculously dramatic love confession later, you’d finally kissed him like he’d only dreamed of. You’d allowed him to touch you like he’d always wanted, and Matt could swear that he’s never felt anything softer, never tasted anything sweeter than you.

So the relationship is new, but it also feels like you and Matt have just been waiting, settling into routines like you’ve been together for years. You know how Matt is, how he’ll bury himself into cases and recordings and court documents, searching for that one bit of evidence that proves his client is innocent. He sends Foggy and Karen home on nights like these, insisting that they need to sleep, that they work too hard as is.

“He’s gonna be there for hours,” Foggy tells you over the phone. “You’ve gotta get him out of there or he’s going to collapse.” You laugh, pulling on your coat and stepping out of Matt’s apartment.

Ever since you had both confessed your feelings for each other, and Matt had finally, finally taken you to bed, you had more or less moved in. It hadn’t been intentional, nor had Matt officially asked you, but the one time you had broached the subject of maybe sleeping at your own apartment, Matt’s arms had wrapped around you, holding you to him while he pressed desperate kisses all over your face and neck, telling you that his apartment was so cold without you there.

“C’mon, sweetheart, haven’t we spent more than enough time apart?” he had murmured, and you had agreed.

“Yeah, alright Fog, I’m heading over there now. I’ll make sure you have a well-rested partner by tomorrow,” you giggle into the phone, and you laughed even harder at Foggy’s genuine sigh of relief.

“Christ, how did Nelson, Murdock and Page survive without you and Matt together?”

“It’s truly a mystery, Foggy,” you tease, and Foggy laughs with you. He keeps you on the phone the entire walk to their office building, filling you in on the cases he, Karen, and Matt are working on. You could talk to Foggy for hours, really, but he lets you go as you walk up the steps to their offices. With a promise to talk soon, maybe take a trip to Josie’s, you hang up, shoving your phone into your coat pocket.

You can hear the recording Matt is listening to through the door to his office, some judge droning on and on. You enter the room quietly, heart beating wildly at Matt in his sharp suit, without his glasses, hair mussed from his fingers running through it the way they usually do when he’s working through a case. You watch as a smile blooms across his pretty lips, his eyes lifting to your direction as he pauses the recording.

“Hi, baby,” he says, and his sheer beauty in that moment nearly brings you to your knees. This man, with his hair sticking up in every direction, his tie slightly loosened at his chest, big brown eyes and wide smile is yours. All yours. You can’t help how your heart beats even harder at the thought.

You watch his grin meld into a knowing smirk as he listens to the quick pattering of your heartbeat. “Something got you worked up, sweetheart?”

You hum, crossing the room to where he sits in his office chair. “Oh, you know,” you drawl, trying to keep your voice coy and light, even though you know that your heart is giving away your sudden desperation for the man in front of you. “I’m just thinking about all of the things I get to do now.”

“To me?” He’s playing coy too, trying to goad you.

“Always to you, Matty,” you giggle, and he chuckles in return. You swing a leg over his lap, straddling him and relishing in how his chuckle morphs into a choked gasp.

“What- What kinds of things, gorgeous?” his voice is breathier now, beautifully affected by your actions.

“Just how I can do things like this,” you wrap your hand into his tie, tugging him towards your mouth. “And things like this-” you breathe over his mouth, before capturing his pretty, enticing lips with your own.

Matt groans into the kiss, smoothing his hands over your hips before reaching behind you to grab your ass in his big, thick hands, tugging you further up his lap. Your clothed pussy rests just over the bulge of his cock through his slacks, and you can feel it thickening beneath you.

“And you call me worked up, Matty?” you murmur against his mouth, wiggling in his lap and pulling a soft moan from his lips.

“When my gorgeous girlfriend walks into my office, smelling like my apartment and so fucking soft on top of me,” he says, squeezing your ass again, “how can you expect me to be calm, baby?”

Your stomach bursts into butterflies at the title. You’re his girlfriend. He’s your boyfriend. It feels so very juvenile, like you’re twenty years old again and still trying to get through calculus class. Maybe it’s because you’ve been waiting that long. Waiting for him, since you first met him and Foggy at Columbia. It feels so far away now, so different, and yet, you still burn bright and warm with Matt’s attention on you. Calling you his girlfriend.

He shifts his hips under yours, the bulge of his thick cock against your pussy impossible to ignore, and you whine, just barely, but Matt hears. Of course he does.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “So fucking needy.” He lurches forward again to press his lips to yours, licking into your mouth.

“Please, Matty,” you whisper, and he groans into your mouth all over again. He doesn’t separate his mouth from yours as he lifts you against him, using a hand to brush the cumbersome documents and files off the desk behind you, before laying you softly against it, running his hands over your waist and kissing you like you’re something precious.

But you are, Matt knows that you are the most precious thing in the fucking world. And you want him. Matt can hardly believe it sometimes; he still sometimes thinks he’s dreaming when he feels you in the morning, pressed tight against him, your heart calm and steady with sleep.

He licks into your mouth like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, and what a way to go. He could stay in this moment forever, kissing you while your hands tangle into his hair. But your sexy little whines are echoing around him, your hips moving in desperate little circles against the aching bulge in his slacks.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he whispers, and you just whine louder. It’s a nearly painful thing, taking his lips from yours, but he can fucking smell your arousal, and the need to dive between your thighs is suddenly too much for him to handle.

You kind of want to cry when Matt breaks your kiss, but your mourning at the loss of his lips is quickly cut short by his thick, calloused hands pushing your skirt up your thighs, leaving the material to bunch around your waist. He nudges his nose against your clit through your panties, taking a deep breath in through his nose, savoring it, and you nearly black out.

“Oh- oh my God,” you stutter, and Matt smirks in that ridiculously cocky way you hate that you love.

“I mean, I go by Matt, but if you want to call me God-” Matt starts, tugging your panties down your legs.

“Matthew Michael Murdock, I swear-” You want to continue, you really do, but it’s really hard to keep your train of thought when Matt is leaning down and licking a long stripe up your soaked pussy, swirling around your clit and making your hips buck up uncontrollably. He quickly braces a forearm over your twitching body, holding you still with his strength while he eats your pretty cunt.

“So fucking wet for me, gorgeous,” he mutters between your thighs, the vibrations feeling like shockwaves up your spine. “So pretty, baby, could’ve been eating this pretty cunt since college.”

You can barely form a sentence, only able to utter out whines of Matt, Matt Matt, between desperate moans as he licks into you. You can feel him grinning into your cunt, knowing he’s driving you fucking crazy, before he’s drawing up to capture your throbbing clit into his mouth and sucks. He brings his free hand up to sink a thick finger into your needy entrance, crooking it up and pressing into a spot inside that makes white creep into the edges of your vision. He just sucks and sucks, swirling his tongue around our achy clit and playing with you like a toy.

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, unexpected and brutal, and you would have thrashed off the desk if it weren’t for Matt’s strong arms holding you steady. He carries you through it, licking at you softly while he keeps his finger inside, giving your pussy something to clutch onto. As your hips finally stop twitching, Matt rises, leaning over you again, and you can’t help but tug at his tie again, dragging his mouth to yours, uncaring of the taste of your pussy covering his lips.

“Please fuck me, Matty, oh god, please. Need you in me, baby,” you whine, and you can’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed at how needy you sound. Matt groans, sounding just as desperate as he licks into your mouth. He takes his hands from your body to reach down, undoing his belt and slacks just enough to tug his aching cock out. He’s so hard it’s nearly painful, the head sticky and red and throbbing with the need to fuck you. To claim you.

You wrap your arms over his back, tucking your head into the crook of his neck as he sinks into your sensitive pussy. As he finally bottoms out, you lean back to look at him, at his big eyes staring just off your face, his mouth slightly agape.

“I thought about this, y’know,” you whisper, your nails digging into his back as he presses just a bit deeper inside. “Every time I brought you guys lunch, I-” you moan softly as Matt thrusts, hard and so fucking deep you swear you swear you can feel him in your guts. “I thought about you, fucking me on this desk, in-in this fucking suit, god, Matt.”

“Shit, baby,” he grunts, rocking into you so hard the desk rattles beneath you. You can barely pay attention to it, not when the tip of Matt’s thick cock is grinding into the spot inside you that makes you scream, your nails digging into the soft fabric covering his back. “I thought about you too, god, you have no idea, sweetheart.” You can only whine in response as he continues, “You’d bring us all lunch, wearing your little uniform, fuck, with that pretty skirt and those heels.”

Matt’s hands tighten over your hips, forcing you to meet him thrust for thrust, and it’s so fucking good. You can’t manage to answer him through your desperate whines of his name and choked moans as his thick cock stretches you out for him, but Matt’s still talking. You don’t know if he can stop.

“I could hear your thighs brushing together under that tight fucking skirt, your heels clicking up the hall, and all I could think about was ruining you. Ripping that skirt off you and making you beg for my cock,” he grunts, driving desperately into your soaked pussy. Your head is swimming, drowning in Matt’s words, his scent, his cock.

“Now I can, baby,” he grunts, voice breaking on a choked moan. “I can fuck you just how I’ve wanted, make this pretty pussy soak my cock. Can wake up to you in my bed, fuck you whenever I want, whenever you want, baby, fuck I’m yours. You hear me, angel? I’m yours.” Matt can feel your pussy fluttering desperately around his cock, and snakes a hand between your bodies to press a thumb over your clit.

He leans over you, his tie loose and dangling over your face as he growls, “and you’re mine. Mine.”

And you’re gone, pussy tightening like a vice around Matt’s thick cock, screaming his name. Little tears escape your eyes, dripping down your cheeks as Matt groans your name in return, hips stuttering into yours and flooding your overwhelmed pussy with his cum. You can hear him, just barely, through the roar of blood in your ears as he whispers, “So good, baby, so perfect. Love you so much, so much, you have no idea. I love you, loved you for so fucking long, angel.”

You bring your hands up to tangle your fingers into his soft hair, bringing him to your lips, whispering a soft “I love you so much, Matty,” in return before meeting him in a soft kiss. His smile against your mouth is blinding, endlessly joyful, and slightly delirious.

He’s still buried inside you a few minutes later, when you finally whisper, “I’m not sure this is what Foggy had in mind when he sent me over here.”

“If this is what Foggy had in mind, I might have to send him a fruit basket, or buy him a round,” Matt chuckles, and you smack him lightly on the shoulder before you’re laughing too. Matt smiles, unable to believe that you’re his, before he cuts your giggling off with a loving kiss.

#hey I'm back #with daredevil smut #what else did you expect #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock smut #daredevil x you #daredevil x reader #daredevil smut #daredevil fanfiction

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thefloatingstone · 1 month

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Do you think Mass Effect's character writers deserves more recognition for how they managed to turn an entire generation of people sexually and/or romantically and/or aesthetically attracted to someone who is essentially a featherless spacebird?

No because they did it entirely by accident, tried to placate the confusing requests by female fans to make him romanceable but because that was not something they planned for they were still writing him primarily removed from being a romance partner and were more focused on writing him as the "best friend" character to MShep (not realising this is EXACTLY why the female players (as well as gay players) liked him) and by Mass Effect 3 they just threw up their hands and went "WELL HELL! YOU GUYS LIKE HIM SO MUCH YOU GET ALL THE ROMANCE THEN!!!"

Garrus' writing as a romance was a perfect storm of factors, many completely out of the writers' control that even they themselves completely missed until their players POINTED IT OUT TO THEM. Garrus is lightning in a bottle of unplanned factors, incredible voice performance, the writers willing to comply to player feedback, and the symbiotic relationship Bioware had with their fans and players.

Garrus is an incredibly well written character in his own right, that's WHY he's such a good romance option and the best one Bioware has ever had. But a part of this was luck, chance, and willingness to adapt his character to what a subsection of fans wanted.

Proof further by every single romance Bioware has since written with the INTENT of making them exactly what their female players want, never hit the same way Garrus did. And speaking personally, none of their other romance characters in any of their games scratches the same itch.

Also "Featherless Spacebird" means nothing to me because my "sexual attraction" level is lower than 0. It's not DESPITE him looking like that. It's BECAUSE he looks like that. Not because I find him physically attractive, but because he does not resemble something I am supposed to be physically attracted to in any way shape or form.

I like the way Garrus looks because he's Garrus. And because I like Garrus it means I like the way the turians look.

The caveat of "essentially being a featherless space bird" implies that "haha isn't it CRAZY gamers would be attracted to THAT???"

no.

His personality, voice, performance, and writing is wonderful. Why WOULDN'T players be attracted to that?

#C-Puff answers #I'm sorry anon this ask just kind of annoys me on multiple levels #Both as an aroace person as well as someone who really likes Garrus

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 9 months

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I was wondering whether u were taking requests for The Other Half.

Can u pls write a fic where the shop girl and bruce have an unplanned pregnancy or something along the lines of it.

I luv u and ur fics sm

Hav a great day

I opted for a pregnancy scare rather tan a full-blown pregnancy; hope that's okay! also the form of this chapter is a little different.

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Warnings: Canon-typical violence; angst! ! Much angst.

You have a bad, bad headache.

“She awake yet?”

Almost an entire week late. That was a lot of late, way more than you’ve ever been before. You’d taken a test and it turned up negative, but that doesn’t mean that it won’t be positive in a day or two.

A baby?

Are you even ready to have a child? Is Bruce? You’re hardly seen with one another in public these days.

“Not yet.”

The possibility has caused complete and total distraction—to the point of…Well, what would you call this. A severe mishap? Failure?

“We get anything back from Wayne?”

“No.”

A messy, messy morning.

“Maybe he’s not really fucking her.”

A spilled cup of coffee, a favorite blouse completely ruined.

“They were in all the papers together.”

“Yeah, but that was months ago. I told you we should’ve gone for Liz Wyatt. No one knows who the hell this bitch is.”

You'd had a biting, short-tempered conversation with Bruce before you’d stormed over to the elevator and insisted that you’d get yourself to work and back.

“Maybe he’s not really rich.”

“Please. The guy’s turds are worth more than what we make in a month. Bet they’re gold-flaked and shit…Anyway, it’s only been a few hours. Don't panic yet…Fuckin’ pussy.”

A bad day at work, a really, really crappy takeout lunch, and a stupid, stupid move as you’d come out of the office building to head home.

“Don’t call me that, shithead.”

An unfamiliar car, the blur of a face before a cloth had been pressed over your nose and mouth and someone had yanked you close form behind. Panic, tight breaths, and then—

“Alright, wake ‘er up.”

Darkness. Darkness and silence that slowly gave rise to—

“How do you want me to do that? Slap her?”

Two nattering voices volleying arguments, questions, commands back and forth for the past half hour—

You gasp, sputtering as water is poured over you. You cough roughly as some of it catches in your dry throat, hinging forward as your throat and chest ache with the force. You draw in a deep breath as soon as you’re able, blinking rapidly and trying to get a better look at your surroundings. When you’d first come to, you’d realized how tightly your arms were zip tied behind yourself to the beam that you’d been propped against, and your ankles were zip tied in front of you. The floor beneath you is hard as hell, and you kind of have to pee. You've spent your time awake feigning unconsciousness in the hopes that they'd leave you alone.

Your gaze catches on two sets of steel-toed boots, and slowly travels up, up—You wince, squinting against the harsh overhead light illuminating the dank warehouse. You recoil at their faces, your whacking against the wide pole behind you. The two laugh cruelly, making embarrassment curdle in your stomach. One crouches down, roughly gripping your jaw and turning your face toward him. You can’t squirm away like you’d like, and you’re forced to smell his acrid breath.

“Why don’t you get comfortable, honey,” He chuckles. “We’re waiting on your boyfriend.”

“Will you be dining alone this evening?”

Bruce glances over at Alfred, trying not to grimace at his pointed question. He shifts on the couch, sinking down in his seat a little under his guardian’s scrutiny.

“She should be back soon.”

“Have you heard from her?”

Not one word, all day. Bruce had checked his phone almost obsessively throughout the day, looking for missed calls or texts, but there hadn’t been a thing from her. Bruce had considered reaching out first, but he was still sort of pissed. He’d spent the day trying to figure out what the hell he'd done wrong, what she’d gotten so damn worked up about. He couldn’t think of a single thing.

“Perhaps you ought to call and let her know that we’re at the mansion,” Alfred hedges again. Bruce considers it for a moment, glancing at his blank phone screen. Maybe he could…No.

“She needs her space,” He insists. “She’s mad at me.”

Alfred hesitates for a moment before he turns away. It may be overstepping his bounds, but he fishes into his pocket for his phone. He sends two texts—one saying that he hopes that she’s had a good day, and another asking if she needs a ride home. He sends them, and waits…And waits…And frowns. Neither message delivers. He turns back to the couch just in time to see Bruce reaching for his phone, then going still and ultimately leaning back in his seat, sliding even further down like a moody teen.

Perhaps Alfred ought to simply take a look for himself.

He asks the first woman coming out of the Wayne Enterprises building—someone that Bruce recently had him run a background check on.

“Pardon me, Ms...James? Rose James?” He smiles, as the young woman stops in her tracks. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I could ask after a friend of ours.”

Rose’s brows raise as he offers the name.

“Oh,” She laughs, “She left hours ago. In this huff, too, like a funk? Like not a smelly funk, like a mood kinda funk.”

Alfred fights to keep his composure, his hands still clasped in front of himself.

“Ah, of course,” He forces a laugh, “I must’ve confused my days. My apologies, Ms. James—and thank you for your time.” He turns away from her, fishing into his pocket for his phone and eyeing his messages. They still haven’t been delivered.

Something does not feel right.

You close your eyes, letting your throbbing head rest back against the pole. You have to distract yourself from your aching arms, and the sharp tingling of your legs and feet falling asleep. You’ve got to think of something else.

What would you even name a baby?

Your stomach flips at the thought, and you wince a little. Of all things to think about right now…Then again, what else have you got to do?

Does Bruce want kids? The two of you have never actually discussed kids…Or marriage, or officially moving in with one another. Maybe you would’ve had those conversations if the two of you hadn’t been photographed kissing in the lobby of Wayne Enterprises, or leaving the vacation house of your Valentine’s retreat. Maybe you’d have had the conversations if Bruce wasn’t…Bruce.

“Anything?” You hear one of the thieves say to the other.

“No.”

“Hmph.”

You draw in a deep breath, trying to calm yourself as the same slim man leans in toward you. You get a better look at him this time—at his cold, grey eyes, pallid skin and yellowing teeth.

“You better hope that Wayne answers soon,” He warns, drawing a knife out of his boot. You flinch as he raises it, lightly tapping the tip of it on the underside of your chin. “If he doesn’t, you’ll be leaving here in bits.”

“Did Rose say what time she left?” Bruce asks, practically bounding off of the elevator and over to the computers deeper in the cave. Alfred follows as quickly as he can, shaking his head.

“She didn’t, and I neglected to ask.”

Bruce yanks his chair back, reaching down and hurriedly tapping into the security camera feed around Wayne Enterprises. His eyes scan the screen studiously as he winds the security footage back to when she typically leaves work. He stops it there, then skims through the footage a little faster.

“Wait, there—” Alfred points, “Go back.”

Bruce rewinds again slightly before he presses play on the footage. His heart leaps into his throat as he watches a man put something over her mouth, her body going limp as two men drag her into a van and take off. He hurriedly changes the camera angle and pauses the footage, zooming in on the license plate.

Bruce glances over as he sees something move out of his periphery, and frowns when he spots someone leaving something on the front door step.

“Alfred.”

“Yes?”

“Go grab that, would you?”

“You just dropped it off?”

“Yeah.”

“Just now, you just dropped it off? Oh, for fuckssake!”

You peer warily over at where a third man has hurried in and joined the first two.

“I got stuck in traffic!”

“That’s some weak–ass excuse, Frank.”

“Hey, don’t use names,” The new guy nods over his shoulder toward you, “In front of the girl.”

“Oh, you worried about her knowing your name? Knowing your face?”

“Well—”

“Good point, Frank.” The shot rings out, and you can’t hold back your rough, dry-throated scream as the man raises a gun without hesitation and kills Frank, sending the man sprawling to the ground. He lowers the gun, turning to look at you and gesturing toward Frank’s body.

“I known Frank twenty years. I do that to him, can you imagine what I’ll do to you?”

“The van took a route through downtown before it crossed the bridge into the Narrows—What’s that?” Bruce asks, glancing back as Alfred approaches again with a small envelope

“It’s addressed to you, sir.”

Bruce takes it hesitantly, frowning. He takes hold of it, looking over it before he flips it over and opens it. His blood runs cold as he draws out a photograph of her—unconscious, and tied up. His other hand crinkles the envelope, unable to help it as his rage builds. He turns the photo over, frowning when he sees the untidy, scratchy writing.

“What’s it say?”

“There’s a phone number.” Bruce tosses the envelope aside before he turns back to the console, punching the number in.

“You’re calling?”

“It’s probably a burner.” He only has to wait a few moments before someone picks up, and watches as his system traces the signal.

“Took you long enough, Wayne.”

“I called the moment I got the envelope.”

There’s a pause, a grumble on the other side, and his heart stutters as he hears a gunshot.

“What the hell was that?” He snaps.

“Don’t worry about it. Listen,” The man sighs. “Two million in cash. No cops.”

“Where is she?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I want to talk to her.”

“You’ve got twenty four hours, Mr. Wayne. Call when you have the cash. I’ll send you an address.”

Bruce opens his mouth to argue, but before he can, the man hangs up. Bruce clenches his jaw, fighting the urge to punch a hole through one of the screens. He tips his chin up, eyeing the spot on the map the phone signal came from.

“Alfred.”

“Sir?”

“Take one of the cars, one with heavily tinted windows. Drive into the city, take as much money as you can at an ATM, from tellers, wherever you can get it.”

“What for?”

“After that, I want you to come back, use the number on the back of that photo and call it. Get an address.”

“And bring it to them?”

“They might be watching the house. I want them to think I’m doing what they said. Don't worry,” Bruce turns away, striding toward the suit. "I'll get there before you do."

Names. What would you even name a kid? You’d probably want to give them a normal name…Well normal as in a typical spelling, and not some over-voweled, extra-consonanted monstrosity, like Mickayleigh or Jostlelynn or Redgeena.

What were his parents' names? You furrow your brow, trying to remember. You haven’t spoken to Bruce about his parents much, either. Fuck, the more you think about it, there’s so much that you haven’t talked about, that you don’t know...That you may never get to find out.

“He’s got the money.”

You glance back toward the triumphant whoop of one of the men.

“Wayne?” He asks.

“Nah, the old guy. He's heading to the drop-off point.”

Alfred? Your brow furrowed as you tipped your head back against the pole. You had no idea why Alfred would be the one getting cash—

You suck in a shocked breath as the room is suddenly plunged into darkness. You hear the two men tripping over one another, followed by a scuffle and a curse.

“You alright, man?”

“Tripped over Frankie—Ugh, he’s cold—”

You wince as the lights suddenly flicker back on, and your heart leaps when you see Batman standing over the fallen robber. The man looks up, and before he can fully get out his yell of, “Oh, shi—”, you see Bruce lifting his foot. You wince, turning your head and squeezing your eyes shut as you hear the man yowl in pain.

It’s like being in the middle of a horror movie. You can hear what’s happening, and you desperately want to look to assuage your own morbid curiosity, but you’re worried that what you’ll see will be so much worse than you’re imagining. You hear gunshots, grunts, yelps, the cracking of bone, and then—

Nothing. You hear nothing.

It’s another few moments before you hear the thudding of boots approaching. You dare to peek a single eye open just in time to see the edge of his cape as he rounds the pole. You hear a snick, chased by the feeling of your arms being untied. You groan as they fall limply to your sides, feeling about as heavy as a ton of bricks. He rounds you, crouching down in front of you and untying your ankles as well. It takes you a few moments to reach out, your arms weary and weak from their stretching, and the lack of blood flow. Bruce takes your hands in his gloved ones, easing you off of your feet and shushing you softly when you whimper and stumble into his chest.

"Are you hurt?"

"No—"

"—They didn't hurt you—?"

"No!" You swear, forcing your pained arms up to wrap around him. He turns his head, lips brushing against your temple.

“It’s alright,” He murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

"You didn't recognize either of them?"

"No."

“So what you've told me, that’s all you remember?” Commissioner Gordon asks. “No names?”

You shake your head a little, eyeing the floor. “Apart from the one guy…Frankie? They were pretty careful about not saying who they were when I was awake.”

“Frankie was, uh…” He checks his notes, “The one that was shot twice, laying on the floor?”

“Yeah.”

“Did Batman shoot Frankie?”

“What?” You frown. “No. One of the other guys did that. The, uh…The thin-ish one, with really bad teeth.”

“And the other one?”

“He didn’t say much to me.”

“So…Batman came in and got you out.”

“Yes.”

“And dropped you off here at the precinct.”

“Yes.”

Commissioner Gordon’s brows jump before they lower again, and he jots something else down.

“How much longer is this going to take?” Bruce grumbles.

Gordon’s gaze flickers over to where Bruce is still pacing behind you.

“We’re nearly through here, Mr. Wayne.”

You hear Bruce huff, followed by the thud of him slouching against the door. It’s a moment before Gordon is shifting in his seat, redirecting his attention.

“Remind me where you were, Mr. Wayne?”

“At my mansion.”

He reports it flatly, and even in your weariness, you have to bite back a smile.

“We have footage of your butler driving around and taking out money.”

“I don’t keep that much cash on hand.”

“And you were just going to pull as much money out as you possibly could?”

“Whatever it took to get her back.”

You lean back in your seat as some of the fear, panic, and anxiety well up again. You can feel tears prickling in your eyes, your chest tightening. Commission Gordon sighs, nodding.

“I think that’s enough for today. I may have a few follow-up questions in the next few days.”

“Of course,” Bruce answers for both of you, and you’re grateful for it. He comes closer, taking hold of your hand and helping you up. You still feel a little woozy, and you lean heavily against him.

“I’m sorry to tell you, but there’s a lot of press outside. We, uh…” Gordon rounds the desk, opening the door to his office for you. “We set up barricades to get you from the door to your car without too much hassle.”

“There isn’t a back exit?”

“I’m afraid they’ve got the building surrounded, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce pushes a heavy sigh through his nose before he mutters quietly in concession. You don’t meet anyone’s eye as he leads you through the bullpen to the elevator, or as Commissioner Gordon gets on with you.

“Are you driving?” You murmur. Bruce shakes his head, lips brushing your forehead.

“Alfred is.”

Alfred. It’ll be nice to see another friendly face. Bruce leads you off of the elevator, fishing into his pocket and drawing out a pair of sunglasses.

“Put these on,” He orders, “And keep your head down. I’ll get us to the car.”

You nod, putting on the thick, chunky sunglasses. They practically obscure half of your face.

“Ready?” Bruce asks. You nod again, tucking yourself more tightly into his side as Commissioner Gordon opens the door. You don’t even have the chance to step a foot outside before you’re bombarded by the flashing of cameras, and yelled questions coming from all directions. It makes you want to run back inside and find some quiet corner to curl up in, but Bruce wraps his arm tightly around your shoulders, steering you to the car. You almost stumble trying to keep up with the pace he sets, fighting to keep your steps even and quick as he guides you down the path that the cops have set up and into the car.

As soon as the door is shut behind you, you sag down in your seat and draw your sunglasses off, peering through the heavily-tinted windows at the mob of press. The sound is let in again as Bruce gets in on the other side of the backseat, and as Alfred gets into the driver’s seat. It’s not a clean peeling away from the curb—a few press still crowd around the front, trying to get shots of you and Bruce through the windshield—but Alfred finally pulls away, and it feels like you can breathe again.

As you strip down to shower—as you suddenly feel an acute cramping in your lower stomach—you start to cry, the full weight of the day crashing down around you. Bruce turns back from where he’s been turning the knobs to heat up the water, and through your kaleidoscope of tears, you can see his expression melting from confusion to sadness. He reaches out, drawing you into his chest, and you go willingly. You don’t even care that his hands are wet from checking to see if the water is warm enough. You just bury your face in his chest and let every bit of your fear and worry drain from you.

“...Thought you had it already.”

“Hm?” You hum softly.

“Your period.”

You wince at the comment, focusing on the steady rise and fall of Bruce’s chest. You’d thought that you’d have to have this conversation at some point in the next few days, but right now, tucked into his side in bed, you can’t think of anything you’d like to talk about less. Still, you trail your fingers along his side, weighing your words before you admit:

“I was late.”

“How late?”

“A week.”

Bruce is quiet for a few moments, and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head.

“Did you think…?” He hedges.

“Yeah.”

“...Is that why you almost took my head off this morning?”

“Yes…Sorry, by the way.”

“S’okay.”

Is it?

You let it hang in the air for a moment. You could let the conversation pass. You could just move—

“Would you have been happy?” You hedge, “If…I was?”

A few moments of harrowing silence as Bruce’s fingers skate over your bare back.

“I don’t know.”

It’s honest, at least, but it doesn’t feel good. Yes was what you’d been hoping for. But I don’t know? You can feel yourself tearing again, and you bite down on your inner cheek, just nodding when you feel him looking down at you. He sighs heavily, murmurs, “Sweetheart,” But he doesn’t get all of it out before you’re pulling away from him and pushing yourself to sit up. You draw in a few deep breaths to steady yourself, raising your hands to swipe away the few tears that escape. To his credit, Bruce gives you the space that you need, sitting up and staying on his side of the bed.

“Look at what happened to you today,” He points out.

“That could’ve happened to anybody,” You grumble.

“Not like this. It happened because people know that you’re with me. It’s dangerous for you. And if it hadn’t just been you, if we ever…” It takes him a moment. “If we ever had a child, they would be a target, too.”

You sniffle softly, tucking your arms around your middle and fisting your fingers in the fabric of your sleep shirt. You know that he’s right, and you want to hate him for it.

“Is that why we never talk about that stuff?” You ask.

“What stuff?”

“Our future.” You turn your head back toward him, watching him in your periphery. You can see his lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze set ahead.

“It’s not an easy conversation to have.”

“Is that all we can have? Easy conversations?”

“That’s not what I meant. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

You sniffle again, turning away from him and looking down at the sheets. You feel Bruce scooch a little closer, sliding his hand along your lower back before he gently draws you back against him. You lean against him, pouting a touch as your cramps flare. Bruce nuzzles against your hair, dropping a kiss there.

“Today was a lot,” He murmurs. “Can we just…Can we get some sleep? Talk about this tomorrow?”

You nod, letting Bruce steer you to lay back down. You rest your head on his shoulder, fingers absently tracing shapes on his chest.

“...For the record,” You offer softly, “Those men did what they did because they were greedy. I’m safe because of you, Bruce.”

Bruce’s grip tightens on you, and you snuggle closer, sliding your leg over his and pressing as close as possible despite the twinging in your belly.

Next Part

#Bruce Wayne x Reader #Bruce Wayne x You #Bruce Wayne/Reader #Bruce Wayne/You #Bruce Wayne fic #Bruce Wayne imagine #The Other Half

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rambheem-is-real · 4 months

Text

Varadha's Greatest Strength Part 2

read Part 1 here

warnings: slight NSFW, implications of torture

It's much later when Deva and Varadha get to go back to Varadha's mansion, after the negotiations with the Shouryangas. They had taken up the entire day, but the very fact that the Mannarsi were willing to cooperate, and the presence of Deva had helped make a deal that both tribes liked. Varadha could see the relief in the bodies of everyone around him, a lightness that he hadn’t seen since years before.

He had done it. The fantasies he’d forbidden himself to have growing up, of becoming the karta and ruling Khansaar, he could make them all come true. He wasn’t selfish enough to dream of having money, of having the newest manufactured weapons from around the world. All he wanted was to see his little brother, his men happy for once. Not eyed with thinly disguised disgust, or suspicion whenever they tried to walk around the city. Not threatened with violence just because Varadha had no power to stop it. Now, Varadha was the ultimate authority of Khansaar. No one would cross Varadha’s men, and he would ensure that their punishment would be suitably violent if they tried.

As they enter Varadha’s place, still holding hands, Varadha feels Deva consciously change his pace so that he enters right foot first, along with Varadha, and the simple gesture sparks Varadha up inside. He has to fight to resist pulling Deva down for a kiss again. There’s time for that, he tells himself.

Once they’re inside, Bilal and the others immediately scatter with flimsy excuses and knowing looks between themselves. Varadha sees Deva’s cheeks turn red out of the corner of his eyes, and Varadha himself isn’t entirely unaffected. Am I that obvious? he wonders.

Maybe not that obvious, as Baachi turns to talk to him like nothing unusual is happening.

“Anna-” he’s cut off by the mute boy physically dragging Baachi away, ignoring his protests. “What are you…” Baachi trails off as the boy presumably tries signing something. “WHAT??? THEY’RE GONNA-” the rest of the sentence is cut off as they hear the back door open and close.

Varadha and Deva are left the only two on the first floor, air tense. Varadha turns to Deva, still holding his hand. The blush hasn’t gone anywhere. Varadha is incredibly fond of the way the towering, muscular man has managed to look this cute.

There’s a question in Deva’s eyes, waiting for Varadha’s permission to be asked.

Fuck it. Varadha knows what they both want anyway. He cups Deva’s face and brings him down for their second kiss. The first had been a simple press of lips, completely unplanned. Deva had just looked so good on his knees, calling him his Sulthan so reverently, that Varadha couldn’t control himself.

This one was different.

Varadha almost loses himself in the sensation of those wet, warm lips, and the gentle scratch of Deva’s beard against his, when the kiss is abruptly broken. Deva only leans back a few inches, but far enough to deter Varadha from instinctively closing the gap.

“What, raa?” he whispers to Deva. “Getting cold feet now?” Varadha’s joking but lead pools in his stomach. Both times they kissed, Varadha had initiated. Did Deva really not feel that way for him? Was it purely platonic? Did he just not want to refuse Varadha in front of everyone else in that room?

Deva gently wraps his arms around Varadha’s lower back, pressing them slightly closer. He gives him the stare that Varadha had always remembered, the one filled with pure steel. The look that told Varadha, I’m here. I’ll protect you. I’m here for you, and he unconsciously relaxes a bit.

“Rey, is this what you want?”

Varadha frowns. “Deva?”

“Is this what you want? The whole time I’ve been here, I’ve seen you do everything either out of fear or for the sake of other people.

I love you. I can say that, because it’s true. You’re everything to me, Varadha. There’s not a single day out there that I didn’t think about you and what you might be doing behind these walls. But I don’t want you to feel obligated in any way.”

Varadha blinks, stunned. “And I love you, raa.” He brings Deva’s face down again, this time instead to press his forehead against the other man’s. “I don’t think there’s ever been a time where I haven’t loved you. I genuinely do want you by my side, not just as my fellow leader, but as a life partner.”

Deva looks like he’s searching Varadha’s eyes. “You’re not saying this to keep me happy, are you? To keep the Shouryangas happy?” He suddenly leans back. “Just say the word, Varadha. One word, and I’ll never bother you again. I’ll kill them all myself if that’s what it takes for you to know peace. You wanted me here to protect your brother, right? I’ll consider that my purpose and leave you alone.”

Fuck. Varadha doesn’t know exactly what Deva has been through in the last twenty five years, but he’s realizing Deva was probably just as miserable as him. He swallows, and silently vows to make sure Deva never feels this worthless ever again.

Varadha lets go of Deva’s face and reaches behind him to grab Deva’s hands. He presses kisses to the knuckles of each hand, letting the affection show through him. Gripping both hands, Varadha states, “I would rather kill myself, than watch you leave again. I can’t go through that again, raa.” He watches Deva’s lips open into a hopeful smile. “So, unfortunately for you,” Varadha says as he leans in, “You’re stuck with me forever, even if you don’t like it.” He stops himself the barest distance away from Deva, and waits.

“Okay, I’m yours,” Deva breathes, before finally closing the distance.

Varadha doesn’t know how they make it to his room, honestly. All he can recall is Deva’s lips on his own, his hands wandering up the backside of Deva’s shirt to feel the Shouryanga scars adorning the strong muscles. At some point, Deva had asked whose room, and Varadha had just replied, “Ours.”

As they cross the threshold of the room, Deva picks Varadha up, carrying him the last few feet before he’s gently deposited onto his bed, the action a lot hotter than Varadha wants to admit.

They kiss for a while more, until Deva sits back on his heels next to Varadha.

“How far did you want to go?” Deva asks, slightly out of breath. Whatever he sees on Varadha’s face makes him blush deeply once more. “I’ve never done… any of this.”

Varadha had forced himself to not think about any partners Deva could have taken in the last twenty five years, had just hoped he was happy and left it at that. But to know that Deva hadn’t even sought anyone out, that he had held onto the love he had for Varadha, it makes him satisfied in a way he knows he shouldn’t be.

“I haven’t either,” he answers, and delights in seeing Deva’s eyes darken, clearly feeling the same possessiveness. What a pair they were. “I don’t lack an imagination, though.” Varadha doesn’t want to take it too far so soon, but he also doesn’t want to stop right now. “Take your shirt off.”

Deva’s eyebrows lift at the order, but there’s a glint in his eyes that Varadha knows means he’s enjoying himself.

“Yours too,” Deva counters, and Varadha obliges.

Nakedness was not something either were unfamiliar with. As children, they had bathed together, and seen each other in various states of undress. It was a privilege that Varadha hadn’t granted anyone else, even Baachi. He quite literally trusted Deva with his unprotected back. As such, both stripped briskly, and the thought of being seductive about it occurred to Varadha too late.

He swallows at the sight of the sudden expanse of muscle, though. His Deva is well defined, hours spent laboring in the forges resulting in an exquisite body. Varadha aches to be able to taste those shoulders, press down on the brown nipples, leave nail marks all over Deva’s abs, but he also knows he has no idea what he’s doing, and doesn’t want to scare Deva off.

Deva in turn has also been appreciating Varadha’s bare chest, but Varadha can see his eyes trail to… oh no. Deva’s starting to frown and Varadha knows it’ll turn into a whole conversation if he doesn’t stop it here, so he climbs right into Deva’s lap and kisses him again.

“I’ll tell you later, raa,” he whispers.

The atmosphere is softer, less heated than how it was downstairs, and Varadha takes his time exploring. He presses a kiss to the other man’s forehead, Deva’s eyes fluttering shut. Tilts his head down to kiss the beautifully curved nose, then meets his lips again. Deva in turn presses kisses just above Varadha’s lips where his nose ring falls, then manages to find a particularly sensitive spot of skin just below Varadha’s ear.

The pressure starts building up again, this time pooling in his groin, so Varadha experimentally grinds down. Deva moans at the sudden contact, and Varadha decides that’s the most beautiful sound his Deva has ever made. He resumes kissing Deva, while slowly setting a rhythm with his hips. Deva starts rocking into him as well, clumsy at first but matching his speed soon after. The kisses turn more frantic as they move against each other, and Varadha stops thinking; lets himself just feel the sensations.

He doesn’t know how long its been until Deva’s making a ruined noise, hips stuttering, and buries his head in Varadha’s shoulder. The knowledge that he had just- that Deva had just- is enough for Varadha, and the heat inside him crests. He cries out as he rides through whatever this sensation is, feeling the release inside the fabric of his dhoti.

The two just hold each other for a few moments, regaining their breaths. Deva then pushes down until they’re lying down, Varadha on his back and Deva on top of Varadha, head resting on Varadha’s chest.

It’s where he belongs, Varadha thinks.

Deva looks up, resting his chin on Varadha’s sternum. He wraps his hands around Varadha’s back, and Varadha goes to smooth out Deva’s hair.

“Good luck getting rid of me now,” Deva grins. “I won’t leave even if you try to kill me.”

“I should be telling you that,” Varadha retorts. “You’re mine now.”

“Yours,” Deva easily agrees. He opens his mouth to say something else, then starts wheezing as something seemingly just occurs to him.

“I just realized…” Deva’s doubling over, clutching Varadha’s hips. “My mom’s going to skin you.”

Uh oh. Varadha had completely forgotten about Amma. Even at his ripe age he was still scared of the stick she had used to discipline them both as kids. Forget the stick, she had an incredible ability to make him feel absolutely miserable as she obliterated them with words. He swallows, and rolls them over so Varadha can cuddle into Deva.

“Actually, that’s a problem for tomorrow. It’s sleeping time now.”

“Okay raa,” Deva says, still giggling to himself.

Varadha stops fighting his own smile. Deva’s back with him, against all odds. Maybe he can persuade Amma to stay here as well.

Deva. Amma. Baachi. His men.

Everyone he’d ever loved, and they were all with him. He goes to sleep, legs wrapped around Deva, still smiling.

tags: @deadloverscity @sada-siva-sanyaasi @sambaridli @sometimesbrave @just-a-lazy-person @vijayasena @mad-who-ra @umbrulla @jitterbugbetty @chocolate-1-0-1 @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @sinistergooseberries @tulodiscord @varadevaficrecs @hum-suffer @nini9224 @varadevlawyer

#salaar #varadeva #salaar fic #varadeva fic #i'll write much heavier smut later #these two just weren't feeling it here #good night y'all #latter half was not proofread at all I am tired

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asamiontop · 1 year

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The mark of an excellent engineer is predicting the unpredictable. Anticipating how a user might misuse or abuse a product before they’ve ever laid eyes on it. Preempt the mistakes and the fringe use cases and design them into insignificance with failsafes and redundancies.

Lena is, by all accounts and conferred degrees, an excellent engineer. She designed the anti-kryptonite suit to withstand, well, everything. It’s built to handle abuse ranging from unplanned space flight to close contact with a nuclear warhead.

Most engineers don’t exactly take into account how their product might inadvertently abuse them, however. And in that respect, Lena is no better than the rest.

She watches Supergirl peel off that technically perfect helmet, not a splash of sickly green on her golden skin, and Lena expects to feel triumphant. Proud. Accomplished.

Instead, she feels affronted. There’s no other way to describe the physically oppressive tightening in her chest when the hero shakes out her hay-colored hair, helmet in hand. The headpiece comes off, gorgeously windswept curls tumble out of it, and Lena gapes as her last remaining brain cell goes up in smoke.

It’s like a goddamned motion picture. Down to the way Lena’s jaw hinges open, slack and completely outside of her control. Blonde waves cascade over the armor Lena hand-built for those broad shoulders and all her insides collectively squeeze. A wayward strand catches on a passing breeze and alights on a delicately flushed cheek, framing Supergirl’s handsome jaw. Lena huffs—at this point it’s just offensive.

She’s bordering on furious with herself for not considering the obvious danger in her design (irritatingly perfect hair, an ill-advised sapphic crush, and a glorified motorcycle helmet do not a productive match make). Unintentional harm or distraction to anyone—wearer or not—is simply an unacceptable failure mode in battle. Of course her irritation isn’t enough to keep her from raking her eyes appreciatively over everything that her suit emphasizes on National City’s beloved Kryptonian.

Lena’s debating alternative head coverings in her mind—throat still dry, eyes still roving, fingertips still itching to learn how soft those golden waves truly are—when Supergirl glances her way. She smiles and it’s like the sun catches on all of her at once. Light glints off her suit (Lena’s suit, that she made for her), illuminates her hair, dances in her smile and suddenly Lena understands why people worship her as a god.

The super is radiant as she walks over. “Lena,” she breathes, tucking the helmet under one arm. Lena’s sheer disgust with this entire cliché is the only thing that keeps her from moaning outright at the way her name sounds from that mouth. “You saved me.” Supergirl’s blonde head ducks bashfully and—oh, she gets to be cute now too? How dare she. A chuckle rumbles through the crest that Lena placed on her chest. “Again. You saved me again.”

Crystal eyes lock on hers and Lena’s awareness of anything outside those deep, searching blue flees her entirely. Struck dumb, Lena holds Supergirl’s gaze, chin lifted, until the hero finds whatever she’s looking for.

An irresponsibly cocky smirk curls at the corner of Supergirl’s mouth. It pushes her a step closer and the proximity shoots a wave of instability through Lena’s knees.

“Is there any way I can repay you?” The super says, voice low. Lena wonders briefly if she’s been transported to the set of a low-budget porno. As if on cue, her brain fires off three filthy responses in rapid succession. This cannot be happening. She swallows hard to keep those thoughts sequestered in her head where they belong.

Possessed by some force greater than herself (perhaps Luthor composure, roaring through her veins from a family she normally loathes to emulate), Lena straightens. One of her eyebrows arches and Supergirl’s smile grows.

She bites the inside of her lip thoughtfully and watches in delight as the Kryptonian stands up a little taller, expectant.

“There’s no need, Supergirl,” Lena purrs, right on script, reaching out to swipe her thumb over a smudge on the suit’s chest plate. Keen eyes track the movement, so Lena allows her touch to linger. She retracts her hand slowly and meets the hero’s eyes once more. They are eager, focused entirely on her, and a shiver of satisfaction bolts through Lena at the attention.

With a heavy flutter of her lashes, she drops her voice. “But now that you mention it, I would love to get my hands on that suit of yours.” She pauses, allowing the implication to swell in the air. “I have several ideas…” she casts her gaze down the Kryptonian’s front and up again, “for improvements I’d like to make. If you’d allow me, of course.”

Supergirl’s eyebrows near her hairline as she stutters, “Y-yeah, totally,” her voice a whoosh. Then she shakes her head, sloughing off her apparent stupor, and her grin is back in full force—sexy and blinding at once. “Seeing as this is your creation, I’d say I’m all yours.”

She pierces Lena with that clear-eyed stare. “Actually. Are you free right now, Miss Luthor?”

Lena bites down a smirk and savors the goosebumps that tickle the back of her neck. She nods once, quick and to the point. Supergirl’s smile blooms across her face, replacing the self-assured swagger with such genuine delight that Lena is battered twice with attraction and endearment. She mirrors the hero’s expression and loops her arm around the elbow offered to her.

They turn to leave at a leisurely pace, ignoring the long-suffering voice of Agent Danvers yelling after them.

“Hey. Hey! Where the hell do you think you’re going?! Ka—Supergirl! That suit is DEO property! Hey! Hey! Don’t you walk away from me!”

Supergirl laughs, eyes never leaving Lena’s as an agitated “motherfucker” echoes in their wake.

#I thot it so I wrote it #crack I guess #thirsty Lena #supercorp #flirting #ficlet

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dapandapod · 8 months

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Bruises

I realized I forgot to post this on Tumbl! It's about 8,5k and written in one day in a fit of inspiration (helppppp) because I needed that sweet sweet Jaskier whump. Please enjoy this emotional hurt/comfort ish-fix-it of season 2. On Ao3 here

Jaskier never expected to see Kaer Morhen, especially not in the way he ended up seeing it.

The dwarves lead him and Ciri as far as they can, banter and cutting remarks following Jaskier at every step.

Sure, he gives as good as he gets; whatever he is dealt he makes sure to give back, if he can get away with it.

But you can only be hit so many times before it becomes a bruise, no matter how lightly.

And Jaskier is already sore, from years of barbs, from years of being told to “fuck off, bard” or “shut up, bard” or “you are so fucking loud,” and well. It hits harder when it is someone you consider a friend.

Especially when it turns out that friendship was one sided.

The little princess is full of resentment and anger, but trading banter puts a small smile on her face, so he lets her.

If the way to get friendly is to let her tease him, so be it. He knows she needs an outlet for her inner turmoil so it doesn’t fester, so he turns up the dramatics and plays along.

The second to last eve they spend with the dwarves, it suddenly becomes too much. He knows Yarpen isn’t a fan, he knows there is some truth behind his name calling and swearing.

Ciri is sitting across the fire, sharpening a stick with the knife from her boot, looking for all the world like she isn’t paying attention to the conversation around her.

But then one of the dwarves calls Jaskier an ignorant, lazy, useless human, wondering what the fuck he is doing here anyway.

Maybe it is the ale, maybe it is the smoke stinging his eyes, or the years of putting up with it.

Jaskier doesn’t remember which one of them it was afterwards, and it doesn’t matter. His anger flares. He stands up, and the group goes very quiet.

“Have any of you asked me anything of my life? Have any of you bothered to ask what I was doing in a fucking prison cell, why I don’t have a lute, or where I went after you left that fucking dragon hunt with Geralt?”

There is complete silence, only the crackling of the fire and the night sounds of the forest.

“You might think I’m useless, and that I am lazy, and that I’m ignorant. But I don’t have to be here. I have people depending on me, yet here I am. Giving up responsibilities and comforts alike, all for someone who can’t even call me a friend, surrounded by people who clearly don’t want me here.”

He flexes his hands, feeling the blistered and burned skin strain, the pain clearing his head some.

“I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.” He finishes, picks up his bedroll and his pack, and settles on the outskirts of the camp, by the wagon.

Close enough to be safe, far away enough to get some peace.

It takes a few minutes for the muttering to begin, a few more until Ciri stands up too, and gathers her bedroll.

Until now, she has been distant, and he can’t blame her in the least. Now she settles down just a few feet from him, alongside the carriage.

It is colder here in the north, and neither of them had any kind of proper gear packed for their journey, unplanned as it was. He still drapes his leather jacket over her when he hears her chattering teeth, and settles on his bedroll with just a thin blanket.

Kaer Morhen is all big halls, high ceilings and hairy men. Hairy witchers. Lots of them too, and Ciri runs to greet them with a big smile.

They had found Eskel along the path, guiding them the rest of the way up. Ciri knew some of the way already, but only the paths closest to the keep, so it was a great relief having someone who knew what to avoid and what trails led them past ancient traps and monster dens.

The road was long, and Jaskier can’t believe Geralt thought he would make it here unscathed. Eskel seemed a little concerned as well when Jaskier explained his task, but said nothing.

Still says nothing, now that Ciri is surrounded by witchers, and Jaskier is left just standing there at the edge of the room. He is usually not one to hesitate to introduce himself, but he is tired, hungry, and frankly feeling rather neglected.

Eventually Ciri introduces him to the group, and it takes about three seconds after that to figure out who Lambert is.

Ah, ‘Lambert, Lambert, what a prick,’ indeed.

He is given dinner, a place to sleep, and is shown to the room where they keep a myriad of bathtubs. Lucky for him, there is already a fire going, making the room warm and toasty, and making it considerably easier to warm the water without any signs.

Jaskier can’t lie, he had been picturing hot springs, or anything pre-heated really, especially the shallow pool that had been built in the floor.

A quick toe dip later, and he is never stepping foot in that pool, ever.

His fingers ache when they come in contact with the heat of the fireplace, and he flexes them in an attempt to dispel the discomfort.

Sinking down into a tub at long last is heaven.

Dirt from far more than the road to the keep has had his skin itching, his hair stuck in a permanent curl around his ears, and he longs for his artistic dishevelment once more.

Sharing breakfast with the witchers of Kaer Morhen enlightens him about the many odd manners of Geralt of Rivia.

Watching the other witchers mess with each other explains so much. Unguarded food is immediately stolen, and if given the chance, someone will increase the temperature of their tea all the way to boiling, and then challenge each other to drink it, and so on, and so forth. Brotherly pranks, clearly, but the kind you need a certain set of mutations to deal with.

Jaskier only has his mixed heritage to keep him out of the worst of troubles that technically would be bad news for full humans, but nothing to keep him safe from this, so he steers clear.

Yennefer and Geralt join them that same afternoon.

Ciri runs into Geralt’s arms, and Jaskier remains at the table where he is challenging Coën with loaded dice.

Not until most of the others have gone to bed does Geralt finally approach him.

“Thank you for bringing her safely here.”

Jaskier looks at him for a long while, before replying.

“You’re welcome.” He says finally, and Geralt pats his shoulder. Weird.

After that first day, Jaskier approaches Vesemir while the others are busy.

The way he left things in Oxenfurt doesn’t sit right with him, and he is pretty sure Pricilla is going to assume he is dead if he doesn’t get a message to her soon.

He still has no idea how long he is supposed to stay in the keep, but he writes a carefully worded letter, assuring his safety and asking her to keep singing the Song of the Shore.

She will know what the coded song title means, and he has enough funds squirreled away to keep the entire Sandpiper operation going for a while longer, before he needs to find a way to beg his benefactor for assistance.

Vesemir gives him a long look, and Jaskier offers the letter he is holding, stifling a frustrated sigh.

“You are free to read it. I’m not trying to give away your location, just assure my safety of me and those I left behind.” He says, because he knows.

He spent years in the library of Oxenfurt, and he has read the old tomes that contain what little witcher history there is to find, as poorly depicted as it is. He knows about the sacking of the keep, understands the fear of it happening again.

It still stings.

Vesemir accepts his offer, and opens the letter, reading it over. His eyebrow climbs up his forehead, and he looks at Jaskier before putting it back into its envelope.

“I’ll have it sent.” He says, his mustache twitching when he makes a considering face. “Do any of the others know?”

“About the Sandpiper?” Jaskier asks, and Vesemir nods. “Yennefer knows. She was a part of the last group I sent off, before…” Jaskier stops and takes a breath. “Before. I know how and when to keep things to myself.”

Vesemir nods again approvingly, and takes the letter with him.

No one seems to have noticed the exchange, and Jaskier is left wondering if that is a good or a bad thing.

Things are a bit tense in the keep. Geralt still hasn’t seemed to forgive Yennefer for her betrayal, and Ciri seems to be more withdrawn lately.

Between witcher practice and chores, Jaskier tries to make himself as useful as he can be.

Which is not very, as it turns out, since he is not trusted to be in the lab anymore because of a tiny little tasting incident. Nor is he allowed to help with the patching up the keep. The library is Vesemir’s baby, and Jaskier is sure he is safeguarding secrets of the past there.

So Jaskier just… hangs around. Without a lute, he can’t play, and he probably wouldn’t be able to just yet anyway with his fingers still in their sorry state. The blistered skin has started peeling now, and new soft pink skin has started to show underneath.

He and Yennefer are getting closer, both of them evidently outcasts of a sort.

Especially since none of the other witchers make an effort to get to know them, nor is Geralt paying any kind of attention to either of them. She is the only one who really knows about the firefucker, and nobody has bothered to ask about the bandages.

If she had her chaos, she could have healed him, but she doesn’t, so instead she makes what ointments she can and watches him like a hawk to make sure he doesn’t eat it instead of applying it.

Late summer is slowly becoming early fall, and Jaskier realizes that his window for leaving is ever shrinking.

He doesn’t want to leave, not really, but he has no idea what he's doing here. Geralt hasn't asked him to leave, but neither has he asked him to stay.

Their interactions are short and rarely between them alone.

A lot of it consists of Geralt being nearby when Jaskier is retelling funny stories of their travels, making Ciri smile and the other witchers roar with laughter and the corner of Geralt’s mouth twitch in an aborted smile.

They don’t treat him like the dwarves did, but they clearly don't know why Jaskier is here either, and it is frustrating to say the least.

They seem to appreciate his singing more than Geralt ever did, sure, but sometimes it feels like they use him to annoy Geralt, and sometimes Jaskier thinks it’s working…

Lambert is probably the worst. He is an asshole and excuses it by calling it honesty.

He picks up where Geralt left off after the mountain, poking at every visible sore spot until Jaskier is stinging. Jabs and jibes, poking fun at Jaskier to make the others laugh. Nothing he isn’t used to, but something that makes Jaskier feel uncomfortable when nobody steps in to stop him.

Ciri sticks close to his side after those nights.

She doesn’t say much, doesn’t try to defend him, and he would never ask her to, but she glares at Lambert and asks Jaskier to tell her another story, which he gladly does.

It’s been two weeks since their arrival, and he, Lambert, Coën and Geralt are gathered around the dining table. Most of the others have filtered out to their own tasks or downtime activities, but they linger, chatting and playing dice. Coën stays out of it, still not trusting Jaskier since the loaded dice incident, which Jaskier is immensely proud of.

For the first time in a long time, Jaskier is actually enjoying himself, and enjoying being next to his friend. Maybe, after all this time, Geralt has started to think of him as a friend too.

Until Lambert opens his mouth and ruins it all.

“You are not half as bad as Geralt made you out to be. Or maybe it’s because he made you leave your lute behind at the bottom of the mountain?”

Next to him Geralt stiffens, and Jaskier feels his jaw working.

“Thanks,” is all he says, shaking the dice in the cup one more time before slamming it down on the table a little harder than strictly necessary. Then he stands up and climbs over the bench, very fucking done with the entire conversation.

Behind him he can hear Coën berating Lambert, who pretends he has no idea what he said wrong.

Fucking asshole.

He doesn’t hear Geralt say anything, nor ask about the missing lute.

It’s not that cold out yet, but the air is fresh and crisp on his face when he steps out through one of the side entrances to the courtyard. Here and there witchers are milling about, but Jaskier wants to be alone.

He hurries to the main gate and across the bridge, seeking his solitude amongst the trees on the other side. Technically, it is a bit dangerous to go out alone, but Jaskier is pretty sure no little beasties would dare come close to a monster hunter’s keep in broad daylight.

“Jaskier.” Geralt calls after him, and Jaskier stifles a long line of swears. Still he lets Geralt catch up to him, even if he is decidedly not looking at the witcher.

“Lambert can be such a prick.” Geralt says when he has caught up. “He only wants to rile you up.”

Jaskier notices the clear lack of an apology in there.

“So I’ve noticed. And he succeeded,” Jaskier says shortly, flexing his fingers again.

A bad habit now, but it is better than picking at the sharp, hardened edges of skin that still cling to his fingertips as they heal.

Clearly, Geralt hadn’t thought through what he wanted to say, or he had expected this to be enough. It isn’t. He lingers, still standing there, waiting for… something.

“What do you want from me, Geralt?” He asks when Geralt isn’t saying anything, and turns to look at him. His… friend. The man he has spent far too many years believing he meant something to.

“... I wanted to see if you are alright.” Geralt says haltingly, and Jaskier finally snaps.

“Oh yes, I am clearly alright after being told time and time again that I am annoying, unwanted, useless, loud, and being told by your family that you had made me out to be all those things too, before they even met me.”

Geralt looks taken aback, but Jaskier is not done.

“I’m tired of this, Geralt. I am so fucking tired of this. Not once have you come to my defence, not once have you told them to fuck off.”

“You can hold your own.” Geralt says, frowning, and Jaskier spreads his arm in frustration.

“I can, of course I fucking can! I have to, since not even the man I thought of as my best friend considers me a friend enough to have my back!”

Again, the witcher doesn’t have a reply to that. Fucking figures.

“Leave me alone, Geralt. Before I say something I’ll regret.”

“...Don’t wander.” The witcher cautions him hesitantly, and thankfully returns towards the bridge.

Jaskier stays longer than what is probably advisable. He is just fuming, and he kicks a young tree, making yellow leaves fall down around him.

He could technically blow off steam by sitting down to write, but there would be an audience no matter where he goes in the keep, and he is also not very much in the mood for another Burn Butcher Burn.

That one has done enough damage already.

In the end, it is Ciri who ends up fetching him. She doesn’t say anything about his red eyes and tousled hair, nor the bruises on his knuckles.

“Dinner is ready,” is all she says, and waits for him to join her back across the bridge with the others.

Jaskier takes his dinner and chooses another table far from the big group. Predictably, Ciri joins him, but he didn’t expect Eskel to sit down with them, too. Nor Yennefer. Nor Geralt.

They talk amongst themselves, even if Ciri and Jaskier are the only one replying to Yennefer when she says something.

It makes him feel weird, considering their rivalry all these years.

He knocks their shoulders together and teases her, calls her the worst wife ever. It is worth it for the smile he teases out of her, but he notices Geralt pull in a sharp breath of air.

“What?” he asks, but Geralt says nothing, just stares down at his food.

That evening, Geralt walks Jaskier back to his room.

“I’m sorry,” the witcher finally says after a long stretch of silence that Jaskier refuses to fill. “For what Lambert said. And for what I made Lambert believe.”

Jaskier blinks in surprise. When there is nothing else, he turns towards his door.

“Sure. See you around, Geralt.”

But Geralt stops him with a hand around his wrist.

“Are you and Yennefer… really married?”

Of course. Of course that is what would be on Geralt’s mind. Another sore spot amongst the others on his bruised heart.

“Fret not, witcher, the sorceress is still unwed and free for the taking. She did get me out of a rather sticky situation, though, so if it’s all the same to you, I do consider her my friend and platonic wife.”

With that, Jaskier turns and closes the door behind him.

Fuck, that was not how he wanted this day to go. His eyes sting and he swallows many times and he clenches his fists to keep his emotions in line.

Maybe it is time to leave.

Maybe it is time to go back to where people need and want him. Where he can make a difference. Where he can matter. Where he is enough.

His eyes sting once more, and with a great sigh he heaves himself from where he was leaning against the door and pours himself a cup of water.

He’ll talk with Eskel in the morning. Or Vesemir. Find a way to leave that won’t inconvenience anyone any further.

Leaving is harder than he thought, mainly because now, all of a sudden, people seem to seek his company.

Yennefer keeps appearing, asking him for help with stupid things. Some of them, he realizes, might be a way to regain the trust she broke between her and Geralt, but he appreciates her company it all the same.

Especially since most of it includes making Ciri smile, some other parts of it to make Lambert’s life a little more shitty. Something he is all for, to be honest.

Jaskier is petty when he wants to be, and right now he is the Prince of Petty.

Geralt too, seems to have come to some conclusion. He bites back faster when Lambert becomes too much, or Eskel, or Coën for that matter. In Jaskier’s defence, even.

It’s… weird. Nice, but weird.

And it is tearing at the walls that he spent all summer building.

Jaskier writes another letter to Pricilla.

Vesemir had told him that he will accept no return letter, but there are some strings he could pull if it were really necessary. Since they are hiding from Nilfgaard in a keep deeply hidden away by time and nature, Jaskier respects the need for it, and continues writing his one sided letters.

He is rather used to one sided communication, after all.

When he finally thinks he is about to get Eskel alone, it is not by his own doing.

“I’m sorry, I found a journal without a name, and I looked through it to see who it belonged to.”

Well, fuck.

“Jaskier. You are putting yourself at great risk.”

“And others even more so, if I don’t.” Jaskier replies, knowing exactly what he is referring to. Eskel blinks, then nods.

“I need to go back, Eskel. Before winter comes.”

“It’s too dangerous. The pass will be open for a few weeks more, but you are a wanted man.”

This is news.

“What do you know?” He asks quietly, accepting his journal back.

“I have no idea how you got into the prison cell, but word’s spread that the White Wolf busted you out.”

Fuck.

“That’s not good.”

“I’m sorry.” Eskel says, and Jaskier pats his shoulder, but he immediately pulls his hand back with a grimace. How can one see the spikes on his shoulders, and forget that they are, indeed, spikey?

“Shouldn’t have done that. Why do you keep wearing spikes?” Jaskier says. “ Also, no fault but my own, I suppose, with the jailbreaking and all that. Actually, scratch that, are all witchers allergic to just bailing someone out? Or is it just a Geralt thing?”

Jaskier tries to lighten the mood, but his stomach is sinking and his hands feel clammy. Time to write another letter or three.

“Witcher’s are all cheapskates, I’m afraid,” Eskel grins, but then sobers. “Do the others know?”

Jaskier shrugs.

“They didn’t ask. Nobody asked.”

At the same time, Geralt comes around the corner and spots them, a frown forming on his forehead. Of course.

“Right. Well, if you would keep this to yourself, I’d be immensely grateful.” Jaskier says quietly, and this time Eskel pats Jaskier’s shoulder.

“I got your back, bard,” the scarred witcher says, ironically, and now there is a lump forming in Jaskier’s throat.

Great. Fantastic. Splendid. Amazing.

Without waiting, Jaskier takes off towards his room to hide his journal again. Not to avoid Geralt. Not at all.

The letters he puts together are swiftly given to Vesemir. His eyebrows shoot up again when he spots one of the names addressed.

“Not a friend I would have expected of you, Pankratz.” Vesemir says quietly. “I hope you know what you are doing.”

Jaskier knows. It is a high risk game for everybody involved, with him in the direct line of fire.

“They will have to make do without me for a while.” Jaskier says quietly. “Or so Eskel tells me.”

“Ah, yes. Might be good to lay low for a while. You are welcome to stay the season with us, if you don’t have anywhere else to go, but we expect you to pull your weight.”

Does he have anywhere? Is he really welcome here?

The way Geralt looks at him sometimes, he is not so sure.

“Thank you. Though I might need to make a trip down to civilization soon. Some more clothes, paper and a lute. What kind of bard am I without a lute?” He asks, half joking.

“It’d be better if we sent down one of our usuals.” Vesemir says, scratching at his beard. “A man like yourself is sure to stand out anywhere in these small settlements.”

Was that a complement?

“Was that a complement?” Jaskier says, smirking, and Vesemir huffs goodnaturedly.

“I can see them looking, bard. I have eyes. And ears.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jaskier asks, frowning, but Vesemir turns to go.

“Write me a list of what you need, and I’ll see what we can do.”

Aubry and Coën leave only a few days after Jaskier had written his list. He doesn’t really expect them to find him a lute, but something stringed to play would be nice. It’s rather likely they would find a 4 stringed lute at most, nothing like the one he smashed over that guard’s head, nor like the one he got from the Elven kind that he keeps safely in Oxenfurt.

Frankly, he’s glad that he couldn’t bring one of his nicer instruments.

The temperature changes could crack the wood, if not treated carefully, and it would be hell to keep that many strings tuned. He is pleasantly surprised when there is a knock on his door, and Geralt steps in with a leather case.

“The boys found you something,” he says by way of greeting, and Jaskier stands from his desk to accept the offered case.

He can feel the corner of his mouth tick up, and he wipes his hands on his trousers first to rid himself of stray ink before he dares touch it.

He grips it by the neck, feeling the smooth wood even through the leather of the case, and the gentle sounds of the strings as they are pinched in his grip.

“Oh, hello there,” he whispers to it, and opens it reverently.

She has six strings and a little care package, and she is terribly out of tune. The wood is old, loved, worn out, and he can see clearly where her previous player liked to put their fingers, the lacquer worn or marked to help the unpracticed one.

“What a beauty you are,” he tells her, and from the corner of his eyes, he sees Geralt leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. It almost looks like he is smiling, but Jaskier won’t turn his head to look.

There is a nervousness in him, like when you get to know a new lover. Excitement, fondness, curiosity.

He sits down on the bed, lute perched in his lap, and attempts to tune it. He fishes out the little tuning fork around his neck, raps it on his knuckles, plucks the matching string, and starts adjusting it.

Geralt makes a face; it’s probably not a nice sound to sensitive ears, but he remains.

“Did you know, it's common lutes have as many as 12 courses?” Jaskier says, turning the peg until it feels right.

“Courses?” Geralt asks.

“Strings. Oh, I might need to get this little darling some new pegs eventually, and that string looks a little worn out. We will fix you up, love.” He coos at the lute, and he hears Geralt huff.

“Doesn’t yours have 13?” Geralt asks, and Jaskier looks up, surprised.

“They do, yes.” Jaskier looks down, and his hands suddenly feel a little clammy, his cheeks warm. “The most I have ever heard of is 35, which is ridiculous. One of my old masters in Oxenfurt has one with 19, but I find those are best suited for academic music, rather than music for the masses.”

Geralt doesn’t say anything else, and when Jaskier looks up, Geralt is smiling.

“What?” He asks, but Geralt just shakes his head.

“Just haven’t talked like this in a while. It’s nice.”

That… is not what he expected him to say. Truth be told, he is still a little hurt. He still hasn't received a proper apology from that outburst from Geralt on the dragon hunt, nor any kind of thanks for just dropping everything to come with him again.

“This is going to take a while,” Jaskier says hesitantly, when Geralt doesn’t say anything else, nor move. “Technically, I should look her over first, then tune, but ah, can’t blame a man for being excited, can you?”

Jaskier looks down, puts his tuning fork back inside his shirt, where it clinks against the ring, and puts both hands on his lute.

“I don’t mind. If you don’t mind me staying.”

This is so weird.

Geralt stays, and listens to Jaskier tuning his new treasure. It takes him almost twenty minutes to see that Geralt is holding another bag, most likely one with the requested clothing.

They will have to wait a little more, as Jaskier is getting into position and putting the lute strap over his shoulder.

His right hand already stings a little, the new skin not used to the sharpness of the strings. Jaskier plays a few scales to get to know her, and to get back into it. He plays a little ditty from his past, humming the familiar nonsense words of the warm up song of his early days in the academy.

They don’t know each other yet, but it feels good to play again.

Just because he can, and because he wants to show off a little, Jaskier decides to test her limits. An old lullaby, embellished by the academics and time, harmonies and contrast ringing out in the room.

He smiles, until his index finger stings, and he hisses and puts it in his mouth.

“You alright?” Geralt asks, sitting up straighter from where he finally was sitting on the chair by Jaskier’s desk.

“‘m good,” Jaskier says around the finger in his mouth. “Just a cut. New skin’s not tough yet.”

He takes the finger out, and inspects it. His fingers are red, and the small cut is bleeding a little more than it should. Even his cuts are dramatic, he hears his teacher say, an echo from a distant past in the back of his mind.

“...New skin?” Geralt asks, face blank, and Jaskier looks up at him. The good atmosphere in the room is changing, and for some reason Jaskier feels like it is his fault. It makes him feel a bit defensive.

“Yes, you know, after the old skin blisters after a bad burn? Haven’t played in some time either, so that probably makes it worse, I suppose.” Jaskier can’t help but prod, to see if Geralt will take notice.

“You didn’t tell me about the burn,” Geralt says, his mouth a thin line.

“You didn’t ask.” Jaskier says, laying both hands flat over the strings, looking at Geralt challengingly. Good mood is all but gone now, and he feels that old bruise makes itself known again. This time he is the one poking it.

“Usually don’t have to.”

“Maybe I got tired of our one sided friendship,” Jaskier says before he can stop himself. Fuck, that is not how he meant to say that.

By the looks of it, Geralt doesn’t take it too well either.

He stands up, staring at Jaskier as if he grew a second head.

“Tired?” He says, hands clenching and unclenching against his sides.

“When was the last time you called me your friend, Geralt?” Jaskier says, starting to get agitated. “When was the last time you asked me something, anything that didn’t directly relate to Yennefer, Ciri, or you needing me to do something? When was the last time you apologized, for anything you have said to me?”

Jaskier stands up and puts the lute down on the bed, lest he does something he regrets too. All the words are pouring out of him now, why risk breaking anything but his own heart?

“Maybe I grew tired of being the only one trying.” He grabs his handkerchief to stop the blood from his finger, clenching his hand hard around it.

“Why are you here then?” Geralt spits, and it’s like a slap.

“I ask myself the same thing every day,” Jaskier shoots back, finding himself taking a step forward. “Why am I here, when clearly nobody wants me to be?”

Geralt stares at him, and Jaskier can’t really tell what that expression is.

“Are you leaving?” Geralt asks through clenched jaws.

“Can’t. Apparently there are consequences for being broken out of jail. Especially when it happens to have been by someone like the White Wolf.”

This time, Geralt visibly flinches.

“Didn’t think about that, did you?” Jaskier says. “I was so glad you found me again, I didn’t give a damn about the consequences. I pretended we could start again, maybe you would want me by your side, walking next to you for once, not just trailing behind like some forlorn fucking puppy.”

Jaskier looks at his bed, looks at the oh so loved lute, that had seen so many sets of hands, every scratch and tear a part of a journey.

“Vesemir has allowed me to stay through the winter. Unless you’ve all got something against that. Let me know, and I’ll be on my way.”

Jaskier wishes he wasn’t in his room. Wishes he could just leave. Instead, he has to stand there like an idiot and wait until either Geralt does, or opens his mouth, for once.

“I didn’t realize…” Geralt begins but trails off.

“That actions have consequences, Geralt? That words do damage too? Did you learn nothing from your entire Butcher experience?”

That is a low blow, and he knows it, but he doesn’t feel like being nice right now.

It’s remarkable that Geralt hasn’t blown up at him yet, which in itself is probably not a very high standard to hold anyone against.

“You are still bleeding,” Geralt says eventually, and Jaskier looks down to see that he’s dropped his handkerchief. The witcher bends down and picks it up, grabbing Jaskier’s hand along the way.

Jaskier is too stunned to protest, and Geralt lifts his hand enough to inspect the cut. It’s not bleeding much anymore, but from where it’s placed, it is likely open easily.

Geralt pinches the tip of Jaskier’s finger with the handkerchief, and Jaskier suddenly flashes back to another room, another time when someone held his hand.

It takes effort not to just yank his hand back, his pulse rising and his palms getting clammy again. Geralt looks at him from under his brow, concerned, but Jaskier pinches his lips shut.

“Will you tell me about it?”

“About what?” Jaskier manages when Geralt breaks the stare to reach for some linen Jaskier has been using as bandages every now and then.

“What I missed this past year. How to be your friend. Where we go from here.”

Geralt makes a tight wrap around his finger, to the best of his ability. Not the best place for a bandage, but at least Geralt has experience.

“I can’t tell you where we go from here, Geralt. If you ask, I can tell you about the months since the dragon hunt, but the rest, you will have to figure out along with me.”

Geralt holds Jaskier’s hand in his for a moment longer, neither of them looking at the other. The witcher’s hand is not much larger than his. With a gentle thumb, Geralt moves Jaskier’s fingers, allowing him to see what the firefucker did to him.

“You and Eskel seem to get along,” Geralt says carefully. “Does he know?”

The corner of Jaskier’s mouth tugs upwards in half a smile. Geralt is fishing, but Jaskier won’t say unless there is an actual question.

“Some. He found a journal of mine that I thought I had hidden.”

Geralt frowns and releases Jaskier’s hand. It drops to his side, and they both just stand there in the middle of the room, looking anywhere but at each other.

“You don’t usually hide your songs.”

“It wasn’t a song book.”

“... Can I see?”

Fuck it, why not. Whatever is happening in this room tonight will change things either way.

The new hiding place isn’t really a hiding place, just the drawer in his desk. He hands Geralt the leather bound pages, and Geralt opens and looks through it.

At first glance, it looks like his economic books. Taking stock of things bought and sold, to who and where.

Geralt glances up at Jaskier, who just nods at the book again.

Flipping a few pages, Geralt starts to make connections. When he looks up at Jaskier again, his face is carefully blank.

“You are the Sandpiper.”

“I am.” Jaskier agrees.

“You smuggled elves out of the big cities.”

“Indeed. Don’t worry, I have taken precautions for if I’m not around.”

If he should be discovered. If he were not to come back.

“Jaskier, you are putting yourself at risk.”

“And so are you, every time you take a contract. Don’t you dare tell me it’s not the same.”

“So it’s for the money?”

Jaskier sniffs, glaring at the witcher.

“No. It’s for the people who don't have anyone else to turn to. Because when they run out of elves, they will find new targets. You can’t tell me you took every contract for the coin, I have seen you accept contracts for half of your rate if they can’t afford it.”

“Is that why your fingers were blistered?” Geralt asks.

“No. That’s… something else. Something I’d rather not talk about tonight, if you don’t mind.”

Jaskier knows that if he does, he will spend the rest of the evening wondering if he gave anything away, wondering where Rience is, who else he is burning because Jaskier got away.

Geralt gives the book back, and Jaskier places it back in the drawer.

“Rest your hand, Jaskier. Heal before you play again.”

The room is strangely empty when Geralt has left.

Jaskier sits on the bed, staring at his hands for a long while, until he finally decides to look at what was in the bag of clothes that Geralt brought, and Jaskier promptly forgot about in favor of the lute.

Looking through it,it seems like Geralt might have added a shirt of his own to Jaskier’s new wardrobe.

He shoves it to the bottom of the pile.

Jaskier doesn’t make it down to dinner that night.

After that day, things slowly progress in small steps.

Everything goes to shit, however, when Voleth Meir makes herself known.

Ciri’s body moves at the possessing demon’s will, and she manages to stab three witchers badly before the alarm is raised.

Yennefer wakes him up, pulling him from a dream into a nightmare. She needs him.

Somehow they always need him.

The powers channeled through Ciri’s small body are strong, destructive.

Jaskier is hiding under a table when a large creature steps through a portal, a creature he has never seen before. It sweeps at the witchers, and Voleth Meir laughs with Ciri’s mouth.

It takes Yennefer tearing open her veins for Voleth Meir to finally let go, for Ciri to free herself from the snares her mind had been tangled in.

With a scream, Ciri, Yennefer and Geralt disappear from view through a portal.

Jaskier sees Lambert land on his back, leg bleeding badly after a swipe from one of the creatures still roaming. He pulls him to the relative safety of his table, and tears his tunic enough to wrap Lambert’s leg.

“Thank you,” Lambert grumbles as he gets his bearings, the commotion in the room making it hard to hear. Jaskier just nods, tying the makeshift bandage off.

Finally, it’s over.

And somehow, Yennefer got her powers back.

The days after are a mess. One of the stabbed witchers doesn’t make it, and Ciri has been hiding in her room, guilt ridden, making herself as small as physically possible.

Geralt tries to coax her out, but he still has too little time, too many things to sort out. With her newly regained magic, Yennefer heals who she can, focusing on major injuries until she almost exhausts herself completely.

All the while, Jaskier is left to his own devices. Again.

Not that there is anything he can actually do for them. He isn’t medically trained, nor does have magical abilities.

It leaves him wondering how he survived the whole ordeal at all, and while he feels lucky about it, there is also a morsel of guilt.

So Jaskier finds himself knocking on Ciri’s door. She is reluctant to let him in, but with some honey cake bribes, she finally relents.

This, he knows. This, he can help with.

A young girl, plagued with guilt and fear, struggling to get a hold of herself and what she did, he knows how to help her.

“Not what you did. What your body did, under someone else's control.” Jaskier reminds her between bites. “I might not have gone through what you have, but I know what it is like to feel helpless. Fear and expectations don’t mix well, especially not when a murderous witch is involved.”

They talk a lot, mostly Ciri actually, and maybe they cry a little. After they finish their stolen cakes, and Jaskier has sworn not to tell Lambert, Jaskier brings out his lute to let Ciri play.

It seems she has a basic knowledge, plucking out the chords of a famous love song.

Sadly, not one that Jaskier had written, but at least it wasn’t one of Valdo Marx’s. Which he tells her.

And then she proceeds to play one of Marx’s love songs.

When Geralt finally joins them, Jaskier is chasing a giggling Ciri, who is hugging the lute close, calling her a traitor and a terrible little child, cursing Valdo for tainting her poor, innocent ears.

The first day Ciri dares to join them for breakfast, she hides behind Geralt. Both Yennefer and Jaskier hover, ready to step in between if anyone has anything to say.

They don’t.

Lambert is the first one to approach, bandage and limp both gone, Jaskier notes. He sits opposite of Geralt and Ciri, slamming his plate down, his fork rattling down across the table.

“Hey, it happens. What is a little mind control between friends?” is all he says, then digs into his food with the worst table manners Jaskier has seen in a while.

The tension breaks when Jaskier starts berating him for it, and is met with a mouthful of food telling him exactly where he can stuff his manners.

Ciri smiles when Eskel settles next to her, bumping their arms together.

The others make a toast to the lion cub among the wolves, the one who finally found a way to shut Lambert up. Even if it was by challenging him to stuff his mouth full enough to almost choke.

The first snow falls not long after.

The last letter has been sent, the last visit to the village by the foot of the mountains has been made, and those witchers unwilling to be stuck for the season have left.

It is colder than a grave hag’s asshole, as Eskel declares one day, with Coën immediately wanting to know why he knows that piece of information.

“I am a man of science,” Eskel grins and winks, and Lambert almost spits out his mead.

Ciri and Yennefer are slowly bonding, their first lessons taking place by the giant lake below the keep.

Jaskier takes care of his lute, works on new material, and with Vesemir and Eskel’s help, looks for new routes for the Sandpiper to take.

Geralt finds him more often now, seeking out his company rather than just tolerating it.

For a moment, Jaskier had expected him and Yennefer to fall back into bed as soon as the air was cleared, but if they have, they never said.

Instead, Yennefer spends more and more time with Ciri, trying to work out ways to control her power when they realize just how strong the young girl already is.

Sometimes they all do things all together.

They go ice skating.

They lose a snowball fight, pelted until they yell for mercy.

Jaskier finally learns of the hot springs, much to his outrage.

“You mean I could have dipped into preheated water all along?!” he yells, waving his arms around dramatically, and is rewarded when Ciri snickers, and Geralt bites down a smile.

It makes something in his chest soar.

The walls from the past year are slowly being torn down.

Deliberately so, in fact.

Piece by piece, Jaskier decides to let Geralt in.

It’s not perfect. It’s painful and it’s terrifying to let himself be open to hope again, to trust that there is friendship this time.

When Geralt learns about the firefucker, he is gone for an entire day.

Jaskier has no idea where he went, and he is feeling terribly vulnerable after talking about it, hands shaking and heart racing. Yennefer finds him outside her workroom, and she pulls him inside, cursing Geralt all the way.

“Let him sulk,” she says. “If he can make a hardship his fault, he will. When he gets his head out of his ass, he’ll come back.”

Later that night, Jaskier hears Yennefer rip Geralt a new one for leaving like that, when Jaskier clearly was shaken up and shouldn’t have been left alone.

Ciri learns about the firefucker days after, and angry tears roll down her cheeks when she realizes what Jaskier went through for her, even before they met.

They sit on the bridge outside the gates, feet dangling over the edge. The air is cold enough for their breath to fog, and Ciri’s slightly damp hair to freeze.

Jaskier thumbs her tears away and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“The whole world could be at my heels, and I would do it all again to keep you safe.”

“Sometimes, I just want the world to burn.” Ciri whispers, and Jaskier tucks her into his side.

Geralt calls him his friend now.

It’s good.

Jaskier gets to borrow a horse, and they go out riding in the snow around the keep. They argue about whose turn it is to do the laundry, and who is the worse cook.

When the window to Jaskier’s room breaks for reasons Lambert and Ciri swear up and down they know nothing about, Geralt simply moves him into his own.

The bed is wide enough for the both of them, which makes Jaskier think of who else might have shared it before him, but he pushes that thought down.

It has no place here, nothing to stand on.

They actually interact less after sharing a room, both of them needing their own space during the day.

They learned that after a vicious fight, where Geralt found all Jaskier’s sore spots once again and pounced.

“Do you ever tire of your own voice?!” he asked nastily, and that shut Jaskier right up.

He slept in the main hall for three days, until Geralt actually apologized.

After that first apology, the rest came a little easier.

They talked about what happened on the mountain. They talked about Jaskier’s past, and Geralt confessed that sometimes, since way before the dragon hunt, he thought Jaskier was only following him for the stories, for the fame it brought him.

It was Jaskier’s turn to apologize, for not seeing that, for not respecting privacy and boundaries set. He realizes he might have been blind to Geralt’s reactions to his songs, distracted with the fame their association granted them.

“But,” Jaskier says,”Not once would I have left you, even if you never lifted your sword ever again.”

To this, Geralt admits to how he always expects to be abandoned, or to be left behind.

“The thought of you leaving, or dying, it’s terrifying. I don’t think I could piece myself together again. So I left first.”

It’s like a kick in the chest, when Jaskier realizes.

That is the first night they actually sleep close on purpose. Geralt is a nasty little blanket thief, but Jaskier makes due by simply curling in close.

Midwinter comes, and a new year grows on the horizon. Darkness grants them a perfect view of the stars above, and the snow a blanket to let the world sleep.

Jaskier still is not allowed to join them on hunting trips, but he is getting good with a bow, under Vesemir’s sharp eyes.

Another sleepless night, another early morning, at the first light of dawn, when the first rays find their way through the dirty windows of Geralt’s room, that is when Jaskier dares to press a kiss to Geralt’s forehead.

Convinced that the witcher is asleep, he leans on his elbow, tracing a wild strand of hair behind his ear. It’s a quick kiss, dry lips against warm skin, making Jaskier’s entire body ache.

This is why he feared bringing down those walls. This is why he withstood the bruises, an armor to keep his heart at bay.

He doesn’t expect Geralt to open his eyes and gaze up at him. Doesn’t expect Geralt to wrap a hand around his neck and pull him down, pressing a kiss of his own to Jaskier’s forehead.

Resting against Geralt’s chest, Jaskier draws in a shaking breath.

“Ask me, Geralt.” He whispers into the dawning day.

“Do you love me?” Geralt whispers back, arms tightening around Jaskier’s back, pulling him closer.

“I do.” His voice wavers, eyes stinging. “Where do we go from here?”

“Wherever we want to. We’ll figure it out.”

“Geralt?”

“Hm?”

“Do you…?”

Jaskier doesn’t dare ask. Too scared of the question, even more scared of the answer.

Instead of replying, Geralt rolls them over.

Now he is the one leaning on his elbows, hovering inches from Jaskier. They are so close, he can feel every breath Geralt takes, see the pulse jump in his throat.

Instead of replying, Geralt kisses him.

A surprisingly chaste kiss, lingering and soothing and earth shattering and heart wrenching.

“I do.” Geralt whispers finally, lips brushing together. “Whatever that will do to us, I do.”

Come spring and the first visit to the village below the mountain, Vesemir finds him with ten envelopes and a small box.

The box is a set of strings and pegs and lute varnish they couldn’t get before the pass closed this winter. Most of the letters are from Pricilla, updating him on what is going on in Oxenfurt and the Sandpiper network, all well coded.

Jaskier realizes he can’t stay anymore.

The world around them is growing ever more restless and chaotic, and the only way to be prepared is to be out there.

Parting with Geralt is harder than it ever was before.

Being alone is dangerous, but being with them is even more so.

He has an organization to run. Stories to tell. Lies to spread.

During the winter, Jaskier came to realize how he can make a difference. On the road, with a lute on his back, in inns and taverns, the way he always did.

As they part, on a crossroad that finally will lead them to part, they stand next to new Roach and Pegasus, arms wrapped around each other and foreheads pressed together.

“Ask me,” Jaskier whispers.

“Won’t you tell me?” Geralt whispers back, making Jaskier huff and smile.

“I won’t make it that easy for you, witcher.” He teases, and Geralt steals a kiss, humming softly into it.

“So I’ll have to come find you then, and ask you to tell me again.” Geralt mumbles against his lips.

Jaskier will hold him to that.

Words held back until they meet again.

The road is long, and full of dangers.

Jaskier hopes it will lead him to Kaer Morhen once more.

118 notes · View notes

honeystwiggypeach · 2 years

Note

hi i hope you dont mind but if you're not that busy is it okay if you write this? huhu thank you!

reader telling jjk men (geto, gojo, nanami, toji, choso) that they are preggo and they've been trying for a few years already and are already thinking of surrogacy. please please please this can be months after they have a miscarriage too!

a rainbow baby! 😭

Hi hon!!! Sorry this came so late I got a bit caught up with school than my mom and aunts wanted to have dinner so that’s what I did today! Tysm for the request! I try to remain as respectful as possible when I write requests like this or about sensitive topics so pls tell me if I misphrase or say anything poorly so I can correct it!!

Ps. I didn’t do choso because idk his personality well and I don’t know if I’m confident in writing him😭

Tw- mentions of past miscarriages, rainbow baby, infertility, surrogacy, anything mentioned in the request, grief, (in Geto’s people besides parents try and explain death and miscarriage to the twins so reader gets upset)in gojos the pregnancy is both unplanned and not known about, birth, pregnant reader if your uncomfortable with anything relating to loosing a child/pregnancy I advise that you do not read this one! Pls let me know if I missed anything!!

Geto

He took it hard, he loved the twins with his whole heart he truly did but he missed having babies to look after, maybe it was just baby fever but he felt like your little family wasn’t quite complete.

Unfortunately when you’d found the missing piece, it didn’t work out, unfortunately in your second trimester you had miscarried. You and Geto were both devastated, and everyone for a while everyone treated the two of you as ticking time bombs ready to explode at any moment.

The girls didn’t quite understand, they knew that they were supposed to have a sibling soon and now they weren’t going to but that was it, they couldn’t comprehend it yet and the amount of times you both had to stop people from explaining it to them horrified you.

This time when you’d fallen pregnant, you decided that maybe you two should keep this one a bit secret just in case, so when you’d first told Geto it was in the safety of your bedroom you’d sat beside him your hands behind your back before quickly pulling out the test.

“Are you serious” his voice is a bit quiet as it crackles.

You were his only weak spot, of course besides his children…but of course he would never let you know that…not like it was obvious or anything. He practically sobs when you give him a little nod, he lets out the same quiet muffled sobbing noise when he sees his son for the first time laid on your chest.

Gojo

Honestly it hurt you a lot. His family was really into the idea of you carrying a biological heir, but sometimes it felt like you just weren’t capable of doing so. Honestly you’d started to even look into surrogacy because you couldn’t handle all the unfortunate things that continued to happen every time you would even talk about pregnancy.

When you’d been getting intense abdominal cramps you decided maybe you shouldn’t test it and checked yourself into the hospital, where you found out you were in labour, within the hour Gojo had arrived to see you sat up in the hospital bed with the cutest little baby girl laid on your chest. You smile dazedly as he stares down at the two of you in wonder.

“She’s real” he whispers as he touches the little fluffy whisper of hair she has. His fingers just barely graze her scalp and she scrunches and thats what triggers his tears.

Nanami

It was just bad news after bad news, it was beginning to feel like maybe you shouldn’t have a baby at all. Of course when Nanami had heard you mutter this one night after you’d talked about trying for a baby again, he smiled guiltily, “if this doesn’t work there’s surrogacy or even adoption” he knows that you don’t want either of those, you want what everyone else is able to have, he can hear the way you cry in the bathroom after another negative test about how unfair it is and how cruel the world can be.

But this time there’s no crying no shouts of how unfair it is, there’s silence and Nanami at first thinks you’ve fallen and hurt yourself but when he hears your squeal he knows that isn’t the case.

He pushes the door open softly to see you holding the test you smile up at him as you show him the two little pink lines, “it’s positive” you tell him and it takes a moment to register but when it does he’s got a wide smile as he bends down softly peppering kisses along your face.

Toji

He was rather reserved already but after you’d lost the baby, it became worse. Toji not only was reserved but he was reclusive, not eating dinner with you and Megumi not even greeting you anymore.

He’d come out at night and creep around the house to avoid seeing you two, he didn’t understand how to process the loss and had resorted to cutting off the world while he grieved.

One of these nights however he’s not quiet enough and you flicker on the lights, Toji is stood over the sink as he chugs down tap water.

“Toji” you call out, “Will you come to bed?” And when he lays down beside you it feels like heaven. He’s wrapped in your warm embraces as you whisper soft reassurances he doesn’t tell you that your comfort and soft touch made him cry long after you fell asleep.

Almost a year after that, you’d fallen pregnant, and Megumi was the one to help you tell him as he pranced around the house all day in a tee shirt that said big brother on it.

Honestly it was adorable and you loved seeing little Megumi be so happy when his dad furrowed his brows holding his boy up by the armpits to get a good look at what his shirt said glancing down to your belly than back to Megumi before his eyes meet yours.

“You’re serious?” He asks still holding up Megumi.

You give him a little nod paired with a nervous giggle and he sets Megumi down softly going over to hug you as Megumi continues to stomp around the kitchen.

If anyone wants to see anything else pls let me know!! Omg guys!!! Do you want to see reader and maybe like teen Megumi?(reader is with Toji, but maybe like reader being a mom figure to Megumi and while he’s got a fever he unintentionally calls her mama, which he hadn’t done since he was really young?? And Toji like hugging reader a bit when she cries because she misses him being a baby and being affectionate???? I’m gonna sob someone request it pls???)

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courtney-deserved-better · 5 months

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seeing as it’s now been one year since the last chapter of slippery slopes was posted, i decided to make a big sappy post talking about what this fic has meant to me over the last two and a half years

i started writing slippery slopes after a bolt of inspiration struck me on this post. i’d tried writing my fair share of long fics prior, most of them remaining unpublished and all of them unfinished. i’m not quite sure what made me think i could write slippery slopes other than a strong desire to write the alenoah fic i wanted to read but that didn’t exist at the time. slippery slopes was the 30th fic posted in the alenoah tag, which didn’t have any finished long fics at the time. i think if you told 2021 pj that in two years there would be over 600 alenoah fics, many of them tdwt rewrites, their head would explode.

i honestly had no idea what i was jumping into when i started writing slippery slopes. looking back, i was very insecure about my writing. i’d actually forgotten about that until i was reading some posts i’d made while i was still writing it, where i wondered if i was going to be able to pull off the miscommunication plotline and the unplanned alecourtney friendship. almost every announcement of a chapter draft being completed included me saying i felt weird about it, or thought it was bad. i felt incredibly uncomfortable writing serious angst and when that started playing an important role in the fic at around chapter seven i feared that my writing was awful and other people would dislike it the way i had. i genuinely don’t think it hit me that slippery slopes was a popular fic until a few months before it became the most kudosed fic on ao3.

back then, i was able to understand why other people liked slippery slopes, but i couldn’t read it without cringing. i’m not sure when exactly the switch flipped—probably after i finally finished it and was able to distance myself from the writing process—but it became a fic that i’m incredibly proud of. i can reread it now and enjoy it without cringing in the slightest. i was able to see my writing as good, and well-crafted. i will always appreciate slippery slopes as a fic where i grew incredibly as a writer. i understand how to plan out long fics while still allowing for spontaneity. i can comfortably write angst. i feel strong in my choices for characterization and friendship even if it may seem unconventional. i have so much more confidence in my writing now, and a lot of that is thanks to you all.

other than desperately wanting an alenoah tdwt rewrite fic, a huge part of why i wrote slippery slopes was because i felt lonely in the td fandom and was hoping that this fic could connect me with more people out there. and boy oh boy it sure has. and not just the plethora of alenoah shippers—way more than i expected—but there were also people who didn’t ship alenoah, but still stayed for the story, and people who had never considered alenoah but gave my fic a chance and ended up shipping it anyway. when i didn’t believe my writing was good, there were many, many kind commenters who showed my fic love and encouraged me to keep going with it. and even now, there are commenters whose fresh excitement make me feel like all the time i spent on this fic was so, so worth it. and they all inspire me to keep writing.

i may be a good writer, but i don’t think i can ever fully express what everyone’s support has done for me. i still struggle to wrap my mind around the fact that there are dozens of drawings of my fic that you all have made! that’s crazy! i am so, so lucky to have such wonderful readers, and i hope you all know how incredibly grateful i am. slippery slopes would not exist without you. this was a joint effort. it’s amazing to me how a spontaneously started fic for a crackship ended up changing the total drama fandom landscape the way it did. who would’ve guessed that a simple whim to write an alenoah fic could become quite the slippery slope.

#slippery slopes #alenoah #my fic

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scorpsik · 1 month

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TWENTY FIVE

For Farscape's anniversary.

Lordy, I haven't written for Farscape in a decade.

Written completely live and unplanned right now.

TWENTY FIVE

She closed her eyes and inhaled. The air was stale - staler than she remembered - but it was familiar; Moya's familiar scent. She traced gloved fingers over the walls, feeling where Moya was smooth and soft. It had been a long time - a quarter of one of John Crichton's centuries. Not that time meant much to her. Not anymore, at least.

Time. Cycles. Years.

Her body had been dying, slowly, over these past years. After Grunchlk had turned her over to the Scarrans... well, one couldn't complain, she supposed. After all, at the time, she had been a living bomb. But not anymore. Once the Scarrans had carved that piece of her away, she was... well... she no longer knew what she was. A shell. A husk.

Yes, she was a shell, a house for various organs and such, but she herself? Sikozu figured that her essence was stripped away along with her radium. She wondered whether Moya felt like a shell at times too? She dipped her head against Moya's surface and whispered her question in Leviathan.

She stumbled, and strong arms caught her. She looked up in surprise, her brain still very much unused to company; to caring.

"Hey. You okay?" John's eyes were still blue, but they seemed much clearer now that he had aged. They were paler, and a little watery - but much like Moya, they were familiar.

She nodded silently, her voice still unused to speaking.

"You don't fool me, you know." John said, his voice deeper and richer with years.

Sikozu felt a smile on her lips. A smile? Maybe it was a grimace? She couldn't tell any longer.

"It was lucky we found you..." John was saying.

"You blew up a minor Scarran planetoid." she pointed out, her empty eye socket sending dead signals to nothing.

"Oh, that?" John shrugged.

"That."

"How long had you been there?"

Sikozu sighed. That cell had ben home for so long. "Since we last saw one another."

John frowned. "What did they do to you?"

"Everything." She turned her eyes to his. "Why did you bring me back here? I thought you would have wanted me dead?"

John huffed. "Even Aeryn went off that idea a decade ago. Besides, it looks as though the Scarrans tried pretty hard."

"They succeeded."

"Say what?"

Sikozu sighed. "You really are an obtuse Human."

"Sue me."

"I am dying, John. My life expectancy is almost up."

John stopped her from walking away. "Are you ill?"

Another sigh. "I am a bioloid. I have a programme, and that programme ha been voided. I am just waiting for my circuitry to shut down."

"How long do you have?"

"Less than a cycle." She paused and fixed him with one pure green eye. "I am glad you blew them up."

John nodded. As the fireball ebbed, he saw her - Sikozu - floating in space. He remembered that feeling; the feeling of space crushing his lungs and robbing him of air, and he took a pod and pulled her in without a second thought. Even Aeryn stopped arguing with him one she saw the state of their treacherous friend.

"You can drop me at the nearest planetoid."

John scoffed. "No way, Jose. You're staying. You're in no fit state to be out there alone."

"I betrayed you." she pointed out.

"Hell, have you forgotten who we are? We've all betrayed each other here. That doesn't mean we dump our friends."

"We weren't friends." Sikozu whispered.

"No. We're family."

ScorpSik x

#fanfiction #farscape #sikozu #john crichton

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cloudibunni · 10 months

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183/365 Cream Completing a Level !

Half way through the year post part 2! I tried on the ring lmao, it was unplanned so spare me some slack 😭.

Anyways I miss playable Cream, I wonder if Sega will ever do anything with her again :’)

#acreamaday2023 #doodle #sketch #cream the rabbit #my art

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velvetcloxds · 2 years

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CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT | S.B

Pairing: rockstar!sirius black x fem!reader

Warnings: none that I can think of

Word count: 2k words

Summary: in which sirius black falls in love with the very girl whose heart he had to help rebuild after his best friend broke it

A/n: part 2 of come back... be here, part of my taylor swift songfics series- literally so excited that this is finally finished

Sirius’ hands were entirely respectful as they held you against his chest, the group paying the gesture no mind as it was hardly an unfamiliar notion, if it were not his arms that surrounded you, it would have been Remus’ and if not his, it might have been James’ had things not taken such an odd turn a few years back. Now, however, Lily was the one that laid enclosed by the material of a plaid blanket against the curly-haired man’s side while Remus strummed unrehearsed on Sirius’ acoustic guitar- he created a senseless melody, filling the room with a carefree daze of notes flooding into the atmosphere.

It seemed like decades passed since the last time you were all in a room together, everything and nothing had changed all at once, some rather obvious such as the rings that sparkled on the couple’s fingers or the university pamphlets that poked out the pockets of that same old blazer Remus wore out of habit more than comfort. Unknown to almost everyone, or so you hoped, was the most notable change of all, you and Sirius. It had been a very unplanned turn of events for both of you, after helping you get over your feelings for James it seemed highly unlikely that you could feel that way for anyone ever again, but Sirius Black had a way of surprising you.

“Man, I can’t believe you own this place,” James noted, eyes wondering over the interior of the little bar that Sirius had bought a year after leaving Hogwarts, though the money to acquire it had his family’s name all over it, this place was entirely his, not a hint of the Blacks on any preface of it.

“It’s a quint little space,” Remus teased with a half smirk, looking up from his moving fingers to witness the exaggerated eye roll offered to him by the topic of conversation, your lips tilting into a smile as you shift against Sirius’ body to look up at him, a little squeeze to your waist indicating that he sees you.

“Oh, we’re all very proud of our little property owner,” you mused, the group laughing softly in agreement. “Who thought we’d ever witness the day that Sirius Black finally grew up to be a big boy,” you added, and your grace had passed by the time Sirius placed his drink down onto the floor, smirking as you jumped to your feet.

“Watch yourself, trouble,” he warned, sitting back against the stage, watching with sparkling eyes as you collected the empty beer bottles, making quite a show of your distant steps as you shifted around the scattered cushions that were stolen from broken barstools for the group to sit on. “I know where you live,” he mused and shook his head when you stuck your tongue out as a reply before scurrying off into the back to retrieve more of the good beer from his hidden stash.

Sirius missed the pairs of eyes that followed his every move once it was only the four of them, Remus’ strumming coming to a halt while he watched his friend pull a cigarette from his pocket, attention still far from the room as he listened to you singing one of the songs he’d performed during his set.

“Pads,” James began, looking at Remus for confirmation to continue before moving his body and Lily’s into a more functional position.

“What?” Sirius hummed, pausing with the unlit cigarette between his lips when he found everyone to be looking at him, instantly sighing when he realized where this was heading. “I don’t want to hear it,” he defended instantly, waving a hand in the air before making a motion to demand Remus give him a lite.

“Well, you’re going to,” Lily was the one to speak, pushing herself away from James to steal the lighter from Remus before Sirius could get it. “Sirius Black, you’re either completely blind or dafter than I realized because that girl is so in love with you it’s sickening,” the utter bluntness of her statement took Sirius by surprise, the scoff from his lips coming out breathless as he looked away.

“You’re as subtle as ever, Evans,” he sighed and shook his head as he turned back to find a satisfied smile on her lips. “And wrong, for that matter,” he defended simply, shrugging, attempting to convince himself more than anyone else as he heard the familiar string of profanities echo from the back, a result of you walking right into that broken corner of the bottom shelf he refused to fix. “It’s not like that, we’re friends.”

“No, we’re friends,” James budded in with a tut, stealing the cigarette from the rocker’s lips before flicking it across the room. “And you’ve never looked at me like that.”

“Oh yeah? You jealous, Prongs?” James was about to answer, prepared to give the argument of his life about why he thought you two were perfect for each other, how he wanted more than anything for you to be happy with someone who loved you the way he wished he could back at Hogwarts, but he was interrupted by the sight of you stumbling back into the bar, smiling bashfully as Sirius jumped up to take the sixpack of beers from your hands.

“You have to fix that counter, Siri,” you breathed, falling right back into his lap when he guided you down with him, huffing hair out of your face as he used his rings to open your bottle. “I’ve got a bruise to remember every visit by now.”

“Good,” he smirked, stealing a sip from your drink before handing it to you with a wink. “Don’t want you forgetting me when you’re out there on the other side of the world,” you scrunched your nose at that, thankful that Remus started playing again, less you’d have noticed the long, painfully obvious looks that James and Lily were giving you.

The night ended far sooner than anyone wanted, planes to be caught and dreams to be followed, and before you knew it you were wiping the steam from the half-broken mirror in Sirius’ bathroom, fighting a smile as you gripped the towel around your body, realizing quite quickly that your plans to stay at a hotel were null and void.

Sirius placed a glass of whiskey down on the bedside table, making sure you noticed the way his eyes traveled over your bare legs before returning his attention to the notebook in his hand. There was an absent smile dancing on your lips as you sauntered towards him, stilling next to him as he reached over to offer his glass to you.

“All freshened up?” he mused, smirk evident in his voice as he scribbled some words onto the page, thoughtlessly moving his feet to the music floating about the little makeshift bedroom, knowing that you’d soon enough pick up on the specific record he’d chosen.

“Couldn’t help but notice that my clothes were missing,” you noted, humming softly as you sipped at the cold liquid, reveling in the familiar taste and smell that never failed to remind you of the very man sitting all too comfortably waiting for you.

“Strange,” he shrugged, closing the notebook to meet your waiting gaze, eyes ambling down your body as soon as he had the chance, appreciating the familiar sight of his shirt draped on you. “Found a nice replacement?”

“Decent enough,” you teased, and he shook his head, retaking the drink from your hands to steal a rather large slip. “I wasn’t planning on staying the night, Siri,” you informed him, ignoring the way your cheeks heated up at the lie, knowing you’d never say no to spending more time with him, knowing that you were already considering what he’d make you for breakfast. “Move over,” you demanded as if giving in to some imaginary fight that was never had because why on earth would you say no to his silent demand?

“Thought so,” he noted and was more than willing to leave his arms open for your body, hand falling to your upper thigh when you moved your leg over his, always hesitant to give in but more than willing to be enveloped by him once you did. “Did you enjoy yourself?” he demanded with a gentle hum, instantly drifting into a comfortable state with you so close to him, rings cold against your bare skin as he brushed his hand up and down your leg, other hand moving stray hairs from your face to see you, smiling to himself at how peaceful you looked.

“Yeah,” you breathed, reaching over to steal his hand from your face, fiddling with his fingers, not entirely sure why but he didn’t mind, happily watching you shift his rings around in place, kissing the metal in between thoughts. “Was nice seeing everyone again,” you continued, smiling when you noticed he was staring, he always was, could never get enough of you like this, in his bed, in his clothes- was enough to rob him of all sanity, but that innocent smile restored his senses, he was reminded instead how right Lily Evans was- reminded how much he truly did love you.

“Will you stay?” he asked suddenly, surprising you, a confused scoff meeting his ears as you looked up at him through your lashes, trying to understand.

“I’m already in your bed, Siri, what more do you want?” you attempted, heart racing purely at the way his eyes surveyed your own, as if he was trying to tell you what his words couldn’t, what his heart begged him not to- he realized once again how utterly terrifying it must’ve been when you told James how you felt- his own heart was racing now, running away from him as you moved to sit up, hovering over him in a way you’d done many times before so he had no idea why it had him this nervous. “You okay?” you worried, moving a hand to his neck, frowning at the rabid beat that drummed against your fingers.

“Stay,” he repeated, leaning into your hand as it moved up his face, cupping his cheek- he had to stop himself from closing his eyes, groaning lightly at the soft gesture that affected his whole body. “For good,” he explained, and your eyes largened at the realization, stiffening when his hands gripped your waist.

“You mean?” you were breathless, not thinking as you moved your thumb over his cheek, soothing him, soothing you. “People will talk, rockstar,” you hummed, and he scoffed, tightening his hold as if you’d bolt out of reach and maybe you would’ve if he was anyone else, but he wasn’t, he was Sirius- your Sirius.

“Let them talk,” he shrugged, and you giggled lightly, hell what else could you do when the man you loved was laying under you, looking at you like that, asking you that- it was enough to make you doubt reality, doubt your consciousness but it was real, and you had no idea how to take it.

“Okay,” you concurred, shrugging as well as you looked down at him, gaze dazed, dreamlike as the world tried to fall back into place around you, shifting out under your feet as you smiled at him in complete obliviousness- complete oblivion right in his eyes, dancing on his lips, “Now you kiss me,” you noted, nodding lightly as you pushed down onto his bottom lip with your finger, knowing it would push him to do it.

“Is that what you want, trouble?” he teased though he was holding himself back in order to do so, stopping himself from giving into you completely as he had been doing for every second of every day since seventh year.

��To begin with.”

harry potter taglist: @mirclealignr @moonbcrry @oliverwoodmarrymepls @saintlike78 @cupids-crystals @scarlet-prey @fandom-life-12 @natashxromanovf @justreadingficsdontmindme @alexxavicry @lillytoyourjames @murdockcastleslut @onyourgoddamnleft @eichenhouseproperty @wrathspoet

#sirius black #sirius black fic #sirius black one shot #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius x reader #sirius x you #sirius black x yn #sirius black fluff #sirius black drabble #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #marauders x reader #marauders era #marauders fluff #marauders imagine

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charmercharm3r · 2 years

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Can You Blame Me

HJS

Masterlist

wc: 10.6k

Synopsis: It doesn’t matter how many times you tell him you’re leaving him, he’ll always be at your feet. And you know it.

warnings: smut, switch!jisung, switch!reader, sexual explicit content, cheating, unprotected sex, face sitting, ass slapping, coming untouched, good ole' rough turned soft in bed type of thing, let me know if I missed anything else!

Part 7 of my 8 part series based off the album, “It Was Good Until It Wasn’t” by Kehlani, where each member of Stray Kids will have a song dedicated to them and whatever toxic relationship I can come up with.

Jisung hates you. Always has and doesn’t think he’ll ever stop hating you.

He hates your cheerful attitude, your shiny hair that bounces and reflects the sunlight, your sweet voice that he can somehow pinpoint from across the room every. Single. Time. He hates how you never seem to have a frown on your face and how quick you are to help anyone that needs it. He hates the halo of white that never dulls no matter how many insults he throws at you, how you never get mad at him for it and never insult him back. He hates you with his entire being. But mostly, Jisung hates that all the things he despises about you is what he wishes he were. It was just a trick of luck that he’s also head over heels in love with you, not that he’ll ever verbally admit it.

Your paths seemed to cross rather often, completely unplanned. Working in the university’s library coffee shop meant you ran into loads of other students, however, Jisung had a regular routine that somehow aligned with your work schedule perfectly. He’d attend his first morning music theory class, catch the shuttle across campus to the library where he’d order his usual iced coffee, talk shit with his least favorite barista– you– then take a nap on the fourth floor until his alarm woke him from his slumber for his next lecture.

Neither you know how the banter started, you didn’t think you treated him any differently from other customers. Looking back, Jisung assumes he was having a bad day and your perkiness just rubbed him the completely wrong way and stuck with him ever since. You’d picked up on his lack of friendliness towards you rather late, not realizing some of the things he’d say under his breath and you accidentally heard was meant to bruise your ego, so you’d reply with something funnily sarcastic. Jisung would give you a strange look and walk away wondering if you were purposefully killing him with kindness or just flat out the densest person he’d ever met.

Today didn’t feel any different when the early afternoon came around and Jisung sulkily walked into the library cafe. You weren’t working the cash register this time but rather actually making the drinks and handing them off. The other barista taking his order didn’t realize he was a regular, having to actually remember his order and read it off to her made him stutter, “er– large iced– something? I think– uhm–”

“Large iced americano with an extra blonde shot,” you’d said over your shoulder to the cashier. Jisung’s eyes went wide upon hearing your voice, not realizing he was staring. “Don’t worry. I got you, you big brooding wolf.” When you shot a wink in his direction, he’d almost crumbled completely. He couldn’t find it in him to respond, hastily sticking his card into the reader to pay and shuffling into a corner to hide.

It annoyed Jisung beyond the comprehension of words, he was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t hear you call out his name to pick up his drink. In fact, he’d taken several minutes to even realize that it was ready. Finally coming up to get it, you were no longer there. Jisung had wanted to at least tease you for being so obsessed with him that you had his order memorized and he couldn’t even do that. He was about to leave when he noticed something scribbled on the side of the cup.

Your phone number and the dorkiest (cutest) smiley face he’d ever seen was drawn beside it. Jisung almost crushed the cup in his hand when from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of you leaving the library. With no plan, no idea what he was going to say, he ran to catch up to you. There was a sudden rush of people entering while he was trying to exit and almost lost sight of you.

You weren’t stupid. You’d known that Jisung wasn’t serious about any of the degrading and– probably– mean things he’d say. Something was telling you he did it to get a rise out of you, doing that thing that school boys did because they had a crush on a girl and didn’t know how to deal with the feelings that came with it. So you’d let it slide, let him talk down to you and hopefully make him see that no matter how often he did it, you didn’t care. Nevertheless, he was still attractive as fuck. There was no denying that Jisung was hot and he knew it, which is why it became even more fun of a game to not let him see you sweat.

The tables turned today, you caught him off guard and took advantage of that. It could’ve gone one of two ways, he’d text you or he’d run in the opposite direction.

Unfortunately, it didn’t go like either of the two. You’d left in such a hurry after seeing him read your phone number on his cup that you didn’t realize he was chasing after you. Slipping through the crowd was easy, but you weren’t prepared to be run over with a bulldozer in the process.

Jisung fought against the current trying to reach you, just as he’d caught a break and dashed your way, someone cut him off. He lost his footing and crashed into you like a freight train. You were shoved forward and landed face first into the grass, all the while Jisung’s entire body weight crushed you beneath him. He didn’t even have the grace to save his coffee, tossing it somewhere nearby as he became a human boulder. As soon as he’d realized what just happened, Jisung clambered off of you and rushed to help you up.

“Oh– oh my god– oh my– this is not how I wanted this to go–” he slurred his words together in a hurry, the adrenaline making him lift you from the grass with little to no effort and dust the dirt off your clothes.

In all honesty, you were fine. Winded, sure, but other than that, unharmed. You couldn’t help but let this dark and gloomy man dressed head to toe in black readjust your outfit and get rid of any signs that he may have just shoved you into the floor. It was rather endearing. With no words, you just stared at him with delighted eyes.

“I– I’m sorry– seriously, I’ll pay for your laundry. Do you live on campus? I’ll wash them for you. Are you okay? Did I hurt you too badly? Shit, I’m sor–”

He rambled, pulling a loose leaf from your hair when you finally grabbed his forearms to make him stop. “I’m okay,” you smiled nicely. Jisung took a moment to reboot, short circuiting under your gaze before tugging away from your grasp.

“Yeah, well– serves you right. Getting in my way like that,” he cleared his throat and dusted off his own pants. Rolling your eyes, you reached down to pick up the now empty coffee cup and shove it into his chest, walking in the direction you were originally going.

For the second— third, fourth(?)— time that day, Jisung stuttered. He’d blinked away his confusion and followed. You weren’t walking very fast, nor looking back to see if he’d come after you, but he still felt his face growing hot at the idea of having a normal conversation outside of the cafe. So he walked next to you in silence, looking down at you occasionally and catching a few milliseconds of you looking back before his shyness got the best of him and turned away. Without thinking of anything but your presence beside him, he’d tossed the empty cup into a trashcan in passing, finally mustering enough courage to speak. “I’m not brooding.”

“No, brooding is too nice,” you tilted your head up at him, a sly smirk curling the corners of your lips. The sun made your lipgloss glint, looking just that much plumper. How had he never realized how much you blush? The prettiest dusty pink tinted the tops of your cheeks and glowed under the natural light.

“I can be sweet,” was all he could come up with.

“Really?” Stopping dead in your tracks, you raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah.”

Something had shifted in him, you could see it in the way he couldn’t look anywhere but between your eyes and lips, flittering and quick. He was no longer giving you the cold shoulder, but rather leaning in every time you spoke. But for some reason, this just made you want to tease him more. “What, no snarky come back? Not gonna make me pay for your spilled drink?”

Hundreds of scenarios played out in Jisung’s mind. He hated how even when you were taunting him, you said it in such a polite manner. He wanted to (gently) strangle you, call you stupid for assuming that he’d automatically be a jerk. But he also wanted to kiss you and call you (lovingly) dumb for thinking he’d ever truly mean the rude things he says. “Actually, I want to show you something. Are you free later tonight?”

His invitation took you just as aback as you had to him earlier at the cafe. Jisung smiled triumphantly at your sudden loss for words. Swallowing the lump in your throat and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you said, “yeah. You have my number,” and began to walk away.

You had to hold yourself back from jumping in the air with joy, while Jisung was scratching the back of his head with a stupid smile on his lips. You were rounding the corner out of sight when he looked down at his hands and found them empty. “Shit.”

Out of sight. He ran after you again and all but slid around the corner of the building.

“Dumbass.” A sharpie twirled between your fingers as you leaned against the brick wall, waiting for him to realize the same thing you had.

Jisung was at a loss for words again, dumbfounded as you pushed off the wall and skipped back towards him. The feeling of your skin on his for the first time almost had his heart skipping a beat, taking his hand in yours as you slid the sleeve of his jean jacket up. Jisung hoped you couldn’t feel him trembling while you wrote your number on his wrist. It was the doodled heart next to the last digit that knocked the wind from his lungs. He could only watch your pretty fingers cap the marker and stride off without another word.

You’d just reached your dorm as your phone chimed, an unknown number texting you a time, building, and room number. When you replied, all they said was, brooding and sweet can create beautiful things.

That night was the first time you’d visited him at the studio, certainly not the last. When you questioned him why you were here at 10 p.m. with almost all the lights off besides a few decorative and– hardly– tasteful LED lamps that provided ample mood lighting, Jisung fired right back at you, “you never asked me what my major was. Music production, just so you know.” It suddenly made sense why he needed all the caffeine.

Looking around the room, there wasn’t much. Where he sat, there was a desk riddled with various boards that had even more buttons on them all connected to his laptop, which was also hooked up to the TV that hung above his head. Behind that, a leather couch that looked less than comfortable minus the accent pillows that you could tell was placed there by whatever other person had the same idea as you did– this place was a man cave.

Jisung smirked at your anxious twisting of the doorknob as you stood still in the doorway. “Sit,” he gestured to the couch. Raising an eyebrow at him, you listened, shutting the heavy metal door behind you and sitting quietly. “Good,” the praise slipped from his tongue just as he turned back to his laptop. You wanted to roll your eyes, not that it’d do any good if he couldn’t see it.

“What did you want to show me?” Your voice was much softer than when you would bicker at the cafe, smoother now that there was no bustling of caffeine-deprived college students.

He stayed quiet for a second, typing and clicking away until he spun abruptly to face you. “Wanted your opinion on something. Be honest–”

“I always am.”

“What did I just say? Be honest, sweetheart,” he blinked at you slowly, assessing the way your nose scrunched in disbelief.

“Are you saying I’m a liar?”

“I’m saying, say what you actually think. Not what people want to hear.”

You bit your lip back, finding it sort of funny how quick Jisung was with his words. When the corners of your lips twitched upwards, so did his, making a triumphant smile spread across his face. He bared his pretty white teeth in a sly manner, knowing he had the upper hand. “How long have you been waiting for that one?”

“Mmm, a while.” The giggle that escaped you resulted in one from him, as well. You’d never heard him laugh, not a real one, at least. How gentle he sounded, if you weren’t so used to insult after insult, you’d have mistaken him for a ray of sunshine. It was comfortable, the silence that followed as he dragged one file from his laptop to the TV screen.

It dawned on you that you hardly knew this boy, how much could your opinion truly mean coming from someone who hadn’t the faintest idea of the inner workings of music production? Like he could smell the hesitancy dripping off you, “I need unbiased ears.” He snuck a peak back at you from over his shoulder, waiting for your approval to continue. When you nodded and sat back, Jisung repressed another smile and clicked play.

The song began with single piano notes and his voice speaking as though from over the phone, slightly muffled and sensual. “Just tell me ‘bout you,” the lyrics sang softly, then the backtrack began to pick up into something a bit more energetic but still… sad, in a way. There were no more lyrics, just the melody and rhythm that made you tilt your head. Jisung was now half facing the couch, partially out of nerves that you’d hate it and the other part because it was you judging his music. You stared up at the screen as you watched the recording fade to press-to-play position again when Jisung anxiously cracked his knuckles.

“You said you wanted honesty,” you subconsciously kicked off your shoes and brought your knees to your chest. Jisung nodded, twiddling, bouncing his knee lightly. “I liked it. I liked it a lot.”

When you didn’t continue, he urged, “that’s it? You just liked it?”

“It’s cute–”

“Cute?!” Jisung cut you off before you could keep going with your review. “Of all things, you say it’s cute? Please think about expanding your vocabulary,” he scoffed, swiveling back to face his computer.

“If you’d let me finish,” you grabbed the back of his chair and forced him to turn back to you again, “it’s cute.” The look of annoyance and disbelief littered his expression as he sighed. “It makes me feel like those coming of age movies where you see someone from across the room and just sort of…” Your words trailed off, unable to describe the sensation that you felt listening to it.

Jisung’s features softened, already feeling guilty for jumping the gun on you. Instead of repeating that, he waited and listened. “It’s like there’s a filter on it.” He almost burst into flames at the blush that rushed your cheeks again.

“Filter?”

“I can’t really explain it,” you admitted, brushing a strand of hair back and pulling your knees closer. “Y’know– the color palette over the scene when the two love interest’s eyes lock for the first time? It’s not sparks, but just a kind of–”

“Filter.” The way he repeated the word made you stop to look at him, only to find Jisung already staring back with pupils larger than plates. You told yourself it was just the dim lighting, your mind was playing tricks on you. He wasn’t getting closer, he was just trying to read your lips as you talked.

“Y– yeah,” you choked. Jisung didn’t stop, slowly rolling in his chair to knock his knees against the edge of the couch. You could feel his body heat radiating against the small part of you that was near him, already becoming flushed in the temperature yourself.

He hates you, he reminds himself. He hates you, you hate him. He hates you, he hates you, he hates you.

So why can he smell your perfume and feel your breath tickling his skin?

“It–” you lost your train of thought, eyes only concentrating on how soft his lips looked. “It makes things look…” he suddenly brought his index finger to your chin, lifting your head to gaze into his eyes. “Prettier.”

The feeling of his lips pressing against yours knocked the air from your lungs for the second time that day. Warmth spread through your body even hotter at the contact, knuckles going white as you restrained yourself from pulling him in closer. Jisung didn’t rush, didn’t do anything but simply place his lips on yours and yet, you wanted nothing more than to jump his bones.

It took everything in him not to shove you further into the couch. He could feel you tensing as soon as he’d laid a finger on you, almost afraid that you’d vanish into thin air if he went any further. So he pulled away, albeit reluctant. The sound of your lips disconnecting almost felt like an awakening of some sorts, the nervous look in his eye replacing the one that was so confident before kissing you. You left him speechless when you reached out for his neck to pull him in again, hungrier this time.

A newfound fire burned in your stomach when Jisung matched your energy into the kiss, tangling your hands in his air as he unlocked your legs and positioned himself between them. When his teeth nipped at your bottom lip for entrance, you gave it to him instantly. It was breathless, not sloppy but not coordinated, either. The two of you danced around one another as if on eggshells, not wanting to push too far. Your hands dropped lower, pulling him deeper and mindlessly slipping one under the collar of his shirt to wrap around his shoulder, nails raking the skin as you silently begged for more. That was all you did when Jisung suddenly tightened his grip on your thighs and pushed you away in one swift motion, shoving the chair into the desk as he stood.

Lips swollen and out of breath, you wanted to shrivel up into the couch and never be seen again. His expression was unreadable, not seeming angry but certainly not pleased. Whether it was out of fear or exhilaration, you didn’t know what possessed you to ask, “did I do something wrong?”

“Did you–” Jisung paced in the cramped space between the desk and the couch, “you didn’t do anything wrong. You could never do anything wrong.” It came out more sarcastic than he intended, making you wince at his sudden change.

The question ignited something in him, an existential crisis of sorts that caused him to tug at his own hair. If he hated you before, he loathed you now, not even bothering to hide it as he attempted to compose himself. Jisung forced himself to slow his heartbeat, leaning against the edge of the desk and taking deep breaths. He finally turned to look at you, catching your stare on his forearms. Tracing where you couldn’t turn away from, he noticed his veins protruding down to his hands that were harshly gripping the table. Jisung felt himself smiling, almost forgetting about his outburst and letting out a soft chuckle. Your eyes glistened, glazed over as you found his. “You’re perfect,” the words were all but spat.

A sigh of confusion left your lips, “you’re giving me emotional whiplash.”

“You’re too perfect. Stop it. Stop being like that.” He let himself slump into the rolling chair again, suddenly drained of energy.

How were you supposed to take that? It wasn’t like he was confessing his love for you or proclaiming a vendetta against you, no. He was simply stating that you were perfect– whatever that meant. Still, you wanted to know more. It seemed as though he was in a mood for talking, now. “You’re not making any sense,” your voice stayed quiet.

“And you always make sense.” Jisung slowly spun so you were looking each other in the eyes again. Just a single look from you and adrenaline rushed through him. “I’m sorry,” his gaze dropped to his lap.

The puppy dog look he sported made you want to hug him, kiss him more, though maybe that wasn’t what he needed right now. So instead, you took notes from him and tipped his chin up with your finger, forcing him to look at you. Keeping your tone low, “I don’t understand. But that’s okay.”

You let him walk you home after that, let him plant a kind kiss to your forehead and feel him slip something into your palm as his lips met your knuckles before skipping away into your building. As soon as he was out of sight, you looked at what he’d left you.

A harddrive, unlabeled other than a single music note. Smiling, you tucked it into your pocket for safe keeping.

That was almost a year ago. Giggly, shiny, perfect you that he all but ruined in more ways than one. The way he reacted to your first kiss should’ve made you turn tail and run, but no. The savior complex in you wanted to try and fix him, make use of the potential that he showed every sign of having. Granted, he was great at first. There were many wonderful dates, he asked you to be his girlfriend, you did everything together. The two of you were the typical sun and moon relationship, he hated everything but you and you couldn’t help but be an absolute angel everyone despite that. Little did you know, that would be the beginning of your downfall.

Four months after Jisung officially made you his girlfriend, you agreed to work the cafe over winter break for some extra cash, also giving Jisung an excuse to stay on campus and work more on music. However, with the new semester came new employees. You were instructed to train the new hire, Felix.

Felix was handsome, sure. He was also clueless on how to make anything on the menu and needed to be taught from scratch. Not that you minded, business was slow since most of campus was on vacation. That gave you the opportunity to teach him in depth and let him take his time.

Jisung visited you often, spent more time in the cafe so that he could just be in your presence as you worked. He enjoyed watching you from afar, liked seeing you being your bubbly and helpful self.

Early on in your relationship, you’d also learned Jisung had a thing for pictures. He was obsessed with taking your picture or recording you doing the most mundane of tasks. That also meant he was even more enamored with pictures in the bedroom. Sex was common in your alone time, you being the one to rile him up most days just so he could fuck you six ways into next week. You somewhat took advantage of how quick he was to get annoyed. Blame your high sex drive.

Sex at your dorm, his dorm, sex in the (public) studio of the music department, wherever he could get his hands on you for teasing him so blatantly. Jisung had racked up more than enough pictures and videos to keep in his spank bank, safely locked away.

Ultimately, it was also the same banter that attracted him to you that was the catalyst for your never ending string of arguments. It was always Felix– because how could it not? Your new coworker was just that handsome and as kind as you were, Jisung found it impossible that you weren’t attracted to him.

You’d never picked up on your boyfriend’s jealous tendencies until after the second semester started up again. The more students that started coming back to campus meant the heavier your schedule got. More school work was being piled on top of your hours at the cafe, also including spending more time with Felix. There never seemed to be any other reason for your arguments other than your pretty black haired coworker. Either he was too close to you, you two talked too much, he made you laugh a lot, it was always something.

Jisung had come into the cafe for his usual nap at his new unassigned (assigned) table, you brought him his coffee and a kiss on the forehead. He smiled as you skipped back to work, looking at the cute doodles you still drew for him on his cup. It was things like this that reminded him of your love, however he couldn’t help the overpowering feeling of watching Felix place his hand on the small of your back to get around you. There was nothing else that happened to make him angry, nothing to make the jealousy arise within him. He couldn’t take his eyes off the boy, annoyed that his freckles decorated his cheeks and nose and how nicely his hair was always styled. In a way, Felix reminded Jisung of you, genderbent.

Twenty minutes later, your boyfriend would usually be KO’d with his head against the table, but he couldn’t take his eyes away from your coworker. Jisung didn’t even try to hide it, you realized and looked back and forth between the two. Felix didn’t seem to notice, which you were grateful for. It irked you, but you couldn’t tell why. He was making that same face he did when he invited you to the studio for the first time, awestruck as he reached for his phone and opened up the camera app, Jisung snapped a picture of the boy.

You couldn’t have dragged Jisung home any faster after you got off work. “Slow down, babe, you’re gonna tear my arm off,” he said as his footsteps stumbled to keep up with your pace. Even as you were speed walking back, you managed to slip your hand into his jacket pocket, intertwining your fingers together. Jisung squeezed your hand reassuringly, but you didn’t respond.

“Baby?” He nudged your shoulder with his, looking down at you as you walked towards his dorm.

“Do you like Felix?” The words left your mouth faster than your brain could process them.

It was like two worlds colliding, the anger he felt for you all those months ago and now the emotions he couldn’t quite understand as he watched you interacting with your coworker. None of it made sense, so his answer was at least honest, “I don’t get it.”

“Do you always take pictures of him when I’m not looking?” Your tone was that of dominating, not upset, which confused Jisung more. You weren’t the dominant type by any means, so the way you spoke to him now caught him completely off guard. When Jisung stuttered, you kept going, “be honest now, sweetheart.” The words flipped butterflies in his stomach, but not in the way they usually did. Jisung felt caught.

“No– I mean– yeah, no I don’t. Are you– are you mad?” It was entertaining, hearing him struggle to keep up with the interrogation.

“I won’t be if you show me the picture.”

Jisung stopped walking all together, taking your intertwined hands out of his pocket and tugging you back. His mouth was slightly agape, “what?”

“You heard me. Show me the picture.” You could feel his hand tremble at the request. But still, he indulged you. Pulling out his phone in his other pocket, Jisung kept looking up to make sure you were serious. The winter wind made his hair sway lightly, only adding to the dramatic effect of him taking his time to show you what you wanted. When he did, you all but stole the phone, flicking through his camera roll without a single protest from him– as if he wouldn’t have lost that argument either way.

It wasn’t like the pictures Jisung took of you. When he captured your image, it always was in moments where you were the least suspecting, not paying attention as he saved moments where he thought you were the most beautiful. The picture of Felix, upon further inspection, was almost fabricated. Zooming in, you could see the slight turn of his eyes to the camera, like he knew he was being watched. However, neither of you would’ve caught it if you hadn’t looked closer.

For some reason, you weren’t upset, handing the phone back to your boyfriend and taking his hand again. Jisung was silent, confused as you started to lead him back to the comfort of his room. “That’s it?” He treaded lightly.

“Mhm,” the smile on your face when you looked up at him told Jisung otherwise. But he didn’t push it, if you were going to drop it then who was he to challenge that?

If you weren’t so busy, maybe you’d have noticed the shift in your relationship. Maybe you did and just didn’t care enough. Maybe you would’ve seen your boyfriend taking your pretty black haired coworker under his wing, bringing him back to the studio late at night the same way he did with you. He was being kinder to you, bringing you flowers at work and buying you little things that reminded him of you. You should’ve known then once Felix started avoiding you at work, going as far as requesting to change his hours so they were the complete opposite of yours. If you cared more, maybe you’d have been more hurt.

Jisung always wanted what he couldn’t have, even extending to what he emotionally couldn’t bring himself to accept. He’d figured out half way through the second semester that he hated Felix, too, only because he and you were so alike. That made him want the boy even more. So he started off with making small talk with the barista, escalating into inviting him to work on music together. Jisung was never the best at keeping secrets from you, living on a strict honesty policy. When Felix kissed him, he ran back to you instantly. How wrong Jisung was, Felix wasn’t you. You’d never do anything to hurt someone else like that.

You threatened to leave him, obviously, however it was a weightless threat. He’d fallen to his knees as tears streamed down his face, cheeks lips growing puffy from the rapid blood circulation. Jisung gripped at your waist and held his face into your stomach, drenching your (his) shirt as he begged for you not to leave. “He kissed me! I– I swear! As soon as it happened, I left. I’m so– so– I’m sorry, I love you.”

He just made it so difficult to leave, you’d never seen him cry like this before. Your made-of-stone boyfriend was having an absolute breakdown, shaking and choking on his own saliva as you could do nothing but run your fingers through his hair. You stared blankly at the door of his room, not sure if you should get away or soothe him. It was like this a while longer, Jisung trying to catch his breath as he gripped so tightly to your hips that you couldn’t move an inch.

Eventually, he let you go enough to sit on the bed, still kneeling on the ground between your legs. The touch you let yourself indulge in had him cradling his face into your palm, tugging your calves to trap him in tighter.

Jisung didn’t look at you like he did that first night or how he looked at Felix. It wasn’t awestruck or dumbfounded, nothing like he was a child tasting chocolate for the first time. Now, as the stream of tears dried down red on his skin and his lips trembled slightly, all he wanted was to please you and worship the ground you walked on, show you that there would never be anyone else.

“It was a mistake.” Your voice snapped him from his trance. It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement. Jisung quickly nodded, cupping his hand over yours to keep you from removing it.

The hum you let out as you moved to caress him with both hands made him close his eyes, following your guidance to sit up higher mindlessly. Jisung being taller than you, he was just about eye level despite him being on his knees. Your fingertips ghosted around his face, grazing his lips, nose, cheeks, pushing back his hair from his forehead. He all but purred at the attention. “You’re such a pretty crier,” you confessed, smiling gently down at him. He didn’t open his eyes, attempting to control the single tear that wanted to fall again. Failing, Jisung held tighter onto your hand, still shaking. “He’s really pretty, too. Isn’t he?”

What were you getting at? Admitting to your crying boyfriend that you thought the coworker of yours he just kissed was pretty? After just telling Jisung he was pretty?

Jealousy is a powerful thing.

Jisung slowly opened his eyes again, eyebrows knitting together. “W– what?”

“Felix,” you leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his forehead. “He’s really pretty.” Stunned, Jisung couldn’t fight to keep you sat on the bed, watching from his spot on the floor as you sauntered over to his desk, picking up what he could only tell to be his phone. Everything was happening in slow motion to Jisung, your bare legs standing in front of his face again as you found the same picture of Felix that sparked this entire situation.

You didn’t bother showing the picture to Jisung. For all he knew, you didn’t even have the image opened. But that was the thing— he didn’t know. He didn’t know anything at this point, except for how much he wanted to make you feel the immense love he’d come to realize was all for you.

It crowded his chest, pushed his all too full heart into the palm of his hands and laid it at your feet, inches away from being stomped on.

So no, you didn’t show him the picture. It was all in good manner, though. He didn’t deserve to see the beautiful catalyst for your relationship’s strange dynamic shift.

“I— I don’t know what to say.” Honest, as always.

“No, of course not. You just run and kiss those you’re confused by, don’t you?” Jisung winced at your words, shrinking into himself more than he already had. His gaze ran down your legs until it hit the floor, not moving as you slowly tracked around his limp body.

“I’m not mad, baby.” His fingers twitched, not fully convinced.

Less to his knowledge, you were playing around with the camera settings on his phone, unsure if you wanted to use the flash, maybe the different filter settings? You twiddled his phone in your hand as you stood behind him, holding your finger over the capture button. With no warning, you gripped the back of his hair, yanking his head up and shoving the back camera of the phone in front of his face. The flash was blinding to both you and him, hearing the shutter go off and toss him with almost no force into the side of the bed.

It was cruel, you knew that, to be giggling at the vulnerability your boyfriend showed you as you examined the picture. His cheeks were extra puffy, eyes bloodshot and teary. The feeling was exhilarating, finally understanding his fixation with photos.

You created this image. You put him on his knees and made him beg, weep for forgiveness. Granted, the kiss was definitely his (and Felix’s) fault. But in the end, he always came back to you and this bed. The same bed you were now ordering him to sit in the middle of.

He did so without question, angrily sniffing and palming away a stray tear.

“Did you enjoy it?” The smile playing across your lips only irked him, knowing it was a loaded question. Jisung didn’t know how to answer you, especially when you couldn’t take your eyes away from the phone for just a second to look at him.

“Did you?” You asked again, raising an eyebrow in his direction. The weight of your side glance crushed him into the mattress, forcing a weak reply, “no.”

“No, baby? Why?�� You stood at the foot of the bed now, shirt just barely covering your ass and thighs, making it hard for Jisung to keep his attention on your smug face.

“B— because he isn’t you.”

This answer pleased you, finally tossing the phone onto the corner of the bed and letting all your attention fall onto him. Countless times had Jisung been able to stare you dead in the eye long enough to make you squirm, but not now. The tables have turned dramatically, and now he was the one cowering under the pressure.

Tilting your head, you smiled your sweet, wonderful smile that made his stomach erupt in giddiness. Only now there was a lingering wicked feeling behind it. He knew he was in deep shit when you kneeled onto the bed and began crawling up the length of his body, forcing him back into the pillows. By the time you were face to face again, you’d refused to sit on his lap the way you usually would.

In fact, you’d refused to touch him at all, barely letting your thighs touch to keep you steady over his hardening crotch. Your hands kept you hovering above his lips, pinning him to the bed without laying a finger on his smooth skin, even when that was all he wanted.

All Jisung wanted was to feel you, touch you, have you tell him he’s yours and only yours. He wanted you to be mad about him kissing Felix and make him beg for you not to leave him. He wanted to know you still cared the way he knew you did back when you scribbled your phone number onto his arm (which he didn’t wash away for days because it was all he had to remind himself that you wanted him).

“He isn’t me, baby,” you’d repeated the words back to him, the nickname making his cock twitch in his tight jeans.

Jisung nodded in agreement pathetically quick, “he’s not.”

“No,” one hand came to run over his cheekbone, feather light, so soft he wouldn’t have felt it if he weren’t already so desperate. “And you won’t kiss him again?” Again, disgustingly fast he agreed with you, this time just a whimper leaving his lips.

You bored into his eyes with such an intensity that it made Jisung feel like he had to look away, embarrassed in more ways than one. As soon as he did, your gentle touch turned into a steel grip on his chin, forcing him to stare back at you.

“You’re mine, sweetheart.” Jisung crumbled into you, adoring the feeling of your skin on his despite how harshly you gripped his face. It was all he needed to hear before falling into your trap again.

“I’m yours.”

How easily the words slipped off his tongue, how he’d say them again and again until all you saw was him. Ironic, considering he was the one with the wandering eye. Even so, Jisung was selfish, but so were you.

The smirk that didn’t leave your expression told him that, coming in just enough to graze your lips over his, Jisung’s words catching in his throat as he awaited your kiss.

He’d closed his eyes in anticipation, wanting the sweet relief of his breath being taken away by the taste of your lipstick. And when it didn’t come, he opened them again to find you merely looking at him, reading him. Jisung gulped nervously.

“So greedy, baby.” The tip of your nose tapped against his as you whispered. “You just had a kiss and you still want more?”

Jisung whined again at the mention of his mistake, to which you let out a dark giggle. “I’m sorry,” he choked.

“I told you. I’m not mad.”

“Then why are you treating me like this?” His teeth grit as his emotions continued to run wild.

Raising an eyebrow, grip still firm on his chin, you sat back fully onto his now aching erection, the plopping sound of your bare ass hitting his clothed pelvis making him cringe in both excitement and anxiety. He let out a strained groan at your full body weight sitting on his lower section, heat from your cunt just covered in panties radiated through the fabric of his jeans.

The handle on his chin loosened and became soft, thumb softly running over his lips as your face pulled away from his. “Because I can.”

Throwing his head back and screwing his eyes shut, Jisung let out a more impatient moan. As soon as his mouth opened, you took the opportunity to shove your thumb past his lips, so far in that he gagged. Still, he closed his mouth around your digit. And when he did, you allowed him the smallest bit of mercy, grinding your hips into his enough to get his chest to rise and fall quicker.

The roughness of his jeans against your cunt felt better than it should’ve. You were supposed to be angry with him, be upset that he just admitted to cheating on you even if it was unintentional.

But had it really been unintentional? He’d been leading Felix on for god knows how long. If anything, it was bound to happen and yet, you didn’t do a damn thing to stop it. The slick from your arousal was just too slippery, you couldn’t help the tumble in your tummy when he tried to roll his hips harder into yours. What a pleaser Jisung always was.

He started off slow, swirling his tongue around your thumb and eventually sucking on it, taking whatever you gave him. The whine he let out as he let himself enjoy his new role elicited one from yourself, Jisung’s eyes snapping open upon hearing it. Pupils dilated as if he had just stepped foot into a nightclub, you bit your lip to hold back the moans wanting to slip. He wouldn’t get the satisfaction of hearing you more— not yet anyways, not without using him while he was in this new headspace.

Halting your movements, you pulled your thumb from his mouth, a string of saliva following it down to where you rested your hand around his neck. With the slightest squeeze, you said, “I’m gonna use you and you’re gonna like it.”

Jisung nodded, “yes, yes,” black eyes pleading for you to continue.

“Say it.”

The command went straight to his cock, “please— use me.”

With his consent, your hand around his throat squeezed tighter, bending over to kiss the spot beneath his ear. The sound of your lips trailing across his skin sent Jisung reeling further into a submissive headspace, wanting to be played with, used, abused. He also knew you could never do that to him, that fact being the only thing keeping him remotely grounded to the small piece of dominance that lingered in him.

Letting you continue to kiss him everywhere (except his lips), Jisung relished in the feeling of you slowly taking away his breathing while your other hand rode his shirt up, exposing the skin of his stomach. How hot to the touch he could feel himself to be, your cool fingertips raising goosebumps along his flesh. The difference in softness of your lips compared to the grip on his neck made Jisung’s head spin, slowly but surely becoming due to the lack of oxygen. If he were to black out, he’s glad he’d be able to do it to the feeling of your kisses being peppered across his collar bones.

You’d let go of his windpipe to slip his shirt over his head, Jisung letting you undress him. He wished you’d move faster, finding your hips and pushing down to grind into his erection again.

You weren’t one for violence in bed, at least when you had to inflict it. Instead of the slap you wished you were capable of giving, you pinched his cheek hard.

Tears began to well in his waterline again, “ow! Why?!”

“Who gave you permission to touch?” He stopped his hands from guiding your cunt across his hard on, opting to leave bruising fingerprints into your waist instead. The frown that crowded his lips made you lean into his neck again, laying down more kisses that distracted him from the aching in his pants.

He was getting lost in the pampering, even if all you were doing was leaving short pecks over his chest and torso. It was exhilarating to him, nonetheless. Jisung loved how all it took was the littlest bit of your attention and he was on his knees time and time again.

Your fingers hardly brushed over his hardened nipples, making him cry out and shove his head deeper into the pillow. The palm of your hand made its way between your bodies, pressing firmly into his cock much rougher than you ever had before. Jisung couldn’t control the convulsing of his body, folding and whimpering.

“Sensitive now, are we, baby?”

Though you didn’t linger here for long, making your way back up to sit on his contracting stomach. With both hands, you slid your fingers into his hair and relaxingly carded through it. It’d felt like a breath of fresh air, the moment you took to let Jisung regain his composure before following through with what you had planned.

With eyes just as watery as they were before, he pleaded, “kiss me please.”

He just seemed so desperate, so in need of your lips that he looked as though he might die if he didn’t get a taste. But you found beauty in that, the neediness, the aggravation and frustration that came with not getting what you wanted because once you did, it was that much more satisfying. “No.”

“Please,” he begged again. To which you responded, “no.” Another whine sounded from him, but not in a bratty way (it was definitely bratty), but more like he was containing a sob that wanted to pour out.

Just when he thought you were going to lean in for a kiss, you dodged his lips and planted one on his forehead before standing up to strip your panties off. Jisung was easy enough to distract, holding the front of your (his) oversized shirt between your teeth while you slowly slid them down your legs. His eyes fixated where your arousal made the crotch stick to your cunt, went and potent with just how horny for him you truly were. He stopped whining after that, after getting a whiff of just how needy you were, too.

And when you climbed back on top of him, dragging your soaking core over the center of his chest and pushing his shoulders back to lay completely flat, Jisung became as pliant as he’d ever been. He let you cage his head between your thighs, let you keep the shirt ridden up just enough for him to see the swell of your tits but not the whole thing, let you control his head with a heavy hand in his hair.

Your cunt was shoved into his face, yet still so far as you refused to sink onto him fully. You could feel him fidgeting with his hands, unsure of where to put them. Taking pity on him once again, you reached back and placed them in the crevice where your thighs met your hips, instructing him not to move an inch. Jisung showed his gratification by nuzzling his nose into the bit of your clit he could just barely touch.

“Be good and maybe I’ll let you fuck me,” you said through your teeth. You internally debated even letting him pleasure you, knowing his lips had been somewhere else. Knowing he’d never truly leave you didn’t ease the pressure in your chest now that you were about to ride his face. The way he begged you to kiss him made it feel all the more real.

The promise of getting to fuck you made Jisung nod, adjusting his grip on your thighs as you slowly lowered yourself onto his face.

At first, you didn’t let your entire weight down, doing your best to focus on the feeling of his mouth surrounding your bundle of nerves in a split second. It took you another minute to relax as he began sucking and toying with your clit, finally letting yourself fall onto him. Even with your cunt practically suffocating him, Jisung still pulled you in deeper, as if he couldn’t have been close enough.

Your hips moved on their own, grinding into his face as he stuck his tongue out and let you control the rhythm. One hand reached for the headboard while the other held his head steady. Thankful for the shirt muffling your cries of pleasure, you rutted back and forth against him, shivering when Jisung moaned and the vibrations rippled through your body. His fingers pressed incredibly hard into your thighs, wanting more, needing to suckle your clit as if it were his lifeline.

You didn’t let him linger in one place too long, not wanting him to necessarily be the reason you come. You were doing all the work, animalistically rubbing your wet core across his tongue and nose while he laid there and took it. Of course, the blissed out expression he held was a factor for your high, but feeling him squirming, unable to sit still was the catalyst. You only slightly turned back to see him bucking into the air, into nothing as his own horniness took over his lower half. Untouched, you could see the dark spot spreading wider over his still hard cock. He moaned and worked his tongue faster upon noticing you stop, as if he knew that you’d just realized he could come just by letting you sit on his face.

The smug way his eyes peered up at you, the knot broke in your stomach and your high washed over you, falling into the headboard as your thighs clamped around Jisung’s head in a shaking, blinding orgasm. You cried out his name, only making his own hips stutter into the air again as he gripped your cunt closer to his face. It only prompted you to move from your post orgasm bliss when he took in a deep, struggled breath.

Rolling off to the side, you slumped against the headboard, tired and fucked out even though your boyfriend beside you was still running on pure adrenaline.

“Fuck this,” he muttered, standing from the bed to kick his jeans and boxers off in record time. His cock was still hard, covered in his own cum and smearing it more as he tugged, letting out a deep sigh as he finally relieved some of the tension.

“What’re you doing?” You slid down the bed, eyeing him up and down as he towered over you. His eyes didn’t leave your body as he lazily continued to work himself up again.

“I was good, wasn’t I?” His tone was more challenging than before, knowing he’d been more than good.

“I didn’t say you could—“

“You didn’t, but I am.” Jisung released himself to reach for your ankles, pulling you down the bed and making your shirt slide over your tits, fully exposed to him.

You were planning on fucking him either way, but you loved when Jisung took what he wanted. And what he always wanted, was you.

Laying spread out for him, too tired and emotionally exhausted to be the brat he loved you to be, you let him manhandle you onto your stomach. With ease did Jisung kneel behind you at the edge of the bed and hike your hips up, lifting your right leg and keeping it suspended in the air as he aligned himself with your entrance. You were more than relaxed and capable of taking him, the act of preparing to be stretched the furthest thing from you mind when he was brushing the head of his cock against your overstimulated clit.

Wincing at the feeling, you twisted your upper body to be able to look at him, eyes half lidded just as his were. Jisung teased himself a few moments longer before gently pushing his way past your entrance, slick and already clenching for him. He didn’t look away from

your face as he bottomed out, allowing you time to adjust. And when you were ready, you moaned out.

Jisung balled the back of your shirt into his fist, more leverage for him to fuck into you. Wrapping your leg around the outside of his waist, he began thrusting at a painfully slow pace, almost as though he was scared of going any faster. That was, until you just couldn’t help running your pretty little mouth.

“Fuck me like you mean it, before Felix gets to know how both of us taste.”

All of Jisung’s inhibitions disappeared, rutting against you like a dog in heat because that’s exactly how he felt; like a dog. He was no better than one, kissing another man then running back to his girlfriend and letting her use him like all he was was a pair of dick and balls. He fucked you like there was no other sensation he’d ever live to feel, like he were to perish as soon as he pulled out of your warm, wet walls that only sucked him in deeper.

As tired and angry as you were, the harder he fucked you, the more difficult it became to stay mad. Deep down, you knew he would never go anywhere and that he didn’t mean to go as far as kissing someone else. You knew your boyfriend better than anyone, and that it was a fluke. He made a mistake, the way he let you treat him tonight was his way of making up for it. The domineering nature you always invoked in him was also another way of telling you he was sorry, because the care and softness that came after was always the sweetest poison.

Such as now, Jisung pounded into you as though he didn’t care whether or not you reached your second high, but you knew damn well that wasn’t the case. You’ll finish one more time at the least before he did, he always made sure.

“All that talk, and for what? To get fucked stupid.” One hand gripped to your elevated thigh, the other on the verge of ripping the shirt you still wore, Jisung let out a moan from within his chest, leaning over to place a few messy kisses to your cheek.

“You’re in charge, sweetheart,” he huffed, “but no one will ever fuck you like I do.”

Practically throwing your leg down, he released the grip on your shirt and hiked his leg up to plant firmly next to your hip. He only slowed for a second to really take in the feeling from the change of angle before jack hammering into you, this time not pulling out fully as he entered you again and again. The constant stimulation from the scooting motion he was making had you tumbling head first into your second orgasm, so close yet so painfully far.

“Fuck— so fucking tight, always so tight for me.“

Your lack of response wasn’t because you disagreed with him, but rather because you agreed entirely. Jisung was fucking you stupid, physically and emotionally. You felt like he fucked your emotions inside out every time you stepped into his bedroom, the same way he did your guts. How stupid of you to think he was going to lay down and take your brief moment of physical dominance.

Watching as he raised his hand and brought it down to meet your ass, you whined out in pleasure as he left one, two, three more on your reddening skin. The pain was too good, too fitting for the situations that took place, that have been taking place. Your cries for more, harder, made Jisung halt mid thrust and bring his hand back down to soothe the handprint he’d left.

“Wh— why’d you stop?” you whispered, trying to get a better look at him.

“Baby, if I hit you any harder the neighbors are gonna call the cops,” his expression turned soft, concerned. Instead of continuing, Jisung pulled out and lightly guided you onto your back. Only after stripping you of your shirt to leave you both completely naked, did he lean in close.

You’d denied him your kisses for so long, he forced himself not to cross that boundary, stay a safe distance away so he didn’t get the urge to devour your lips (even though he always did). But your arms wrapped around his neck, kneaded through his hair so expertly, your scent engulfed him and made his senses go into overdrive. Jisung didn’t even have the mind to think about his aching cock until you wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him in so he easily filled you to the brim again.

So torturously aware of everything that he was capable of, that you were capable of, you didn’t let him go, just letting your lips brush against one another as he stayed sheathed inside you. “Fill me up before you kiss me,” your words no louder than the softest whisper.

If there was one thing about Jisung to be remembered, it was that everything he felt could be soothed with a kiss. Want to make him stumble on his words? Kiss his hand. Want to make him choke on his drink? Kiss his cheek. Want to make him fall in love? Kiss his lips, gently and passionately.

However, that only applies when it’s your kisses. And your kisses are his reason for anything, at this point.

Which is what got him to move his hips again, this time slower and more languid. He was no longer in a rush to reach his high, but rather to make sure you felt every bit of him. As much as he craved your kiss, he wanted to savor you, feel you as much as humanly possible.

But you were already so close, realizing that it wasn’t pain you wanted to feel, but Jisung. You wanted to be just as close to him as he wanted, too.

The pace at which the two of you could go from hating each other to wanting to melt into one another was appalling, dizzying in the same way that Jisung’s thumb brushed over your clit. The motion dragged an uncensored, purely lustful moan from your lips, causing you to clench incredibly tight around your boyfriend’s dick, already on the verge of coming himself.

It only took another few circles of his thumb to get you to convulse and throw your head back, exposing your neck to him as your second high flushed your senses silly. The tightness, the surge of your arousal flushing his cock inside you made him come hard, spurting his seed to mix with your own lingering orgasm. Both your bodies held onto each other for dear life, his head buried in the crook of your neck as you pulled mercilessly on his locks. It was like a perfect mold, fit only for the two of you.

It took a few silent moments for your breathing to return to normal, Jisung keeping his face nuzzled into your hair and wanting to drown in your scent. However, one more craving needed to be fulfilled.

Tapping his shoulder lightly, he lifted his head to meet your gaze. “Kiss,” was all you said as you puckered your lips.

He took you in with no hesitation, hand coming up to cup your face, pulling you deeper into it. It was sensual, smooth, caring as your lips moved together in sync.

Jisung thought back to his kiss with Felix. It was sloppy and uncoordinated, most of all, uncomfortable. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to kiss the other boy, he definitely did. But the kiss itself didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like how your first kiss together was, he’d realized that there was no one else that could encapture him with a kiss the way you did, all that in spite of how much he disliked you at the time. How was he to love a person he didn’t want to kiss all day, every day, until the end of time?

He almost didn’t let you go after your lips finally touched. “How are your lips still so soft after all the shit you talk?“ he joked, smiling into your skin.

As much as you wanted to retort with, “because I don’t kiss anyone that gives me the littlest bit of attention,” you didn’t. You couldn’t when he was showering you with soft touches and sweet words. Before you could think of with a real comeback, he was lifting you to the bathroom, flaccid dick still inside your sore pussy. It was only when he lifted you higher to slip out did he release you on top of the open toilet.

Jisung ran around the bathroom gathering wipes, mouth wash, water, anything else you needed while he instructed you to pee— making it very clear he wasn’t listening, not that you cared much. He’d even returned with a fresh pair of panties. “I— I don’t really want them tonight,” you admitted. You still wanted him, every bit of him without the barrier of clothes.

Picking up on his quickly, he planted another kiss to your lips before walking out to let you clean up. Though, he returned not a minute later to help you wipe down your body and drag you back into bed.

It was when the tension had finally dissipated, both naked and tangled in one another when Jisung spoke again. “Don’t ever leave me,” his voice was hoarse and weary.

“Don’t kiss anyone else.”

“After this, I don’t think I could even if I tried.” You giggled lightly at his honesty. With his chest to your back and arm draped over your stomach, you couldn’t find it in you to think any deeper about his confession.

You thought back to his phone that rested at the foot of the bed, the picture of him you took earlier, the single picture of Felix that was still in his camera roll. “No more pictures of him, either.”

Neither of you had to say his name to know who you were talking about. “Can you blame me?”

You stiffened for a moment in his hold, hoping he didn’t feel it. Even after the tears, torture, begging he did, he didn’t regret it. Taking the picture, at least. It was a small but effective jab to your heart that he probably didn’t realize he took.

The best you could come up with was, “I can. Because I didn’t get to kiss him first.”

A/N: FINALLY BACK ON TRACK!! moved back into college so now I can finally get this series back up and running (even tho there's only one part left after this one heheheh)

this one took me soooo long to write it's actually embarrassing. I hope the idea of this one was sort of obvious- the purposefully ignoring the green (red) flags and sex as a way to avoid real confrontation. I kinda just threw Felix in there on a whim. either way I hope you enjoy!

Feedback, comments, anything and everything is appreciated!

-momo <3

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