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scarletmika · 2 months ago

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Kiss Me Again : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds/Sentry x Goddess!Reader

Summary: A crush isn't a problem, and when that crush becomes love, it's usually a good thing. For Bob, it terrifies him, because he'd managed to fall in love with a literal Goddess. Why would a Goddess choose a broken man like him?

Warnings: SO much fluff, shy Bob (I would be too), pining, age gap (inevitable when one of them is a literal Goddess), probably some very incorrect Norse Mythology but it's fanfiction people, SPOILERS kinda for Thunderbolts*, female reader description

Word Count: 4,727 words

Requests are open! : ̗̀➛ Find my masterlist here A/N: this was an anon request and the second I read it I said "I must write this right now" and then I ran with it

PART TWO Kiss Me Forever : ̗̀➛ Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ: ✧

“So, Winter Soldier…when you say ‘otherworldly visitor’ do you actually mean ‘otherworldly’ or is she just very…you know…beautiful in that entrancing sort of-”

“Oh my god, Alexei, when he says ‘otherworldly,’ he does mean ‘otherworldly,’ why is that so hard to understand?”

Bob was nothing short of confused throughout the entire conversation playing out before them. Bucky had called a meeting of the entire group, stating an ‘emergency,’ and gathered them all in the meeting room that Valentina had designed for staging before missions. It wasn’t a room that Bob was in often, still yet to have gone on a mission with the team as he worked to find a way to use his powers without losing control of himself, but even being in there for less than 5 minutes, he could tell why his friends hated it so much.

The A/C in the conference room was terrible, and as someone who ran hot naturally because of the ‘medical trial,’ it wasn’t doing Bob any favors in the summer heat of New York City. The table was entirely too large for the small team, judging by the way that Bucky had to practically shout down the table to where Alexei sat at the head of it, claiming it was the best seat and the most important. All in all, Bob hated it, though there was a lot about the newly renovated tower that everyone hated, given it had all been Valentina’s design work.

“Look, can we forget about the ‘otherwordly’ comment for two seconds? If either of you says it again, I may just carve out my own eardrums,” Yelena made a show of holding her freshly sharpened knife to her ear, giving Ava and her father a blank look, before turning her attention back to Bucky. “Wherever she may or may not be from…why exactly have you invited some woman to the tower?”

“To train him,”

Bob’s head shot up when it got quiet in the room, realizing that Bucky’s finger was jabbed in his direction, and all eyes were on him. His own eyes went wide, and he himself thought they might fall out of his head, as he pointed at himself.

“T-train…me?”

“You said you were ready to begin learning to fight, that you had a pretty good grasp on the…other sides of you,” Bucky explained as Bob shifted uncomfortably at even the mention of the other parts of him he wished to keep locked away. “There are three super soldiers in this room, and we all got our asses handed to us by you months ago in this very tower. Trust me, if anyone can train you and keep up, it’s her.”

The team gave one another skeptical glances, turning to Bob who looked just as confused. Yelena hung her head, rubbing at the sockets of her eyes with the palms of her hands as she turned back to Bucky.

“And who in the hell could possibly be strong enough for that?”

“...the Goddess of Strategy-”

“EXCUSE ME?”

The room erupted into absolute chaos as Bucky uttered those three simple words, hanging his head with a groan that resounded through the room as the team yelled over one another, their words impossible to decipher.

Bob, on the other hand, was frozen. He’d kept himself entertained in the attic of his childhood home with many, many books on Norse Mythology stolen from the local library. He’d grown up reading the myths of Thor, Loki, and the likes, only to learn years later that those gods were, in fact, real.

Yeah, Bob knew exactly who you were. He couldn’t decide if the flush quickly crawling across his skin was due to the yelling in the room or because he’d harbored a crush on you, his favorite Avenger, since he was a literal child.

“If you think Valentina will allow this-”

“When have I ever cared what Val thinks-”

“Are we glossing over the Goddess aspect of this-?”

“Please, she could probably break little Bobby in half with a look-”

“FRIENDS, MY WONDERFUL TEAM, LOWER YOUR VOICES!” it was a very contradictory statement for Alexei to be shouting, standing on top of the rolling chair at the conference table, which the entire team was shocked wasn’t buckling under the pressure. It did the trick, though, the ceaseless arguing and shouting coming to an end as everyone looked to the older man expectantly. “I trust the Winter Soldier’s judgement, but this old Russian only has one question…who is this Goddess?”

These days, Yelena seemed to always be groaning around her father and anything he said, and this was no different. She muttered something in Russian under her breath, which most of the team by now had come to learn meant something along the lines of “shut him up before I do.” Bucky attempted to do just that.

“She’s-”

“Thor and Loki’s sister, daughter of Frigga and Odin. Goddess of Strategy, has a sword formed at Nidavellir that she’s- she’s kind of deadly with, but it’s really cool because it can summon the Bifrost. She was uh, trained in sorcery by Frigga, was an Avenger…” Bob hadn’t even realized that he’d gone on a tangent, interrupting Bucky and info-dumping everything he could about the myth that was you before his brain could stop him. He could see Yelena’s smile quirk up into a smirk as that red flush he’d already had deepened as he realized what he’d just done. “I just uh, I-I think I must’ve- I read that somewhere…once…a long time ago. A really-really long time ago.”

There was quiet in the room for a moment before Walker laughed, slamming his hand down on the table as he gestured between Bucky and Bob.

“Nice one, Barnes! Seems the student has a big ‘ole crush on the teacher you found for him!”

If the blush on his cheeks could get worse, it did. Bob avoided making eye contact with anyone at the table, gaze entirely focused on his hands as he wrung them together in his lap.

“Alright, lay off. Fact of the matter is, Bob needs a teacher that’s not easily breakable, and she’s the best of the best,” Bucky side-eyed Bob for a second, catching his eyes for just a brief moment. “I sent a message to New Asgard, they got it to her, and she said she’d do it. So bury your crushes, get your teasing out now, because she’s arriving tomorrow and I’d like if we could act like the Avengers and not the Avengerz for once. This woman did save the world…multiple times.”

Bob tried to do just that, he really did. There was endless teasing from John the rest of the day, and while Ava and Yelena didn’t directly contribute, they didn’t try to stop John’s comments either. Bob did his best to ignore them and brush them off, too busy giving himself a pep talk all day that he could do this. It was a harmless crush on a literal Goddess he’d had for years; it was nothing. He was an Avenger now, he could do this.

His pep talk had been great the night before. But it couldn’t prepare him for the moment you actually arrived at the tower in a stream of color.

The Bifrost was a sight in itself, but seeing it before your own eyes, as Ava muttered under her breath, was like its own separate wonder of the world.

The stream of colors dissipated before their eyes, leaving that same etched pattern it always did into the helicopter landing pad of the Tower they now called home. A conversation that it was decided Bucky would get to have with Valentina. When the colors were gone, you were left standing in the Bifrost’s place.

Bob hadn’t prepared himself for what it would be like to see you in person. Somehow, you were prettier than he even thought was possible.

The Asgardian armor you’d donned for years was still shiny, the light of the sun reflecting off of it. It was almost an exact copy of Thor’s own armor, though entirely blue and gold, billowing blue cape hanging from your shoulders, flowing in the wind of the city. Bob could see Styrkr, your sword, sheathed across your back, glinting in the sun as you stalked toward the group, a smirk that Bob thought could rival the sun itself on your lips.

You were beautiful. Gorgeous. Ethereal. There was no shortage of words that Bob could use to describe you in that moment as you stopped in front of Bucky.

“Well, Barnes…you look better than you did years ago, that’s for sure,”

Even your voice had the flutter in Bob’s stomach threatening to eat him alive from the inside out.

Bucky laughed, quickly pulling you into a hug that you eagerly reciprocated.

“I’d make a comment about how you haven’t aged a day, but I don’t think I need to point out the obvious,”

“Isn’t the longevity of Asgardians so fun?” you both shared another laugh, Bucky’s arm thrown over your shoulders as he seemed to give you an affectionate squeeze, a history of fighting and the semblance of a friendship clear between the pair of you. Your gaze drifted over the team beside him. “So…this is the New Avengers, huh? Still weird that you’re living in the tower I once called home.”

Bucky was quick to introduce the team to you. Yelena and Ava were nothing but respectful, while John still seemed to carry that ‘entitled arrogance’ as Ava typically called it in his greeting to you. Alexei had the entire team wishing that he just…knew how to be normal, for once. Loud, boisterous, but it brought a smile to your face nonetheless.

“I’ve got to say, you remind me a bit of Volstagg and Fandral if we mixed them into one person. I think you would’ve gotten along well with them,” the comment seemed to make Alexei surge with pride, even as he leaned over to his daughter and asked loudly ‘who the hell were those people.’ It was when your gaze finally made it to Bob that he felt his heart was going to stop. “So…that means you must be my indestructible, ‘power of a thousand exploding suns’ student.”

All eyes were on Bob in that moment, and he was struggling…hard. He tried to speak, to remind himself of his pep talk from last night and to portray confidence, but he was a stumbling mess of words.

“I uh, I’m-I’m Bob. That’s uh, that’s me…exploding suns and s-stuff. I’m the n-new student…yay. And I-I know who you are…b-big Norse Mythology fan…”

Bob could hear the snickers of his teammates, not entirely subtle about them, and could see the grimace on Bucky’s face. But not you.

Your smirk had softened into the sweetest smile. Your head had cocked to the side, eyes almost the tiniest bit brighter as they trailed his form up and down, and Bob could feel the sweat forming as he tugged at the collar of his sweatshirt, knowing you seemed to be assessing him.

“Bucky…you failed to warn me how cute my student was,” Bob’s breath had caught in his throat as you sent him a wink. “You know what they say…it’s always the quiet ones.”

You were going to be the death of him, Bob had decided in that moment.

You requested to spend that first day alone with Bob in the training room of the tower, gauging his comfort level in any form of fighting in the slightest. The team respected that, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t all found reasons to take turns walking past the training facilities in hopes of eavesdropping on conversations and catching glimpses of this training that they all thought was going to end terribly.

Bob’s eyes were locked on you as you removed the heavy armor plating you wore, laying it out on one of the benches until you were left in the form-fitting undershirt and pants that sat below your armor. Yeah, this was going to be absolute torture for him.

“Do you want to see it?”

Shaking himself out of the stupor that Bob seemed to put himself in, his eyes went wide as they focused back on your face. He was confused until he glanced at your hands, seeing that you were holding your sword, Strykr, out toward him.

“O-Oh! Oh uh, I don’t know-”

“She doesn’t bite,” you joked with a slight laugh, taking a step toward him and holding it out. “You said you liked Norse Mythology, so I figured you’d want to take a look at it before we get started.”

You were right, but Bob didn’t need to say that. With a shaky hand, he reached out and took the sword in his own hands, and he could almost feel the power flow through him just from holding it.

It was heavy, but not too heavy, a strange lightweightedness to it while still feeling like it took godly strength to swing. He realized, holding it up close, that the sun glinting off of it wasn’t what he’d seen earlier on the helicopter pad. The sword itself had a faint glow to it, almost pulsing, a power he could only assume came from the fact that it was forged in the heart of a dying star.

“It’s beautiful…” Bob managed to say without stuttering through it, probably because he hadn’t taken his eyes off the sword as he adjusted his grip on the hilt. “It ’s-it’s almost like-”

He hadn’t realized how fast he’d swung it, unused to the lightweight feel of the sword that was, most definitely, heavier than it looked. Your hand caught the blade easily, not even flinching, as it swung toward you, simply eyeing him with a curious look and a genuine smile.

“Well…never seen that before,”

“I-I’m sorry!” Bob dropped the hilt immediately, sure his cheeks were going to be permanently flushed red after spending time with you. You’d only let out a light laugh, catching the hilt easily, swinging it quickly in your hand before placing it down next to your armor. “I didn’t mean to! It’s just so…it’s so l-light.”

“It’s actually not. For most normal people, even for super soldiers like Bucky, it’s quite heavy,” you replied with a smirk as you rose back up to your feet. “Guess that’s a better explanation for your strength level than the bullshit ‘power of a thousand exploding suns’ shit Valentina came up with.”

Bob laughed lightly, wringing his hands together as his eyes followed you. Taking your place across the sparring mat from him, ten feet between you both, you stood ready for a sparring session. Bob…he stood as if he was in fight or flight mode.

“So…uh, how d-do we do this?”

“Depends. Bucky says when it comes to training you…don’t have much,” Bob nodded at your comment, watching as you tilted your head curiously. “You want to take it slow, or you want me to throw you in the deep end?”

“Uh…w-what’s the deep end entail?”

Bob had barely finished his sentence when your hands flicked, tendrils of navy blue magic wrapping around his waist and tugging him across the mat in your direction. A gasp left Bob involuntarily at the motion as the magic dissipated, leaving him barely on his feet in front of you. A single swipe of your leg had him plummeting to the ground on his back, landing with an ‘oof’ as your foot came to rest on his chest, barely pressing him into the mat.

“Y-you…” Bob was speechless, staring wide-eyed up at you as you simply smirked down at him. “T-that’s cheating!”

“No, that’s called the deep end,” you laughed wholeheartedly, reaching down to take his hand and tug him back to his feet, and he knew you didn’t miss that now signature red flush on his cheeks. “And that is why we’re going to start slow.”

“...why’d y-you even offer the deep end, then?”

“Girl’s gotta have some fun from time to time. Come on, let’s start with basic stances,”

Those training sessions started as once a week, before quickly evolving into twice a week, and before the team knew it, you essentially lived in that tower once again, there all day, every day. None of them minded, loving the stories you’d tell them over dinners of your adventures with your brothers when you were young, of the pranks that Loki enjoyed playing on Thor but never played on you, and even stories of everything that had once happened in the very tower the team now called their home. The more you were around, though, the more the rest of the team managed to find a way to tease him relentlessly when you weren’t in the room over his ‘obvious’ little crush.

Those moments of domesticity around you were what Bob loved the most, especially when it somehow managed to just be the two of you.

For weeks, even when you began to visit more and more often, the pair of you sparred together for hours, and that was the end of it. Bob, though, remembered the day it changed like it was yesterday. He wasn’t sure he’d ever forget it. The rest of the team had been sent out on a mission by Valentina, but you’d still promised you’d have your usual training session that day, even without them lurking around.

You’d thrown a punch that Bob managed to quickly dodge, even if he stumbled slightly on his feet afterward. Thinking of everything you’d been teaching him, Bob managed to steady himself, lock his feet into position, and throw a punch back at your ribcage. It connected, even though you hadn’t even flinched. You’d spun away from him, circling him with a smile on your face.

“Good! Next time, though, actually hit me,” Bob’s eyes widened, realizing what you were saying. You’d been trying to get him comfortable with his own super strength for weeks now, and that was the one thing he was still struggling with. “You have it, so use it. Don’t let it use you. Focus on it, channel it, and use it. You can do this, Bob. Don’t think, just do.”

Bob closed his eyes for a moment, thinking back on everything you’d been teaching him. Being the Sentry meant potentially letting that dark side of him overtake him, so he’d blocked off the Sentry. He’d blocked out his own powers, but he couldn’t. He had to accept that the Sentry and the Void were parts of him, and he didn’t need to be them in order to channel their strengths. He just had to be Bob, and when you were the one teaching him that, he seemed to understand it.

You charged forward, and he could see the magic encasing your fist as you threw a punch. Bob managed to duck, switching places with you. Your smirk quirked up as your leg came flying up at super speed. With a deep breath, Bob’s hand managed to catch it, not missing the way your eyebrows shot up. He threw your leg back to the ground, taking in a sharp breath as he thought about everything you’d taught him, and threw a punch toward your ribs, this time channeling the power surging through his veins that he tried so hard to block out in fear of losing control.

A gasp left your lips the second his fist connected, your body dropping to the ground as you fell on your knees, hand immediately holding onto your side. Any confidence surging through Bob in that moment dissipated in a second, and panic overtook him.

“O-Oh my god! I’m s-so sorry. I shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t have done that, I-I didn’t mean to hurt you-”

You laughed, and that laugh was enough to stop Bob’s incessant rambling of apologies. His gaze met yours as you looked up at him, and there wasn’t a trace of malice in it. There was pride, and something else buried beneath it that had the constant fluttering of his heart beating erratically once again.

“That, Bob, was perfect. Now…you want to get dinner together?”

From that day on, many of those days in the tower didn’t even consist of training.

You’d introduced Bob to the shawarma restaurant in downtown Tony had dragged you all to all those years ago, watching as Bob fell in love with the food. That became a typical Thursday outing for you both for lunch. In that time, simple walks around Central Park became more common than not. Bob enjoyed the peacefulness of the park, the contrast it had to the bustling city around it, and he found tranquility in walking through it. He didn’t leave the tower much, terrified of losing control, but when you were with him, he felt like he could do anything.

Moments in the tower with you were still his favorite. He could listen to you for hours on end, and he had, as you walked with him through the tower and told him stories upon stories from your years spent here with the people you’d called family for so long. There was a story for almost every room. And eventually, when those days turned into you crashing in one of the spare bedrooms Valentina had set up in the tower for the night, you’d both found yourself watching movies in the common room until the early hours of the morning before Bob’s insomnia would let him sleep, even if the others weren’t joining you.

The team had noticed. It was hard not to. The Bob they’d known, the one who often shied away from long conversations with them but could still throw out a snarky remark, had grown more comfortable. He’d left his shell, but only around you.

“Did you anticipate this?” Yelena questioned Bucky one day, who was comfortably sitting at the island counter of the tower’s kitchen. He’d followed her gaze to the common room, seeing you laughing on the couch at something Bob had said while yet another movie droned on in the background.

“To this extent? No,” Bucky shook his head, before glancing back at Yelena with a smug smirk. “But I hoped it might go this route. I’m taking credit for it.”

Yelena found herself watching you both again, and Bucky followed her gaze.

“Do you think she likes him…like that?”

The super soldier pondered it for a moment, but there was no mistaking it. Not with the way you smiled at Bob, no matter what he was saying, that glint in your eyes. He knew you well enough to know it was written clearly across your face.

“Yeah…she’s not very subtle. Then again, if you’ve met her brother, neither is he. She looks at him like Steve looked at Peggy, and that’s all I have to know,”

Bob was in deep, and he knew it. That crush he’d harbored was long gone.

He was in love, and god was it terrifying. To fall in love in general was a scary thing. Bob had lost enough in life; falling in love just meant there was another thing in his life he could lose. It complicates everything more when he’d gone and managed to fall in love with a literal Goddess.

It had been months of training, but something in the air this time was different. Bob couldn’t focus, couldn’t pull his eyes from you, and you seemed to know it. Every time you turned away, his eyes locked on you, but you always managed to glance back and catch him with a small smile.

His head felt fuzzy, that flutter still in his heart when he looked at you, and paired with that weightless feeling in his stomach, he knew being around you would never be easy again from this day forth. He was so mesmerized by the simple idea and sight of you he almost didn’t see your smirk as you entered fighting position, ready to spar again.

You were on him in seconds, this time with a knife in your hands. Both of you knew it couldn’t hurt him, but he also knew even if it could, you never would hurt him with it.

Bob sidestepped, but his mind was blank, the simple scent of your perfume sending him over the edge as he lost his entire train of thought. You’d taken advantage of the opportunity, knocking him down to his back on the ground.

What he hadn’t expected was for you to staddle him, knife pointed directly at his neck as you smirked down at him and the wonder written across his face.

“I win…”

Bob’s breath was caught in his throat, he didn’t know what to do. But you seemed to have him exactly where you wanted him. Your smirk shifted, a soft smile replacing it, as your hand rested gently on his chest, over the undershirt he wore to these sparring sessions. He knew you could finally feel the erratic beating of his heart reserved just for you.

“I’ve been teaching you for months now to fight. To be confident,” your voice came out in a whisper, and there was nothing for adoration laced through it. “I’ve spent enough time with you, Bob, I know you. So be confident…and tell me the truth about your racing heart.”

Maybe it was the way you always had a way of calming him, or maybe it was the training you’d been giving him for months, but something clicked in Bob. He sat up, leaning back on his hands until he was completely sitting straight up on the sparring mat, you still perched in his lap. A tentative hand came up to your waist, lying on it, and squeezing it gently. Your hands followed suit, running up his arms until they rested around his neck.

“You…” Bob tried to find the words, but his nerves were clear in his voice. “Y-you make me nervous.”

You hummed, hands finding the hair that curled at the nape of his neck.

“In a good way, or a bad way?”

“G-Good way,” he’d managed to get out, leaning is head back into your touch. “Good but…but scary.”

“Why?”

“B-because loving you means…I c-could lose you,” once the words started flowing out of him, they couldn’t stop. He’d held it inside for weeks now, and the weight on his shoulders was finally lifting off him with everything he said. “And I’ve lost enough. I…I don’t want to think a-about losing you, about you…not feeling the same way.”

You cocked your head at that, one hand trailing to his jaw as you caressed it beneath your fingers.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“B-because why would a Goddess…want a broken man like me?”

He could see it clearly, the sadness that seemed to flood your gaze at his words. You opened your mouth as if to speak again, before shutting it in a moment of contemplation.

Then, you’d surged forward and kissed him.

Bob’s heart could barely be contained in his ribcage the second your lips met his, and he pressed back with a surge of confidence that only you could give him. But it was a kiss that held so much more in it than what someone on the outside might see.

Your magic was woven into the kiss, into the feeling of your lips against his, and he could feel it. He could feel your emotions, your memories, flashing before him in every move of your lips against his. From the moment you’d stepped out of the Bifrost and looked at him, he could feel the twin flutter he’d had that had moved through you. The affection, the adoration, the love that poured off of you in every moment, from Central Park to movies on the common room couch.

Feelings that he believed could never be reciprocated, not for a man like him. Your magic-infused kiss told him the entire story of how you fell for him, just like he fell for you. There was no denying it.

Your lips parted from his, but they didn’t stray far. The space that hung between them was non-existent, and your lips brushed over his faintly with every word you spoke to him in a hush.

“Do you believe me now?”

“I…I don’t know. Y-you…you might need to kiss me again.”

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kandicon · 1 year ago

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Someone should tell me to write a paper on some random fuckass topic because I've been spending my little free time combing thru hours of video and hundreds of photos to create a list of every instrument each actor in my fav band has so much as touched AND tracking down every song that has ever been paired with a certain fandom over multiple platforms. I am coming to terms with the fact I cannot handle life without investigative journalism. Someone pls just give me a topic or put me down like a chicken hunting dog already.

#This can also be read as:#Pls for the love of god yell at me to finish that informational zine abt Miranda rights bc that's actually productive reaserch I need to do.#But all of that information is publicaly available and easily accessible AND I LITERALLY HAVE MY ENTIRE WORKS CITED AND OUTLINE DONE ALREADY #So it's boring me to death!! The main problem is that I have to declaw all the writing flair so it's direct and fits the word per page limit #and I HATE it #Don't get me wrong it needs to be done. Bc what Miranda covers is a convoluted mess (thank the supreme court for that)#and I genuinely want to spread information abt it in an accessable way.#I've literally been known to talk for HOURS abt it before so I KNOW it's just the executive dysfunction #But a bitch just wants something interesting to look into between the horrors of 2 seperate jobs (and working on a third!) and studying

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dduane · 4 months ago

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i cant belive that you of all people are at risk of homelessness >:(

homelessness isnt a problem that should exist in general, but you, specifically, should have like a million dollars from the star trek novels alone

(chuckle) Wouldn't that be lovely! (And it's kind of you to be thinking that way.)

But alas, that's not how it works.

When you're working in/for other licensed universes—which is always on a work-for-hire basis—the only really significant payment(s) you're likely to see will happen when you've turned in a given book and it's been formally accepted. And even then, the payment's rarely going to be higher than low-to-mid five figures... which (after your literary agent gets their cut, and after your taxes on the income get paid) won't take you very far even in a single year, let alone the years that follow.

If you're very lucky in your publisher, or have a very good agent—which I do—you may even manage to get some royalties on such a novel. But they'll be at the low end of the scale—maybe 2-3% of the cover price. (Bearing in mind that even for original novels in one's own universe, an author rarely gets more than 8-10% of a given book's cover price in royalties.) And when the book goes out of print, the royalties stop.

So just because the owner of the IP makes a lot of money off it, doesn't mean that any significant amount of it necessarily trickles down to the writer. (sigh) Nor does the fact that a book is good, or the writer is good, or both, make any significant difference in this branch of mathematics. Eventually, pretty much inevitably, sooner or later sales of a book drop off and the publisher lets it go out of print.

(shrug) It's not like I didn't know this was eventually going to happen when I wrote my Star Trek work. I did that because I loved Trek (and still do), and I was sure I could write a better Trek novel than anyone else had up until that point. (And maybe that was even true. Who knows.) To have done the work was the thing that primarily mattered.

But let this be a reminder to folks that only a low percentage of writers make enough from their writing alone to live on: and that something like 90% of writers at times live at or near the poverty line and sometimes slip below it. ...And for all of us, even for strong writers who seem moderately successful and have other income streams, bare patches happen: times when publishers don't pay (for example, I still haven't been paid anything for Disney/Marvel's reissue of my Spider-Man books), times when you can't work, or times when accident or illness or other unexpected circumstance eats the cash you've stashed away to serve as a cushion.

This is not a safe lifestyle. With talent and luck and endless slogging away at/over the writing mechanism of your choice, and with the support of your readers (whom I'm very much thinking of at the moment!—and thanks again to the Ebooks Direct customers and Ko-Fi friends who just now saved our butts), it can be survived. Which, from day to day, @petermorwood and I do our best to keep on doing.

...In any case: people who even at this end of time can say things about my work such as you did at the top of this, make me feel like about a million dollars. 🙂 (And since today I have both an upper respiratory infection and laryngitis, that's quite a trick!) ...So thanks.

ETA: for those curious, to deal with local physical issues I am now making this chicken soup, which—whether or not it has any actual therapeutic benefit—is still going to be very nice. ...It annoys the shit out of me that I have to leave out the onions and garlic, which would quickly trigger my IBS and subject me to an entirely different level of pain; but such is life. We've got all the other ingredients on hand sans the fresh turmeric, and if there's one thing this soup's short on, it's chilies. Which around here, believe me, is a deficiency that Peter's well positioned to remedy. :)

#writers' income #etc

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urdreamgirls-dreamgirl · 6 months ago

Text

“vickie!” eddie practically screams from his kitchen, rage coursing through him as he stares down at the tabloids spread out in front of him on the counter. “get in here! now!”

eddie’s had an issue with his rage lately. well. he’s had an issue with a lot of things, since he got famous, really. but that’s not his problem right now.

his problem is he’s looking down at image after image of himself on the covers of people and us weekly and entertainment tonight being dragged out of last night’s night club by his own security team with blood pouring from his nose. he looks angry. he looks crazed.

just then, a stranger walks into his kitchen.

“who the fuck are you?” he blurts out at the man, who’s wearing a dark green sweater vest over a white t-shirt and tortoise-shell glasses.

“i’m steve,” the weirdo stalker says, smiling brightly. he has surprisingly swoopy hair for an insane fan. “i’m your new assistant.”

“where’s vickie?” eddie asks, rubbing at the sore spot on his nose. thank god it’s not broken.

“you fired her,” steve tells him. “two days ago.”

“i fire her all the time.”

“ok, well… i guess this time it stuck,” steve shrugs. “chrissy hired me.”

“fucking chrissy,” eddie says under his breath, rolling his eyes. he pulls out his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants and speed dials chrissy. “chris, what the fuck?” he doesn’t even give her the chance to say hello.

“good morning, eddie. i’m doing really well, how are you?”

“not fucking well, that’s how i am!” eddie practically yells into the receiver. “what the fuck? did you see the pictures? and who the fuck is this guy in my house?”

“yes, eddie, i saw the pictures.” eddie can hear the eye roll in her voice. “we’re handling it. nancy’s already on it with the team. what was the other thing?”

eddie knows she’s fucking with him and that pisses him off even more. “who is this freak in my house wearing a goddamn sweater vest?!” he feels like a blood vessel in his eye is about to pop.

“hey,” steve protests softly from across the kitchen where he’s started to pull shit out of eddie’s fridge. he didn’t even know there was anything in that fridge.

“that’s not a very nice way to talk about your new assistant,” chrissy’s voice comes loud and clear through the phone.

“christina fucking cunningham, you know i have final say on all hiring decisions when it comes to my assistants.” he rubs at his sore nose again.

“you had final say on all hiring decisions until you fired vickie for the thirteenth time and she refused to come back, even with a three hundred percent raise. we’re going in a different direction now.” chrissy sounds entirely too pleased with herself.

“well, i fucking hate him,” eddie grumbles and watches steve to make sure he’s heard him. steve doesn’t even react, just continues doing whatever the fuck he’s doing with the frying pan he’d found in the cabinet.

“you don’t even know him, eddie. give him a chance. anyway, i have to go, i have brunch plans with my very beautiful, very intelligent, perfect fiancée,” chrissy tells him, gloating, before hanging up on him.

eddie wants desperately to throw his phone across the kitchen, but if he breaks this one that would be his fourth phone in three weeks and he couldn’t bear to have to ask this steve person to go buy him a new one. he settles for squeezing it in his hand until it creaks while taking several deep breaths through his nose.

“what are you doing?” he grits out.

“are you always this rude?” steve asks, ignoring his question.

“to weirdo freak strangers showing up in my house unannounced? yes.”

“it’s not unannounced, chrissy wrote it on your calendar.” steve gestures toward the paper calendar hanging on the side of the fridge where chrissy writes his major life events and which eddie mostly just ignores before sliding a plate full of food toward eddie.

“what is this?” eddie sneers.

“it’s an omelette with cheese and mushrooms,” steve replies, smiling. he’s always fucking smiling.

“i’m allergic to… omelettes,” eddie says, just to be a dick.

“no you’re not. you’re allergic to blueberries and dust.” steve doesn’t stop smiling pleasantly.

“did you get access to my medical records? that’s a violation of my… whatever rights.” eddie waves a hand through the air.

“no, i didn’t go look at your medical records, jesus. i’m not a stalker. chrissy told me when she hired me.”

“whatever. i still fucking hate you.”

“okay,” steve shrugs again. “eat your breakfast.”

eddie has every intention of leaving the kitchen, full plate of food and all, but. he is hungry.

so he eats.

and he’s pissed that it’s actually good.

~*~

eddie spends the rest of the day being a general nuisance to steve any time he tries to do his job. when steve answers the phone before handing it to eddie, eddie “accidentally” hangs up on whoever it is on the hand off & makes sure to blame his new assistant when the person finally calls back. when steve has to drive him to his meeting with nancy and the pr team, eddie tries to give him the wrong directions, but steve’s too smart for that. when steve has to do the grocery shopping, he makes steve go to the erewhon all the way across town during rush hour because the one down the street “just doesn’t have the same vibe, steve.”

and all the while, steve just does his job, still smiling, not getting angry at all even though it’s beyond obvious eddie’s being a little shit to him.

which honestly just pisses eddie off more than anything else today.

“here’s some aspirin,” steve says, placing two white pills on the coffee table in front of eddie, along with a mason jar of water. eddie, lounging on his big squishy couch, pulls the ice pack away from his nose, which has started throbbing again. “you didn’t have any glasses.” steve shrugs when he sees eddie’s arched eyebrow looking skeptically at the jar of water. “if you don’t need anything else, i’ll take off for the day.”

it’s past 8pm already, long after steve should have left for the day except that eddie had made him stay to organize his extensive tshirt collection by color, shade, and design before he could even think about going home. it was an emergency, after all.

“i’ll have to check the t-shirt closet first,” eddie replies, before swallowing the aspirin dry. steve shrugs again and rolls his eyes. eddie would say something about his blatant rudeness, but he’s too exhausted.

eddie pulls himself off the couch and makes his way down the hallway to his “t-shirt room.” it’s so stupid, but he has all this space and he’d started collecting the tshirts so long ago. they’re not worth anything, they’re just his wardrobe but… they remind him of wayne and the thrifting they used to do every saturday morning.

the organization eddie had been having steve do was entirely arbitrary. it’s not like eddie plans his outfits. he mostly just pulls whatever out of wherever, unless it’s an event and then he pays someone to do the deciding and dressing for him anyway.

but. steve’s organized the t-shirts by genre and subgenre and then by band alphabetically and finally color. more than eddie had even asked him to do.

eddie had come in here fully prepared to rip steve a new one, but even he can be shocked into appreciation.

steve notices eddie’s silence and grins.

“can i tell you something?” steve says pleasantly and then continues without even letting eddie respond to the question. “i know i look like a nice polite guy next door that moms totally love—it’s the sweater vests, i think.” steve plucks at his top. “and that’s true. i am a nice polite guy and moms do love me. i’m awesome.” his grin widens. “but i got kicked out of my parents house when i was 18 and i lived in my car for a while. i’ve been on my own for seven years. i made a life in LA out of nothing. so you can throw your little temper tantrums and tell me how much you hate me. you can make me go to the erewhon all the way across town and you can make me look incompetent to my colleagues. but i need this job. i’ve worked hard for this job. this job pays more than any other job i’ve ever had combined. and you’re hardly the biggest asshole i’ve ever met. so you can continue trying to make my life miserable—hell, i’ll even give you my dad’s number, you guys can swap ideas!” steve laughs at his own joke before turning serious for the first time all day. “but i’m not vickie. you won’t make me cry. you can’t fire me. i’m not going anywhere.” he claps his hands together. “anyway, i’m gonna take off, since i have plans with my actual friends. but hey, i’ll see you tomorrow, huh?” and he smiles again, giving eddie a small waggle of his fingers, before heading out through the door.

eddie’s still just standing there in the middle of his tshirt room when he hears the front door slam shut.

part two

#steddie #pre steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfic #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie blurb #steddie drabble #i was watching a romcom

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em1i2a3 · 2 months ago

Text

Got You (Where I Want You)

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You walk in on Bob staring at himself in the mirror.

Warnings: Fluff, with some intimacy thrown in there for good measure, because why the hell not, right? The sweetness is cavity inducing lol

Author’s Note: Had this idea yesterday and had to put pen to paper y’all, I don’t know what the hell got into me that made me push aside my other stuff for this idea, but I liked it too much to not go absolutely bonkers on my keyboard lol…Anyways, enjoy <3

Word Count: 4,785

Subject: FINAL HR WARNING - CONDUCT REVIEW (Walker/Starr Conflict)

From: HR Officer Marshall Greene

“Agents Walker and Starr are now under internal review for insubordination, hostile communication, and repeated disregard of team mediation protocols. One more infraction and we’ll initiate temporary removal from field rotation. Val has been informed. There will be no further email warnings.”

Walker (Reply All):

“Good to know HR thinks performance under pressure is ‘hostile communication.’ No wonder no one trusts leadership anymore.”

Ava (Reply All):

“Glad we agree that nobody trusts you.”

Yelena (Reply To: Ava and Walker):

“I swear if you get us all sent to HR group therapy again we are going to leave you both at the next extraction site.”

You choked on your own laugh, face half-buried in your pillow as your tablet buzzed again. Notification after notification trickled in like popcorn kernels catching heat–erratic, chaotic, and loud as hell. The entire thread was spiralling quickly, and all you could do was watch the digital tornado unfold before your very eyes. You sat up quickly, nearly dropping the tablet in your lap as you scrolled through the influx of new messages. One leg was tucked under you, while the other bounced with that familiar blend of amusement and secondhand dread.

Ava’s spelling had deteriorated into pure adrenaline–half her words missing vowels, full of heat and fury and thinly veiled threats. Walker had officially gone full defensive, slinging phrases like “operational leadership failure” and “compromised team integrity” like he was writing a dissertation for Val.

You snorted as Yelena replied again but to everyone this time with a simple:

“You guys are literally down the hall from each other, there’s no need to continue to document the arguing, just kill each other now.”

It was definitely a full-blown HR meltdown, and it was definitely going to warrant group therapy again, but the thread was just too good to keep to yourself.

Your thumb hovered over the screen for one more second, then you grinned, tossing the tablet to the side of the bed, because you knew exactly who would enjoy this as much as you.

Bob.

He was never in these threads–more because he didn’t even think to check them anyways. He was never mentioned, never cc’d. He just floated above the chaos like a gentle cloud of soft-voiced concern. He was never involved enough to be a direct problem, but he was always tuned in enough to notice when issues were brewing. He never participated in the drama, but he loved hearing about it. Only from you, though. Only when you read it out loud with your overly expressive hand gestures and dramatic reenactments–like you were performing Shakespeare in the park…But only for him.

It was a tradition. A rhythm that only belonged to you and Bob alone, because every time a thread decided to spiral into a tailspin of arguing, you sought him out immediately.

Sometimes it was in the kitchen over cereal. Sometimes it was on the roof, sitting hip to hip with your legs dangling in the wind. Sometimes it was huddled on opposite ends of the couch with your legs draped over his lap…And sometimes–like right now–it meant running to his room like you were delivering urgent news straight from the battlefield.

You glanced down at yourself–sports bra, and underwear–and let out a low huff. Bob had seen you like this before, technically. That’s what came with the territory of shared safehouses, mission recovery stations, and walking around the compound late at night when you thought nobody else was awake. Those were different situations though.

You padded across the room and yanked open your dresser drawer, rifling through your exercise shirts until you settled on a worn black t-shirt–oversized and thinning with age. You tugged it over your head in one swift movement, letting the hem fall just past your hips, then you grabbed a pair of navy basketball shorts off the back of your desk chair and shimmied into them with a quick hop-step, tightening the strings as much as possible so they wouldn’t fall as you rushed down the hall.

You scooped the tablet back up in your arms, the screen still glowing with the madness you’d left behind.

HR Officer Marshall Greene (Reply All):

“This is a formal thread, please refrain from using inappropriate language and making unfounded comments on others performances.”

The excitement only grew, as you slapped the tablet against your thigh, and bolted into the hallway.

The compound was quiet except for the distant clack of someone’s boots echoing down from the other wing–probably Ava pacing while she types another scorched-earth reply to the recent email. Regardless, you padded forward, barefoot but quick. The hum of the overhead lights casted your shadow along the wall as you rounded the corner toward the kitchen for a quick pit stop.

The fridge gave a quiet suction-pop as you pulled it open and reached for one of the bottled iced teas Bob always hoarded–hibiscus and lemon honey, the kind he insisted was the best. You grabbed one–already cool against your palm even though you had restocked them an hour ago–and tucked it into the crook of your arm as you shut the fridge with your hip.

”What’re you? A professional basketball player?” A voice from behind you asked.

You didn’t need to turn to know it was Bucky–leaning against the wall just outside the kitchen like he’d been planted there to deliver commentary on your outfit. His arms were crossed, dog tags peeking beneath the neckline of his exercise shirt. The glint in his eyes showed unmistakable amusement as he raised a brow at what you were wearing. You didn’t slow your pace though, you just tossed him a look over your shoulder.

”Careful Barnes, comments like that are how group therapy gets scheduled.” That earned a bark of laughter from him–rough and low.

”I’ll tell HR you threatened me with that iced tea bottle,” He called out as you walked off. You raised it above your head in mock-warning without looking over at him.

”Weaponized refreshments fall under Walker and Ava’s jurisdiction. Not mine.” You heard his chuckle echo faintly behind you, but your attention was already zeroed in on the familiar stretch of hallway that led to Bob’s room.

It was quiet here. Soft, almost. The air always felt a little warmer around his end of the corridor–in heat and in emotion in general, there was less tension, less noise, it was very…Bob. use him, his stacks of books, and the faint sound of whatever playlist he decided to put on.

You didn’t knock, you never knocked.

Your fingers wrapped around the handle and turned it without ceremony, pushing the door open like it was your own room, like it was a shared space you were both too sentimental to label.

“Bob! You are not gonna believe this thread..” You said as you were stepping into the room, clicking the door shut softly behind you before turning around.

And that’s when you saw him…And he nearly jumped out of his skin.

”D-Don’t you knock?!” He stammered, jolting like you’d fired a dart into his shoulder. His hands scrambled for the shirt slung half-off his desk chair, eyes wide, and cheeks flushing crimson, “I-I could’ve been–!”

”Naked?” You offered helpfully, lifting a brow as you stepped more into the room, “I think I’ve survived worse than accidentally walking in on someone mid-change.” Your voice had trailed off a little by the time you got to the middle of the room, because it hit you then–just how good he actually looked.

He wasn’t even trying, and that was probably the worst part–because you didn’t want to see him when he was…

The golden hour light poured through the west-facing window like warm syrup, catching the faint dampness along his skin and the light brown locks that his head sported. The light turned the droplets of water that still trailed down his back into halos of shimmer. His chest was broad and high with clean muscle, sharp and thick, and a bit swollen. There were red marks stretched faintly across his collarbones and the tops of his biceps, fresh from a too-hot shower–evidence of his notoriously sensitive skin. A small pink scar marked the space just under one of his ribs, thinned out from more than a decade of bearing it.

You had always known he was strong–he had to be because of the serum–but this was not what you were expecting.

Bob was built like a cathedral. Sturdy like he’d been carved from something permanent, and yet somehow he still stood like he was embarrassed of that.

”Bob.” You started, but he was already trying to pull his shirt over his head and failing–his arms were moving like they had forgotten how sleeves worked. Then after a second of struggling, he gave up with a frustrated sigh and just pressed the cotton against his bare upper torso like a towel.

“I-It’s really nothing…” He insisted, voice strained and high with shyness, “I-I was just…Looking at something.” Your brows raised as you padded even further into the room, placing the iced tea gently on the nearest stack of books.

“Got a rash or something? I know that Sentry suit probably isn’t a pleasant experience. It’s basically painted on…Probably got chafing in all the wrong places.”

“W-What? No! I–I don’t have a rash,” He sputtered, a nervous laugh catching on the tail end of his words. You could see his ears turning red, then watched as the flush crept down his neck and beneath the top he was holding against him. You grinned, leaning against the footboard of his bed, crossing your arms over your chest.

”So what were you looking at then?”

“I-It’s nothing…I swear…” His gaze couldn’t even meet yours, it just darted everywhere but your face: the floor, the ceiling, the bottle of iced tea, his desk lamp. His throat worked as he swallowed, and he shook his head, “It was n-nothing.” You sighed and, without another word, turned and sat on the edge of his mattress, tablet still in hand as you looked around the room–deliberately taking your time, giving him space to breathe. To maybe cool down a little before you asked him the same question again.

His room was neat, but not in a sterile fashion. He had bookshelves stacked high with paperbacks and limited edition copies of stories–science fiction, poetry, philosophy, he even had a few battered field manuals, but they looked like they hadn’t even been opened. A few of the books had some sticky notes jutting out in soft yellows, greens and blues, all in varying shades. There was a well-kept ficus in the corner by the window, catching sunlight in its leaves. One of his walls held a corkboard filled with photographs of places he had been with the team, with little notes he had kept from you–handwriting scrawled on torn napkins or on the backs of receipts. His Sentry suit hung off a hook like a molded second skin, and a flannel blanket was folded with precision at the foot of the bed.

“W-What are you doing?” Bob’s voice cracked with a soft, almost wounded hesitation. You didn’t look up from the bed right away, instead dragging your thumb along the edge of the tablet as you let the silence sit. Then you finally lifted your gaze, brow raised with soft mischief.

“Waiting for you to move,” You said simply. “So I can see what you could’ve possibly been looking at so intently before I barged in.” He shifted on his feet, his toes curling against the floorboards like he was trying to plant himself there and disappear.

”Y-Y/N, I wasn’t looking at anything…” You bit the inside of your cheek, eyes dropping from his for just a second–slowly taking his body in again from the reflection of the mirror behind him, the long, broad line of his back, the way the light caught in every indentation of muscle like it was sculpted for this hour of the day and no other. Then you looked back at him.

”So why’re you hiding from me then?” You asked softly, “You’ve seen me topless before…Thought you might’ve been comfortable returning the favour.” You joked. His eyes flickered to yours, then away again, lashes fluttering like a startled heartbeat. His grip tightened on the cotton he still held over his chest, the fabric slightly damp now from where it met his skin. You set the tablet down with a quiet tap on his nightstand, fingers curling loosely at your sides as you pushed off the bed and stepped toward him. The floor creaked softly beneath your bare feet. His breath hitched–just barely audible–but you caught it. His whole body tensed, like prey too stunned to run, and yet… He didn’t back away.

“Let’s look together, hmm?” You said, voice soft, it wasn’t a command…It was more of an invitation, “Turn and look in the mirror.” Bob’s eyes darted down to yours, nervous and questioning, the light in them flickering gold just for the briefest moment.

“W-What…?”

”Just…Trust me,” You whispered, inching close enough for your hand to find the edge of the shirt he was still holding to his front. You pinched the soft cotton between your fingers, “Turn and look in the mirror…And move this.” He stared at you, searching your face as if trying to find the trap. But there wasn’t one–not with you. So, with hesitantancy, he turned back toward the full-length mirror beside his bookshelf. His broad shoulders squared, his spine straightening instinctively like he expected to be judged, and slowly, he shifted the cotton away from his chest. He didn’t let it drop–he held it against his side like a safety net–but it no longer blocked his reflection.

You stepped behind him carefully, and rose up on your toes, putting your chin on his heated shoulder, eyes flickering over both his reflection and the way his skin flushed beneath you. The heat coming off his body was tangible, like the golden hour sun had been sucked up by his skin and refused to leave. His damp hair curled at the end where it had dried, and the slope of his shoulder tensed beneath your chin.

Up close like this, with nothing but the mirror before you both, it was impossible not to take him in fully–not just the parts you’d glimpsed, not just what the suit hinted at beneath all that gold-threaded armor and pressure. But this. Him.

The soft curve of his clavicle, just beginning to dry, still slightly pink from the heat of his shower. The small cluster of faded stretch marks that swept just beneath his chest, curling slightly toward the soft ridges of his ribs. They looked like pale lightning, half-silver in the light–evidence of how fast he’d grown into himself, into this body he never asked for. Another quiet mutation to accommodate the weight of what lived inside him. There were more across his lower stomach, ghosting down either side of his abdomen where the muscle swelled thicker. They branched just beside his navel and disappeared beneath the waistband of his joggers, pale and delicate, like silk run beneath sharp fingers. You wanted to trace them. God, you wanted to press your mouth to every single one.

His skin was smooth in some places, textured in others, but all of it was flushed with heat. And that light trail of hair that you’d never seen before–white blonde, so soft it nearly vanished unless you were this close–drew a path down the center of him that had you unconsciously tightening your arms just slightly where they curled behind his back.

“You definitely don’t have any rashes,” You said softly, voice light with teasing but thick with something warmer. “You’re just a handsome guy…That’s built like a house.” You gave a small shrug against him, trying to diffuse the sincerity with humor, but it still rang true. Bob’s shoulders stiffened immediately, and his reflection turned red so quickly you thought it might spread across the mirror itself.

“S-Stop it,” He muttered, ducking his head just slightly, like that might shield him from your words.

“Why?” You murmured, brows lifting gently. “It’s not like I’m lying to you.” He didn’t answer right away. The silence stretched for a second too long, and then his voice came–rougher, smaller.

“I-I don’t see it… I just see this…This person who’s not themselves anymore.” His jaw clenched a little, eyes glued to his reflection like it betrayed him. “Not like I u-used to be. Everything’s just…D-Different.” Your frown came slowly, spreading across your face with a heaviness that tugged the corners of your mouth down and softened your eyes into something deeply pained. You finally connected the dots.

He hadn’t been admiring himself in the mirror. He wasn’t checking for a rash or even trying to catch a glimpse of some half-healed wound. He was judging himself–tearing himself apart with every second he stared. Comparing himself to the man he used to be. The one he probably thought he lost the day he became more myth than man. Your heart twisted with it. That quiet kind of ache that came from loving someone too much to let them stay hurt.

“…Can I touch you?” you asked gently, voice barely above a whisper.

Bob’s eyes met yours in the mirror, startled like you’d touched a raw nerve instead of just offering kindness. His lips parted slightly, breath catching in his throat.

“O-Okay,” He said, like it was foreign–like no one had ever asked that before. You moved even closer to him, your chest now pressing against his back. You lifted your hand and just…Touched him.

Your fingertips met the warm skin of his stomach, just above the waistband of his joggers, feather-light. He inhaled sharply. Not in fear–just surprise. His stomach tensed for a second, then loosened, like his body didn’t quite know how to receive affection that came without demand. You smoothed your hand upward, tracing the soft rise and fall of his abdomen, the slope of strength beneath the surface. His skin was warm and velvety under your touch—damp in places from the shower, and soft in others from where his skin had healed from stress and strain and godhood.

“You’re so…” You breathed, thumb sweeping just beneath his ribs, “Unbelievably beautiful, Bob.” He blinked like he hadn’t heard you right. Like that word had never belonged to him.

“I mean it,” You said softly, your hand traveling up his chest now, resting briefly over his heart–feeling the beat pounding steady and strong beneath your palm. “You have no idea what you look like, do you?”

His breath shuddered. “N-Not like this…”

“Then let me tell you.”

Your voice dropped, low and tender, like a vow.

“This body,” You whispered, your fingers tracing the faint stretch marks just below his pecs, “This is a testament. To everything you’ve carried. To how hard you fought to stay here. How strong you’ve had to be. You didn’t just survive…You built this. And you built it with love. With the way you protect people. With how gently you hold things, even when you could crush them.” You leaned in, lips brushing the curve of his bare shoulder, kissing him once. Then again, higher, where the tension lived tight beneath his neck.

He shivered.

Not out of discomfort–but because he knew you meant it. Because your mouth on his skin felt more like an affirmation than anything anyone had ever said to him. His skin jumped beneath each press of your lips. Your other hand slipped around his waist, palm resting over his stomach again–feeling the subtle flex as he tried and failed to keep still.

“You’re real, Bob,” You murmured between kisses. “You’re good. You’re so good. And every inch of you–every mark, every muscle, every breath–is deserving of love.”

He made a sound then–a quiet, choked breath like he was holding something in his throat. His chest hitched slightly under your hand, and when you peeked up at his reflection, his eyes were glossed, gold flickering around the rims like he was lit from within. You tightened your arms gently, holding him from behind like a tether, your forehead pressing into the curve of his shoulder. Your lips grazed the top of his spine.

“Even if you can’t see it… I do.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full. Of breath. Of tension. Of emotion so thick it filled the space between your ribs and his.

After a few long seconds, his hand moved. Trembling at first, like he didn’t know what to do without being awkward, before lowering it to cover yours.

His palm was big, warm, and dampened with sweat, but you didn’t mind the way it felt. He held your touch in place like he didn’t want you to stop. His thumb swept softly along the edge of your hand, nervous but desperate to keep you there.

When he turned to face you, his breath hitched again. His eyes didn’t look away this time. He just stared at you like he was memorizing the moment.

You were still holding his waist. Still close enough that the warmth of him surrounded you like a sun. His hand lifted–slow, hesitant, like the moment might shatter if he moved too quickly. You didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. Not when his fingers brushed your jaw and then curled so gently against your cheek it made your eyes sting.

He held your face like it belonged in a museum among the works of art. His thumb grazed the space just beneath your eye, sweeping along your cheekbone with the softest pressure–as if he was trying to memorize the way you felt beneath his touch. Like if he just held you long enough, maybe he could believe this was real. That you were real. That someone had truly looked at him–all of him–and still wanted to stay.

Neither of you blinked.

The air shifted–thick with something golden and unspeakable, heavy in your lungs but light in your chest. Like standing on the edge of something vast and beautiful and knowing, this is the moment it all changes.

And then he leaned in.

Not in a rush. Not in some burst of passion where your teeth could possibly clash together. But slowly–like the sun melting into the sea. Like a secret unfolding, tender and certain, inevitable as gravity.

His lips met yours with gentleness you didn’t know you were starving for.

It was so soft it almost didn’t feel like a kiss at first. Just a breath of warmth, and a quiet hum of surrender blooming behind your ribs. His mouth moved against yours with cautious wonder, wanting more but keeping his thoughts under control just for this one moment–just so he could display his secret devotion to you.

The world narrowed to the press of his lips, the curl of his fingers that were still on your cheek, the faint tremble in his shoulders, and the heat of his bare skin where your hands moved now–trailing up his sides and over his back. You traced the soft slope of muscles with your palms, admiring, until your fingertips danced along the small of his back.

And that’s when he gasped.

The kiss broke as his body flinched against yours with a startled breath, a laugh hiccuping through the sound.

”I…Sorry,” He stammered, half-flushed, half-laughing, his hand falling from your cheek like he had ruined it. You grinned, still feeling your heartbeat throughout your entire body, your eyes shining.

”Don’t you dare apologize for a kiss like that,” You whispered, and before he could respond back to you–before he could shrink away or stumble over a hundred more nervous syllables–you leaned in and kissed him again.

It was just a quick one. A seal on the moment, something that could contain it. His breath hitched like he hadn’t expected it–like he still couldn’t quite believe you were touching him so freely, so warmly.

You pulled back just enough to smile against his lips and murmur, “Only you would apologize for something that sweet by the way.” Another blush lit his face instantly, rising to the tips of his ears like fire spreading across his skin. You laughed softly and pressed one last kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then you wrapped your arms around his waist and pulled him into a proper hug, letting your cheek press to his chest as he melted into your touch.

His arms folded around you slowly, his forearms curling tightly around your waist, his palms flattening against your spine, pressing your body flush to his like he wanted to make sure there was no space between you at all. You melted into the hold instinctively, sighing against his chest as the tension slid out of you like sand between fingers. Your cheek rested against the warm pillow of muscle just over his heart, and there it was–the steady galloping rhythm, thumping firm and fast beneath your ear. You closed your eyes for a moment, just breathing him in.

The scent of his shower was clinging to him and invading your senses now, there was sage, and a hint of pine, he smelled like a forest, or the wilderness–he smelled like the safest place you would ever come to know.

For a long beat, neither of you moved.

His chin dipped until it came to rest lightly on the crown of your head, a sigh escaping him–low, content, full of something that bordered on reverent. When he hummed, it was quiet and barely even a sound–just a vibration in his chest that pulsed through your cheek and down your spine like a tuning fork finding your frequency so he could slip in and be one with you. You smiled against him.

“So…” You started, voice muffled slightly by his skin, “Is there any chance you’ll start walking around shirtless more often now that I’ve thoroughly showered you with compliments?” He let out a soft, incredulous laugh–half embarrassed, half endeared–and you felt it echo all the way through your ribs. His hands tightened slightly at your back as he ducked his head a little further, his voice feathering warmly against your scalp.

“I-It’ll be u-under heavy consideration now, I think…” He mumbled, voice playful but still laced with that soft-spoken sincerity that was so uniquely his. You smirked.

“Hmm,” You hummed back, fingers curling gently against the thick muscle of his upper back before giving him a teasing squeeze. It made him jolt, just slightly–a tiny gasp of a flinch, like you’d shocked him. He barked out another laugh, and you pulled back just enough to look up at him.

“I’ll take that as a very soft yes,” You said, grinning up at him, your fingers still resting against the planes of his back. His eyes met yours–wide and dilated, but glowing now with something unguarded and bright.

“Y-Yeah,” He said shyly, a smile tugging at his lips, “I guess…I-If it’s for you, it might be okay.” He scratched nervously at the back of his neck with one hand as he looked down at you, then added sheepishly, “B-But you have to promise not to look at me like I’m a sculpture again…I-I almost combusted.” You laughed, arms still around his waist, resting your chin on his chest now so you could meet his eyes directly.

“No promises,” You whispered. “You are a sculpture. Just one that happens to blush when I compliment him.”

His face turned a glorious shade of red, and you watched the smile spread helplessly across his lips even as he tried to hide it. His hands came up again, this time cradling your jaw like it was something precious. His thumbs brushed softly against your cheeks, and he leaned in again–this time a little more sure of himself.

And when he kissed you again, it was with a quiet hunger. Still gentle, still sweet, but layered now with the quiet thrill of knowing that you saw him–really saw him–and loved every part you found.

1K notes · View notes

nezuscribe · 1 year ago

Text

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

pairing: gojo x fem!reader

summary: once childhood friends with the crown prince, you find yourself in a troubled situation when he calls for you to help him around with his daily duties as the king to be. he seems to have forgotten everything, forgotten who you even were. but as the palace's most loyal servant there's only so many things that you can tolerate, including the prince.

warnings: 18+ mdni, slight angst misunderstandings and just not talking shit out, minor panic attack/overall anxiety (with comfort), eating out (fem! receiving), fingering, gojo is a certified munch

word count: 14.1k (sorry)

note: i can only write gojo in a royal setting now so that’s that. i really liked writing this fic so comments and reblogs are always appreciated!

jjk masterlist

it all started with that night.

when the air was biting, cold and harsh. the moon offered so little of her light as you ran across the open foyer, feeling your tear stained cheeks more than you had back in the ballroom as you could barely feel your heartbeat, not stopping until you were out of the grand double doors, running as fast as you could through the gardens until you were sure everything and everybody was far behind you.

you continued for a little more, finding yourself at the foot of the rose gardens, your chest heaving up and down, sweat dotting your forehead. you were sure the rouge that you had so carefully dotted onto yourself was ruined now, but that was the least of your worries.

you place a hand on your chest, catching your breath, looking behind you to make sure that nobody had followed you outside. most nights, such as ones like this, you enjoyed the freckles of stars above you, but now, all that filled your mind were the events of moments ago.

the staring, the judgment.

“is everything all right?”

your head snaps around, your eyes wide in shock as you find a man standing behind you, a careful feet away so as to not startle you even more than he already had. you couldn't make out his face in the darkness, but with your blurry vision, you doubt you could make out your own reflection.

you nod feverishly, trying for a smile that was shaking and quivering as you turn away for a second, patting your cheeks dry as you try out for a weak laugh.

“yes, t-thank you,” your voice cracks, your lips trembling and your breathing heavy. your uniform and apron was sticking tightly to your skin and everything seemed as if it was tilted on an axis. you felt like the world was spinning in the opposite direction, and had it not been for the strong hands behind you that steadied you upwards, you were sure you would’ve fallen down.

“miss, are you sure everythings alright? surely i can call for a-” the man stops when you shake your head quickly, just realizing how much trouble you were going to be in if your superior ever saw you missing from your post.

“no, thank you, i, i have to go,” you try to stand up again but stumble, grateful that he still had a steady hand on your elbow, “i apologize, i don’t know why i’m so dizzy.” you say, holding your head in your hands, trying to ease your temple with the thumping it was doing.

“would it perhaps be because you ran through the entire courtyard in a matter of seconds?” his voice is low yet teasing, and you should be embarrassed and mortified that somebody saw you, but you feel beside yourself tonight and laugh, nodding along.

“perhaps,” there’s a small smile on your face, but the gentleman chuckles along, helping you stand comfortably, making sure you didn’t need him until he was absolutely sure you wouldn’t topple over.

“are you not enjoying the festivities?” he remains a good distance away from you, though you’re glad he’s given you some space.

you swallow thickly, rubbing at your eyes and cheeks to rid them of the tears but they just seem to be non-stop.

“the festivities aren’t the problem,” you sniffle, hiccuping as you laugh wetly, “i just seem to be too sensitive for the likes of them.” you say the last word with some weight.

you thought that after all these years, after all the times you proved you’re more than your lineage, somebody always manages to bring it up.

he doesn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, the only sound that you can hear is your shuddered breathing.

“take in a deep breath,” his words are soft, but your head snaps up, confused.

“it’s a breathing exercise,” he explains further, gently, “one in, one out,” he places a sturdy hand on your back, one that was too close for if a chaperon were to ever see you in such a compromising position you would be ruined, “we’ll do it together, i’ll count.”

your eyes are squeezed shut, but you mimic your breathing to his rhythmic breathes, your mouth open as small puffs of air fill your collapsing lungs. it takes a while for this sort of breathing pattern to take effect, but it helps you to calm down a bit. your nerves are still erratic, but it’s better than before.

“there you go,” his voice is soothing, calming, something you’ve never heard before, something you’ve never known you’ve needed.

there’s a few beats of silence, your eyes squeezed shut until you finally open them again to get a good look of who this stranger was.

“i have to thank you…” you trail off, your breath catching harshly in your throat when you're met with those familiar eyes, the same ones you see in the paintings you are set to clean each and every day, the same ones that look at yo with childish joy when he used to chase you around the courtyard when you were children. the infamous white hair, a tale telling of his lineage, and the countless medallions on his suit.

you don’t know what to do, and you take a tentative step back. all the feelings of fear, of embarrassment, of dread coming rushing back, but ten times worse.

“sato…y-your highness, i,” you stagger backwards, “i…” you’re at a loss for words, your breaths coming out erratic again.

he reaches his hand out for you to take again, his brows furrowed in confusion with you sudden change of emotions, growing into even more confusion when he gets a better look at you, memories rushing back at the strange familiarity of your face, but you don’t know as you scrunch your uniform between your fingers, muttering some unintelligible words under your breath as you bow hurriedly, brushing past him as you speedily make your way back to the palace, breaking about every protocol you have been taught since your first day there,

blissfully unaware of just how much your life was about to change.

—

the life of a palace maid is a bustling one, full of daily duties that fill your time from the moment you wake up to the moment you put your head down to rest. dusting the staircases, making sure the royal portraits are in tip-top shape, and, of course, tending to any of the needs the royals themselves need.

you were lucky in your position, not too close to the top where any slight mess up could be your undoing, but far up where you could enjoy the more tedious and rewarding of tasks that others, such as the kitchen workers or the stables servants, may not have the luxury of having. you count your lucky stars every day that you’re not stuck cleaning fru-fru’s (the king's prized horse) droppings.

“there really are no breaks,” lydia muttered under her breath, folding the freshly cleaned linen sheets as you gave her a look from under your lashes, warning her to be careful with her words, never too sure of how alone you two could be, “what? it’s just the truth.”

you snort, not disagreeing with her because it was the truth. there had been royal balls upon endless balls, countless gala’s and feasts for the past couple of months. the prince was finally rumored ready to take on a wife, and all the eligible bachelors and their mamas have flocked to the scene, ready to become part of the gojo family.

the last one had been all but two weeks ago, the same one where…you couldn’t think of it too much, glad that nobody else was there to witness your trivial breakdown. all except the prince, of course, but you hadn’t been beheaded yet so you never mentioned it to anybody.

but, despite the last social gathering being so recent, another one was about to take place in a week. everybody could feel their hands splitting raw at the thought of cleaning the palace once again, but it was all in a day's work.

“though i must say, you always seem to find a way to entertain yourself through all these surely grueling events,” you tease, a knowing look in your eyes as an unmistakable blush takes over her cheeks.

“well!�� she exclaimed, laughing under her breath as she fanned herself with her gloved hand, picking up another sheet to fold, “if a young man displayed his notable affections towards me, i would only be mad not to entertain them.”

“you’re such a flirt,” you giggle, careful to keep your voices quiet so that nobody would come and break the two of you up. you were fortunate enough to spend most of your time with your closest friend, but if anybody ever got a whiff of just how much the two of you enjoyed folding bed sheets or tidying up the king's study.

“there have been countless events, and yet, there is no wife,” she says this more as a statement rather than anything, “do you think it’s because the prince is cruel?”

she was right about this, too. it was more often than not when lydia was wrong.

it had been a couple months of trying to set the prince up with his rightful match. women from corners of the earth, places you’ve never heard of, have found their ways to these balls and galas. of course, the palace did all they could to quell the rumors on why it was taking their beloved prince so long to find a wife, and yet, they could do so much. the rumors were beginning to grow, and none in his favor.

you laugh uncomfortably, hoping that nobody could hear the two of you in this closet.

“the prince? cruel?” you shrug, feigning indifference.

he wasn't cruel when you met him.

and he never was crue all those years agol, or at least from what you could recall.

because before there was lydia, there was satoru.

so many years ago, you and the prince were childhood friends. he somehow introduced himself one of the days you were cleaning the castle, your uniform still so large seeing how it was made for a teenager and you were yet to reach six, so you were swallowed by it. but he didn't seem to care much about who you were, rather the fact that he was able to find somebody around his age, happy to have a friend that didn’t have to practice fencing with.

the two of you were close, as close as a prince and a young maid can get.

you never had a semblance of a normal childhood, but for those few years that you had known him, he offered you some normality that you would've never expected from the crown prince. at nights, when the two of you would meet up in a spare closet, he’d unravel a satchel full of bread and sweets, things he had stolen from his dinner table, knowing that your meals were often far smaller than his.

he didn’t seem to forget you, even as he grew in his adolescence. he’d still find you wherever you were, a bright smile on his face as you gave yourself a quick break, running around the gardens with him as you squealed, trying not to get caught by him as he tried to push you down into the river nearby.

but, you tended to be more level-headed than him, and easily foresaw the day that came when his advisors found out he had been befriending the servant girl, more specifically the daughter of the town courtesan, and before you knew it, you had been swept away, promised to never mingle with him again. they couldn’t strip you bare of your position at the palace, knowing that you worked for far less than others asked for and longer than most did, but they changed your place, your rooms, and you barely saw him again. he soon forgot, and you counted yourself lucky that you were still able to have a memory to latch on to.

“or perhaps he’s unlikely to even take a wife. he may prefer his time spent with multiple women, if you get what i mean,” she continues, your thought coming back into focus as you suddenly realize what she just said, swatting her with one of the towels while saying such an unbecoming thing about her prince.

“or maybe he’s taking his time,” you give her a pointed look for being so crass, “he might be holding out for a love match.” you say, your gaze focused on your nimble fingers as you fold the sheets as if it were second nature, your body moving faster than your mind was.

she snorts, rolling her eyes at your romantics.

“you can’t-” she goes to say something but is crudely cut off by the doors behind the two of you swinging open.

your necks snap around as you are instant to stand, bowing deeply to whoever it is that walks in, looking up only after a brief pause.

a part of you tenses upon seeing the housekeeper, miss lottie, entering in. her graying hairs were pulled back in a tight bun, the uniform that all the maids wore ironed to perfection. though she may not be as in her youth as she once was, her face was void of wrinkles, a feat, considering her position.

two men who you had never seen before walking in behind her, standing on either side as she motions for the both of you to introduce yourselves. lydia bows once again, saying her name, and you do the same.

“these are the last of my girls, gentlemen,” she starts with a sigh, massaging her temple, missing the confused look you and lydia shared as she offered no explanation for what was happening, “these are the only other maids in my department that wear this uniform.”

the two guards look at you and lydia top and down, their eyes racking over your features, your postures, your faces. you felt sweat prickling at the back of your neck, your hands growing clammy as your mouth dried.

surely, it can’t be.

“her,” one of the guards raised his gloved hand to you.

“her?” lydia cries out loud, earning a disapproving look from miss lottie, but the old woman seems to be just as confused as you and lydia.

“come with us,” the other one says, opening the door further, not seeming to care about your stupified state as you grip onto lydia’s wrist as tightly as you could.

you couldn’t speak, couldn't breath. you felt like you did that night, the same dreadful feeling that filled your veins and your lungs, keeping you from taking in the air you so desperately needed.

“gentlemen,” lydia takes a step forward, trying to shield you with her body, “i’m sure whatever it is you’re after, she,” she points her head over to you, “is certainly not it.”

this is it, you tell yourself, they’ve finally tracked you down.

the two guards don’t pay her any mind, don’t even address nor speak to her as they push her aside, wrenching your hands away from her as they try to move you forward, trying to move you away.

“miss lydia, please,” miss lottie almost seems to beg, has her brows furrowed in puzzlement as to what was happening, her mouth agape as she watches them take you away.

you feel your mind go hazy, your vision turning blurry as you dumbly follow the guards out of the room, the muted shouts of your friends growing softer and softer behind you as you walk through the halls you[‘ve been walking through for nearly your entire life,

not knowing if it would be your last.

—

the three of you walk for a while, and it doesn't help that nauseous and sinking feeling that you have growing in the pit of your stomach. your eyes darted around, your cheeks heating up in an uncomfortable flush when you caught the glances the others servants and maids gave, the way they began instantly whispering behind their gloved hands or one another as to what could be happening.

you quickly looked down, watching your steps. if you weren't ruined after whatever this was, the gossip that was to circulate about you surely would.

they lead you up a spiral staircase, through the east wing, and after some time, the walls and the floors begin to grow unfamiliar to you. these are the places that even you weren’t authorized to clean, places that only the most trusted and known people were allowed to be.

you peek around through the corners of your eyes, trying to take it all in one last time. there is more gold encrusted into the painting, the wall decorum, the ceiling. it’s more grand than you even thought the palace could be, and had it not been for your doomed fate, you would’ve tried to savor it more.

the guards in front of you suddenly stop in front of a door, and you almost bump into one of them had you not stopped yourself milliseconds before.

one of the guards raised his fist, knocking once, letting his hands fall behind his back.

you wait with baited breath until you hear a muffled, “come in,” from behind the door, and the other guard turns the knob, the door swinging wide open.

the two men come in before you do, their bodies hiding the view. you stay outside, your hands shaking, waiting until further instruction.

the guards are speaking to the person inside, their voice mixing with each other in your muddled head, and you feel your eyes begin to wet. all of your hard work, all the sacrifices you’ve made along the way, every sleepless night devoted to securing your rank and your future were now going up in flames.

“why didn’t you tell her to come in?” the first voice grows a little louder, “come in, miss,” he calls out, and you take in a deep, shaky breath.

you take a slow, tentative step inside, and then another one. your feet pad in quietly, your head ducked down in respect but also because you couldn't have these people seeing you like this, it was mortifying as it was.

you bow, knowing that you were in the presence of royalty from just the atmosphere of the room alone. you go down as low as you can, almost kissing the floor with your nose.

“you men can go now,” the voice, an all too familiar one, says.

you hear their heavy footsteps behind you, the door shutting with a thud.

“you can stand,” the prince says, his voice less loud and commanding.

you slowly rise, still keeping your head down, your eyes meeting a desk, some papers, and when you finally look up, the prince.

his smile quickly drops when he sees your face, quickly moving away from his seat as he rounds the table, making his way over to you as you quickly wipe away at your tears. it was breaking your etiquette protocol for how you were to act if you were to ever come face to face with royalty, but you don’t see any point in acting in such a way when this is somehow quite similar to your first encounter.

“are you hurt?” he quickly asks, standing a foot away from you, his eyes darting around your body as you quickly shake your head, sniffing as you stand as perfectly still as you could.

“were my guards rough with you?” he looks behind himself at the door, “i will have a word with them immediately-”

but you shake your head again, swallowing thickly as you dip your head down once, going to speak.

“it was not the guards, your highness,” you feel like time is stopping as he stares intently at you, “i just have an apathy for being too emotional at times.” you try to joke, but with the way your heart was beating so loudly and erratically, it drowned out any humor you may have been trying for.

“is it perhaps because you’ve been called to the prince's study with no reason or explanation?” he jokes, his eyes look at you from beneath his long lashes and you laugh wetly.

“perhaps,” you accept the handkerchief he gives you with a small thank you.

you wipe at your tears, quickly composing yourself with taking a couple of more steady breaths, and you were glad that the prince was at least giving you this time to look a little more presentable until he sentenced you to your punishment.

“right, well,” he claps his hands together, a small smile on his face as he inches backwards until he’s able to sit on his desk, not caring for the slue of papers underneath, “i’m glad i was finally able to find you.”

find you?

you don’t say anything, your eyes taking him in for the first time, and for the first time, the rumors were correct.

he was positively gorgeous.

the veil of night hid a lot of his features, leaving only the more pronounced things for you to see. not only that, but you had been sworn to keep away from him, the last time you were really able to see him was years ago.

but now, illuminated under the light from the large windows to the side of him, you can see him as clearly as you possibly could. his eyes were striking and stark, a blue that you could only get if you looked at the sea and saw all the colors mixing around together. his lips were plump and pink. his jaw was sturdy, but that could’ve been said along with the rest of his body, no longer looking like the lanky little boy that you were used to envisioning. though he donned a simple white button up, the sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing just how strong he was. everything about him exuded radiance, the spectacularity that only comes with being the crown prince.

you try to focus yourself again, and try not to melt under the way he noticed you staring too hard, his smile turning into something far more teasing.

he wets his lips, sitting up a little bit straight, pushing himself off the table just a bit so that he could be closer to you.

“my name is satoru,” he extends his hand outward, and you stare at it.

oh, a part of you sinks, he doesn't remember you.

“shake, please” he says as if reading your mind, “my hand isn’t infected with a fungal disease if that’s what you’re worried about.”

you quickly nod, feeling sheepish as your hands slowly raise from where they were resting on your crumpled apron, fingers gently and barely there as they glide against his palm until your hand is enclosed in his, fingers curling around his as you shake.

his palm is soft, unlike yours which had grown rough and riddles with scratches and cuts from over the years. he shakes firmly yet gently, not too harsh unlike the other men whose hands you’ve shaken before, making it somewhat a point to not only bruise your skin but to show off their strength as you look at them with a sneer.

you don’t let go until he does, not wanting to seem rude or improper, and your hands quickly fall back down to your sides. you’re aware of the stains of food and dirt on your white apron, the way it is held together through stitches and intricate sewing. it’s a stark difference to what he’s wearing, even if simple, but the quiet opulence is what differentiates the two of you so easily.

he waits patiently and you suddenly realize that he’s waiting for your name. you said it quickly, your eyes darting to him as you bow your head again.

“as i said,” he continued, his head turning as he looked out the window, taking in the scenery, “i have been trying my best to find you ever since, well, i’m sure you remember.”

“i was told by…miss marla scott, is it?” he asks, and you nod, miss lottie, “that you are one of, if not, her best girls.”

you nod again, not knowing what to do. he was going on about this as if all those years ago were a figment of your imagination, as if your childhoods weren’t linked together the way you recall them being. that could be for the best though, seeing how you could be in trouble if anyone were to remember.

“i’ve recently had to do away with some of my valets, they didn’t meet my expectations.” he scratches his jaw, looking back at you, his eyes simmering as you look at him from beneath your lashes.

“i would like for you to be my maid.” he finally said, his fingers playing with the ring on his middle finger, twisting it back and forth as it caught and reflected the sunlight.

there’s a beat of silence, a moment in which the two of you just look at each other.

you almost laughed in shock, your brows shooting upwards in surprise, hands interlinking themselves as they rested on your queasy stomach.

“p-pardon,” you swallow dryly, “pardon me?”

he waves it off, his eyes playful, obviously understanding that you weren’t expecting this and he runs a hand through his arctic hair. you intently watch his every movement, waiting for him to burst out into laughter and to say that this was all one big joke, one meant to set you up into a trap.

“you’d have to make my bed every day, make sure my room is clean. my office,” he motions to the room around the two of you, “as well. anywhere i am, you are. i’m not a particularly messy person, but i like the assurance a maid provides.”

“your highness,” you breathe deeply through your nose, a puff of air coming out as you smile shortly, “i am more than honored, but i’m not sure i’ve been trained the way a personal maid has been trained. i would hate to disappoint you,” you chose your words carefully, but he waves it all off with his gloved hand.

“you will be taught. after all, you are the best, are you not?” his eyes crease around the edges, waiting for you to simply nod once again, and you do, slowly.

“but, your highness, i…” you trail off, failing silent and running out of words as you find yourself sputtering under his gaze. you’re usually one who’s easily composed, your back straight and shoulders pressed backwards, but you feel it all slipping away.

“why me? i surely couldn’t have made a favorable impression the first time we met, your highness.”

he looks at you for a moment, brief, fleeting.

“you’re human, it happens,” he simply says, his eyes flickering a different shade, “my mother always tells me that we forget to exhaust the capabilities that connect us together,” he rubs in between his brows, soothing the crease, not going any further into his explanation when he looks up at you, his smile debonair, “now, do you accept?”

you suck in a breath.

one nod.

yes.

—-

you were quickly swept away from your normal routine of things to become the princes maid, something that you could barely even get out once lydia was able to ask you about what had happened. you can remember the looks you received after walking to your new quarters, a private room for the first time in your life, by the people who judged you the first time around, feeling a little victorious with your single back packed with the three changes of clothes you owned.

you spent days going over what was to be expected of you, and it all felt like it was a joke.

it was too simple, too easy of a job with an even simpler explanation from the prince as to why you were even here.

“his highness wakes up early, so you will need to be up before he is,” one of the ladies who was briskly walking around the princes caves explained rapidly, “and his nighttime schedule is, well, hectic, which means you will have to be with him until he goes to sleep.”

you blink, trying to get that all in as you take mental notes of everything you are being taught.

“and during the day? where should i be?”

she looked up at you as if you were an idiot, as if that was the most obvious question you could’ve asked.

“by his side, of course, you are to ensure his highness is always comfortable. your role is beyond making his bed or simply cleaning up after him. it’s making sure that our prince is at ease when he is to one day become our king.”

you never thought you would be standing behind the door of the prince's chambers, waiting for him to wake up, but your life always seemed to have a different plan waiting for you than what you’d expect.

it’s better than you’d expect it to have been, too. at first, it was difficult getting used to the prince and his way of doing things. he would act rash sometimes, acting without thinking of the consequences. he was playful, he loved laughing. there were times when you’d be standing a good distance away from him when he’d be having dinner with families of women who were there to marry him, diplomats that talked just to bore it would seem, and you’d catch his wandering eye, suppressing a smile that seemed to quirk up on his face as well.

it wasn’t long before you found yourself speaking more freely around him, keeping some of the pleasantries, but regarding him more as a friend, just as you would with lydia.

he would often spend hours away in his study just talking, telling you about his daily outings and the struggles he was having with finding a wife. whenever you offered your thoughts or opinions he listened thoughtfully, his gaze heavy and caring.

though he may not have remembered your ancient friendship, you did, and an old part of you feels like it’s coming back after all those years. the naive part that was just happy to have a person to talk to, somebody that wouldn’t look at you in disgust or pity.

but you bring your focus back to now, listening intently, waiting to hear the bed sheets ruffle and the floorboards to creak as he makes his way out of his bed.

after a couple of weeks of doing this you’ve become somewhat familiar with the prince's way of doing things, and just as you thought he was going to sleep in, you hear the bedsheets ruffle with movement.

“your highness?” you call quietly, “may i come in?”

there’s a loud yawn, something unintelligible, and then you hear the go ahead for you to go.

you slowly open the door, making sure not to be loud as you bow politely, closing the door before you as you set the tray of cold water and fruits down on the nightstand near his bed.

the prince prefers to eat something before he breaks his fast in front of his family and the watchful eyes of the palace, enjoying these small moments he has with himself.

“good morning your highness,” you greet, lighting the candle as you look behind your shoulder to see the prince groggily running at his eyes, yawning once again as he waves tiredly to you.

why he chooses to wake up before the sun is even in the sky is beyond you, but you would be mad to question the choices of the prince. unfortunately, he seems to be waking up even earlier than the times you were told, so every morning you find yourself getting up at the crack of dawn to make sure you’re up before he is.

“did you sleep well?” you walk around the bed, setting down some fresh sheets and clothes for him to pick out, opening the curtains as you watch the sun just barely peek out from the horizon.

“well enough,” his voice is deep, filled with sleep, and you're glad your back is momentarily turned so that he couldn’t see the way a smile threatened to poke its way on your face.

“i’m glad to hear,” you turn around, catching him briefly taking a swing of water, savoring its coolness, and you try not to look too long at the droplets that roll down his chin, splattering on his thigh, “would you like me to go through your events set for the day?”

he glances at you from over his cup, blinking as he wordlessly tells you to continue.

“today, you are to meet with the king's advisors after you break your fast, but i doubt they should take too long. at noon, you have a lunch meeting set with the lady dower and her daughter,” you quote from memory, “and afterwards we are to swiftly get you ready for tonight's ball.”

he groans loudly, opposing this, and you smirk, your eyes trained on him as he sets his water down, sniffing as he stands up, stretching his arms above his head. you feel like a fiend, with the way you quickly avert your gaze from his toned stomach, the happy trail of hair that leads…

your eyes shoot up at him, glad that his were still screwed shut, another yawn escaping his lips as he leans his head side to side, cracking his neck.

“i’ve already met with the lady dower,” he almost whines, his nose wrinkling at the thought, “what do they want this time?”

“a ring, probably,” you mutter under your breath, but he hears, a chuckle falling past his lips as he nods along, tsking as he shrugs. he obviously doesn’t want the dower girl to be his wife, and you could only feel sorry for how tense the meetings going to be.

he picks up a cube of melon, popping it in his mouth, humming at the sweet taste. he offers the bowl to you, just as he’s always done, but you politely decline, just as you’ve always done. you may have become friendly with the prince, but there is still some semblance of protocol that you’ll force yourself to follow.

“is this chocolate?” he pipes up, looking at the tray a bit more closely, holding up the little sweet to the light.

“you’ve mentioned how much you like them, and the kitchen has been making a plethora of them for the ball, so i thought i should snag you some before they're all gone.” you explain, and he turns it around, shooting you a thankful, genuine smile. he sets it down, most likely saving it until the very last moment.

“will you be there? tonight?” he asks, filling up his glass with water once again.

“not down there with you, your highness-”

“how many times have i told you to drop the titles?” he chides playfully, cutting you off as you sigh deeply through your nose. you’re terrified of calling him by his name too many times in private, and slipping up in public, knowing just how bad it would turn out for you if that were to happen.

“not down there with you, gojo,” you say his last name with extra weight, just a little bit of sass, and he rolls his eyes, “i am to help out elsewhere.”

he nods in understanding.

“could you be down there?” he picks up a piece of watermelon, fashioned into a sphere, eating it as you sputter, brows furrowing in slight confusion as you open your mouth, shut it, and then open it again to speak.

“unless i am serving, i would not be allowed,” you explain, following behind him as he moves away from the bed, quickly making the messed up sheets as he makes room for you. you’re supposed to wait until he’s out of the room, but in your growing friendship with the prince, you find it amusing the way he flutters away.

he makes a small sound in the back of his throat, and you look behind your shoulder to see him deep in thought.

“i’ll find a way.”

“what-”

“i’ll see you later,” he exits his room, shutting himself in his bathroom as the other servants are their, waiting with his bath drawn, leaving you there to gape in silence.

—-

gojo somehow stuck to his word, finding a way for you to be near him by the time the ball arrived.

you felt overwhelmed, your senses were going hardwire at the sheer size of everything. it was one thing to be part of setting up the decorations, or to view it from afar behind a pillar, but to be part of it was something totally different.

there had been a couple balls since you first started your new position, but this happened to be the first one that you had gotten clearance for. of course, you weren’t a part of the crowd, hidden somewhere in the midst of servants and servers, but you were nearer than you’ve ever been.

they even dress you up in more fashionable servant clothes, knowing that if you were to wear your tattered uniform it would easily give it away that you weren’t one of them. you didn’t have a job for the evening other than to make sure that the prince was comfortable, so you tried everything you could not to let him out of your sight.

you found yourself searching for lydia in the crowd, but she had told you that she’d be in the kitchens, having to help out with the food they’d be sending out, and so you doubted you would be able to catch a glimpse of her amongst all the chaos that is hidden to their eyes.

the prince, despite your best efforts, kept getting drowned in by the sea of people and ball gowns. every time he twirled a girl around for a dance he was hidden by a wave of colorful fabrics, and you’d have to squint to see his white hair peeking out.

you tapped your fingers on the railing you were leaning against, trying to soak it all in while you had the chance. you had heard of the royal balls and just how extravagant they truly could be, but you never thought you’d have the chance to see one in its entirety.

“i don’t believe we’ve met,”

your head snaps to your left, eyes widening in surprise at the stranger that had somehow slithered their way next to you without noticing.

“i apologize, i didn't mean to scare you,” the man says with an apologetic laugh. you huff out a small sound, shaking your head as you bow your body a little bit, watching as he bows his head in turn.

“no apology necessary, uh, mister…?” you pause, realizing that you actually haven’t even seen his face before, let alone heard of his name.

“fushiguro,” he finishes for you, the scar on his lip quirking upwards as he settles himself on teh railing, looking down at the scene below you as he shoots you a small look, “but i’d prefer it if you’d call me toji.”

you duck your head down, smiling as you repeat your name, feeling heat pricks at the back of your neck. he’s certainly handsome, and most likely higher ranked in title with the expensive material he fills out well.

you’ve seen him around, most likely from afar. his face is familiar, and you’re sure that he’s had to have at least another one of these balls considering the fact that he’s given up mixing with the ton.

he surely has to note that what you’re wearing is on par with what the other servants and maids are, but he doesn't choose to comment.

“i’ve started a little bet with myself,” he says, his voice deep and gruff. you take a second to look him over thoroughly, noting the way his hair is messy and looks undone, black as the night. his eyes shimmer green, but turn more olive toned in the light, and he has a smile exudes an air of confidence, “would you like you partake in it?”

you smile, looking at him from the side.

“i thought they taught you better manners than to introduce yourself with a bet when you first meet a lady.”

he chuckles, shrugging his shoulders as his eyes glint.

“thought i already told you my name?” he’s smooth with it, and you’re not used to this.

you don’t say anything for a second, your chest moving as you take in a necessary gulp of air. you normally try not to think too much in gojo’s flirtatious personality, because he seems to be like that with everybody he’s ever met. but this is new.

“see,” he leans in, your arms touching as you both lean a bit over the railing, and he’s lower this voice to a whisper so that nobody else can hear, “i bet that our little prince is setting his eyes on the young lady in the red dress, but i also bet that he may be mulling over the one in the green shawl.” his fingers slyly point to the two of them, and you crane your neck a bit, standing on your toes as you try to get a better look. the man, toji, isn’t incorrect in his observations. gojo has danced with miss corden almost three times at this point, and another two with miss ahura, but you remember that he only favored these two more because they tended not to step on his shoes when dancing. you suppress your smile, choosing to indulge him in his little bet.

“i say miss ahura has a better chance,” you say and he watches as gojo twirls her around on the dance floor, “her family is far more affluent and i hear that she has riches beyond comprehension in persia.”

“are you saying our prince is covetous? the sacrilege,” his voice is full of mirth and you hide your little giggle behind a gloved hand, your elbows lightly hitting his as you keep your eyes trained down below.

the waltz comes to an end, the violinists lifting their instrument off from their shoulders as they prepare for the next piece, the ladies and gentlemens who had just danced bowing to each other as they separate.

you watch for gojo, watch as he moves to the end of the floor, accepting the drink one of his companions had waiting for him as he delves into conversation. he takes a sip, nodding along to whatever it is that is being muttered in his ear.

he looks up for a second, his eyes scanning around for something. he’s careful not to attract attention to this fact, but you see him scan the entire room, the different floors, his eyes squinting as he tries to narrow his vision. he looks around for a couple more seconds, looking and looking until he finds you.

a brief and quick smile takes over his face when he finally sees your face, your own lips tugging upwards as you give him a small wave. his eyes fall to the man besides you, his smile falling as well, and toji grunts.

“are you familiar with the prince?” he asks, obviously catching this, and you gnaw on your lips in apprehension, confusion.

“barely,” you mutter, not giving him too many details, watching as gojo looks away just as quickly, as if he had never seen you and you swallow thickly, wondering what brought on his sudden change in emotions.

or why he even looked for you in the first place.

“barely doesn’t warrant the prince looking for you,” toji whispers in your ear, “‘think you know him a little better than you give yourself credit for.”

—

after the ball, gojo didn’t speak much to you when the two of you were back in his chambers.

he tended to get tired out by the end of balls, but you found yourself lonely without the endless stories he came to you with, the way he’d relive some of the events just as he was going to bed so that he wouldn’t forget them in the morning.

but he was strangely quiet right now, didn’t say anything as you helped him shrug off his coat, hanging it up in his closet as you bite your cheek, feeling some odd tension radiate off of him, something you’ve never felt before.

“did you enjoy the ball?” you asked, standing near his bed as he shuffles around, kicking off his boots as he scrunches his nose in distaste.

“it was like any other,” he says plainly, yanking his tie off as you grab it from his wordlessly, folding it up so that it wouldn’t crease.

“did you like dancing with miss ahura?” you don’t know what’s going on, why he seems so rigid, “she looked beautiful, did she not?”

he shrugs passively, not answering as he rummages around his drawers, dropping down his cufflinks in a pile with the rest of his gold ones, not knowing that a single pair of them would most likely feed you for a year.

“would you like a midnight snack? i saved some truffles for you,” you dig into your pockets, bringing some out that you had snagged from the desserts table and had wrapped in a napkin, something akin to what he used to bring you all those years ago, waiting eagerly all night to show him, “these even have some gold on them, i’ve never seen-”

“i have chefs at my disposal,” he mutters as he unbuttons his shirt, “i don’t need truffles covered in lint.”

your smile fell at the bite in his voice, the way it seemed to grip it’s claws around your lungs, squeezing the air out of them. you silently pocket the napkin.

“of course…i apologize,” there's a bitter taste in the back of your throat, catching his eyes momentarily. you see the way they shift, how his mouth parts open, and then he shuts them again.

you can feel his stare as you shove your other hand back into your other dress pocket, this one with a miniature tart that you had so carefully tried to preserve throughout the evening from breaking, and feel a heavy weight settle on your chest.

“i have your bath ready,” you point to the bathroom, ducking your head down as you bow, “i will see you in the morning, your highness.”

you left quickly, feeling foolish as you trekked down the stairs to your own room, feeling your heart slow down as you shut your door, shedding off the wretched costume that had you feeling as if you were something worthwhile for once.

—-

for a while after that night, the two of you share brief conversations, sentences kept to a minimum as you bring back the cordiality that you had begun to shed off for a while. if he noticed it, he didn’t comment on it. after some days passed, and days turned into a week and a half, he barely even looked at you, and you took it as a sign that he had tired out of the small friendship and was looking elsewhere for momentary entertainment.

tonight, you found yourself standing in the corner of his office, eyes darting around as you waited in heavy silence as his quill scratched on the parchment beneath him, dipping it in ink every now and then as he mumbled unintelligible words under his breath.

his head rests in his hands, throwing his head back in frustration at whatever it is the document is telling him.

his head falls down, his eyes slowly opening as he looks up at you.

your brow raised slightly in questioning.

“i need you,” he says, eyes widening slightly at his slip up, “i-i need your help.” he clears his throat harshly.

he ushers to the papers in front of him, and you inhale deeply, making your way from the corner that you’ve hidden yourself in as you cross the room, your steps careful as you round to his table, standing at the edge as you stay quiet.

“here,” he bites out, “come here.” he needs you next to him, and you have to control the urge to roll your eyes as you move, shuffling so that you were standing near his chair, looking down at the piece of paper that he’s been mulling over for the better half of an hour.

you look at it, mouth parting open as your brows scrunch up as you focus, trying to ignore the way his eyes were burning into the side of your face.

“i don’t understand, your highness,” you finally say, leaning away from him, “what am i supposed to be looking at?”

he pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling as he sets the paper down, leaning back in the chair.

“it’s a letter of inheritance, who gets what after the father dies,” he explains, “but the signatures don’t match up. does it seem forged to you?”

you look again, looking at the two signatures laid next to each other, the way the letters curved, which ones swooped, tilting your head, trying to see it from a different angle. the more you looked at it, the more disingenuous the signatures seemed.

“they might be,” you briefly look at him, his stare burning if you look too long, “but i’m not sure, your highness.”

his face hardens for a second, and you move away, going back to the end of the table as you bow, taking your leave to the back of the room until he speaks again. you pause, looking over your shoulder to him.

“care to look again? i have a feeling that you have a knack for schemes.” his lips are pulled back in a smile that doesn't meet his eyes, miles away from the usual smile you see from him, and if not for the benign expression, his words surely made you stumble.

“excuse me?” you bite back quickly, your nose flaring as he scoffs, shaking his head as if he expected this reaction.

“you’re shameless with it, aren’t you?” he’s alluding to something, and it’s driving you crazy. all the stares you’ve shared this past week, the silent exchange of aggravated words that grow only in size the more the two of you simmer. even when you were young, your arguments were resolved quickly.

“with what?” you snap, the accusations he’s throwing at you with no reasoning swarming your mind, clouding your judgment, your way of carrying yourself as you throw all etiquette out the window.

“i can only wonder what ploys fushiguro played out for you, but i wonder even more which ones tempted you the most?”

your tongue is heavy in your mouth, and you make a sound in the back of your throat, one of shock, one of clear surprise. was all of his unspoken anger because of…him? the man you met during the ball? surely it can’t be.

you gape, the candle flickering away in the same beats your heart was going at, illuminating his stone cold face as he stands up from his chair, moving slowly to where you were. you try to stand tall, but you can’t match up to his height.

“you,” your jaw clenches, eyes searching his to see if he was joking, “you’ve been treating me like i’m, i’m,” you stutter, your chest constricting, “the shit you wipe off your shoe because you think i’m scheming with s-some man i met for the first time?”

his expression flickers for a second, as if suddenly realizing what he was saying.

“as if you don’t know who he is,” he collects himself, a sneer making its way on his face, “as if you don’t know what they’ve done to us-”

“i don’t!” you cut him off, a shocked laugh escaping your lips, “i don’t know who he is! i just thought he was being friendly!”

gojo pauses, his eyes searching yours for any traces of lies

“come on,” he scoffs, “you know how the zenin family-”

“who, who’s the zenin family?” you exclaim, watching in real time as the facade and things he’s been convincing himself of aren’t true.

“the,” he stutters, his face scrunching up in confusion, “the zenin…? how do you not know…?”

“because i’m a maid!” you shout, not caring if others behind the door could hear you yelling at their prince, “because i’ve spent my entire life working here! i keep my head down and i do what i’m told, a-and i keep to myself. forgive me for not knowing about your royal affairs, your highness!”

he’s rendered silent, lips pulled into a thin line.

“but you only care about yourself, right? the sacred prince who had everything given to him his entire life,” you continue, feeling your own pent up frustrations spewing out. you know that you’re going to lose everything after this anyways, so you don’t care about the repercussions now. you can’t bring it in yourself to care.

“you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with some unidentifiable emotion as you roll your eyes.

“i don’t? tell me, do you even remember me?” you hate that you’re losing touch of sensibility and making it personal, personal about your own feelings and how your mind can’t wrap around the fact that he simply forgot who you were or how much he affected you, “or are your cares about the people who work for you so fleeting that you barely know our names? is my replacement coming in a week, two weeks?”

“stop,” he bites out, his eyes dark, a storming brewing on the endless sea they offer, “you don’t know-”

“what i’m taking about…right?” you finish for him, “because i’m just the simple maid who you took in as your toy because you wanted to poke and prod around at her and see if she cries again? see if you could fix something for once-”

“stop,” his voice is different, and your hairs stand up because it’s not his. it’s lower in pitch, deep, commanding. you shut your mouth, fingers flying upwards, but it’s too late, you’ve said too much, and there’s no going back. this is it, you’ve finally sealed your fate.

his head falls down for a second, licking his lips as he looks at you with a look that freezes your blood. it’s not like him, and you know that this was it.

“get out,” he mutters.

“i…” you take a step back.

“get out,” his voice is thick, nostrils flaring, cheeks red with underlying emotions that are threatening to leave, “get out and never come back.”

your eyes shine with tears, tears that you refuse to shed, tears that you don’t know are for what, but you nod once, your lips trembling as you bow down to him, your last shred of respect, and turn for the door, shutting it as you run down the corridor, run for the only thing you think can save you in the moment, and don’t look back.

—

the wind is biting and unforgiving on your skin as you ride through the night.

you lean forward on the horse, hoping it can go faster as it sprints through the open field, your eyes watering as you shout for it to go.

you packed what you could, wrote your note to lydia and escaped through the stables, glad to know that louis was guarding the horses tonight, glad to know that he often drank himself to sleep.

you knew you were in too deep. you had crossed the crown prince, your ending surely wasn’t going to be good. and so call it what you will, cowardice, fear, survival, or just something you seem to have down to your roots, but you fled. you took a horse and went as far as you could, looking over your shoulder every other minute to see if anybody was running after you.

they would at some time realize that one of their horses was missing, as well as the prince's personal maid, and easily connect the dots.

it was late, and you were glad that the night was offering you the darkness and protection you needed. you could hear thunder rumbling a distance away, the clouds looking even more irate than they usually do. rain, you noted, even more protection that you desperately needed.

“please,” you plead, with what you don’t know, “please, hurry.”

the horse, as if understanding you, seems to pick up its pace, going even faster than before. your cheeks are freezing, your hands going numb from both the cold but from holding onto the reins with all your might, and the sad excuse of a cloak you have on for both warmth and concealing your face, does nothing for its intended purposes. it’s flimsy and the hood is swept by the wind, and you sniffle, tears wetting your chin as you try to compose yourself for just a bit more.

you feel an ounce of joy when you see the yellow twinge of lights from the valley below, the small town that you once used to live in coming more into focus, and feel some sense of happiness. you would camp there for the night and leave at dawn, going east, north, anywhere away from here.

or at least that was your plan until you hear the thump of hooves from behind you.

your heart drops, head whipping around as you see another horse coming in from behind you. you can’t see the rider, but you suspect more are behind them. they’re shouting something, but with the wind roaring in your ears you can’t hear anything. you turn around, whipping the reins again, leaning even more forward as let out a sound of desperation.

it’s a race to survive now, something that you won't do if you lose it, and you feel your body turning into ice, everything is going too fast.

the rider behind you is gaining speed, and you know it’s only a matter of time before they finally catch up to you. in a split moment you try to evade them, twisting the reins of your horse in one direction, not seeing the bush that was in front of you.

in another moment you’re up in the air, losing all of your feelings as you're thrown down with a harsh thud.

in the next moment, things going to black, your lids flickering as you try to stay awake, one of the last things you see being the blurry face of the rider,

and those eyes that you think about every night.

—

the next time you open your eyes it’s to a bright light.

you ground, rubbing at your face as your mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with cotton, your head ringing as you attempt to sit up, only to feel strong hands gently pushing you down.

there’s a voice, somebody speaking, but it’s all mushy in your brain, words melting together as you shake your head, trying to get the blinding light away from you. the voice grows a little bit closer, a little more clearer, and after a couple of seconds you’re able to make out what the person is saying.

“please rest, i’ll get the doctor,” the voice is familiar, and you reach out with slow fingers, trying to grab onto something, anything.

“n-no,” you murmur, your voice slurring, “no doctor.”

“you need a doctor,” the voice says firmly, “wait here.”

“no,” you say again, a little stronger, and the person stops moving, “s-stay…please,”

your fingers reach out, trying to latch onto a piece of their clothing, and instead find their hand. it’s warm, soft, and it quickly closes around your cold one, trying to warm it up.

you know this hand, know this voice.

“i’m sorry,” you mutter, and wonder if your voice is even something that can be heard by the human ear with the way it sounds foreign even to you, “i’m, i’m sorry about everything. about what i said.”

his hold on your hand grows tighter, his thumb moving up and down on the back of it in a soothing back as his other hands run across your forehead.

“no,” he simply says, “you don’t-”

“but i said-”

“everything that should’ve been said,” gojo finishes quickly, “but i need to go get you a doctor, check if you don’t have a concussion or worse. he checked for…other things,” he swallows thickly, not able to say what terrible words the town physician told him when they brought you into the small inn, the words that turned his skin transparent and nearly ripped the heart right out his chest, “see if you’re doing okay.”

“i don’t have a concussion,” you tell him him, finally able to blink without shooting lights and on your final squint you finally see him, sitting right next to you, his hair disheveled and face clammy, “i’ve had concussions and this isn’t a concussion.”

his brows furrow but you wave it off, sitting up so that you could rest on the head board behind you, not letting go of his hands. you’re not even sure he would let you if you wanted to, with the way he was grasping on as if his life depended on it.

you groggily rub at your face, glad that the thumping in your head is dying down, gracefully accepting the glass of water he offers you. you chug it down, feeling the droplets wet the chemise you’re wearing, but can’t find it in you to care.

you look around the room, wondering if you might actually have a concussion because you’ve never been here before, and it certainly doesn’t look like it’s part of the palace.

“we’re at an inn,” he explains as if reading your mind, “it’s the closest place i could find.”

you nod wordlessly, looking away from him because it feels raw, the emotions, the events from before, everything.

he senses your disposition and his hold on your hand loosens for a brief, flickering second. you hate the feeling.

“i shouldn’t have assumed,” he whispers, your eyes still focused on the patterns on the bed sheet, not knowing what would happen if you looked at him, “i shouldn’t have thought any of it. i just saw you and saw him and…it got in my head. it got a hold of me and for that, i’m sorry.”

your fingers curl into his hand.

“but, i, um,” he stammered, stuttering the way he used to when he was a little boy, something they surely worked on seeing how it rarely came out anymore, “i wanted you to know that i do remember.”

your head snaps up, the bed creaking at your sudden movement, your mouth slightly open in surprise.

“what?” your question is breathless, akin to the boyish, nervous, and small smile on his face. just like he used to smile when you chased him up a tree, telling him to get down or else you’d be in big trouble as if he were your responsibility.

“you used to wear a uniform that was so huge, you’d trip whenever you’d walk. you loved the fruit pies i’d bring, but you hated the ones with the pine nuts. you’d always call me ‘toru because you couldn’t say your s’s properly and you made me a doll with some fabric you found around the rooms.”

his thumb rubs on your pulse point, a melancholy smile on his face.

“you named him fru-fru,” your voice is barely above a murmur, “and you kept him on your-”

“nightstand,” he nods, “but i had to move him to my study because he was getting too fragile, i couldn’t move him too much.”

you wipe at your cheeks, sniffing as you feel a strange warmth fill your chest, filling an emptiness you didn’t know was there. his eyes shimmer, wet with tears threatening to spill, and for the first time since you met him that night, you feel like you’ve never been closer to somebody than you are now, souls interlinked together, twisting and turned as they grew with time.

all the emotions you’ve been latching onto or forcing down are coming up at once and you feel overwhelmed, not knowing how to handle them together.

“why…why did you act like you didn't know me?” you finally ask, wiping at your chin with the palm of your hand as you sniffle, “why are you telling me all this now?”

“because all this time i thought you had grown to hate me,” he mutters, “you just stopped speaking to me one day and no matter what i tried to do you never responded. i sent you letters and i visited your quarters and i even went to that scary lady,” you laugh wetly, knowing that he was referring to your old head-maid, the one that terrified him as a kid, “but they all acted as if you had forgotten about me. at some point i convinced myself that you left but when i saw you running across that field i just knew, i knew it was you.”

you shake your head, the tears coming on even harder. all those years when you had to act passive, act as if you didn't know him just so that you wouldn’t lose or jeopardize your position or life, pretending that the one friend that made your days that much brighter was a passing thought to you.

he leans in a bit, wiping at your cheeks gently with his thumb as you lean into his hand, watching as you quickly wipes at his own reddened cheeks, brows scrunching up together as you whimper.

“they f-found out,” you choke, “about us. and they knew who i w-was and who my mom was and they told me to never speak to you again,” your words come out broken, “and i left little piece of my clothes outside your door at night, ones with drawings or things i thought you’d know but every morning they would be gone. i,” you cry, your voice sputtering as you crawl closer to him, into his open arms, “i could never forget you,” your voice cracks, muffled by his chest, “you were the only f-friend i had,” he pulls you in tighter, his arms around you encaging you in a warmth that you so desperately needed. his chin rests atop your head, and you can see the way he struggles to get his own breaths out, the tears that he struggles to hide.

“don’t cry,” he pleads, begs, holding onto the last scrap of composure he had left, hating hearing your cries or seeing your tears, “please, please don’t cry,” he pulls himself away from you slightly to look at your face, to dry your cheeks as you hiccup, “you’re killing me tonight, you know that right?”

you try to laugh though it comes off as a snort, savoring the way his fingers trace your face, your cheeks, your jaw, your nose, the corners of your eyes, trying to savor every bit of you as if they’ve been starved for an eternity.

“tried to run after you after what i said…” he can’t find it in himself to repeat his wretched words, “only to find you gone. you have no idea how much of a mad man i was, ordering everybody to turn each stone inside out until they found you. then that stupid stable boy kept yelling out that a horse was gone and i thought surely you wouldn’t be foolish enough to run away, ‘specially not when a storm was coming but…”

“i ran away when a storm was coming,” you finish for him with a quiet chuckle, feeling your body heating up at the way he broke into an instant smile when he heard the sound. if only you knew the things he’d do to hear it again, to see you happy would be his three wishes if he was ever asked.

“and you were going fast,” he traces your cheekbone, his words filling the large and empty room, “so, so fast. and when you fell?” he takes your hand in his, bringing it up to his chest, setting it on his heart as you feel it thumping quickly underneath your palm, “was about to take you to the doctor and tell him to give you this,” his fingers curl above yours, his forehead resting on yours, your noses breaths away from each other, “it didn’t matter to me anymore, it doesn’t work right without you.”

you feel lightheaded like you need him more than you need oxygen, your eyes falling onto his lips, not knowing that he was mirroring your exact same motions, the two of you working in tandem like a machine and its little bolts, not working without the other.

“would it perhaps be because you can’t live without the chocolates i sneak in for you?” you try to joke but it falls flat in your head, but he still huffs out a laugh, nose nudging yours as you lean in impossibly closer.

“perhaps,” he answers, his face lit by the single candle behind the two of you, “but it could also perhaps be because i love you so fucking much.”

and you whine, tired of waiting, moving the single bit you needed to connect your lips together and fall forward on his lap, your hands shooting up to his shoulders to use as much needed stability.

he groans, a sound from the back of his throat, from deep within him, his hands moving up to hold onto your waist as you move into him, kissing him with such fervor that you felt like you were going to die without feeling his lips on you.

it was so messy, the way your teeth clash against and noses bumped against each other, but it was what you so desperately needed. he was moving fast, his lips kissing against the corners of your mouth, down you chin as they found your neck, his smile growing as you throw your head back, fingering digging into his white strands as you tried to pull him in even closer.

you let out breathless sounds, sounds that you never knew you could make, but it seems to spur him on, planting wet and sloppy kisses on the column of your neck as she sucked, marking you up so that later people would know that you were his and his alone.

“gojo, i,” your eyes screw shut at the feeling of him, “feels so good,” you say breathlessly, moving closer up on his lap, feeling his hands tug at the flimsy chemise you have on, fingers slowly tugging it down, giving you time to push him off if you wanted to.

he looks up at you, his eyes needy, desperate, just as yours, and you nod, needing him to not stop.

he continues, pulling it down so that you're bare before him, nipples pebbling in the cold air as you go to cover up, suddenly realizing just what is happening, feeling shy, never like this in front of anyone before.

“we can stop,” he muttered against your lips, pressing a small peck to them, “we don’t have to do this now, we have all the time in the world,” he teases as he tugs your chemise up but you grab his wrist, stopping him as you shake your head.

“no,” you tug it down a little bit, “i’ve just,” you take in a deep breath, “just never done this before.”

he chuckles, eyes flashing darkly for just a quick second as he kisses along your jaw, leaving your skin shining in the limited light.

“good,” he murmurs, “‘cause i think i’d have to exercise my grandfather's way of handling people if somebody else saw you like this.” you laugh shortly, tugging sharply on some of his hairs as he looks up at you, eyes full of devotion that you’ve only dreamed about.

“beheading people for just seeing my tits?” you’re more crass than he is in some places, a sign of the different language you’ve heard growing up in the circumstances you’ve had, but he doesn’t care, likes it in fact.

“i’d burn down villages if anyone saw these,” he cups them in his hands, thumb flickering over your nipples as you suddenly arch into him, head falling back, “you’re so perfect,” he whispers into your skin, his lips hovering on the slope of your breasts as he takes time to admire your chest, “so beautiful,” you would’ve smacked him if not for the way he took one in his mouth, leaving you no time to think of anything else as a moan escapes your lips, the first of its kind.

“damn you gojo,” you moan, hearing his chuckle vibrate through your tits as his sucks on your nipple, tugging it with your teeth as you feel your stomach heat up, growing more and more wet as you buck up on his thigh, “you t-talk too much,” you shudder, eyes rolling back when he presses his flat tongue on your areola, his other hand massaging your other tit until he switches, leaving it glistening his his spit.

“yeah? then where do you want this mouth, hm?” he looks up at you with his eager eyes, just wanting to please you, and you feel like you’re becoming an addict, your cunt growing more and more wet as riding his thigh proves to not satiate the hunger.

“d-down,” you can’t think clearly, “please, need you so bad.”

“where?” he plays with you, pressing his hand against your stomach, “here?”

you shake your head, feeling needy and not in the mood to play around, not knowing where your sudden surge in confidence was coming from as you grab his wrist, leading it down to your cunt as you hide your face in his neck, whining.

“h-here, ‘toru, need you here,” he throws his head back, a sound coming from somewhere in his chest as his name falls from your glossy with spit lips, tugging the ends of your chemise up to your stomach as he stares at your bare pussy.

he pushes you back gently to lie on the bed, nestling between your legs as he savors the sight.

you cover your face with your hands, hearing him laugh at your expense, keeping your thighs spread wide open with his hands as he presses tantalizing kisses on the insides of them, each one closer and closer to the unbearable heat.

“wait,” you mutter, confused as to what he was doing, watching the way he snapped up, worried eyes finding your confused ones, following your stare down to his growing bulge.

“i thought…?” all the stories lydia would tell you didn’t start this way, usually beginning his the man pulling his dick out and being done in a couple of minutes, “do you not…?”

satoru breathes easy, laughing as he shakes his head, resting on his haunches as his palm rubs against your soft thighs. he looks so pretty like this, with his hair going haywire, some of it in his face, some of it messily pushed back. there’s a pink flush to hit face, his lips plump and shinning with spit.

“trust me, you have no idea how bad i want to feel you,” his eyes are so dark that you wonder if they’re even blue, “but i’m not going to do it in your condition. i don’t want to hurt you any more-”

“but,” you whine but he shakes his head, pinching your soft skin as you wince, hitting him with your knee as he rolls his eyes.

“i promise you’re going to like this,” he rubs softly against where he pinched you, smoothing the skin over, “do you trust me?”

“yes,” you mutter, watching as he breaks into a smile, “better not disappoint me though.”

“fuck, you’re such a minx,” he groans, spreading your lips open with his pointer finger, his dick aching at the sight of the string of arousal that connects them together, at the clear shine and wetness from just how much you needed him, “you’re actually going to be the death of me.”

“then hurry u-up ‘toru,” you say, “don’t die on me now,” your fingers were cutely curling in his hair, and he’d be an insane lunatic if he made you beg any more than you have, diving in as if you were actually his last meal before he died.

your mouth falls open in a silent scream, the feeling unlike anything. he sucked on your clit, moving up and down from your cunt, wanting to taste your saccharine wetness on his tongue to back up. he was so messy, so loud, and you felt like you were going to overheat, felt like everything was fogging your vision.

it felt so good. too good. his tongue dived in and out of you in a way that had you gripping his hand and the sheets under you, your leg around around his shoulders as you bucked into his open mouth, your wetness smearing all of his lips and chin as he ate you like a man starved for years.

“o-oh my god,” you mewl out, eyes rolling back as you felt one of his long, swift fingers slowly pushing into you, his lips still sucking on your clit as you felt like you were actually entering heaven.

“not god,” his voice is muffled, “just ‘toru.” you would have laughed if you could, your smile instantly dropping when his finger pumps in and out.

your toes curl, leg around his shoulder pulling him in closer if that was even possible. if he were to die right now he’d had the giddiest smile on his face, happy to have you dancing around on his tongue.

everything about this was shameless and you wondered if all your good deeds were finally catching up to you.

you don’t even care if the people sleeping next to you, above you, under you, or even at this inn could hear you, because when he put in his middle finger you screamed, back arching off the bed.

“so good, fuck, ‘toru, i,” you could even form a complete sentence, “feel so good,”

“yeah?” you nod feverishly, “fuck, you taste amazing, love this so much, love you so much,” he’s babbling with his words too, his nose sometimes accidentally rubbing against your clit, bringing you all the much more pleasure.

sometimes when you look down to see him you moan helplessly, your chest heaving at the way he’d rut mindlessly into the bed, his dick hard and swollen and achy from eating you out, about the burst from just your scent alone.

your stomach tightens and you feel an unfamiliar thing deep in the pit of your body, growing taut with each swipe, each like, each kiss he would give you. it made your moans more breathy, your words less understandable, and you felt like you were slowly going to go insane, losing all sense of reality.

“‘toru, i, i don’t know,” you’re sputtering, nails raking into his hair, your free hand grabbing onto your tits, the bed sheet, his shoulders, anything to help you ground you back down to earth, “i feel, f-fuck, oh my god, i,”

“you got this sweetheart,” he encouraged you, his words honeyed, “come on, let go for me, you can do it,” his thumb which had found its way to your clit was speeding up, his tongue and fingers taking turns as they pounded into you.

you felt that rope getting together and tiger, about to snap at any moment as you whined, tears escaping from the corners of your eyes as your lips huffed out puffs of air.

“i, f-fuck, i’m ‘gonna, oh…” you whine out loud, the line snapping, your orgasm crashing through you as your mouth falls slack.

it was mind numbing, the way everything went white, the way you tightened around his fingers which were slowing down. you creamed around him, leaving his skin shiny with your release, your pussy still pulsing seconds after as you try to catch your breath, still seeing white behind your lids as your tits move up and down with each haggard breath.

he presses on last kiss to your fluttering clit, hands massaging your quivering thighs as you slowly yet surely come back down to reality, each second passing bringing you back down with him.

“good?” he teases, his smile coy as you cover your eyes with one arm, lightly pushing him with the other.

“fine,” you mutter, peeking over to see him positively glowing, a stupidly large smile on his face when he sees you finally looking at him, pressing the fattest kiss to your lips as you squeal, eyes fluttering for a second as you taste yourself on him, parting your lips mindlessly to let his tongue slither in.

you whined against his lips, fingers curling around the collar of his open tunic, pulling him closer to your naked body, feeling your tits press up against his chest, everything so perfect that you wondered if you were dreaming.

“wait,” he muttered, pulling away from you, a string of spit connecting your lips together as you sit uop a little, you brows scrunched in confusion as you watch him sit up from the bed, walking over to the vanity as he rumages around the drawers for something.

he pulls out a small cloth, holding it up in victory as he grins, walking over to your nightstand as he wets it with soem water, crawling back into bed as he settles back in the middle of your thighs, gently pulling them apart as he starts cleaning you.

it’s all so intimate and so loving. you feel like melting watching his focused gaze, careful to be soft and slow, knowing that you’re a little stretched out, and pat it as best he could, cleaning around your thighs as well, throwing the cloth to the side as he climbs back up to you, pressing a loving kiss to your temple.

you shrug the rest of the chemise off, riddled with your essence and sweat, and pull the covers up, feeling the sudden chill now that satoru’s no longer eating you out like both your lives depended on it, and a silence falls over the room.

“is this a bad time to tell you about my horse laundering scheme with fushiguro?” you ask, your eyes shining mischievously as satoru whines, hiding his face in your chest as he pulls you closer to his body.

“you’re so evil,” he says against your skin.

you laugh, the sound going straight to his heart, his smile hidden.

but you fall silent and when you don’t speak he looks up, his eyes searching yours.

“what now?” you whisper, your fingers carding through his hair, feeling its softness, “i don’t…” you trail off, biting your lip as every other emotion that you had tucked away comes crawling back.

his finger finds its way to the middle of your browning, easing the crease that was forming.

“now you become my wife…if you would like to, of course…”

you search his eyes to see if he’s joking, but you only see honest sincerity in that sea of blue, his cheeks pink as he blushed.

“really?” you can barely say it without a giddy smile making its way on your face, one that he glows brightly at. if only he could bottle it, save it for when the universe collapsed and was in need of light.

“really,” he promises, holding you tightly to him, not wanting to ever let you go again, needing you next to him so that he could make sure his heart was working, to make sure that he was actually alive and that this wasn’t all a dream.

“i’ve loved you since the moment i saw you, ‘toru,” you whisper, nodding off to sleep as a yawn escapes your mouth.

“is that because i used to try to swoon you with food?” he whispers, his drowsy eyes finding yours as you sleepily giggle, kissing the tip of his nose as you curl into his heat, a smile on your face when you say the last words before you finally head off into sleep.

“perhaps.”

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polarity-disturbed · 2 months ago

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One thing that’s become really clear while watching Classic Doctor Who alongside the current era—especially starting with the Fifteenth Doctor—is how well the Ninth through Twelfth Doctor eras nailed the balance of episode length and story structure.

Classic Who usually split its stories into four or five 20–25 minute episodes per arc, which roughly equals the runtime of a modern two-parter. But while that format allowed for sprawling narratives, it came with a tradeoff: pacing. Entire episodes sometimes feel like narrative treading water—not because the writing was bad, but because of the constraints of mid-20th century television. (That’s its own fascinating rabbit hole, but we’ll save that for another time.)

To be fair, Classic Who did experiment with its format. Some stories, like The Edge of Destruction—a tight, two-part psychological thriller set entirely inside the TARDIS—used a smaller runtime to great effect. It’s still one of the strongest entries of Season 1, partly because it had no room to meander.

Later, the show dabbled in stories of two 45-minute episodes during Season 22. But those episodes often had the same problem: some stories still didn’t need the extra time. Take The Mark of the Rani, for example. It was padded out to fit that two-part, 45-minute-per-episode format (roughly 90 minutes total), but honestly? It could’ve been a sharper, more effective 40-minute story. There’s a lot of unnecessary fluff that drags the pacing down.

But then you get something like The Keys of Marinus—a six-parter (20 min each part) that essentially functions as a sci-fi anthology. Each episode throws the Doctor and co. into a completely new setting with its own self-contained mini-plot. It uses its extended format to experiment and surprise without feeling stale. That’s when the long form works.

Then came the 2005–2017 revival era, and honestly? The show hit its structural gold standard: twelve episodes per season, blending 40-minute standalones with 80-minute two-parters. And it just worked.

Episodes like Blink and Midnight were tight, high-impact stories that landed precisely because they didn’t overstay their welcome. Try stretching either one to feature-length, and the tension would unravel. Meanwhile, two-parters like The Empty Child / The Doctor Dances had room to build atmosphere, layer in character development, and deliver those signature emotional wallops. They remain fan favorites for a reason: the format gave them the breathing room they needed—and then stopped.

Which brings us to the Fifteenth Doctor’s era.

Right now, we’re back to a one-size-fits-all approach but the opposite direction: single 40-minute episodes across the season, with only the finale allowed to be a two-parter. And the result? Some stories just aren’t getting the space they need to land.

Doctor Who thrives on structural flexibility. Some stories need 80 minutes to unfold. Others are perfect little 40-minute excursions. Locking every episode into the same runtime is like asking every alien to fit inside a human suit: it works until it doesn’t, and when it doesn’t, it’s obvious.

The point is: variety in format has always been one of Doctor Who’s strengths. When the show leans into that, it sings. When it forgets that… well, you end up with stories that could’ve soared if they were just given a little more space to breathe.

(Also I don’t mean to exclude 13—it’s just that her era experimented with structure so much across her run that it’s kind of its own thing, there’s a whole separate post to be written about what worked and didn’t there.)

(Fun fact for reading this far: The Edge of Destruction was only two 25-minute parts because the production team didn’t know if the show was getting picked up for more episodes. They wrote a short, self-contained story set entirely inside the TARDIS to avoid building new sets. It was meant to be cheap filler—and it ended up being one of the highlights of the First Doctor’s era.)

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sexbot300 · 1 year ago

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telling them they have a small dick!

pairing: toji x reader, gojo x reader (separate)

⤷ 18+, MDNI

tw: man-handling, p in v, unprotected sex, power play, cunnilingus, falsetto, huge dick (come on now), mentions of creampie, orgasms, degrading/dirty talk, slight size kink if you squint, text format for gojoe.

a/n: this was so funny to write i cant stop laughing. this was longer than i expected, i will be making a part two with choso, geto, and nanami if asked for. originally it was meant to include them but this is a bit tew long. I actually like this more than anything i’ve ever written before :’) comments r more than welcome thank uuuuu. luv u all xoxo (felt things while writing this, it’s funny that I think it’s my best work)

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Toji ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ Reading your diary

Toji Fushiguro pissed you off. There were no ifs and buts or any way around it. As much as you adored being friends with Megumi and spending time near the stoic guy, coming by his house felt entirely dreadful. Mutual friends frequently visited his abode, leaving and visiting often without a sliver of complaint leaving their diction. ‘Maybe I was truly the problem.’ A thought had snuck up in the crevices of your brain until the mental image of why you didn’t come over as often decided to grace you with his presence. A shiver traveled up north of your spine, straightening yourself out mentally and physically. ‘Nah. That doesn’t sound right. I am NOT the problem.’

Toji was everything Megumi was not; cocky, arrogant, and trying to start anything with anyone if they remotely looked in his direction the wrong way. Was he hot? Of course. Would you ever admit it to the bastard? Of course, you wouldn’t. This is why what unfolds before you felt as if some cruel divine punishment, curated by the highest demon in the belly that cradled hell, deciding today would be the day to toy with you.

Closing your phone with a little, ‘Ding!’ Megumi had sent a text earlier entailing that something of your belonging had been left behind. Strangely enough, even he didn’t know what it was, which left a question of perplexity. All he knew was that his dad found it and to alert you about it.

A sigh that had built up in the depths of your chest left, as you stood behind the mahogany-colored door. Praying that Megumi would just give the item so a beeline can be made as far as legs can sprint. Bringing a hand to the door, tapping with a fist, “Megumi? It’s me.”

With a shuffling heard from inside the house, the sound of the door unlocked and a slow swing revealed no one behind it. Stepping inside carefully and scooping out the area, an eyebrow raised as the familiar setting had no one in eyesight. Closing and locking the door behind, your voice even more confused, “Megumi? Hello? I thought you’d be here.”

In plain eye view, coming around a corner stood the looming presence of a man that was hard to ignore. Leaning up against the counter behind, a protein shake in hand as his body seems depleted from a workout session. Glistening in sweat, he stood there devastatingly handsome. A simple white tank top clung onto his pectorals, highlighting the ridges of his stone-hard abs while the pump of his presumed workout caused his already massive biceps to look the size of planets. His gray sweats hung low off his slim core. He eyed you up and down as if inspecting every single thing about you.

“Oh yeah. My son's little friend was expecting you here.” He spoke in a casual tone, eyes met yours for a split second before eyeing you down in a carnal way.

Standing in place, mentally making note of killing Megumi for not being the one to give you what was missing from his home. Only leaving you to deal with his father.

He gripped something behind him his fingers grazing what seemed to be a bit lightweight. A light thud of a journal hit the island counter that stood between the pair. Eyes glancing down on what was thrown carelessly, the journal looked all too familiar.

My diary– fuck. All forms of color had drained from the hue of your face, replaced with a crimson flush. Frantically blinking up at the journal, your thoughts blared. ‘There’s no way he could’ve read it right?’ Almost sprinting at the piece of media, fingertips yanked it off the island forcibly gluing it to your chest almost to shield it from eyes it doesn’t belong to.

Eyes darting back and forth frantically searching for relief in such a predicament, in a measly voice, “T-Thank you Mr. Fushiguro, it was very kind of you to give it back. I-I’ll be leaving now.”

He had only watched amused, but it wasn’t stated within his facial expression. If anything his demeanor was calm– his body leaned back at the counter behind him, legs crossed over one another while he wore what seemed to be a completely uninterested face.

“Smart girl. Probably read a lot, huh?”

Clutching the diary tighter to your chest, almost impossibly close, furrowed eyebrows and a snap of a neck towards his direction. A low, barely audible, “H-huh?”

“My favorite passage is where the narrator states that, ‘Toji is probably compensating his small dick for huge muscles.’” He chuckled deeply, taking a swing of his protein shake before setting it to the side.

Frozen in place, eyes widened, simply just going quiet. I mean– what could be said? For a moment so intense, all that ran through your mind was complete blankness.

“Kinda find it endearing how the narrator only uses vibrators on her clit because the idea of penetration ‘arouses’ yet ‘scares’ her.”

“Mr. Fushiguro did you r-rea-“ stated in an incredibly shaky voice. Embarrassed, wishing that the ground would do you good bidding and swallow you whole with no hesitation. He still looked calm, ridiculing every aspect of you, his eyes had darkened a bit due to pupil dilation.

Everything felt tense, hot, incredibly warm, a moment of heat transpiring between the two of you as eyes met one another. Except both eyes said a different story. His; was full of something that could only be described that an animal gets knowing that they had successfully captured their prey right where they were needed. Yours; full of complete self-pity, begging to be freed under the gaze of something that will eat you alive and leave no bones.

“Do you think that Toji's character might appreciate the narrator calling him ‘hot but probably hotter with his mouth shut?’” His large arms bulged, and crossed over his chest, enjoying every minute that left you squirming under his condescending gaze. You looked like something had caught your throat and any form of attitude seemed to exist on the lines written in the diary.

Tilting his head, on cue his hair moved as well, his expression seeming bleak. “Aw, wish I could meet this narrator, express to her how far off she is from the truth. Seems the type to talk a lot but get quiet when confronted.”

With a croak of your throat you managed to speak in a weak voice, “Mr. Fushiguro I am so sor-”

A silky voice met your ears, “Megumi taught me a bit about books. You know what’s funny about narrators sometimes?”

“W-what?” Your voice croaked.

“They’re unreliable.”

“Want to know something else funny?”

Body shifting off the ledge of the counter his bulky body slowly walked, emerald eyes glancing down while you stared up with the most innocent expression. ‘Cute,’ he thought. Staring down, a waft of his natural musky scent hit your nasal passages. He towered right in front of you. His long finger gripped a loose strand of your hair, twirling it mockingly.

He juxtaposed the flustered expression drawn on your face, a grin that stretched from ear to ear, a sly expression painting a look of hunger. “Yeah,” his tongue swiped at his bottom lip, voice dropping a few octaves, “it’s tiny even.”

On the checklist of things you hated about Toji, you mentally jotted down that he was a liar. He was a complete liar.

Knees blown out, nose buried deep into his neatly trimmed pubic hair, lips trying to adhere to a girth that wasn’t friendly to take down, saliva coating your chin and seeping through the cracks of the side of your lips, and mascara smeared down the sides of your cheek.

Toji was anything but tiny. A huge hand gripped the back of your skull, yanking at the follicles of your hair bouncing your head back and forth on his dick. He had to be 8 inches at least.

Gagging and whimpers filled the air, as you pathetically took down all the length he forced down. Your eyes beaming with tears, while he looked down at yours mockingly. Eyebrows slightly furrowed at the feeling of your tight throat clinging onto his cock like a vice. He smirked staring you down as you struggle to take him in, light pants escaped from his throat as spit slowly exited his mouth, meeting the exposed part of his dick and a part of your face.

“Slow down sweetheart, shit,” a condescending laugh, “I’m not going anywhere.” He hissed in a bit feeling your tongue desperately lap up and down his cock as you took the initiative to get completely lost in the feeling.

It was all too lewd– he had stopped guiding you by bobbing your head, but kept a firm hold; all you did was suck him as if your life depended on it. His hefty cock felt divine to the tastebuds, weighing heavy down your throat and around your tongue. Frantically allowing your tongue to brush over the large veins running throughout his shaft, your hands jerking off what you could, letting the room fill up with the wet squelches. Moaning onto his cock the vibrations cued a grunt from Toji, sucking his massive tip with a ‘pop!’ He pulled you away, noticing the whine in your face when separated from his dick. He laid it on your face, grin sprawled out.

“You suck dick good for a girl who only gets off to filthy fantasies about a man who she hates.”

Panting, studying him while feeling incredibly small under his stare, catching your breath. So perfect, you looked so perfect to him.

“Fuck- I could just cum looking at your face like this,” gripping your hair earning a mewl from your throat, he held onto his dick tapping the tip of your tongue repeatedly, he grinned wider noticing how you desperately leaned into every tap. “Heh, want more huh? Coulda came from your throat, rather fuck it in your little pussy instead. I could tell you were a cock-deprived whore from the start.”

All you could do was blink up at him, gulping at everything he was saying, a new wave of arousal crashing down in your panties. Eyebrows furrowed, keeping steady eye contact with him, he noticed your fucked out expression.

“Aw? No back-talk? Seem to have a lot to run your mouth about in that little diary, girl. Do you even remember your name? Already trained you well without stretching you out? Or does it make you feel ashamed to be this wet in the house of a man you hate so much? Do you have no shame?”

“I-I’m,” you cleared your hoarse voice swallowing any bit of saliva that didn’t engulf his cock, “not wet.”

He blankly stared down at your face before a loud chuckle eroded from his body, shaking him slightly, “Darling, you’re practically dripping on my kitchen floors. You think I can’t see you clenching your thighs f’me?”

“I-it’s not for y-you, Mr. Fushiguro-“

“Cut the shit, it’s Toji. Stand up.”

Pushing your knees off the position they were in for the longest time, you whined and stumbled while Toji watched amused. Standing on your feet, wobbling, he did the honors of throwing you over his shoulder eliciting a loud gasp as your torso made contact and leaned into his broad shoulders. His fingers lightly grazed your wet folds that leaked through your leggings, causing a slight gasp.

He only chuckled again, walking to his master bedroom. “Not wet, my ass.”

You’re not sure what round this was, but being thrown like a rag-doll by a man who easily overpowered every aspect of you was not how you expected this visit to go. He did the honors of prepping you for hours long– edging you and making sure you were on the brink of insanity so taking his cock in would feel much more manageable. At first, you winced taking him in, but the pain subsided once the overwhelming bliss of pleasure overtook all feelings of discomfort.

Toji started by fucking his tip in, rocking back and forth to let you become accustomed slightly. He quickly learned that you were nothing more than a cock-deprived whore.

“T-toji, y-you’re, ah! Breakin’ me!”

“Good.” His face had a wild expression, grinning ear to ear, his long onyx hair clinging to parts of his forehead from sweat while the rest dangled in your face. This man just found his new favorite plaything, he’d be damned to stop this.

Toji had you mangled in a mating press, feet planted firmly into his mattress, feeling every last bit of dick he could give. Holding your thighs back with large hands, he drilled into your poor cunt, legs hanging off his broad shoulders, the sounds of skin-on-skin vibrating in the room alongside his pants, and your loud moans.

“T-toji, ah! I-I’m sorry, t-too,” a deeper thrust sent a harsh quiver from your lips while his lips dropped low to your ear, “Too! Big! Cant!”

Grunting into your ear, the same smirk plastered on his face. He angled himself even deeper, never stopping the rhythm, slamming his inches into you. All you could do was take it and moan desperately. Head thrown back while eyes rolled back into your skull.

“Don’t” thrust, “care.” He stated casually in your ear while his voice grew huskier, “Gonna fuck my cum into this lil’ ah, fuck, pussy. Make sure it only learns how to take me in.” He chuckled while he never stopped drilling, he pulled all the way out, leaving only the tip in. Causing you to pant rapidly at the loss of dick, hating how empty yet incredibly full you felt just from his tip alone.

“P-Please, please Toji, please,” fingers dug into his biceps in a fucked out voice, “don’t stop.”

“Aw,” he placed his forehead atop yours, mockingly cooing at the mess you’ve become. “Why should I let you cum?” He whispered now, lips ghosting over your own, “Had a lot to say about me being tiny but your greedy little cunt is both clinging onto me and stretching out. Disgusting girl”

“I’m so so so so sorry, Toji I promise I’ll be good, I’ll be so good.” Frantically scanning over his face, your body still throbbing from the positions he put you in. Meanwhile, he felt just as warm to the touch, the feeling of sex coated him entirely his composure not faltering.

Wrapping a strong hand around your throat he tightened his grip as he pummeled right into you at once, body jerking forward at the sudden stretch. A loud gasp and moan abruptly left your mouth. Before he could continue pumping into you, his lips still hovering over yours, he had a cocky smile still etched onto his face.

“Sent Megumi off with his little friends, they’re having a sleepover.” His smirk deepened, “Oh don’t worry, you’ll be proving to me how good of a whore you’ll be for me all night.” He scoffed, “Maybe then in your little diary you can write about how good I fuck you.” He pulled out yet again, suddenly feeling his body weight push off your body entirely, making you whine at the loss of sensation in your cunt and body. In an instant, he flipped you over.

Back arched completely, chest pressed down into the sprawled-out duvet, legs spread out ready for him to obliterate all self-dignity you had left, his knee pushed into the bed behind you. Placing his socked foot in the back of your head, he gripped his cockhead dragging it along your puffy folds. Moaning slightly at the feeling of contact as he circled his massive tip around your clit, your eyes fluttered shut again. Drool seeped through the sides of your mouth not caring that this man had stolen all sense of respect you once held for yourself.

“Now,” his voice husky again grunting as his cock slowly teased at your entrance before shoving it in at a tantalizing pace. Staring in awe at your hole as it glistened, hearing your cunt squelch around his thick width, “Hear her for me?” Physically tightening at the words he just said, he let out a slight grunt.

“Mhm,” you let out a mangled noise which caused him to chuckle, feeling his foot press deeper onto the back of your head while your fingers desperately gripped at the sheets below.

“Maybe,” he pushed himself in, a wild smile on his face while he heard you whimper below, thrashing around still not used to a length this immense. “You should listen to her more often than that dumb little brain of yours princess.”

Swiftly gripping your wrist, he firmly pinned it back at the small of your back, while rapidly thrusting in and out all at once. “Ah! Ah! T-Toji… So! Hnghhh, G-Good,” moans incredibly muffled as they were pushed into the sheets, cunt gripping onto him every time he moved in and out.

Grunting at the view of your ass clapping back at his pelvic region every time he drilled inside, your walls trying their hardest to take him. He only cackled before whistling, harshly slamming a hand down on your ass letting it recoil with a red mark left behind.

“Should’ve told you I read that stupid diary ages ago…”

═════════════════════

Gojo ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ Failed date

“Ding! New message from ‘toruu.’” The robotic voice announced in your headphones, breaking you from wallowing in your sorrowful haze.

Shuffling in your bed, trying to forget the events that unfolded earlier today, your hand reached out to your nightstand fidgeting around to find your phone. You thought maybe lying down with sad music blaring in your ears would help, but spoiler; it did not. Groaning slightly while your eyes try to adjust to the phone's brightness. A failed date equated to a failed day, lo and behold, your eccentric friend was at your side ready to wipe away any discomfort.

Shifting your body upwards, a smile couldn’t help but be formed at his words. At the end of the day, the guy was just that, a guy. There was nothing to stress over. Was there a slight skip in a heartbeat hearing Satoru speak fondly upon you? Yes. But that’s all that there was. Risking a friendship with him wasn’t worth it in the grand scheme. He was appealing in all senses, there was no surprise that girls and boys alike flocked to him like candy. Getting laid wasn’t exactly the objective, but hanging onto things that weren’t feasible was.

Joking with Satoru came second nature, but having him become defensive over a harmless joke startled you a bit. ‘There’s no way he’s acting like this.’ Nibbling at your bottom lip staring at him laughing in all caps. Is he being defensive? Eyes moving back and forth on the screen questioning what to say next, the conversation continued.

Snickering to yourself, ‘Oh, so he IS being defensive.’ The thought danced around in your head, rolling eyes at every other thing he texted. “There is no way he is serious,” mumbling to yourself like a madman in the dead of night alone while speaking to nothing but the screen at hand.

A light ping indicated that your message was sent, as you glanced at the dots that appeared from his end. Breath slightly hitching at what he stated next.

Eyes widening, breath caught in throat quickly throwing the phone down face first as your face burnt. Breathing shallow breaths to catch up, time felt a bit still before shaking hands gripped the phone, and slowly brought it into your line of sight.

My God was Satoru Gojo, huge.

His tip was a light dusty pink, almost made to be kissed, forming a beautiful head that had a bead of translucent precum decorating the slit. The shaft was thick, matching his milky pale tone and fading into an ombre ending right where the tip started. His veins were many, mapped out all around his shaft, up and down, a prominent one stood at the center. It looked heavy, he appeared to be standing up in the picture. A white-happy trail formed alongside the end of his abs and faded around into his neatly groomed bush. You blinked slowly, taking in the image of your best friend’s fat cock. He wasn’t lying. At all. He had to be pushing 8 inches and more. This was the image alone, thumb hovering slightly over the video attachment. Feeling your cunt pulsate slightly and clit growing a bit hard, shuffling some more.

‘I can't be getting wet over my friend. This is so wrong, he’s probably joking too right? Guys do this all the time with their guy friends. Except, I’m not a guy…’

Biting the bullet and taking the initiative, clicking the video attachment was a wrong, wrong idea. Still, in the same position, his gray sweat pushed down his mid-thigh, the flash was strong in the video. In your ears, everything was heard. Still standing erect, you could hear him lightly chuckle, almost as if he was taunting you in the same room. For some reason, the slick heat flooded more, He brought his large veiny hand, placing it side by side with his cock, holy shit, it was larger than his hand. He spoke your name in a sultry voice one that sent waves crashing down your pussy, a voice that you’ve never heard before.

“You already know how big my hand is, I mean you’ve held it before. Do with that information what you will.” You could hear the smirk in his voice before plopping on the bed before him, a soft grunt echoed in your ears. So his dick was heavy, it flopped straight on his abs which elicited a laugh on his end.

“Sorry, I couldn't send you it while lying down. It’s a bit too heavy.” With that, the video ended. Gulping and staring dumbfounded, your fingers anxiously wrote whatever they could, trying to keep any semblance of a friendly demeanor.

Sighing while rolling your eyes at his behavior, mentally sighing that he's back acting like the immature soul he’s always been. Guess, it’s time to rely on the good ol’ vibrator to solve this problem. Knowing him he’d probably hang this compliment over your head for eternity and that was that with this conversation, which is why what he stated startled you a bit.

Staring at the screen once more, feeling a bit anxious about his response. All that could be thought of is if the wrong thing was said to him. He’d be over the moon hearing that his cock is big as fuck, right? Sighing while dropping your shoulders and clicking the side button to shut the phone off, eyes closing once more while the back of your head met the soft headboard.

“Ding! New message from: ‘toruu.’”

Eyes widening, the heat still pooling in your lace panties, thanking yourself for another failed date. Within ten minutes the phone was chucked out of hand, racing to get ready for his arrival even though it wasn’t the typical hangout.

Slipping on a lacy, cerulean bra and throwing it on, keeping the same undies on having a feeling that the slick wetness would be favored for you both, fixing your hair, spritzing a gourmand perfume, applying a bubble-gum colored lip gloss, and pulling on a light blue hoodie, tight black spandex shorts, with black house sandals. It wasn’t long before a certain man rang the doorbell.

Rushing to the door while maintaining some form of composure and unlocking it to be met with piercing eyes and a shit-eating grin towering over you. He wore the same sweats in the video and a black hoodie that did very little to hide his massive frame.

“Hi,” he stated in his typical voice, eyes looking over his glasses down at your face, as he put one strong arm over the doorframe. “Hello, ‘Toru…” audibly speaking so only he heard, while a light blush scattered across your face.

“Heard your date got canceled or whatever, what a bummerrrrrrr.” He rolled his eyes exaggerating his disdain due to unexpected plans. “Gonna let me in?” His voice stated in a whisper while studying the curves of your body.

Slightly nodding, shifting to the side to let the tall figure in, a waft of his cologne hit all senses and shot straight to your core.

While he walked in, your hand pressed against the doorframe closing it and locking it before a large hand turned you around. Gasping at the sudden feel of his hand around your waist, while the rest of your body was pushed against the door. Staring up at his face, not recognizing the look displayed on his usual happy-go-lucky face, painted a darkened expression of desire. Satoru pressed your chest against the front of his body, pushing you closer by the hand on the back of your waist. Caging you in his embrace, the other hand laid flat behind the door.

Smelling his sweet breath from the various candies he indulged in, the air hit the tip of your nose while his lips were merely inches away from your own.

“No offense,” his voice silky, smooth, and deeper than usual, “Kinda glad this asshole bailed on you. Wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you anyways.” His smile deepened while you responded by cupping his soft face in both hands.

Breath a bit higher than a whisper, lips almost touching his while his grip on your waist felt stronger, “Oh, yeah ‘Toru, and you know what to do?”

Feeling a vibration from his chest against your frame, as a laugh erupted from him, he stared into your eyes intensely. “Let me kiss your lips and show you. I think you know by now my words match up with my actions.”

Almost on command, both of you smashed your lips into one another savoring the feeling of tasting what you wanted for so long. Mutually moaning slightly upon the impact, Satoru quickly moved his large hands to caress all over your tinier frame. Ass, waist, thighs, hair, neck, his long slender fingers were everywhere, anywhere, every chance he could get to press you impossibly close to him.

Mouth agape, he took it as an opportunity to slip his tongue in, slithering it around your mouth while your tongue circled his own. Hands entangled in his hair, tilting your head, and on cue, he did the same. Tongues squelching and roaming each other's mouths as if you’ve been thirsty and the only cure was one another. His hands finally stop at your ass, giving a light squeeze before carrying you up, wrapping your legs around his torso.

Breaking away faces mimicking a blush on both faces, a string of saliva connecting your lips. Slightly panting as your forehead meets his, he stares deeply into your eyes. “Cute and all,” he says still in a haze, “but those weren’t the lips I was talking about.”

Hovering over his torso, while your mouth was stuffed with his huge cock. Hungrily lapping up his dick with your tongue, your hand wrapped around his base in a circular motion going up and down while your mouth struggled slightly to take the entirety of him in. Moans sent vibrations across his huge shaft, he was so big, so so so big. You loved every minute of it, it was evident with the sticky residue of cum that formed on his thighs and pubic hair from the previous rounds you’d gone. Saliva pooled on his dick, to rest on his balls and underneath his thighs.

It was a mess, “Mhm!” You panted, separating yourself from having his cock buried down your throat but quickly attaching your lips at the head, smearing precum on like a lip product. Lapping the precum up and down the slit, before indulging his length back in. “Sa-Satoru- Ah! S-Stop!” Lips making a ‘pop!’ noise after pulling his dick from your throat, hands still echoing a wet sound as they both rapidly jerked him off.

Gojo laid on his back his face stuffed in your cunt, “Cant, ahhhh, too good,” His voice sounding hoarse. Bringing his head up even further into your slick heat, he licked long strips with his tongue from clit, hole, and ass. Both of his large hands spread your cheeks apart, your discharge soaking the bottom half of his face. He dove in head first, nose pressed directly in your pussy while his mouth harshly sucked at your clit, twirling it around his tongue effortlessly. Years of sucking on candy couldn’t compare to this. Pulling away both hands from your ass, he placed them on the front of your thighs, forcing you to sit on his face with a welp that broke away the string of moans.

Continuing to jerk him off, your eyes crossed while spitting down his length, feeling him twitch slightly under your motion. You mewled, “Mhpmh! Satoruuuuuuu!”

Harshly sucking on it before pulling away, he kissed your clit before dragging his head around in a circular motion licking all around like a madman. He closed his eyes and buried his tongue deep in your walls that tightened and contracted around him. Bobbing his head back and forth, tongue fucking your tiny hole, thumb diligently working in circles on your swollen clit. Slowly feeling your high soon approaching in waves and feeling him twitch even more violently underneath you.

He moaned deep into your cunt while high-pitched yells escaped your throat, “Oh! Oh! Oooooh! Oh, Satoru! I’m c-cumm- ah!” Soon enough, Satoru’s face was full of liquid when your orgasm arrived. Sticking a tongue out noticing him jerk in your hands, closing your eyes, while cum painting your tongue and face. Swallowing him all while quivering from the impact of cumming all over his face.

For once in your life, this was the most quiet Satoru has ever been.

Breaking away from your cunt, Satoru took a deep breath, laughing to himself shakily.

“Fuck, I should pay men more often not to date you.”

4K notes · View notes

monocaelia · 16 days ago

Text

nectar of the gods.

- the decadent taste of you on his lips drives him to near insanity, but he cannot help but crave more. aka ; they're eating you out. feat. caleb, rafayel, sylus, xavier, zayne x f!reader warnings : MDNI, smut, cunnlingus, vaginal fingering (zayne), orgasm denial (zayne). note : i'm experimenting w my writing and getting out of my comfort zone :sobsob: let me know what you guys think (૭ ｡•̀ ᵕ •́｡ )૭

☾ CALEB

caleb is a man that has been yearning since he first knew what that term meant. your radiant smile directed towards him, the lively sound of your laughter, your excruciatingly soft touch as you lean against him to grab something he's purposefully holding out of your reach, anything and everything you do was enough to send the poor boy wanting to experience more with you.

it shouldn't be a surprise that when you give him the green light to kiss you, to do anything with you, he eagerly takes this opportunity to make sure his desire for you is absolutely satiated.

the only problem is, when it comes to you caleb could never have enough.

his greed is sickening; hot and messy kisses to your core as large and calloused hands hold your plush thighs apart. your fingers are buried deep into his dark brown hair and you're tempted to pull his head away so that your mind could reset, but every lick sends shivers down your entire body and you push him in deeper.

your body feels like it's on fire with each press into your decadent sweet spot. the flames of desire curl up and spread throughout your body and they engulf you entirely with no intention of letting you go until you've reached the height of your pleasure. it's hot, it's burning you, and yet even you want more.

you choke out his name in a broken groan hearing caleb's lips smack against your clit, kissing it before encasing it between his mouth and sucking like a man dying of thirst.

"you're so beautiful," caleb coos as he pulls away from your soaked cunt. his thumb gently rubs a comforting circle in your inner thigh and you sigh in relief and disappointment at this moment's reprieve.

your lover presses his face into your thigh, trailing a line of light kisses up to the juncture of your inner thigh and he doesn't miss how you're shaking at his mere touch. it turns him on, honestly, seeing you this sensitive because of him.

because of only him.

"you're going to be the death of me," caleb groans against your skin before the familiar feeling of his tongue returns to your throbbing pussy.

it's hard to hold back your moans as his hot breath intermingles with the heat of your core. even when his hands hold your legs apart, your hips grind against his face to get as close as you could to his dizzying acts of love and lust.

his name leaves your lips in a breathy, whiny moan and one of your hands buries itself in his hair to push him deeper, closer to where you need him most. the heat is almost too much for you to bear as each stroke of his tongue across your pussy causes your body to shudder and a wave of pleasure to wash over you again and again. it's a slow, but intense buildup — each hum and groan from his throat sends vibrations through your body and heightens your senses.

you cry out caleb's name again, this time in warning. your legs are quick to wrap around your lover's shoulders to hold him down as the height of ecstasy crashes over you. caleb makes a muffled noise from underneath you, but you don't care; your satisfaction comes before he does.

when caleb finally lifts himself from your body, your heart skips a beat at the sight of him; half lidded eyes, hazy from the barely controlled desire for you, peeking through his long lashes, lips parted as he catches his breath from servicing you, and his mouth covered with your sweet slick. his fingers are by your pussy, prying your lower lips apart to proudly admire his work. your body twitches when you feel his fingers at your entrance, lubricating his fingers with your cum.

"one more..." caleb murmurs when your hands try to pull him away from your core. his nose nuzzles against your inner thigh and you can feel his lips trail kisses up to your sensitive cunt while his fingers gently massage your warm skin. the flames of desire begin to grown once more as the kisses increase in both number and sheer desperation.

"please, i'll be good to you. i promise."

☾ RAFAYEL

your lemurian lover is a passionate and patient lover, never does he rush things when it comes to you. his kisses are slow and languid as if he's enjoying every moment, every feeling that you give him. if you ever did try to rush into things, rafayel would only pull away with a cheeky smile and warn you to go his own pace.

"you're glowing in this lighting, cutie," rafayel purrs from between your thighs. your breath hitches as your lover presses a light kiss in your inner thigh and another right on your sensitive bud. it's taunting hin, beckoning him forward and begging for him to take it in his mouth and love you the way you desire.

but rafayel resists; there's no fun in giving it all to you.

your lips sigh out his name as your hand comes to caress the side of his face. he's warm, evidently so — with ears and cheeks a lovely shade of red, blue-red eyes that you love oh so much hazy and drowning you with the intent of making you feel good after he's done with you, and plush pink lips parted in anticipation, it's hard to deny just how much he was desiring you at this very moment.

"my pretty, lovely, beautiful bride," rafayel sighs into your core. you can feel his nose gently press into your skin as he presses a deep kiss to your eager pussy, never breaking eye contact with you as he does so. "let me make you feel good. let me show you how much i love you."

soft licks and kisses greet your clit and send gentle waves of pleasure coursing through your body. he's warm and loving as if he were embracing your whole being with his yearning for you. your breathy moans are music to rafayel's ears as his kisses deepen. you can feel his hot breath fanning across your sensitive skin before he captures your eager clit into his mouth.

a gasp leaves your lips and your legs twitch at the pleasure shooting through your body. you feel your lover groan as your hips grind against his face and you match the pace of his passionate and messy kisses. your mind is spinning with each wet lick to your cunt, warm pleasure washing over you in pleasant waves.

rafayel's love is all consuming — your body heats up with each caress of his tongue at your soaked pussy, your hands buried deep into seas of purple, and your head thrown back in pleasure as rafayel surrounds your senses in nothing but him and his insatiable desire for you.

as the heat within you rises and your ecstasy is within grasp, something begins to burn in your chest. it's hot, flickering like an undying flame that blazes even in the deepest abyss in the ocean, and it only intensifies the more rafayel pushes his face into your throbbing cunt.

"you're close, princess," rafayel murmurs in between kisses. you're a moaning mess above him, desperately pushing him further into you and trapping him with your legs thrown over his shoulders. your hands fist the bedsheets beneath you and your hips are desirous for the height of ecstasy.

the flame of desire explodes, devouring all of your senses as your hips grind against rafayel's mouth. like the tender lover he is, his mouth has yet to rest as you eagerly ride out your pleasure with wanton moans.

rafayel pulls from your body only when your legs have loosened their vice grip over his shoulders. his eyes never leave yours as he slowly crawls up your body; his touch gentle and loving and he chuckles softly when your face leans towards his warmth in seek of comfort.

you taste yourself on his lips when he leans down to kiss you — it's passionate and slow, a contrast to the heat of your climax just moments before. but you can never miss the way that his love for you is near infinite with his feather light touches and loving caresses.

"the night is young," rafayel coos as he trails kisses to the crook of your neck. shivers run down your body, but you don't push him away. you sigh shakily as hot lips bury themselves into the sensitive skin, leaving his mark wherever he pleases. "let me make a masterpiece out of you tonight."

☾ SYLUS

it's warm in the bathroom as the shower head covers your body in warm water. the steam curls up in wispy tendrils, fogging up the mirror and glass the longer that you stay in there. and yet, behind the misty shower glass, two bodies are enveloped in each other's warmth doing anything but ensuring the cleanliness of one another.

your leg is draped over sylus' shoulder with one hand bracing yourself on the glass separating the shower from the rest of the bathroom while the other is buried in silvery tendrils. your lips part with breathy sighs and whiny moans slipping out while onichynus' leader is busy with your other pair of lips.

you groan out sylus' name as his mouth eagerly sucks your sensitive cunt. your clit is caught in his lips, grazing his teeth over the the reactive skin and his ruby eyes watch in amusement as your body twitches as a result. his eyes never leave yours, taking in every expression you make with mirth.

pleasure consumes your body as sylus' tongue prods at your entrance and your hand instinctively pushes his face closer to your core just to chase more of that tingling sensation. your lover chuckles from underneath you, the vibrations of his deep voice making your body shudder.

"eager, are we?" sylus' voice is teasing and all knowing. a rough hand comes behind you, gently cupping your ass cheek and helping you balance a bit better. he rests it on your thigh and squeezes the plush limb in between his fingers — a silent warning to behave.

"just making sure you finish the job," you retort back to him. sylus' eyebrow quirks up and you feel his smirk against your core. his hot breath as he exhales a short laugh fans across your sensitive cunt, causing you to shiver and your fist to tighten its grip on his hair. he hisses slightly from the slight pain, but it's quickly replaced with his irritatingly handsome laugh.

"i didn't know you were this bold, sweetie."

sylus' lips return to your pussy with vigor, teasing your folds with his tongue and grunting when you shove him a little too roughly. his messy kisses to your soaking cunt are meticulous — each drawn out lick and tantalizing suck were all planned out knowing exactly what makes you feel so good.

and, astra above, his nose. as sylus busies himself with making sure none of your essence leaks out of his mouth, his nose bumps and rubs against your throbbing clit. the more occupied he becomes, the pleasure begins to flower from your lower stomach and reach its tendrils to every part of your body.

your moans begin to heighten in intensity and your hand is ruthless as you shove sylus closer and closer to your sensitive pussy, if he even could. at this point, with ecstasy taking over all of your senses like an invasive vine coiling its stems over your body, you only care about reaching that height of pleasure. the only leg stabilizing you to the wet tile is now tautly wrapped around his shoulder along with your other as your lover supports you with his hands on your ass.

his name is a loud and desperate cry, a simple warning for what's coming that echoes through the steamy bathroom walls. with a harsh kiss to your pussy, searing white pleasure crashes over your body and you grind aimlessly to chase that climax until its very end.

your body is limp as sylus pulls from your shaking legs. red, desirous eyes shine back at you and your body twitches seeing his tongue lick your essence off of his lips. he stands to his full height, making sure to support you as to not have you collapse onto the floor.

however, as you begin to use him as a crutch to leave the warmth of the shower and prepare for the night, sylus' large hand catches your forearm and pulls you back into his embrace. eyes of pure ruby glance at your flushed expression and you could feel the pride that begins to swell in his chest.

"you didn't think this was over, did you?" sylus coos as he towers over you. his eyes are gleaming with amusement as your eyes flit from his face down to his cock. without another word, he lifts you into his arms with ease and only chuckles when you yelp in surprise. the cool touch of the shower glass meets your back and you're face to face with a dragon who has his prey right in the palm of his hands.

☾ XAVIER

it's getting hard on the video game race ahead of you. your skilled fingers are desperately pressing the right button combinations to allow your character to drift and get as many items to guarantee your victory by the end of the race, but xavier is a force to be reckoned with and you should have never accepted his bet to see who could win a certain amount of races in the shortest amount of time.

you should've said no cheating, no distractions to the drivers.

your vision blurs as you feel a gentle kiss press to your sensitive clit and a familiar tongue caress it with care. your legs are thrown haphazardly over his shoulders as a weak attempt to ground yourself when he had shoved his way to your cunt like he owned the damn place.

xavier's affections are lazy, lips moving against your core as if he had all the time in the world while you're fighting for your life to clear the race in record time. it's dizzying and distracting, but you can't deny that the pleasure slowly ebbing its way through your body from his licks and the heat fanning across your core from his breathy sighs felt so good.

you just wished he wasn't being such a jerk and doing this now.

"looks like you're going to lose," your platinum blond lover muses from between your legs and you squeeze your thighs over his ears as punishment. but his soft chuckle tells you that he enjoyed your act of defiance. "i didn't know you're such a bad driver."

xavier's lips return to pleasuring you, not giving you any sense of reprieve. his lips are soft against your soaked cunt, pressing gentle kisses to your sensitive nub. slowly, he traverses lower to your gaping pussy and his tongue gently licks your folds. he's testing how much he could get away with teasing you, but even if you protested by bucking your hips or tightening your legs around his head it woud only egg him on.

your kart swerves and hits the wall when you feel xavier's hands slide under your legs to adjust you higher onto his shoulders — now, his head is at a better angle to eat you out and you desperately want to yell at him. but his tongue works faster and you suppress a moan as your lover devours you as if you were the most delectable dessert served to him.

the tingling pleasure is warm, spreading its warmth throughout your entire body the more xavier licks and kisses you. your kart slows down for a moment before your finger presses down on the acceleration. come on... just a little more...

but all your attempts are futile as even the messy noises of your lover enjoying you on the tip of his tongue begins to distract you... and turn you on. you can feel xavier's hot breath fan across your skin and the breathy way he says your name. it's so difficult to focus...

oh fuck it. you've already lost the moment your kart had bumped into the damn wall.

with a toss of the controller to who knows where, your hands bury themselves into platinum blond hair and your legs pull xavier in by his shoulders. your hips grind against his tongue as you desperately give in to his teasing actions and his tricks. you don't need to see his face to know how amused your lover is at the moment and how happy he is knowing you're giving in to your desire for him.

the pressure builds within you, each grind of your hips and lick into your soaking cunt pushes the pleasure throughout your body more and more until it had nowhere to go. like a massive star growing far too big and absorbing anything in its path, the flames of ecstasy begin to consume you and won't let you go until the pressure gives in.

your lips part as xavier's name slips out in a broken moan and a warning that the coil in your lower stomach is close to snapping. with one more harsh grind of your hips, it snaps with an intensity that you're all too familiar with. it's white and burns through you as if a supernova had exploded from your lower stomach, but you welcome the warmth and pleasure that crashes over you in waves.

as your body slowly comes down from that high, hips gradually slowing and your grip on xavier loosening, your lover pulls away from you with a dazed, but pleased expression.

"you lost," xavier murmurs softly to you, an innocent smile on his soft and beautiful face and a complete contrast to what he did to you just now. azure eyes shine with something you're all too familiar with as they glance down to your lips and back to your own eyes. your breath hitches as your lover climbs over your panting body and leans down to press a kiss to the corner of your lips down to your ear and buries himself into the crook of your neck. his hot breath fans across your skin and you shiver at the feeling of his warm lips latching onto your sensitive skin.

"can i take my prize now?"

☾ ZAYNE

you should've known better than to mess with zayne the entire day; sending him raunchy texts and risque pictures of yourself while he was busy working and acting like nothing happened when he returns to you late into the evening with flushed cheeks and a heavy desire to consume you.

it was fun in the meantime to play coy. but now you regret it more than anything.

your body squirms on top of the dark sheets of zayne's bed, now shared between the two of you. your hands are tautly tied above your head and you've only the sheets to grasp onto as the endless waves of pleasure begin to wash over you with each wet kiss and lick at your sensitive cunt. your legs so desperately want to clamp around zayne's head in any attempt to extinguish the searing heat building in your lower stomach, but large and scarred hands hold your legs apart.

it's hot and dizzying, a contrast to the cool touch of zayne against your body. and yet, your lover is relentless in his meticulous attack against your core.

lips wrap around your swollen clit and give it a nice suck. you can feel his tongue caress your sensitive nub, sending warm shivers cascading down your body. a whiny moan leaves your lips as slender fingers slide from your thighs to your soaking cunt. zayne's fingers are long and skilled, both from working with a scalpel and from loving you. he knows all the right spots to get you going, and dear astra does he abuse this knowledge.

zayne's name leaves your lips in a choked gasp as the sensation of his lips sucking on your clit and his fingers curling into your pussy makes your head spin and your lower stomach burn. your hips buck into his face and you can hear his chuckles from below you; it's embarrassing how needy he makes you, but at this point you don't care.

the pleasure only grows more and more the longer zayne goes sucking you off and rubbing his fingers inside you. it's overwhelming all of your senses, the heat growing and spreading from your core to every inch of your body, and as you eagerly meet the rhythm zayne's fingers you're only met with the cool air of the bedroom.

your eyes immediately snap to your lover, now donning a smug smile on his lips, as the height of your ecstasy begins to die down. your pussy clenches around nothing and you whine pathetically on the bed.

zayne chuckles at the sight of you— you're dripping for him, legs spread wide apart for him like an open invitation to do whatever he pleased. a finger rubs gently at your inner thigh and you squirm.

"look at you; so messy and desperate for me" zayne murmurs as his thumbs spread your lower lips apart. his eyes gleam with amusement at your soaking cunt. "maybe if you apologize to me for misbehaving, i'll give you what you want."

his voice is cold and commanding, different from the comforting zayne that you know. but this zayne isn't entirely unwelcome. if anything, his more domineering side makes your anticipation increase.

"i-i'm sorry, zayne. i promise i won't do it again," you stutter out. "i'll be good to you."

your lover hums in contemplation and you fear you would have to beg just a bit more. however, the warmth of his lips returns to your cunt and you nearly cry in relief. the sounds coming from below are wet and loud, mixed in with your breathy moans that increase in volume the more he devours you. with his tongue poking and prodding at your entrance and your hips picking up the pace once more, you're chasing that height of pleasure once more.

but your excitement is short lived. as the flames of pleasure heighten and prepare to consume you entirely, you're met with the familiar emptiness as zayne pulls from your soaked core.

"you thought it would be easy for you to get what you want?" zayne asks, emerald green eyes shimmering with mirth at the sight of your disheveled appearance.

and yet, as you cry for him and beg for your lover to let you cum, you're only met with nothing and the height of your pleasure falling right before the climax. it's irritating, frustrating, but astra does it turn you on the more zayne plays you like a fool even as the night stretches on and your ecstasy was denied over and over and over again.

#lads x reader #caleb x reader #rafayel x reader #sylus x reader #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #lads smut #didi writes

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juliettejwnewinesa · 2 months ago

Note

DEAR YOUR WRITING IS SO GOOD I'M ADDICTED 😭😭😭

a version of “you came on my lap?” with Kang wooyoung? I beg you 😞😞

baku version su-ho version hyun-tak version seongjae version yeongbin version beomseok version

“You Came on My Lap?”

Kang Wooyoung x Reader — smut | tension | accidental orgasm | third person | explicit

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The night had started out normal.

A casual hangout, shared drinks, low lighting, and a couch that forced Y/N and Wooyoung a little too close together. But it wasn’t new. They’d always been like this—flirty, borderline dangerous, toeing the edge of something neither of them named.

Tonight, though... the air was different. Heavy. Taut with something unspoken.

Y/N sat sideways, legs over Wooyoung’s lap, the kind of innocent position that became less innocent with every shift of her hips. His arm rested behind her on the back of the couch, fingers grazing her shoulder, drawing light, aimless patterns that made her stomach twist.

“You’re fidgeting,” he muttered, voice low.

“I’m not,” she lied.

He leaned in, breath warm on her neck. “You are. And it’s driving me crazy.”

Y/N turned toward him. They were too close. Her breath hitched when she met his gaze—dark, lazy, but coiled with restraint.

“I’m not doing anything,” she whispered.

He gave a crooked smirk. “That’s the problem.”

She didn’t know who moved first. Maybe her, maybe him. It didn’t matter. Their mouths met in the next second, all teeth and heat and tongue, lips moving like they’d done this a hundred times in dreams.

Wooyoung gripped her hips, guiding her to straddle him fully. The position made something in her snap—too intimate, too direct, her core pressed firmly to the bulge in his jeans.

She moaned into his mouth before she could stop herself.

He pulled back slightly, eyes burning. “You sure you wanna—”

“Shut up,” she said, kissing him again, grinding down slowly.

His groan was muffled against her lips. One of his hands slid under her shirt, palm hot against her skin. She rolled her hips again—slow, desperate for friction, needing something, anything. She could feel the heat building fast, embarrassing and electric.

“Fuck,” Wooyoung hissed. “You’re soaked already?”

She gasped as he angled her down harder, grinding her against him. The fabric between them only made it worse—better—god, she didn’t even know.

“I didn’t mean to,” she breathed, hips moving without thought. “I just—keep going—”

He kissed her again, deeper this time, his hand moving to the back of her neck, gripping like he couldn’t get her close enough. His thigh flexed beneath her and she accidentally ground right over the thickest part of his cock.

That did it.

Y/N’s entire body tensed. The orgasm hit out of nowhere—sharp, full-bodied, too much too fast. She gasped into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders as she came, grinding down one last time with a helpless little cry.

Her body trembled against him.

Wooyoung stilled.

Then—“…Y/N.”

She blinked at him, dazed, breathless.

His voice dropped even lower. “Did you just—” He let out a slow exhale, head tipping back slightly. “You came on my lap?”

Her mouth opened. Closed. “I—maybe—I don’t—”

His eyes dragged down her face, to her kiss-swollen lips, then back up. “Shit,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever felt.”

She was still trembling, trying to catch her breath, perched on his lap like she didn’t just soak through both their clothes.

He shifted slightly underneath her—then hissed. His jaw tensed.

She felt it.

Her eyes flicked down.

“…Did you—?”

Wooyoung covered his face with both hands. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You came too?!”

“It was mutual,” he muttered, eyes peeking out. “You kept grinding. I’m not made of stone.”

Y/N burst out laughing, hands on his chest, warm and shaky. “Oh my god, that was—”

“Insane?” he offered. “Hot? Messy? All of the above?”

They both stared at each other, still half tangled, hearts racing.

“...Round two,” he finally said, voice steadying, “in your bed. Without clothes. Deal?”

Y/N leaned down, lips brushing his. “You better last longer than five seconds this time.”

He growled and lifted her off his lap—only to throw her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing.

“I’ll give you five hours.”

#weak hero class #smut #fluff #cute #weak hero fanfic #weak hero class one #weak hero class two #weak hero class 1 #wooyoung #kang wooyoung #wooyoung x y/n #wooyoung x you #wooyoung x reader #weak hero class x reader #fwb #weak hero class 2 spoilers

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yulin-pop · 3 months ago

Note

Hi hi!

Forgive me if I'm wrong (and feel free to delete this if it's wrong) but I see your requests are open +_+

Can I ask for headcanons about Sebek, Silver, Malleus, and Leona with a reader who gets lost super easily? Like they just get distracted and walk in one direction and suddenly they have no idea where they are kinda lost (if that makes sense)

Also, I would like to say that I love your writing! You're actually the first person I followed when I got on Tumblr because of your twst writing!

Anyway, I hope you take good care of yourself and there's no rush to answer!

⤷ ✧ 𝐃𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞

order 90 | headcanons | Leona, Sebek, Silver, Malleus | GN

❀ NOTE: this request was so cute AND OMG YOURE SO SWEET it means a lot and my hobby of writing is motivated by people who enjoy it thank you so much cries

༻ Leona Kingscholar

When you first met and he told you to leave, you obeyed reluctantly only to come back not even 5 minutes later. In fact you don’t even realize until he calls out to you again.

“I told you to leave.”

“I know, I didn’t want to be here!” You boldly said before walking off into a randomly direction. Then ending up right back in front of him. He assumes you’re messing with him.

Once he does get to know you, he realizes it’s out of your control completely and you simply lack awareness. It’s a major problem because of how large the campus is, more often than not end up late to everything.

His sense of smell isn’t the strongest but it’s the only thing he can rely on to find you. Especially if it’s late at night and all else fails, he goes out of his way.

“There you are, your friends were throwing a fuss because you got lost again.” He said from behind you, clueless as ever. “I didn’t think you’d end up here though.”

You looked embarrassed as you approached him, “How did you find me?”

“When you have a brain bigger than a pea, it’s not difficult, herbivore.” He said with a deep breath before grabbing your hand.

“Don’t get lost again.”

-ˋˏ Sebek Zigvolt

It is aggravating to him how one can be so hopeless with locating things. He assumed you were a careless student late to class everyday but as he got to know you he realized it was likely due to you being lost.

The first time he was confronted with the fact was when you had to walk somewhere together. “Human, let’s hurry to Mr. Trein’s class immediately.”

“Okay, so why are you just standing there?” You pointed it out and he crossed his arms.

“He is a teacher of yours, is he not? Lead the way.” He haughtily demanded and you nodded. But you went in circles for 10 minutes, bickering about it the entire time.

“I know where I’m going.”

“Clearly you don’t, what room number is it?”

“112.”

“We’re at 203 right now, you fool!”

“I thought that said 103?” You looked at the nearest number in shock.

From then on he would never trust you to lead the way, he couldn’t even trust you to bring yourself to the correct destination.

“What class do you have now, human?”

“Science with Crewel.”

He took a sharp turn and looked back at you, “I’m taking you there, you’ll be late otherwise.”

-ˋˏ Silver

He never got an opportunity to see how bad your sense of direction is, he could only assume based off of how others describe you. He admits he understands because his habit of dozing off is also out of his control.

With that in mind he does try to make things easier for you when giving you directions. Just simple instructions like “go straight until you see the yellow sign, then turn left” is dumb enough for you to not somehow misinterpret as long as you pay attention.

The most notable time was when he had been training alone in the forest alone and inevitable dozed off without realizing. When he woke up he saw you sitting beside him.

“[Name]…” He said while sitting up.

“I tried waking you up but I’d feel bad if I did.”

“Sorry, but… why are you here?”

You tensed up and laughed, “I’m lost, I couldn’t find the mirror room.” You quietly said. “I saw you so I just stayed here until you would wake up.”

“You do realize the mirror room is a simple path from the main campus.” He says with curiosity but you shrug.

He stands up to gently take your hand and pulls you along. “Let’s go, I’m sure Grim is worried about you.”

-ˋˏ Malleus Draconia

It is one of the many quirks about you that shows how all humans are different. You specifically are very different in terms of how much awareness you lack in a place you roam around everyday.

The late nights at Ramshackle, you somehow emerge from the darkness and you seem exhausted. He questions you naturally.

“I missed a few turns and I walked into the forest and it took a while for me to find home.” You admitted with leaves in your hair, proof of your travels through the forest. He can’t hold back his laughter. He does feel bad for you though.

Oddly enough, your bad direction ends up leading you two together. If you come home late you naturally run into him, and when you’re lost going out and about he spots you.

“It’s as if you have a talent to find me.” He says while appearing behind you.

“I really don’t, it’s all a coincidence. I’m just trying to find my way back to the library!” You proclaim before crossing your arms and heading your way.

“I’m afraid the library is in the opposite direction.” He says and you stop in your tracks to turn around and scurry that way.

“Perhaps it would be efficient if I guide you there myself. It wouldn’t be a waste of my time to check out the library.”

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst #leona kingscholar x reader #leona kingscholar #sebek zigvolt x reader #sebek zigvolt #silver twisted wonderland x reader #silver twst #silver twst x reader #malleus draconia x reader #malleus draconia

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losers-clvb · 4 months ago

Text

rebound ex-boyfriend!sam winchester x female!reader

content: toxic!sam, language, smut, oral sex (fem receiving), fingering, clitoral stimulation, manipulative sam, mentions of cheating, phone call during sex, some light dirty talk, non-consensual voyeurism (i think it classifies anyway), weirdly some fluff (maybe?)

word count: 3.4k

note: thank you to my lovely jen (@xoswiftieprincess )for indirectly inspiring me to write this fic. also, this is unedited because i wanted to get it out before i went to work, lol.

m.list

“Fuck Sam Winchester!”

Your best friend, Mason, had been cursing the man’s name for over two hours now. She was finding way too much joy in you finally breaking up with him, but that’s just what her friendship was like. She’s always supported you, even when you made the stupid choice to stay with Sam after the fourth time he’d come home to you with a lipstick stain on his neck.

But, seems fifth time was the charm, because you had forced him out of your life. Though, that could have been more about the fact that this time he’d left his phone open to show a text thread between him and the lady who delivered the mail. The fucking postal carrier. He’d chosen her over you.

That was all in the past now, or, it was supposed to be, but now the entire bar was cheersing to Sam’s downfall.

“Fuck Sam Winchester!” They all echoed out Mason’s words. Even the elderly veteran that lurked in the corner raised his beer to the sentiment.

You rolled your eyes and tried to swallow down the hurt of losing Sam, using your very strong cocktail as a chaser. You were the image of pure badass feminism. Who needed a man if he was gonna treat you like trash?

The truth of it was much more embarrassing. You missed Sam.

He could be sweet, when he wanted to. Bring you home flowers, never your favorites, but they were still flowers. He would wrap his arms around you while you made dinner, lips working on kissing your neck while you hummed. The thing you missed the most?

His ability to make you come over and over.

It was truly astounding the amount of times he’d make you come in a singular night. It was the only time he wasn’t a complete selfish asshole. He’d eat you out until the sun rose, ignoring your babbling about how you couldn’t handle another. You knew the safe word, you just never used it.

Oh my God, and his cock? It was impressively--

��Can you stop thinking about him for once?” Mason huffed out, sipping from her own drink. She could read your mind like no other, and it most times lead you to trouble.

“I’m not thinking about him.” You were lying straight through your teeth. You knew it, and she definitely knew it, if the glare she cut at you meant anything.

“You’re a horrible liar.”

You cringed at her words. Not because of what she meant behind them, but because Sam had told you the same thing, word for word, when you screamed at him how much you hated him.

They were both right. You were lying.

“I can’t just stop loving him.” You whispered. Mason still caught it over the hum of the bar around you.

“You need a rebound! Best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, right?” Mason was already scanning the bar for her perfect victim.

“No, Mase, I can’t-,” you started to protest, but she cut you off.

“Him!” Mason jabbed a finger in the direction of a man. He looked around your age and he wasn’t exactly unattractive. The problem lay in the simple fact that he was nothing like Sam.

His jaw was set in a different way. His hair buzzed down to his scalp. He was too… muscular, like a bodybuilder rather than the lean, toned build of your Sam. And he was short. Only an inch or two taller than yourself. You liked it when your men towered over you. Or, maybe you just liked it when Sam towered over you.

It wasn’t as if you were now a born-again virgin. You would work your way up to hookups, you assumed. But right now you didn’t know if there was anyone who could make you feel as good as Sam had, and you didn’t want to be disappointed.

“He’s perfect for you!” Mason insisted, wrapping her fingers around your wrist to drag you over to him.

“He’s nothing like Sam…,” you almost whimpered, your mind always going back to the man who constantly broke your heart.

“Exactly.” Mason smiled wickedly, stomping up to Not-Sam and his group of friends.

After some very convincing arguments with Mason, mixed with the overwhelming fear that you would never get over Sam, you agreed to take Not-Sam home with you.

That’s where you found yourself now, pressed against the wall, Not-Sam’s hand inching under your skirt.

You were trying to enjoy this, you really were, but he was making it difficult.

Not-Sam was a very bad kisser, and his hand? His hand was somehow cold and sweaty at the same time. Oh, and turns out he was part of the male population that couldn’t find the clit, because he was now rubbing just north of it with far too much confidence.

“That feel good?” He asked in what you could only classify as the worst sexy voice you’ve ever heard.

“Umm…,” you didn’t know how to answer. “Yeah, that’s sooo good” in your best attempt at non-sarcasm? Or maybe, “No, it really doesn’t” as a way to finally stand up for yourself?

Thankfully, you didn’t have to make a choice, because there was a knock on your door a second later. You all but pushed Not-Sam off of you, scrambling to answer the door. Maybe it was Mason coming to her senses and saving you from this. Or maybe your neighbor Verna who sometimes participated in late night baking. Or--

You opened the door to reveal none other than Sam. He looked the same as he had three days ago when you pushed him out of this very door. Well, same other than the quickly bruising right eye.

“Oh.” You breathed, not knowing what else to say. You felt a flux of emotion. Hate, regret, love, lust, heartbreak. Most of all, you felt sorry for him.

You felt sorry for your shitty ex because he has a black eye? You could hear Mason’s voice in your head already, scolding you.

It didn’t stop the pull of your heart when he offered you a crooked grin.

“Angelcakes, who is it?” Not-Sam asked, peering over your shoulder. You winced at the pet name. He insisted on calling you that despite your physical aversion to the name.

Sam furrowed his brow, flicking his eyes from you to Not-Sam a few times before they finally landed back onto you. He didn’t look jealous. He didn’t need to be, he knew nobody compared to him.

“Can I come in?” Sam leaned against the doorframe in the way that always had you swooning. His hair fell perfectly into his eyes. He could see the moment he hooked you back in, a smirk pulling on his face at the sight.

“Actually-,” Not-Sam began.

“Yes.” You answered at the same time, stopping Not-Sam in his tracks. You would have seen the scowl on his face if you weren’t so enamoured with your ex-boyfriend in front of you.

“What?” Not-Sam spat, crossing his arms.

Sam dragged his gaze from you to Not-Sam, raising his eyebrows.

“Guess you’d better get going.” Sam spoke with the same inflection you would use with a child, soft and syrupy like medicine. And just like a child to medicine, it made Not-Sam sneer with disgust.

“We were in the middle of something, Gigantor.” Not-Sam tried, and failed, to pull you out of the trance Sam had put you in by nudging your side.

“It’s okay. You can go.” Your words flowed out embarrassingly quick, and you saw a twinkle of something in Sam’s eye.

Not-Sam scoffed, pushing past you and Sam with a mumble about how you were a bitch he didn’t need. You paid no mind to it, not when Sam was gathering your hand in his own.

His skin was warm, a warmth you had missed after the whole of the three days away from him. He brought the back of your hand to his lips, kissing it like he was the prince in those fairytales you loved so much.

“I missed you.” He mumbled against your hand. You didn’t know if it was true or not, but you wanted to believe it was, and that was all that mattered in the moment.

Your head was still a little fuzzy from the drinks Mason had shoved at you. Yeah, that would be your excuse for anything that was to happen. Drunk, not stupidly in love with a sadist.

“Sammy…,” you sighed, jutting your lip out in a frown. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to cry.

“Baby…,” Sam sighed back, stepping into your apartment. It smelled like home, cinnamon and sugar. That must have been why he couldn’t get you off his mind, even after sleeping with Stephanie from the bakery down the street.

“You shouldn’t be here.” You turned away, suddenly feeling nervous in his presence. He was gonna hurt you again, you knew it, but it didn’t stop the wanting to wrap your arms around his neck.

“Maybe.” He agreed, softly pushing the door closed and turning the lock until that click that told him no one would be getting in to interrupt what he wanted to happen. “But you’re my baby, and I needed help.”

You turned to face him again, eyes stopping on his injury. You could see the few spots in his eye where the blood vessels had burst. Whoever hit him, hit him hard.

You reached up to cup his face with your hand, Sam leaned down to meet you halfway. You brushed a thumb carefully over the bruising.

“What happened?” You met his eyes again.

“That’s not important.” You didn’t need to know that Stephanie had a husband, one who had been trained to throw a punch during his time in the military. “Can you kiss it better? Like you always do?”

Like you always do. He knew you too well. You would give in, he wouldn’t even have to beg for it.

“You hurt me.” You whimpered, eyes dropping.

“I know. I’m sorry, baby.” Sam was actually half-sincere with his apology. He was sorry that he hurt you, but it was just so easy when you always let him come back.

You swallowed and huffed, still looking down. Then he said those magic words.

“I love you, it’ll never happen again.” You’d heard them far too often, and believed them more times than that. They never ceased to melt away any residual anger you felt toward Sam.

You looked up, a small smile gracing your face.

“I love you too.” You answered.

“I know you do.” Sam nodded, tilting his head down just the slightest bit in order to brush his lips against yours.

You leaned into him with a sigh, muscle memory taking over while you kissed him. It was soft and passionate at first, but quickly spiraled into something more.

Sam was hungry, and you were the only thing that could satisfy him. He knew it. No matter how many girls he tried to replace you with, he could never find one like you. None of them loved him so wholly and eternally like you did.

You wrapped your legs around his waist when he picked you up. You clung to him like a koala on a tree, chest flush with his own.

Sam carried you to your room, bending down to place you within the nest of blankets you called a bed. He never once broke the kiss, not until you were settled onto your back.

He worked his way down your face, kissing your jawline, nipping at your neck. The dress Mason had picked out for you worked to his advantage, giving him perfect access to kiss the tops of your breasts.

The moment he had pulled away from your lips you had tangled your fingers into his hair. You knew where this was going.

“I missed these.” Sam muttered, licking his tongue over the skin of your chest. You only hummed in response.

He continued his way down, fingers looping around your panties before his face ever reached then. He pulled them down, slow and tantalizing, watching the way the lace scraped against your thighs.

There it was. Sam’s own personal heaven, nearly dripping from the way he had you all worked up.

“Sammy…,” you encouraged. He knew what you were asking for. He was happy to deliver.

Sam kissed your inner thigh, relishing in the warmth that increased with every inch closer he got to your center. After just a moment’s pause, he kissed down onto your clit.

The breath was knocked from your lungs when his tongue joined in.

You were pitiful. He’d barely touched you, barely put any effort into his movements, yet you were moaning out his name like it was a prayer. You’d regret this later, maybe, but right now? You weren’t thinking of much more than Sam’s mouth working away at you.

“Mmm, baby, I missed this.” Sam hummed. He brought his thumb up to your clit, just the slightest pressure to get you whining.

“Sammy…,” you huffed. You dropped your hand from his hair to the side of his forehead, cradling his head while he watched your reactions to his movements.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” Sam breathed out, sucking onto you. “That’s why I can’t let you go, you’re perfect.”

You let your eyes flutter shut, throwing your head back. You loved it when he talked like this, when he praised you. It made you feel important.

“You’re perfect for me.”

A primal noise left your throat and you rolled your hips into him.

Sam smirked against you. He knew you would never leave him, not really. All he had to do was come back begging, promise to never do it again, give you a kiss as a way to tie it all together. He’d done it hundreds of times before, and he’d do it hundreds of times more.

You always took him back with open arms -- or, in this case, open legs.

A buzzing from your nightstand broke him from those thoughts.

Your eyes shot open and you tilted your head to the side to look at the device.

“Mase <3” was displayed on the screen.

“It’s-,” you reached for your phone, meaning to hit the volume button to stop the vibrations so you could get back to letting Sam pull you apart. You paused when you felt Sam’s fingers flex into your thighs, catching your attention.

“Answer it,” he ordered, voice just as syrupy sweet as it was earlier. His eyes flashed with mischief. He knew Mason hated him, she’d told him as much each time they saw each other. He didn’t care, not when you would be hanging onto his every word and following him around like a lost puppy. But, it was fun to mess with her.

“What? No.” You wanted to wait for her to find out about all of this. She would be disappointed in you, mad, even. You could see her trying to come over to your place with plans to beat Sam’s ass in her mind. You didn’t want to deal with all of that right now.

“She’s just gonna call back again.” Sam told you. When you still looked hesitant, he placed a gentle kiss on your thigh. “C’mon baby, I’ll be good.”

You melted under him, giving in. You always gave in.

You swiped up your phone, tapping the answer button and holding it up to your ear. You immediately heard the low din of the bar. It was late, but Mason was known for closing the place out every Saturday night.

“How’s it going with the gentleman?” Mason asked cheekily. She usually held her alcohol well, but it didn’t stop the slight slur peeking through in her voice.

“Good.” You weren’t technically lying. It was going good, maybe better than good, but it wasn’t with the man she had set you up with. Then again, if Not-Sam had stayed, you were sure it would have been a very unsatisfying night.

You kept your eyes locked onto Sam. His brown eyes were soft, and you swore you saw love in them, but that may have just been you twisting things. No, he did love you. Just not enough to stop finding himself in other women’s beds.

He stuck true to his word, for about the first minute of your phone call. Your eyes widened as he slowly sunk down, pressing his tongue flat against your center.

“He’s pretty hot, right?” Mason continued. You tried to keep your breathing steady.

“Yeah, super hot.” You agreed. Sam never broke the eye contact he held with you, and you didn’t dare to look away. He wanted you watching him. You knew how bratty he became when he didn’t get what he wanted. You didn’t need him doing anything more to give you away to your babbling best friend.

“And he knows what he’s doing?” Mason questioned. You could see her in your mind, giddily awaiting your answer while she sat at the bar.

“Mhm,” you hummed, biting your lip to stop a moan. You shivered when Sam groaned into you, earning him a narrowing of your eyes to him. Thankfully, Mason didn’t seem to pick up on the noise.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it, but I want all the juicy details in the morning, kay?”

“Of-,” you started to answer with an “of course, bye!”, but that was when Sam pushed two fingers into you, causing the rest of the sentence to be replaced with a moan.

“Oh my gosh, are you doing him right now?” Mason asked, voice a mix of shock and pride. She’d hope this meant you were coming to your senses, finally leaving Sam in the past.

“Kinda.” You managed to bite out, praying she would just end the call already. It hadn’t occurred to you that you could be the one to end the call, not when Sam was steadily pumping his fingers into you.

“You dirty girl!” Mason exclaimed, giggling. At the same time, Sam spoke, making sure his voice was loud enough to be heard through the phone.

“Such a good girl,” he purred, sucking onto your clit.

“Wait-,” Mason’s voice was scarily sobered up and you nearly withered away in preparation for the impending lecture. “Who is that?” She hoped she had heard wrong, hoped you weren’t stupid enough to be in the position she knew you were in.

“Uh-,” you tried to think of a way out of this, a way to get her off your back, but Sam’s fingers -- the ones not currently inside of you -- wrapped around your phone. He pulled it from your hand effortlessly.

“Hey Mase,” he greeted. He was far too cocky than he usually would be, but the situation was just too perfect. Mason hated him, yet she could never get you to fold the way he did. It did immeasurably amazing things to stoke his ego.

“Fuckin’ Sam.” Mason growled. Seems all the alcohol still couldn’t stop the hatred for the man.

“We’re trying to have a good time, you’re kinda ruining the vibe.” Sam continued his work with his fingers, putting light pressure onto your clit with his thumb.

“Just leave her alone, asshole. Haven’t you hurt her enough?” Mason knew there was no hope in reasoning with him, but she would still try.

“I’m not hurtin’ her right now, promise.” Sam hummed, eyes dragging over your heaving chest. With the phone in his possession, you’d fallen right back into your pleasure. Your head was buried into your blankets, breathy moans leaving your lips.

“You’d better be gone by the time I get there.” Mason warned, and Sam could hear the smack of a door slamming shut.

“Mmm, I don’t think so.” Sam smirked when you clenched around his fingers. He knew you were close. He knew everything about you, down to every twitch of your muscle. He heard the line disconnect, a beep signaling that Mason had ended the call.

He was sure she would be here, banging on your front door, within the next half hour, but that didn’t stop him from taking his time with you. He watched you fall apart on his hand.

“You’re my perfect girl.” Sam rewarded you with after you’d relaxed, a sweet kiss finding its way onto your hip bone. You could only nod and pull him into your arms.

This was the best way to get over a breakup, you’d decided, even if it was with the person who’d broken your heart in the first place.

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