#I was supposed to make this appointment at the beginning of LAST month at my doc's recommendation and then didn't.

[iero]

It's so stupid to be happy about this, but I finally made the call to make a doctor's appointment to finally talk to them about getting put on a new anxiety medication.

[dyaz-stories]

casual (1) || gojo satoru x reader

chapter 1: i like the way you kiss me

synopsis: Getting recruited for a double position as a teacher for Jujutsu High in Tokyo and a strategist, tasked with assigning missions to sorcerers in the region is the perfect situation for you. It pays well, it's well regarded, and it's as safe as possible — by sorcerer standards, anyway.

There is one problem though, and his name is Gojo Satoru. The one who's supposed to collaborate with you and answer to you.

The one you can't keep your hands off...

word count: 9.5k

genre: 18+, friends with benefits to lovers, coworkers to lovers, canon divergence, smut, emotional slow burn but they fuck like rabbits

warnings/tags (chapter): fem!reader (she/her pronouns, reader is afab), takes place ~5 years before jjk0, teacher!reader, sorcerer!reader, canon-typical violence, mild angst, smut (semi-public sex, fingering [fem receiving], vaginal sex, sorta dom!gojo, corruption kink if you squint), mentioned slut shaming (not the sexy kind), gojo satoru is a little shit

A/N: This is quite the Behemoth of a first chapter, I'm sorry to say. I love really long chapters, but I can only hope you all do too and this isn't too intimidating! This is a fic I've had in mind for ages and finally got around to start an outline for and actually write it. There are actually a couple of drabbles here and there on my blog for this couple already, happening at various points of their relationship.

I really hope you will enjoy this first chapter!

‘Make use of Satoru Gojo however you see fit.’

Such are the first words spoken to you by the higher-ups, at the end of an exhausting recruitment process. You nod sharply at the instruction.

“Duly noted.”

Truth be told, you don’t see why they need to specify it. You had assumed that went without saying from the very beginning.

The job offer had, at first glance, been for a strategist who would work directly under the higher-ups for the region of Tokyo. Devising teams, advising the council, and assigning missions were supposed to be the main tasks you would have to fulfill.

‘Supposed’ because, when you were one of only three candidates left, the higher-ups had revealed that there was, in fact, a second role you would be expected to perform. One that you had not imagined would be available for decades.

A new teaching position at the Tokyo Jujutsu High School was opening up, though you couldn’t understand why for the life of you. You had no connection to the establishment yourself, having left Japan as a child and trained abroad your whole life, never returning for more than a couple of months at a time, yet you knew, as did the entirety of the sorcerer world, that Satoru Gojo had been appointed there less than a year before. Well, rumor had it that he had appointed himself, and you had to wonder if that was why they were keen to have a more… traditional teacher by his side, since firing him was an option.

In that case, your lack of ties to Satoru Gojo, Masamichi Yaga and to the Jujutsu Headquarters could explain why your name ended up being the last one on the ballot. You were the best placed to be an independent monitor.

The distorted voice keeps going, bringing you back to the present.

“Unless stated otherwise, always send him to battle first.”

You school your face so you do not let any emotion appear, though the statement surprises you. You have to assume that they don’t mean for any mission you receive, because that would be catastrophically ineffective. Then again, sending him on Grade 1 missions, if he is available, makes some sense.

“Report to us if you encounter difficulties with him,” the voice adds before falling silent without elaborating.

You understand, from the finality of their tone, that you have been dismissed, and bow your head, your movements polite and sober.

“Thank you for the trust you are placing in me. I will not disappoint you.”

“We know you won’t,” another sepulchral voice answers.

In the dark, candle-lit room, it sounds sinister enough to chill you to the bone. You wait just a second longer, in case something needs to be added, before turning on your heels and walking away. No one calls you back, and you’re more relieved about leaving the room than you would like to admit.

Outside, the summer sun is high and bright. You tilt your head backwards and close your eyes to let its rays warm your face. It will take a while before the cold instilled in you in that meeting room dissipates.

You’re expected in Jujutsu Tech by the end of August. Being a teacher there is as close to the ideal position as it gets, for a sorcerer. The pay is excellent, the risks minimal, and it commends great respect from the society at large. You have no doubt that, had the offer been for that position in the first place, numerous sorcerers far more qualified for teaching than you are would have thrown their hats in the ring. You wouldn’t have made it past the first interview.

You got lucky. Just this once, you’re going in the right direction.

You inhale deeply. For the first time in a long time, you no longer envision your life as an endless successions of missions, countries, and houses that never become homes.

For the first time in the long time, you think you have a future.

There is a spring in your step when you make your way down the stairs, away from this freezing place and the ghouls that haunt it.

Behind you, the Headquarters; ahead, Jujutsu Tech.

Masamichi Yaga is a cautious man. His handshake is warm and firm when he greets you, and though his voice is calm and steady as he guides you through the hallways of Jujutsu Tech, he remains evasive. He provides all the information you might need, answers any question you have when you ask them without missing a beat, and yet you can tell he is guarded, keeping you at arm’s length.

You cannot determine why that is with certainty, though you have a handful of hypotheses. It could just be that he isn’t used to the presence of strangers. Dealing with a total stranger is a rarity within sorcerer society, even more so in Japan. You doubt that he would know anyone who could talk about you, let alone vouch for you. You understand why that would make you a suspicious character.

Another option is that you were forced onto him as a member of his staff by the higher-ups, though you haven’t heard anything about that. With you being a complete outsider, he would not have any valid reason to outright reject your presence, not when his only teacher is frequently gone for days at a time, but that would not mean that he’d be pleased with it — or view you as trustworthy, for that matter.

The third possibility, of course, is that he just finds you off-putting.

‘Cold’, that’s how you are often described by the people around you. You don’t do it intentionally, but you also cannot pinpoint what it is that you do ‘wrong’. Something about your tone, your expressions, or lack thereof, your cold eyes, the way your mouth naturally curves downwards.

That and, of course, the trail of bad omens that you bring with you everywhere you go.

These don’t tend to be active problems when it comes to sorcerers. With normal humans, now, it’s a different story. Oh, there are exceptions, who find that this all makes you intriguing, but it typically makes it hard to build actual connections with other people. You wouldn’t normally care, but in a situation where you have to collaborate with others, you could see that becoming an issue.

You had seen that coming, of course — it wasn’t like it was new information to you. As a result, you had made sure to be on your very best behavior from the moment you’d stepped foot within Jujutsu Tech grounds. You had nodded with interest, you had reminded yourself to smile, you had asked all the right questions, and yet you could feel that you had not once managed to turn yourself into a likeable person.

Ah, well. Not being likeable would not stop you from doing your job right.

“I’ll introduce you to the rest of teaching staff,” Yaga announces, his voice deep, as he reaches a new door. His hand is hovering over the doorknob when he stills, turning to look at you. “Are you ready for this just now? They were both students here, but I assume this can all be overwhelming for a newbie.”

That is a kind sentiment.

“I’m okay.” Then, because answering in monosyllables is not what likeable people are supposed to do, you add: “I read the files available to familiarize myself with the school grounds before coming here.”

His eyebrows jump up behind his glasses, but it’s followed by a hearty chuckle.

“You’ve come prepared.” He nods, appreciative. “Good. It will be nice to have someone who takes their job seriously around here.”

You don’t have the time to question the sentence before he opens the door.

The room is small and reeks of cigarette smoke. In the middle of it, a desk, and behind it, sprawled on an elegant black chair, a white-haired man that you recognize at first glance. You let your eyes slide over him. You wouldn’t want to look too, um, curious, just yet.

The brown-haired woman with the long white coat who is perched on a window sill, doing her very best to look inconspicuous, is the one responsible for the smell. You identify her as Shoko Ieiri, school doctor and reverse cursed technique prodigy. Next to you, Yaga sighs.

“Shoko,” he protests with a paternal disapproval, “I thought you’d quit smoking?”

“I did,” she answers, staring at him, her eyes dark and tired, “and then I had to regrow a lung. Do you have any idea how much of a pain it is to regrow internal organs?”

A light laugh comes from the man in the middle of the room, and you consider that this gives you permission to look at him without coming off like you’re gawking.

He has his feet propped up on the desk, and he’s using them to push himself backwards in a precarious balance. White hair spills on the dark leather, long arms hang on both sides of the chair, and he hasn’t bothered to so much as glance in your direction so far — or at least, you don’t think he has, because white bandages are wrapped around his head, covering his eyes.

Even without being able to spot their signature blue, you know who he is. There isn’t one sorcerer in Japan, nor in the whole world, who doesn’t know his name.

Satoru Gojo, in the flesh.

“Maybe if you hadn’t cheated your way through medical school, it would be easier, don’t ya think?” he asks Ieiri with fond familiarity.

“Don’t—” Yaga takes two steps into the room, kicks the legs from underneath the chair. “—sit at my desk, Satoru.”

Effortlessly, Gojo jumps off the chair before it hits the floor and lands on his feet, facing Yaga. He is just as tall as the Principal, and from the wide grin on his face, it’s obvious that he is thrilled to have gotten a rise out of him.

“Then get me my own office already, what are you waiting for?”

“We’ll see which one of you gets an office first,” Yaga sniffs, and it doesn’t sound like Gojo is at the top of his list. “First, there is someone you need to meet.”

Ieiri has been observing you since you’ve walked into the room, not looking away when you had met her eyes. Yaga’s words have Gojo finally directing his attention to you, though, and something in the room shifts. You can’t see them, yet you know his eyes are on you, dissecting you and your cursed energy, collecting every possible bit of information on you. He walks past Yaga, burying his hands in his pockets as he approaches you. He has an easy smile placated on his lips, but you know when you’re being judged.

Behind him, both Ieiri and Yaga are still, tense. Yaga’s jaw is set, and Ieiri fiddles with a pack of cigarettes in her pocket, clearly itching for a new one. Ah, so this is the real test.

You don’t back off, staying rooted in your spot. He towers over you easily, and you have to tilt your head back just to look at him. You’d heard he was a handsome man, but you hadn’t expected it to be so obvious, even with the bandages on. He studies you, sharp jaw clenching, before the dazzling smile returns.

“Right! You’re the substitute teacher, aren’t you?”

His voice is light and airy, the previous tension completely absent from it. You blink.

“She will be teaching instead of you when you’re away on missions,” Yaga intervenes, “but that doesn’t make her a substitute. C’mon, Satoru, we’ve had this conversation already.”

On that last sentence, his voice turns into a threatening rumble.

“Sure, sure,” Gojo dismisses him without looking back, “and you’re the one who will be giving me missions as well, right?”

He keeps his tone cheerful, makes it sound like he’s just trying to have a conversation, but there is an edge in his voice, a bite. You cannot tell what he is trying to achieve with the question, though, or why he is being hostile, so you choose not to engage.

“Indeed,” you answer, bowing your head politely. “It is an honor to be meeting you all.” You make quick work of giving your name and briefly mentioning that you hadn’t grown up in Japan.

You’re met with silence, Gojo’s lips pressed together as he tries to read you. You do your very best not to give him anything to sink his teeth into.

“Your family’s known for their precognition, aren’t they?” Ieiri asks from the other side of the room.

“Foresight, yes”, you reply. Your answer is rehearsed, polished. Your family has somewhat of a reputation within the sorcerer world, but fortune tellers are a dime a dozen, even among non-sorcerers, and the results vary greatly — it’s not an ability that inspires trust, even for a legitimate sorcerer like you. You don’t wish to reveal too much of yourself just yet. “I look forward to working with you.”

A smile finally forms on her lips.

“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope I won’t be seeing too much of you. Would be a shame if I had to patch you up. If you want to go out drinking though, just let me know. I know all the best bars in the city!”

“She does, and she’s banned from half of them,” Gojo chimes in. Now that his focus is back on her, his tone is softer; teasing, still, but no longer harsh. “She could use an actual designated driver instead of exploiting her kouhais though, don’t you think, Shoko?”

She laughs at that, sincerely, her eyes creasing.

“Fuck you, Gojo,” she answers fondly.

“I apologize for these two,” Yaga says, wincing at the coarse language. “We’re very happy to have you here. I’m sure it will do the kids some good, having someone serious to take after.”

“Hurtful,” Gojo protests, pouting. “They’re good kids,” he adds, directing his attention back to you. He sounds proud now, no trace of his earlier defiance left. “They’ll be great soon. They just need a little push to get there.”

At that, you nod.

“Of course. I’ll do my very best to help them on that path.”

There is a second, between the moment when you finish speaking and the moment when a wide smile splits his face. In that second, his lips part, and you feel his eyes plunge into you, digging into the very core of your being. He doesn’t look pleased. No, he is sizing you up, and you doubt you measure up to his expectations as well as you should. You’re the only one facing him, though, and when he smiles, just a little too late, it all vanishes like it never happened.

“Good to hear! As long as that’s the case, I’m sure everything will go smoothly.”

It’s said differently, but it’s as threatening as the higher-ups’ last words to you. Still, behind Gojo, Yaga heaves a relieved sigh and exchanges a look with Ieiri that tells you just how worried he’d been about your arrival. To him, it looks like the situation is resolved.

“Why don’t we all go and get a drink together to welcome you properly, if we’re done here?” he asks, walking over and slapping Gojo in the back.

“Sounds good to me,” Ieiri hums.

“As long as we go somewhere with good desserts, I’m in,” Gojo declares, intertwining his fingers at the back  his head.

“You better be, Satoru,” Yaga grumbles, “you’re paying.”

“Not sure the Gojo clan has enough money for your appetite,” he sighs dramatically, “but I mean, I can try.” Then, eyeing you, “You coming or what?”

“Of course,” you say, swallowing around the unexpected knot in your throat. “Thank you for having me.”

You follow them cautiously, keeping quiet as the banter continues, hands held behind your back, observing. You had not expected to feel welcome here. You could have done without Gojo’s strange hostility, but with your track record, you had expected far worse.

“Let me know if Satoru makes your life harder, alright? I’ll talk some sense into him,” Ieiri tells you, placing a cigarette between her lips.

“And I’ll beat it into him if I have to,” Yaga adds, snatching it from Ieiri’s mouth and crumpling it between his fingers.

“I’d love to see you try,” Gojo grins.

“Noted,” you answer, “but I’m sure everything will be fine.”

This last part is a lie. Even as he’s joking around with everyone, you know he is still observing you, courtesy of the Six Eyes, watching your every move, waiting to find a fault somewhere so he can figure out what to do with you. You can’t blame him. You will be the one sending him into action, after all, even if the higher-ups would review missions assigned to grade 1 sorcerers and special grade sorcerers. Of course he’d need some time to figure out whether or not you’re trustworthy.

Not that his opinion on the subject matters to you. You’re not the type of person who needs other to like you. You don’t even need him to trust you. All he has to do is let you do your job.

Everything else is futile.

It is no surprise that the first few weeks at your job are slow. The end of summer and the beginning of fall are always quiet periods for sorcerers, and as a result, you don’t have many missions to hand out just yet. The few, low-level ones available in Tokyo are systematically claimed by Gojo before you can look into them, as training for his students.

“Kids gotta learn somehow, right?” he tells you with a grin the first time it happens.

He’s just waltzed into your classroom and he’s leaning over the desk, elbow conveniently resting on the mission files. You try not to think about how brazenly handsome he is right now, even when he is openly provoking you. You stare at his bandages, right where his eyes must be. He may be smiling at you, but there is no sincerity behind it, no joy, and that wasn’t really a question.

You shrug.

“Alright.”

The smile falters.

“Yeah? That’s alright with you?”

“Certainly. If you think these are good exercises for them, and if you plan on being there to supervise them, I don’t see any issue with it. Just return the files if there are any they can’t clear, and I’ll transfer them to the appropriate person.”

He tilts his head. Watching. Assessing.

“You should join us!” he exclaims cheerfully, smile back in its place, clapping his hands together. “The more, the merrier, isn’t that right?”

Oookay. He is testing you. The infuriating part of that is, you have no idea what he is testing you for, what he wants you to display — or fail to display. Trying to see if you’re good enough of a teacher? You have nothing to prove here, certainly not to someone who has been on the job for such a short time. Then again, you don’t see any harm in humoring him.

“No problem. Just let me know when you intend to take care of them, and I’ll be there.”

His smile widens, but you’re not sure if it means you’ve succeeded or failed his test.

“Good,” he hums. “I’ll be taking that, then.”

In one swift movement, he retrieves the files from your desk, and he walks away with them before you can say anything.

You roll your eyes — this whole song and dance are so unnecessary — but you don’t see any reason to stop him, so you just watch him leave. You catch him stopping in the doorway, turning back to look at you. The smile is still dancing on his face, all edge and teeth.

“You’re not what I expected.”

You stare at him just a moment longer, brow furrowing, before he vanishes and you’re left with nothing to look at.

‘Not what he expected’. You turn the sentence over in your mind a couple of times, trying to conjure up an image, a personality that would fit better for the role you’re supposed to play, but nothing comes up. You have two roles: teaching the future generation of sorcerers, and assigning missions. If doing one task can facilitate the other, there is no reason not to do it — and you find it even harder to comprehend why he wouldn’t have expected you to do just that.

You shake your head, willing his words out of your mind. You’ve never felt the need to meet anyone’s expectations, so why should you start now?

Taking kids to a cemetery for a mission seems in poor taste, but that’s not what you tell Gojo when he announces it as his first choice.

“The mission is for a number of grade four curses and a couple grade three,” you state instead, “but considering the spot, it’s likely more powerful ones went unnoticed. Are you sure that’s appropriate for first-years?”

“Well,” he answers, hands casually in his pockets, towering over you with all his height, “it will be good to see how adaptable they are and their abilities in the face of danger. Plus, they’ll have two guardian angels looking after them, won’t they?”

There’s that toothy smile again.

You still don’t know what it means.

“As long as you’re here, it will be fine, I guess” is what you end up answering him with a shrug.

This time, he doesn’t say anything as he leaves, doesn’t stop to look at you.

You suspect that you said exactly what he was expecting from you.

Contrary to popular belief, cemeteries don’t typically harbor powerful curses. The smaller ones are numerous, born out of loss and grief, but the bodies of non-sorcerers don’t take the pain they endured with them in the grave. They leave it all over their houses, leaking through the walls and ceilings, seeping through the cracks in the floor, cursing their loved ones.

Cemeteries remain clean.

The exception to that rule is a notable one. In any place where cursed energy accumulates for long enough, there is a risk for it to congregate to the point where strong curses can emerge. This slow growth means they learn to better hide themselves, and it makes them harder to spot and eliminate. In an ideal world, there would be a sorcerer expedition every other decade to ensure nothing big can develop, but sorcerer numbers being what they are, that is impossible to ensure. There is also a high likelihood that it would be useless anyway, a waste of time and resources, far too much firepower for the bunch of fly heads sorcerers would find.

Still, you keep an eye on the three, baby-faced first years, and chew on the inside of your cheek as they start to make their way through the alleys.

You don’t like this.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” Gojo says lightly, next to you. “You’re a grade one sorcerer, aren’t you? There’s nothing more powerful than that here. I’d know it if there was.”

“My evaluation took place in Europe. I don’t know if I would have ranked that high, had I taken it here.”

“Aw, c’mon, if even you think you’re that weak, who’s going to believe you’re strong?”

The sentence surprises a chuckle out of you. A grade two sorcerer is nothing to turn your nose at, but you can’t say you’re shocked that the Satoru Gojo would equate that status to weakness. He is so far off the scale that he would break it altogether if it wasn’t for the convenient, murky ‘special grade’ title.

You look at him, find him already turned in your direction. His lips are parted in surprise. You don’t realize it, but you have somehow managed the feat of getting Gojo’s undivided attention. The Six Eyes are focused on you, dissecting you, taking you in. This is— new. People are predictable. It’s not always a bad thing, though it gets a little boring. You— you keep catching him off guard while doing things that seem completely natural to you.

For once, you’re the one who is smiling, and he’s stunned into silence.

“It doesn’t matter to me, whether or not people think I’m strong. All I care about is—”

Teeth reflected in a pupil. Muscles like lead. A hand raised in defense. Flesh that turns into mist, there one second, gone the next. Clicks like a laugh, coming from behind. ‘Morino Iori — 1954-2010’, splattered with blood. A curse with its head thrown back, an arm coming out of its open mouth, disappearing when it swallows. Tears dripping down from the chin to the ground, barely diluting the puddle of blood that has formed there.

The rest of your sentence is lost when you turn around and take off running.

There is a string of cursed energy pulling you in the right direction, one that found its way to you, one that the cursed technique engraved in your brain knew how to decode. You’re old enough not to question it, not to struggle with the vision, and following it comes as a second nature. Just as you get there, you see Sota rounding the corner slowly, looking around, squinting, searching for something he isn’t finding. Your fingers close around the weapon at your waist, withholding your cursed energy — for now.

To a non-sorcerer, you would appear to be holding nothing but a stick. A sorcerer would know it’s a cursed weapon, though most would not be able to figure out its use.

At least, not until the curse emerges from the fog, only two steps behind Sota. In a flash, you let cursed energy irrigate your weapon, and a blade of sheer energy appears. The stick is now a scythe.

It’s in poor taste, in a cemetery, but you don’t linger on that.

You’re between the boy and the curse before he can turn around. The curse’s abilities must allow it to hide its presence, would allow it to disappear back into nothingness a mere moment after the kill, but you don’t give it the opportunity to do that. The scythe cuts through it like butter, splitting it in two. The two halves haven’t yet hit the ground that you’ve already lowered your weapon, emptying it from cursed energy as soon as you’re done.

“Are you okay?” you ask Sota, turning around to face him as you anchor it back to your waist.

“Um,” he says. He doesn’t look scared, just mildly surprised. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“What happened to seeing his abilities in the face of danger?”

You bite your lip, glancing at Gojo. He is standing atop a headstone, balancing without any struggle and watching the two of you with unmistakable amusement.

“He freezes in the face of danger,” you answer.

Sota’s eyes go wide, and he turns away from you, shaking his head. He isn’t doing it for you, though, but for Gojo.

“That’s not true! I’ve exorcised curses before, you’ve seen me do it!”

He’s desperate to prove himself to his teacher, and something sinks within you. You don’t need a vision to tell you what will happen next.

“The kid’s got a point,” Gojo lets you know. “That precognition thing of yours, how accurate is it?”

There was a time when those words would have sent you reeling back. Even now, when you’re expecting them, you feel the blood withdrawing from your face as he speaks them. But you swallow, school your features. You know better now. Fighting now will only delay the inevitable. Gojo was standing next to you anyway. With the Six Eyes, he must know for certain that you hadn’t activated any sort of cursed technique when you took off running. That alone would be enough to make him suspicious, if he didn’t already doubt you.

Cassandra’s Bargain. Tell the truth, and save only those who believe you.

Unlike others, explaining the workings of your cursed technique doesn’t make it more effective — it makes it useless. If you try to tip the scale in your favor now, you will all pay a high price for it later.

You know what Gojo is implying, about your accuracy. Most people who have foresight see a number of futures. If he suspects you saw one in which Sota died, your actions must make sense to him.

“Enough to keep me safe,” you answer, tight-lipped.

“That’s what I thought. Let’s give the kid a fighting chance from now, what d’ya say?”

That’s not how it works, but it doesn’t matter. At least Sota gets to keep his arm — until next time.

What a waste.

“Of course,” you say with a nod.

You would do it again in a heartbeat if you had to, but you no longer feel threads of cursed energy, threads of fate, pulling you in one direction or the other. Oh, they’re all around you, and you’d know much more if you activated your cursed technique, but you know how it functions. That had to be the worst that could happen. Things should be fine now.

“Start running Sota, you’ve got some catching up to do!”

“Yes, Mr. Gojo, sir!” the kid replies, all but saluting. “I won’t disappoint you.”

Gojo’s laugh at that, as the kid takes off sprinting, couldn’t be more genuine.

You lean against the pristine Morino Iori headstone — it’s disrespectful, and you formulate a silent apology, but all you can do is hope they won’t mind. You’re exhausted, and yet the tension is keeping your body in hypervigilance, refusing to go away.

Gojo approaches you, hands in his pockets. The ghost of his usual smile is dancing on his lips. For once, though, it doesn’t feel mean-spirited.

“We have to save them if they need us,” he says, voice surprisingly soft, “but it’s as least as important that we teach them how to fend for themselves.

“I don’t disagree with that.”

This kind of reasoning just isn’t worth losing an arm over.

Gojo steps closer, leaning towards you, so close his nose is almost touching yours. You suck in a quick breath through your mouth. From up close, it’s much harder to ignore how handsome he is, even without seeing his eyes. You blame your accelerating heart rate on the fact that you’re in a high-stress kind of and you’re particularly pent-up at the moment. If your skin tingles when you feel his breath against it, it’s because of the cold. Must be. Whatever it is, you don’t let it show, and you hate that you’re finding it harder to breathe.

“You’re not what I expected.”

He’s said it before, but his voice is lower now, deeper, vibrating through your body, and something that you recognize all too well twists, deep in your abdomen.

Desire.

You don’t answer. You didn’t know what to say the first time, and you sure as fuck have no clue now — don’t know what he means, don’t know what you’ve done that you weren’t supposed to, don’t know if the interest in his voice betrays the same feelings rushing through you right now. So you glare at him until he laughs, light and airy, and takes a step back.

“If you need me, I’ll be on top of the temple, watching the kids.”

You wait for him to disappear between the tombs, keeping yourself still, too still, probably, to be inconspicuous, and it’s only once you’re sure he’s gone that you let yourself exhale very, very slowly. The urge to laugh at yourself bubbles inside you, because what the fuck is wrong with you? It’s not the right time, not the right place, and not even remotely the right person.

You’re fully aware of all of that, know it in the deepest parts of your soul, and yet your eyes still trail towards the temple. You could imagine that you’re seeing Gojo’s silhouette there, if you didn’t know better.

Except you do. You do.

When you look away, you know full well you’re doing it too pointedly.

You don’t get a chance to involve yourself in the Kyoto Goodwill Event. With the beginning of fall, files are starting to accumulate. Since you’re still getting your bearings in Tokyo and familiarizing yourself with the sorcerers you can send on missions, that is what you dedicate yourself to.

Or, well, that’s what you’re told.

You know that you’re more than capable of doing several things at once without botching any of them. Masamichi Yaga and Satoru Gojo are the ones who disagree. You’re called into Yaga’s office, and Gojo is already there, leaning against the wall behind him. For once, he isn’t wearing the bandages, but rectangular sunglasses. Even from behind them, you see the faint glow of his eyes, and it takes a lot — a lot more than it should — not to stare.

“The students taking part in this year’s event will be exclusively second and third-years. Satoru knows them well.”

“Yeah, and they’ve been training for a that for a while,” Gojo says without missing a beat. Where Yaga is stern and serious, his voice is relaxed and pleasant, lightening the mood without trying to. “The third-years have already won once, so they know what they’ve got to do for a repeat.”

That’s right. Tokyo won last year, under Gojo’s guidance, for the first time since… well, since he stopped competing himself, according to what you’ve heard.

“Satoru had already started putting this year’s strategy together by the time you joined Jujutsu Tech,” Yaga adds, trying his best to sound apologetic. “So there’s no need to concern yourself with that. It’s already well-oiled.”

As far as you’re concerned, the only thing that’s well-oiled here is this routine they’re performing, all for your sake. You click your tongue, not bothering to hide your annoyance, and watch as Yaga’s fingers curl, as Gojo’s chin lifts and the blueish glow focuses on you. There’s politics in the air, you can smell it, with a role you have to play. So they think, at least. Unfortunately, you lack knowledge when it comes to Japanese society, and you cannot quite identify what that role is.

To be fair, you also don’t care for it.

“Was it really necessary to waste all of our times with this charade?”

“I beg your pardon?” Yaga asks in response. His voice thunders dangerously. He’s warning you not to cross a line.

“If you don’t want me involved, you can just say so,” you answer with a shrug. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have missions to assign.”

You don’t wait for him to dismiss you to stand up, rolling your eyes once you have your back turned on them. How bland. You’ve never seen the point of engaging with this kind of theatrics when there are such greater things at play. Having you help the kids come up with a strategy of their own, going over the basics of planning, now that could have been interesting and helpful. It’s not that you doubt Gojo’s abilities in that domain, you don’t, but it is your specialty, and you’ve had to learn to survive with resources that are significantly more limited than his. Instead of doing that, in the name of whatever internal conflict is going on here, the kids have been deprived of that experience.

How boring.

Once the door has closed behind you, Gojo lowers his head, shoulders shaking. Yaga turns around, frowning, only to find him quietly laughing to himself.

“Told you she was a weird one,” he says once he’s caught his breath.

“Maybe,” Yaga mumbles, “but there must be a reason why she was placed here.”

Gojo hums. Outside the office, he follows your cursed energy. It has always been diffuse, fickle, fizzling out around you until it becomes hard to tell where it ends — even for him. Must have something to do with your cursed technique, but he hasn’t seen you use that yet. You go straight to your classroom, where you sit behind your desk to work, like you do every day until it’s late in the night.

Yaga is right, of course. There must be a reason. But you’re at least making it fun for him to figure out.

The Kyoto Goodwill Event does not go over well.

Maybe you should get some petty satisfaction from it, but there is none to be found, just a bitter taste in your mouth. Next to you, Utahime, the Kyoto school teacher, does not look up at the screens provided by Grade 1 sorcerer Mei Mei. She has her eyes on her hands, and she is nervously rubbing her fingers. In fact, while a few outsiders who have come to see the game for their own enjoyment exclaim at the students’ impressive moves, there is only one member of the schools who seems to be enjoying himself, and that is Principal Gakuganji.

Kyoto is methodical in their approach. On an individual level, you suspect that Kyoto is far ahead of them, but as a team, they have come up with the perfect strategy — at least against the Tokyo team. They have done their research, know everything there is to know about their adversaries. Then again, having one member of the Zen’in and one member of the Kamo family on their side, even if neither have access to their families’ historical techniques, must have been quite the help to gather that information.

You don’t see them doing anything revolutionary — if anything, a team such as theirs could have been composed hundreds of years ago — but they have no need for it, not with how brutal they are willing to be, leaving devastation in their wake. They’re prepared, efficient, collected. They’re also quick, having adapted to this modified version of capture the flag, one that involves curses, without hesitation.

Tokyo defends to the best of their abilities. They prove themselves especially capable when it comes to improvising on the spot, which means that Gojo’s teaching works on that front is working, at least. The match ends up closer than Kyoto must have been hoping for, but it doesn’t change the end result.

It’s a resounding victory for Kyoto.

“Well,” Gakuganji is the first to speak as it ends, “that was quite the beautiful display of sportsmanship, don’t you think, Satoru?”

You glance at Gojo, who is sitting next to you. There’s real anger in the way his jaw tenses at the question, but by the time you blink, he’s already relaxed it.

“That was really impressive!” he laughs, throwing his head back and clapping enthusiastically. “They’ve progressed so much since last year, haven’t they? I never imagined they would be able to come this far.”

You press your lips together at the barely veiled insult.

“Indeed, that is what realized potential looks like,” Gakuganji replies, stroking his beard. “Such a shame to see your promising pupils crashing and burning… Although that’s not the first time you’ve seen that happen, is it?”

That is the least charitable way of looking at what happened there, but it is impossible to argue with the facts: Kyoto bested Tokyo. You can’t say you appreciate the way he’s talking about your students, but you don’t think it’s your place to say anything.

Gojo’s smile thins.

“Well, I’ll be looking forward to the individual tournament tomorrow,” Gakuganji adds, standing up. “In the meantime, Yaga, I assume you have planned for accommodations, and all this action has given me quite the appetite.”

He leaves the room with an unmistakably pleased smile, Yaga getting up after him. He gestures at Gojo to join them, and he’s not hiding his scowl when he stands up, unfolding his long limbs slowly. The other sorcerers follow suit, Utahime included, though she is sporting a somber expression too. You’re the only one to linger in the room, in no rush to suffer through more of Gojo and Gakuganji’s quips.

When you do leave, you stop by the infirmary, where you find Ieiri cursing through her teeth as she works on the students. Even though several of them are fully healed, they’re keeping themselves huddled up together, shoulders hanging low, eyes on the ground.

Defeated.

“Professor Gojo has already come by,” one of them informs you without bothering to look at you. “We’re fine. We’ll do better tomorrow.”

“Yes, you will,” you confirm, and you see flashes of hope on their faces, mistaking your confidence for a prophecy. Truth be told, you haven’t seen anything for the next day, but this is often the best way of using the aura that surrounds you. “But you did well today. They saw a weak spot, and they exploited it. As long as you learn from it, there is no shame in this defeat.”

That deflates them, and Ieiri snickers, glancing at you with a grin.

“Quite the pep talk you’re giving here.’

She’s right. You’ve never been good at this.

“You’re all excellent sorcerers, but even you can be defeated by people who are not as good as you, provided they’ve prepared adequately. That is what you need to take away from today. Conversely, you will be able to defeat much stronger adversaries than you, with the right approach.”

Some look thoughtful at your words — most still look just as dejected as they were when you walked in.

“We’ll work on that once this tournament is over. For now, all you need to do is rest. You’ll prevail tomorrow.”

Smiles finally break on their faces, and you take that as your cue to leave, before you can say something that would ruin it again.

You’re in no rush to join the other sorcerers just yet, so you wander through the hallways, intending to go back to the classroom that’s become your refuge in the school. You’re one corner away from it, when the window that leads to the outside slides open, and Satoru Gojo jumps in, right in front of you. It is the second floor, yet you can’t muster surprise.

He shoots you a smirk that knocks the air out of you, but it’s nothing compared to what he does next. He looks back towards the window, looking displeased, and that’s when you notice voices calling for him — Kyoto students and low-level sorcerers. You’re about to look down when he catches you. He wraps a hand around your wrist to pull you away, presses the other on the wall, next to your head, and you freeze. He’s close, and everything you’ve been feeling for weeks at this point comes rushing back in.

“You know what’s a great way of getting people’s attention off you?” he asks, smirk even wider, if possible.

“Wh—”

Then his lips are on yours.

He tastes sweet, you’re surprised to find.

It’s playful, the way he kisses you, a press of his mouth against yours, stolen, daring. It’s also all you need to admit to yourself how badly you’ve been wanting this. That’s why you’re the one who wraps your arms around his neck, kissing him back harder. He lets out a surprised noise into you, maybe a chuckle, but he certainly doesn’t fight it, even if he wasn’t planning on it. In fact, it’s quite the contrary.

He reaches greedily for your hips, pulling you to him and keeping you pressed against his hard chest. When you part your lips, there is not a moment of hesitation on his part before he pushes his tongue in, swirling it against yours. You crane your neck to give him better access to your mouth, all while holding on tight to his neck to lower him towards you. Your back is against the wall, your body arched a way that would be uncomfortable if you weren’t so hot all over, set ablaze by his touch.

When he pushes his thigh between your legs, flexing it so it rubs against you just right, your knees buckle under you. It doesn’t help that, in this position, his semi-hard cock is pressed against your abdomen, and that awakens a very special kind of hunger within you.

There is no softness to the kiss or to the way your bodies move together, just pure lust. Wetness is pooling between your legs already, in anticipation for more, more of him, more of his body, more of his touch. He’s so tall, it’s like he’s everywhere, his scent surrounding you, his body caging you against the wall effortlessly, his mouth demanding more and more of you. You roll your hips against his, trapping his cock between your bodies, and he hisses into you, his grip turning bruising — not that you mind.

“Tease,” he manages to mumble as he takes a quick breath.

There’s no room for any more words before he reattaches his mouth to yours, almost biting into you, and fuck it feels good. His lips are soft, but that must be the only thing that is soft about this kiss. He moves your skirt out of the way, one hand coming to grab your thigh so he can lift it up, and that is when your eyes snap open, some reason coming back to your lust-filled brain at last.

“Wait,” you mumble, “not here.” Your eyes dart around the dark hallway — empty, but far too in the open for your liking. Problem is, your body is aching with how much you want him, and, even if it would be the smart thing to do, you can’t bring yourself to stop now. “Classroom,” you conclude, pulling him with you.

He lets out a breathless laugh, but follows. The second the door is closed, he has you against the wall again, this time with his chest pressed to your back while his lips find your neck, teeth pulling at the skin mercilessly before dragging his tongue on the sensitive area to soothe it. You let out a sigh, but it comes out much louder than you’d intended, almost a moan, and you have to lift a hand up to cover your mouth. He snickers, but doesn’t waste any more time on teasing you.

Instead, he snakes his hand into your skirt, and this time, you don’t stop him. Long fingers move past the hem of your panties to brush against your clit and you jump, biting your lower lip to keep quiet. His lips stretch into a smile on your neck.

“You’re so fucking wet already,” he comments by your ear, rubbing his fingers over your pussy lips, purposefully not entering you.

You groan in frustration, and push your ass against his now rock-hard cock. The low moan he lets out in surprise is delightful to hear.

“As if you’re one to talk,” you reply.

“Is that how you want to play it?”

Before you can answer him, he easily pushes two fingers inside you. They’re long and they fill you so well, you have to focus every fiber of you that’s not lost in pleasure on keeping quiet. Gojo’s free to take his fingers out, then plunge them into you once more, and you can’t help clenching needily around them.

“See,” he says, and oh his low voice, the way it makes his chest vibrate against your back, it all goes straight to your core, making you gush around his fingers some more, “that’s expected of me, ‘cause everyone knows I’m sorcerer society’s problem child. Aren’t you supposed to be the good girl?”

It’s no easy task to think with his fingers pumping in and out of you relentlessly, but even through the haze of pleasure, the words make you frown.

“Says— Ah— Says who?”

He uses the heel of his palm to press against your clit, and you’d conclude that he is actively trying to render you speechless if pleasure wasn’t shooting through you like electricity.

“Hmm, I don’t know, I’d say you’re being pretty good right now, wouldn’t you?”

“Would you— fuck— would you stop talking and just fuck me already?” you still manage to bite out.

He laughs again, delighted and maybe a little fond, but he stills his fingers inside you. You get some time to catch your breath, and use whatever self-control you have left not to try and fuck yourself on his hand.

“You sure?”

“As long as you’re clean, I’m safe,” you say — maybe not your smartest moment, but you can’t find it in yourself to care right now.

He pulls his fingers out, and you glance at him over your shoulder. He’s still wearing the bandages over his eyes, but his jaw is uncharacteristically taut, and his movements lack their usual fluidity. You grin. Good to see you’re having an effect on him too. It becomes even more obvious when he pulls out his cock, hard and veiny. You’re not surprised by how big he is, and you find yourself licking your lips, clenching around air at the prospect of what’s to come. Shit, you cannot wait to have it inside you, stretching you out.

“I’ve been wanting to mess up that skirt for weeks,” he mumbles, mostly to himself, as he pushes it out of the way and lowers your panties.

“Then what are you waiting for?” you ask with a click of your tongue. He is still talking way more than he should.

The smirk he gives you should concern you. He presses the tip of his cock to your entrance, and then, instead of penetrating you, as you’re frozen in anticipation, slides his length against your pussy lips, sending jolts of pleasure through you, but not giving you what you need right now. You whimper pleadingly, not catching yourself fast enough to keep yourself silent. You worry that he will keep teasing, but it appears he has reached his limits too, because soon he is pushing the tip of his cock inside you, and fuck, it’s even better than you’d imagined.

You hear him grunt behind you as he starts pushing himself inside you at a devilishly slow pace. You expected him to do it all at once, so you turn around once more, ready to throw another quip at him for his relentless teasing, but the words die on your lips when you see his face. His teeth are planted in his lower lip, and his face is contorted in a pleasure that he is clearly trying to reign in, his breathing quick and shallow, his chest heaving. The sight leaves you breathless, so you stay quiet.

“So fucking tight,” he all but whines as he keeps pushing himself inside you.

He bottoms out at last, and he stills for a few seconds, all so you can adjust and not at all because he is going to come too fast if he can’t get used to how warm and welcoming you are around him first. The discreet groans he was letting out turn into a full moan when you move forward, pulling him out of you, then back, sheathing him inside you completely once more. You’d keep moving, but he grips your hips tightly, fingers digging into the flesh, to stop any movement you could make.

It doesn’t last long though, because after that, he starts moving himself, and the pace he sets it merciless. The slapping of skin on skin echoes obscenely in the empty room, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not when you can barely think, not when your knees are failing you and his hands on hips are the only thing keeping you standing, not when tiny whimpers keep spilling past your lips, no matter how much you try to keep them in.

“Couldn’t be even just a little patient, hm?” he asks you. It’s undercut by the gasps that interrupt him, the pleasured moans that escape him too.

This time, you don’t find anything to answer. The angle, with you bent over, hands on the wall in a desperate attempt to stay on your feet, makes you feel so, so full that you can’t think straight. Pleasure is coursing through you with each time he hammers into you, and you clench around him helplessly each time he pulls out. He’s fast, relentless, but if the way his moans keep getting more-pitched is any indication, he’s close to reaching his climax. You’re not far yourself, you just— just need— just a little—

One of his hands abandons your hip, and you would stumble forward if he wasn’t holding you so firmly. His free hand finds its way to your clit, and pinches it expertly, just as he snaps his hips into you harder than he has so far, spilling himself inside you. The orgasm hits you like a thousand volts, and your hips jerk back uncontrollably, whole body shaking, as you ride the wave of it on his cock until it ends. Ah, you needed this so badly that, as it recedes, you can only feel content, the pleasure it gave you still tingling in your body.

For a while, the sounds of you and Gojo’s panting are all that fill the room. Finally, he pulls his sensitive, softening cock out a you with a hiss, and you ignore the squelching sound it makes. He tucks it back into his pants, and you finally find it in yourself to pull your panties back up, readjusting your skirt. Your hair is messy from the kissing earlier, but apart from that, you’re still rather presentable — you hope.

“Didn’t think you had that in you,” Gojo comments. He’s still catching his breath.

“At what point are you going to admit that you’ve just misjudged me?”

He laughs, but the smirk he shoots you, hands in his pockets, standing a few feet away from you, is proof that the distance between the two of you is back to what it was before. You don’t find yourself minding all that much. This is as good a way as any other to release tension, and you’re more relaxed than you have in weeks. The lightness of his voice tells you the same is true for him. Seems like you both got the same thing out of it, and that’s fine by you, even if it doesn’t bring you any closer.

“Once I know I was wrong,” he says. It sounds ominous, but, well, if he wants to keep clinging to that image he’s made of you, that is his problem. So far, you’d argue that it has rather worked in your favor.

You shrug.

“If you hadn’t felt that way, Tokyo would have won today,” you tell him matter-of-factly.

His smile widens.

“Guess we’ll have to see about that next year, hm?”

“I guess we will.”

Silence grows between the two of you. You normally wouldn’t mind. Now, you feel the need to say something.

“This should stay between us,” you finally manage to say. Sorcerer society can be— harsh, on women, to say the least. The last thing you need is for someone to know you’ve fucked your coworker. You’d be branded as a whore, and while you find this all horribly regressive, you’d still rather not have to deal with the fallout.

Gojo hums in agreement.

“I’m not really the type to want all my business out there either,” he tells you in a surprising display of sincerity. It’s ruined when he smirks and adds, “Next time, I think I should fuck you on your desk.”

You scoff, but you know you both hear your lack of denial loud and clear. You’re not opposed to there being a next time, provided this doesn’t get out. By the look of things, it would be mutually beneficial.

You don’t bother to answer him before you open the door, glancing outside. No one in sight. He would have known if that had been the case, of course, but you’re still relieved. You slip outside unceremoniously — it’s pretty clear you’re done here anyway — and he does nothing to hold you back.

Later, after you’ve taken a quick shower in the facilities available at the high school and you’re sat by Ieiri around the dinner table, Gakuganji can barely hide his smugness.

“Where you have been off to?” he asks Gojo, his tone making it clear just how pleased with himself he is. “Licking your wounds?”

“Something like that,” Gojo answers lightly, and you’re careful to keep your eyes on your food.

The conversation fades into the background. Your thoughts move to the upcoming solo tournament, the next day, to your students, to the missions you have to assign. And then, for the first time in forever, you find yourself distracted by something that isn’t work-related. You welcome the respite it gives you.

On your desk, next time, huh?

You could work with that.

thank you all for reading and getting all the way here! interactions are what keeps me writing, so please comment/reblog/send an ask to feed your author and have my eternal gratitude!

tagging people who expressed interest in the first chapter: @sapphiccloud @saccharine-nectarine @calypsothegoddess @aspiring-bookworm @aerismonia

[strang3lov3]

Lavender

You receive a pleasurable massage from Ezra. (4.1k)

Tags - smut, massages, unethical!ezra, softest of soft!dom, wax play, hands in places hands shouldn't be, teasing, fingering, oral (f! receiving) masturbation, ezra creams his pants #creamernation, slight dom vibes from ezra, chamomille tea, ezra is a silvertongued menace, light foot action - assume reader has clean tootsies. Fic help - @endlessthxxghts and @beefrobeefcal thank you both for holding my hand through this!!! and for hyping me up, and for being the best part of my day!!! LOVE YOU!!! A/N - hey hey motherfuckers 😛 I hope you enjoy! First time writing Ezra and it’s for my beautiful @noxturnalpascal’s birthday that was a couple weeks ago 🩷 patti i'm not sorry for what i've done. also i love you.

After a sixteen hour drive back home from visiting your family, you’re in nothing but pain. There’s an awful, pinching feeling at your lower back, your hips and knees ache, and your neck is sore. Even laying down in your bed hurts. 

You try a couple of different solutions to remedy yourself. Ice pack, heating pad - you never know when you’re supposed to use one or the other. You try stretching, yoga, and increasing your water intake. But after four days of agony, you’ve had it. 

There’s a light-purple colored piece of cardstock that’s been hung up on your fridge by a magnet for the last few months. It’s a gift certificate to a spa called Lavender, you won it in a raffle at a charity drag show. 

Call (212) 929-5804 to schedule a 90 minute massage of your choice, and please bring this voucher with you to your appointment. 

I look forward to pleasuring you. 

-Ezra

You feel a flutter in your gut as you read those words: pleasuring you. Fuck, you’re so touch starved, and you begin to imagine what this Ezra could look like. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Before you get lost in your dirty thoughts about a massage therapist you’ve never even met before, you need to book an appointment. When you flip the card over, you see a list of services offered by Ezra. Massages of all kinds - chakra balancing, prenatal, PMS, stress-relief, hot stone, cupping, deep tissue. You’re not really sure what you’re looking for, but you schedule your appointment anyway. 

-

Friday at 6:40pm, you leave your apartment and begin walking to Lavender. It’s only about a fifteen minute walk away, which you don’t mind because the weather is cooling down and the leaves are beginning to change color. You enjoy the scenery. At 6:57, you walk into the small office for your appointment, a bell jingling as you push open the door. The shades are drawn over the windows, blocking out what little light is cast by the setting sun in the overcast sky. It smells smokey, like incense. Gentle music plays as you wait at the front desk for someone to help you. 

After a moment, a man comes out through a door behind the desk. He’s taller, his face is handsome under the low light. His hair is dark apart from a very prominent streak of white in his hairline, his beard and mustache are neatly trimmed and graying. And as he makes his way closer to you, you make out a peculiar curved scar on his cheek, right next to a sharp, aquiline nose. The man smiles warmly at you and you silently pray to any god that’ll listen that he’s your massage therapist, and not just the person working the front desk. 

“I believe you must be my 7 o’clock, yes?”

Hallelujah. 

“Yes, that’s my appointment.”

“Your name, my dove?” 

You’re going weak in the knees. He speaks in a low voice, a syrupy thick southern accent pouring from his pouty lips. You tell him your name, tripping over your syllables. The man chuckles,  “I’m Ezra. Pleased to meet you,” he says, taking your hand in his before pressing a gentle kiss to your trembling knuckles. “I sense anxiety, my dove. Would I be correct in that assumption?”

You nod. “A little, yeah. Sorry. It’s my first massage.” Ezra’s warm, chocolatey eyes roam your body and you feel flustered, “I uh - I have this…” you dig out the gift certificate from your purse, slightly crumpled now. “From the raffle at that drag show.” 

“Ah, yes,” Ezra smiles, taking the certificate from you. “Thank you,” he says, smoothing out the crinkles in the paper. He notices you tapping your fingers rhythmically on his desk, and covers your hand with his own. “There’s no need for anxiety, darlin’. You’re in good hands with me. Perhaps a cup of tea to soothe those nerves of yours before I get started with you?” 

“That’d be great, yeah,” you reply. 

Ezra opens a nearby cabinet. “What are you in the mood for this evening?”

“Not really sure,” you answer, humming as you think. “Do you have suggestions?”

“That I do,” he says. “I’d suggest somethin’ herbal, no need for caffeine so late. I’ve got peach, I’ve got chamomile vanilla…” Ezra trails off, moving various boxes in the cabinet. “Hot chocolate too, f’ya want.” 

“The vanilla one. Please.” 

“The vanilla one it shall be, then.” 

Ezra makes you a small cup of tea, sweetening it with a bit of honey per your request. He sits you down in a comfortable chair and carefully places the warm mug on an end table next to you, then hands you a clipboard. 

“Just some routine paperwork I’d appreciate if you’d fill out for me as I get your room situated. Hope that’s not an issue.” 

“Not at all.” 

Ezra thanks you and exits the room, leaving you to fill out the paperwork. It’s all the usual questions: Name, date of birth, email, phone number, emergency contact. After that it asks of any allergies, medical conditions, or major surgeries to be aware of. You answer each question accordingly, and then the last section is made up of questions about your massage preferences.

Massage type? (Chakra balancing, prenatal, PMS, stress-relief, hot stone, cupping, deep tissue) - Unsure. 

Any areas of the body that need to be focused on or avoided? - Unsure. 

Preferred pressure? (light, medium, hard) - Unsure. 

Any other preferences or details you’d like to add? - Unsure.

You click the pen and lay it on the completed paperwork, then sip your steaming tea. You wiggle your foot as you anxiously await Ezra’s return.

“I’m ready for you, sweet dove.” 

Ezra’s waiting by the door behind the front desk. You drink the last of your tea and follow Ezra into the room, where he takes his clipboard back from you. The room is dark, darker than the waiting area. It’s lit by a couple of plain candles, warm light flickering against the walls as soft piano music plays from a speaker. “Your purse,” Ezra motions for you to remove your bag, then hangs it over a hook on the door. “And your jacket, if I may,” he murmurs from behind you, hooking his fingers between the collar of your jacket and your body, waiting for you to unzip it before he pulls it off of your shoulders and hangs it up. Your skin tingles as his fingers brush over you, just a taste of what’s to come. 

“Undress for me as I go over your paperwork outside. I’ll knock on the door and wait for your word before re-entering.”  

“How much? How…” you trail off, bashful as you try to complete the sentence. Ezra knows what you’re trying to ask, though. “To your leisure, darlin’, though my suggestion would be to the nude, jewelry and all. The choice is yours. And once you’re done, lie on the table for me. You may protect your modesty with the towel I’ve provided for you right here.” Ezra pats a white towel that sits folded on the counter, next to a little crystal jewelry dish. 

Ezra leaves, gently shutting the door behind himself. He examines your paperwork behind the closed door as he hears rustling on the other side, the sound of you undressing. You leave your clothes in a pile on a chair, then cover your body with the towel. You lay on the massage table, pleasantly surprised that Ezra’s been warming it for you. You’re still a little nervous, so you focus on breathing deeply and calming yourself down as you wait to hear Ezra’s knock. You listen to the gentle piano playing, trying to place where you’ve heard this song before. 

Knock knock.

“Come in,” you call out, and Ezra opens the door. He closes it again softly and stands by the counter, readying some supplies. “What’s this song?”

“S’a piano cover of The Cure,” Ezra answers. “Last Day of Summer.” 

“Mmm. I never really liked them,” you admit. 

Ezra chuckles softly. “To each their own, I ‘spose. But I must inform you that you’re missin’ out, my dove.” 

You’re grateful Ezra can’t see your smile or your bashful expression at the pet name as you rest your face in the cradle of the table. “I do like this,” you tell him. “The piano cover.” 

“I do too. Relaxing, ain’t it?” 

“Yeah, it is. Very.” 

“Indeed. Now, I’d like to go over a couple of items on your paperwork before we commence. I believe you had stated that you’ve never received a massage before, correct?”

“That’s correct.”

“And you’re unsure of your preferences or areas of your body I should pay special attention to or avoid.”

 “That’s right, yeah.” Ezra hums in response, then goes quiet. “...I hope that’s not a problem?” 

“Worry not, dove, s’not a problem at all. Jus’ means I’ll be takin’ a more…experimental approach to massagin’ your body, s’all.”

 “Oh. Uh…experimental how?”

 “Your massage will entail the utilization of a variety of techniques, to thoroughly explore all parts of your body. By my listenin’ to both your verbal and nonverbal cues, and by checkin’ in, askin’ you questions about how you’re feelin’,” Ezra explains, “I’ll get to know your body and how best to please you. It’ll make things run nice an’ creamy for us both.” 

“O-okay. That sounds good.” 

You’re in trouble. Each of Ezra’s words, spoken through a honey-sweet tone, goes straight to your core. You wonder how slick you are between your thighs, if Ezra’ll notice. 

“I believe we’re ready to begin, then, dove.” 

Ezra lights some dragon’s blood scented incense, then washes his hands with hot water. Best not to startle you with cold hands. He approaches you on the massage table, you can smell him even through the smokey scent of the incense. He’s clean and citrusy, you wonder what cologne he wears. He places something on a rolling table and then reaches for your towel, gently tugging the tucked in ends from beneath your body. “Lift up a little for me, my dove. I don’t wanna hurt you.” 

You hoist yourself up, lifting your torso into the air so Ezra can pull the ends of the towel from under you. Cool air hits the skin of your exposed breasts, though your nipples are already hardened by your arousal. Once you lie back down, Ezra folds the towel down your torso so that only your ass and legs remain covered. “And I’ll be talkin’ you through my process, so nothin’ comes as a surprise.”

“Mm.”

“Gonna begin by drizzling some oil over your back, to keep your skin nice and properly lubricated as I massage you. Ready?”

“Ready,” you mumble. 

“But first…It seems you’ve forgotten to remove your jewelry,” he whispers, unclasping the necklace you wear. You lift slightly so that he can carefully remove the chain and pendant, then sets it down. Ezra takes the item he set on the rolling table, a massage candle that’s been burning for a while, the oil completely liquified. He holds it a couple inches above your back and then tilts it, hot oil dripping down your skin and surprising you. “My apologies, dove. I didn’t intend to startle you. You’ll get used to the warmth, I promise.” 

Ezra drips a bit more oil on your body, then sets it back down on the rolling table. “Gonna touch you, now,” he whispers. You sigh as you feel his hands finally touch your skin, calloused palms rubbing the oil from your shoulders down to your lower back. He begins by massaging your neck, thumbs sliding down your skin, over and over and over before traveling lower, massaging your traps and shoulders, the backs of your arms a little bit. His hands travel back up your shoulders where the skin meets your neck and massages with a firm pressure, causing you to wince. “Ohh, I know, I know. You’re quite tender, there, my dove. If you’d so kindly allow me to work out this tightness, I think it’d benefit you tremendously.” 

“Okay. Thank you.” 

Ezra massages you by pressing firmly into your skin, thumbs moving in circles, back and forth. “Relax,” he whispers. “Soften yourself. I’ve got you. Breathe in…” 

You draw in a deep breath, Ezra’s movements momentarily pausing. 

“...And out.” 

On your exhale, he massages the tense part of your neck, satisfied at how you’ve relaxed your body for him. He works out the tension, “Good, attagirl,” he praises, hands sliding down the rest of your back. He uses long strokes to massage up and down your spine, then your sides. You let out soft noises, noises indicating pleasure, not pain. Ezra notices how you quiet yourself, voiceless exhales instead of moans. “You don’t have to quiet yourself on my account, dove. I encourage any vocal or physical manifestation of your pleasure.”

Ezra’s hands feel like magic as they travel up and down your back, squeezing and sliding over your oiled skin. He walks his hands down your arms, down your palms, pausing when he reaches your fingers, “I believe you’ve forgotten to remove some more jewelry, darlin’. May I take these rings off of your fingers?”

“Yeah, please.” 

Ezra wiggles your rings off of the fingers of your right hand, then the left. They make soft, metallic noises as they clink against each other in Ezra’s palm. “Beautiful rings, my dear,” he murmurs before setting them down on the rolling cart, next to the necklace he’d taken off for you. Ezra massages your forearms, your wrists, your palms and fingers, first one hand and then the other. When he’s done, you hear the soft shuffle of fabric as he moves to the end of the massage table, rolling his cart with him. “I’d like to ask for consent before massaging your feet, my dove, as I’ve been kicked before by some rather ticklish clients.” 

“I’m a little ticklish, too” you admit shyly. “I can never get pedicures because of it. Have to do my toes at home.”

Ezra chuckles. “I find that firm pressure is most effective in preventing that sensation. May I try?” 

“Yes, go ahead.” 

Ezra pours a bit of oil in his hands and rubs them together before reaching for one of your feet, your toes wiggling and curling at his touch. “Shh, jus’ relax,” he coos softly, smirking at your sensitivity. With a steady, hard pressure, Ezra massages your foot. “Focus on your breathin’. It’s ‘sposed to feel good, I ain’t tryin’ to play a dirty trick on you.”

The tickling sensation is there, but with steady, deep breaths, you’re able to control it and allow yourself the pleasure of having your feet massaged. You stretch out the way a cat does when it relaxes, and Ezra smiles in satisfaction. “There it is. Feel good?”

“S’good,” you sigh. 

Ezra massages from your feet to your ankles, then folds the towel up and over your ass to expose your legs fully. He massages from your ankles up your calves, and oh - it feels incredible. You moan freely, feeling more confident to do so after his kind encouragement. You melt under his touch, arching into it as he works up your thighs, drizzling more oil before rubbing your skin. His hands are kneading the plump flesh of your ass now, one hand on each cheek, his thumbs close to your pussy. He admires that pretty diamond shape of your ass and thighs framing your bare pussy, and he notices how you drip for him. “Ezra,” his name slips from your lips in a whimper as he spreads your cheeks, rubbing his thumbs over the coarse hair that surrounds your cunt. 

“You seem quite enthused, little dove,” Ezra smirks. 

“Yeah…feel - feels good. So good, s-so…” 

“I’m pleased to hear it, my darlin’.” 

“Ezra,” you whine in betrayal when you feel Ezra’s hands leave your body, the pressure of his touch lingering on your skin. 

“My, such an ardent complaint,” Ezra remarks. “I hate to disappoint, but I implore you to trust my process. I won’t leave you dissatisfied, sweetheart.” Ezra unfolds the towel back over your body, then lifts it slightly, “Now, on your back for me.”  

You flip yourself onto your back, and once settled, Ezra folds the towel down to cover your lower half, leaving your breasts exposed. He keeps the temperature of the air in the room warm, but your nipples are hardened anyway, hardened by your arousal. Your heart pounds as you watch him, your chest rising and falling with steady breaths. You turn your head to watch him reach for his massage oil candle, your breath hitching when you see his pants visibly tented by his erection. He doesn’t bother hiding it. 

Ezra watches you with dark, sparkling eyes as he drips the oil on your body, the candlelight flickering, illuminating his handsome features with a warm glow. He massages your shoulders and your chest, hands gliding over your breasts and abdomen, then back up again. You gasp when his thumb catches your nipple, and Ezra raises an eyebrow. He circles your areola with his thumb, pinching and twisting your other nipple gently, teasing you. “Fuck,” you cry out, raising your hand to hold Ezra’s strong, muscular, veiny forearm. 

“You’re doin’ so good,” he whispers, then places your hand down at your side. He pulls the towel down your body some more as he massages down your sides and your hips, lifting one of your legs so he can massage both sides of your thigh. Your legs are spread for him, pussy on display and glistening with your arousal. “Oh, little dove. Such a mess you’re makin’ of my table.” 

You bite your lip and whine as Ezra’s fingers just barely touch your lips, achingly close to where you need his touch the most. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

“I don’t wanna hear you apologizin’, sweetheart. I won’t stand for it,” Ezra lays your bent leg back down, then rounds the table and lifts your other leg. “‘Sides,” he says, “S’only natural, how your body reacts to my touch. Nothin’ to be ashamed of.” 

You smile shyly as Ezra massages up and down your thigh, teasing you just how he did before. You tilt yourself into his touch, moaning as he approaches your wet cunt, waiting to feel his fingers between your folds. But you never do. 

“We’re comin’ up on the end of our appointment,” Ezra warns. “If there’s an area of your body that you feel needs special attention before we conclude, let me know.”

“Ezra–” You reach for his wrist and urge him to touch you between your thighs. 

“Something that still needs tending to, my dove?”

You nod frantically. “Please–”

“Use your words,” he interrupts, his voice low. “You have to ask me for what you want. I’m unable to alleviate your discomfort if you don’t tell me what you need, sweetheart.” Ezra’s fingers hover over your core, feeling the heat radiating from you. You stutter out something incoherent, and Ezra dips his fingers lower, ever so gently touching you. He traces your folds, waiting for your answer. “Ask me.” 

“I want you to make me come, Ezra,” you beg, “Please.” 

“I can do that in many ways. Tell me how, little dove. Tell me where you need me to touch you.” 

Ezra wears a crooked smile. This, this is his loophole. He knows that technically, as a professional, this is a line he shouldn’t cross. But he can’t help himself, you moan so sweetly for him even without his fingers buried in your cunt. Sensation is subjective, so you can’t say his teasing is intentional, deliberate. It’s your own reaction, and not Ezra’s fault if you feel aroused during massage - after all, it’s a completely natural response to physical stimulation. By making you ask - beg - for what he’s coaxed you to want from him, Ezra evades responsibility. This is on you. 

“I want your fingers in my pussy,” you breathe, pressing his thick fingers against your slick center. “Please.” 

Ezra inserts his middle and ring fingers into your dripping hole, feeling your muscles tense around his digits as he gathers your arousal. He pulls his fingers back out and then traces up and down your pussy, loving the way his fingers slip and slide through your slick folds. He circles your clit once, twice, then explores the feeling of your lips again. “Check in with me, darlin’, how are you feeling?”

You answer Ezra’s question with a mess of breathy moans, and he chuckles at that. He paints steady circles around your clit and glides his other hand over your oiled body, fingers catching your pebbled nipples. Ezra leans over and keeps his face close to yours, grinning proudly when you gasp as he pushes those two fingers of his back inside you. Your legs clamp shut around his arm as he curls his fingers rhythmically, stroking that spongy, sweet spot inside of you that makes you squirm. “Ezra, Ezra,” you cry. 

“Shhhh,” he hushes you, “Open up for me.” Ezra traces your face with his sharp nose, his hot, minty breath fanning over your skin. As you spread your legs, he bites your earlobe gently. “Stay like this now, little dove. Let me please you.” 

Ezra stands up straight again, his warm, masculine hand sliding down your sternum and your stomach, fingers reaching for that tight bundle of nerves between your thighs. As he works his fingers inside you, he circles your clit, using both hands to pleasure you. You’re close, and it’s taken no time at all. Arching your back, you tilt your head and close your eyes as you lean into his touch, focusing on your impending release. “Look at me when you come,” he commands. “Eyes on me.” 

“Fuck, Ezra–” 

“I know, little dove, I know,” he coos.

He replaces his fingers with his tongue, knees cracking as he kneels before you. By pressing a button beneath the table he lowers it, bringing you to a comfortable height for himself. You don’t notice him dipping his fingers into the candle, then shoving his hand beneath the waistband of his linen pants. He toys with his hard cock, stiff member aching, leaking just for you.

All you can focus on is the pleasure building deep in your gut. You watch Ezra, he’s gazing upon you with hooded eyes. He seems entranced by it all, the sensation of your pulsing cunt, the slick noises his fingers make while inside you. He hums at your taste, that sweet, musky flavor of your pussy. You tug his dark hair as he circles your clit with his tongue, “Fuck, right there,” you gasp. “Right there, Ezra, please.” 

As Ezra’s tongue slides over your clit, fingers steadily curling inside you, he pumps himself. His big hand slides up and down his shaft, he can feel each of his swollen, prominent veins under his palm. He grips himself tightly, fucking his fist with fervor. 

“I’m there, I’m there,” you cry. You come on his tongue with loud, frantic moans, maintaining eye contact, just like he told you to do. He works you through it, your pussy soaking his fingers, his nose, arousal dripping all the way down into his palm. Moans of pleasure shifting to noises of overstimulation, Ezra continuing to fuck you on his fingers as he fucks his fist. He groans against your cunt as he comes, painting his own hand with hot, milky ropes of his come. He drags his release out, teasing both himself and you as he comes down. 

Gently, Ezra pulls his fingers from your core, then pulls his own hand out of his pants. He turns to wash his hands at the sink but you stop him, reaching for his wrist. “N-need to taste you,” you breathe. “Let me taste you, Ezra.” 

Ezra smiles warmly. “I’m flattered by your enthusiasm to reciprocate the pleasure, little dove, but I must confess I’ve taken care of my arousal already. This is your time to relax and to immerse yourself in pleasure, not mine.”

You pout. 

“But if you desire to taste me…”

Ezra holds his hand in front of your face, fingers glistening with silky ribbons of his come. You bring his palm to your lips, then lick and suck his fingers clean of his spend, humming at the salty, heady taste. 

When done, Ezra helps you sit up. “I’ll wait out front for you to get dressed, and then we can schedule a follow-up appointment,” he says, a mischievous look in his eye. “Don’t forget your jewelry on my cart, little dove.”

Comments, reblogs, and asks are so very appreciated!! I love to hear your kind words about my work, they keep me motivated to write for you all <3

[uluvjay]

Tattoos- T.Zegras

Summary: Your boyfriend looks extremely sexy while getting a tattoo

Tz x female reader!

Warnings?: SLUTTY, cursing, pain?, pet names

A/n: I hardly know anything about tattoos and this was hardly proofread so please excuse any errors!❤️

Do not repost my works as your own

Today Trevor has his first tattoo appointment out of three to get his half-sleeve finished. The guy was coming to the house like last time and Trevor was pretty much bouncing off the walls waiting.

When Trevor got his Nike tattoo last year you were out of town so you didn’t really know what to expect but still happy that your boyfriend was finally getting the tattoo he had been planning for months.

-

Your not sure what you were expecting but it definitely wasn’t that you would get horny watching your boyfriend in pain.

You were sat with your back against the opposite side of the couch with your feet in Trevor’s lap so he could hold onto one when needed and it didn’t hurt as much as It would with your hand.

You were also supposed to be planning your outfits for stagecoach in a few days but every time your boyfriend let out a light swear word or winced he took all your attention back.

You weren’t sure if it was the way his head was thrown back and his eyes were clenching as the artist took the tattoo gun over a more sensitive area of Trevor’s arm or the small grunts he was making but it had you clenching your thighs.

You couldn’t help but think about how pretty he looks from that angle when your in between his thighs on your knees and how good he taste- you needed a break from this view.

You wiggled your toes to signal for Trevor to let go so you could get up.

“Where you goin?” He asked as you stood up

“To get a drink, anyone want anything?” You asked but both men declined.

You chugged the glass of water you poured, you didn’t know what was wrong with you, how could you find your boyfriend in pain sexy? You should not have been this wet.

You must have been in the kitchen lost in your thoughts for longer than you thought because as you walked out Trevor was letting the Artist out of the house.

“All done already?” You asked slightly surprised

“Yeah we only did a majority of the outline today” he told you as he walked up to you to show you what he could from it being wrapped.

“Looks good babe” you told him as you looked at it

“You okay? Your red” he asked and you were sure your face got ten shades deeper.

“Yeah just a little hot” you told him looking down.

“You sure? Your not feeling sick or anything?” Poor boy thought you were getting sick, how were you gonna tell him you got turned on watching him get a tattoo?

“I’m sure baby, I’m feeling fine” you let him know.

“Now cmon let’s go watch our show” you said pulling him into the living room.

—

The next day you tried to get out of the house while Trevor got work done to his sleeve but you could only spend so long in the grocery store before people started to look at you weird.

And when you returned home with only four grocery bags after being gone for three hours Trevor looked at you a little weird as well.

“Were those old ladies holding up th-ahh shit” he started to ask but got cut off as the gun went over a sensitive spot.

You could already feel your core begin to throb at those simple sounds, it was pathetic honestly.

“Their names are Dolly and Marie, but yes they were holding up the deli line.” You said with a little laugh as you sat in the same place you did yesterday.

“They’re so sweet but take so lon-fuck” he once again got cut off by pain, the same pain that had you wet.

“I don’t mind it, they kind of remind me of you and Jamie” you told him with a laugh.

“Wow” he replied trying not laugh much so he didn’t move.

The conversation ended there as you turned the tv on, however it didn’t keep your attention for long as you boyfriends groans were a little louder today.

You couldn’t help but stare as you thought of all the things you wanted to do to your boy and all the things you wanted him to do to you. He was so pretty and the noises he made were even prettier.

“Baby!” You heard someone lightly shout and snap their fingers to get you out of your thoughts.

“Yeah? Sorry I zoned out” you told him getting red again

Trevor didn’t tell you because he wasn’t sure if he was right or not but he was pretty sure he saw you clenching your thighs and looking at his arm being tattooed.

“I was just asking if you could grab some paper towels please” he asked.

“Oh yeah, no problem” you said as you ran off

—

The next day Trevor decided he needed to figure out if he saw what he thought he saw, was his girlfriend really getting turned on to him in pain?

So here you were back in the same position as the last two days, your feet in his lap as you were leaned against the opposite side of the couch.

He’d been paying more attention to you then had had the past two days and he was beginning to think that his theory was right, you were getting turned on by his pain.

He noticed that every time he grunted, swore under his breath, or threw his head Back you were clenching your thighs and most of the time today you were lost in thought.

Once the sleeve was finished and he paid his artist he sat on the couch and called you in from the kitchen.

As you came in to stand in front of him he pulled you onto his lap, being mindful of his freshly done arm.

“I have a question” he said as he pulled you against him with your core right over his dick where he could feel you throbbing.

“Yeah?” You asked

“We’re you turned on by my pain?” He asked as he watched your face morph from shock to embarrassment.

“What!? No of course not” you said looking down in your laps.

“Baby?”

“Yeah?..”

“I can feel you throbbing on me” he said with a smirk as he began kissing your neck.

“Okay..maybe I did. You looked so pretty and you were making noises you do in bed” you said

“Oh I looked pretty in pain?” He asked with a grin

“Shut up” you said laughing

He didn’t reply just pulled your face down to his and kissed you nice and hard just how you liked it. He pulled your hair making you gasp and allow him to slip his tongue in your mouth and laying a smack on your ass.

“Z we can’t, I don’t want to accidentally grip your arm.” you said pulling away a from him.

“Looks like your gonna be riding me then” he told you as he pulled you back down to his lips.

—

Hope you enjoyed, thank you so much for reading!❤️❤️

[pipwritesoccasionally]

the love we share (two little lines part 4)

toji x reader

in which you go to your last appointment of your pregnancy with toji.

technically AFAB reader, but i've left it as gender neutral as possible.

wc: 1188

parts: 1 2 3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

goodness gracious does your back hurt. after carrying a whole other human in your body for over 37 weeks, you’re ready to give birth. unfortunately, the universe has other plans for you, and so instead of going to the hospital to give birth, you’re getting ready for yet another appointment. 

you waddle around the house, ankles burning with your newfound weight, getting all of your records and doctor’s notes to bring with you to your appointment. 

“toji! we need to go!” you yell, holding onto the handrail to make your way down the stairs. toji’s footsteps stomp down the hall, and he meets you at the bottom of the stairs, supporting you with a hand in yours.

“i got the keys already, and i got you a car snack so you don’t get sick,” he hands over a granola bar, and you feel your eyes well up with tears. 

“i’m so in love with you,” you cry, and he wipes your cheeks. at this point, he is so used to your hormones that he does not even question why you’re crying. 

“let’s go see our baby,” he says, and you nod, following him to the car.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

you’re laying on your back, cold lotion rubbed over your belly to aid the ultrasound. the doctor brings the machine over, and you see your baby once again. 

“they’re beautiful,” you whisper, holding onto toji’s hand. looking over, you see your husband’s eyes full of light and love for your coming baby.

“yeah. they are.” he says softly, and you squeeze his hand. 

“now, i know you’ve said that you don’t want to know the gender, but i just want to double check one more time,” the doctor asks, and you shake your head. 

“we want it to be a total surprise,” the two of you had discussed this as you slowly moved into your second trimester, and you had both decided that you wanted to find out the baby’s gender when you give birth. in order to make it easier on your bank account, the nursery was full of both megumi and tsumiki’s old baby supplies, still giving you enough money to take care of the two kids. 

“alright. well, the baby looks almost fully developed, and their heartbeat sounds normal. they should be coming sometime within the next week, and if you need anything, or if anything happens, please come see me again,” you and toji thank the doctor, and start the effortful journey back to the car, where you eventually slump into the passenger seat. 

toji slides into the driver seat, hand resting on top of yours. 

“so,” he begins, “how are you feeling?” 

this is a question that he’s posed to you many times throughout the duration of your pregnancy, but with the idea of giving birth casting a shadow over you, it had never been more appropriate. 

“i guess i’m nervous,” you say, completely understating your true feelings. you were positively terrified. all your life, you’d heard people recounting stories about how birth was one of the most painful things ever. 

“you know you can’t lie to me, doll,” toji says, him squeezing your hand this time. you sigh, but nod. 

“i’m so scared toji. i mean, it’s supposed to be some of the most insane pain of my life. also, what about the kids? a baby is exhausting, and i don’t want them to feel abandoned.” 

“hey, breathe. remember how we talked about making time for the kids months ago? we will make it work. and you’re not alone, i’m here to help take care of all of our kids,” his large, warm hand comes to cup your cheek, and you lean against him. 

“what if i’m not ready?” you ask, and he shakes his head. 

“you’re already the world’s best step-parent, so raising our biological will be a walk in the park for you,” you laugh lightly, but he continues. “i’m serious. megumi and tsumiki really do like you more than me.” 

“i doubt that. they love you,” your face breaks into a grin. 

“which means that they love you a lot too,” toji smiles softly at you, and you don’t know if you can love someone more. 

“stop being so handsome!” you exclaim, turning away from him. 

“only when you stop being so attractive every single day,” he responds without missing a beat, amplifying your embarrassment. 

“stop!” you laugh. 

“i can’t, doll.” 

how can you keep a normal heartrate around your beautiful husband when he compliments you like that? you turn your head back, staring at him. 

“what? is there something on my face?” he asks, running a hand down said face. 

“no. i’m just wondering how i got so lucky,” his ears turn pink, and he tries to cough to hide his blush. 

“if anyone’s lucky in this relationship, it’s me,” he says, and you smile. 

“can we just say we’re both lucky? we do live with megumi and tsumiki,” you both laugh, before pulling on your seatbelts. 

“that sounds right. those brats are, well, brats, but they’re pretty cool too.” 

“i’m pretty sure that’s a contradictory statement,” the car revs to life, and he hums. 

“maybe. either way, they’re pretty cool kids.” 

“wait. is toji fushiguro not calling his amazing kids brats for once? i’m shocked,” you feign shock, with your hand placed against your chest. he scoffs, pulling out of your parking spot. 

“okay, i don’t always call my kids brats, and never to their faces. i can’t have them misconstrue my meaning,” his pretend annoyance at his kids is something you understand as sarcasm, but the kids might not.

“besides,” he continues, “we both know that they’re the greatest gifts the world has ever given us. and i’m sure baby #3 will be just as great a gift,” warmth envelopes your body as toji cups your belly, looking lovingly at your bump. 

“we love you,” you whisper, rubbing your belly. while you know that most parents talk to their babies in the womb, you and your husband were more reserved. you mostly just told the baby how much you love them, and how excited you are for they to come home. 

“yeah, we love you so much. so do megumi and tsumiki, though they might be grumpy teens when you’re old enough to know it,” toji says, and you laugh. the car develops into a serious silence, and you find toji looking at you with serene look in his eye. 

“is something wrong?” you ask. 

“no, nothing’s wrong. i’m just thinking about how i’m so grateful for you and our baby. my life is better because you’re in it,” toji can seem gruff or standoffish, but he can be such a sweet-talker to the people he loves. 

“i thought i couldn’t fall more in love with you, and you’ve proved me wrong. you’re the best husband i could ask for,” you lean in, and he meets you halfway with a kiss. 

“alright, should we go home?” he asks, holding your hand over the middle console. 

“yes, we should.” you reply, the car crackling with warmth from the love you share.

[allthelovehes]

Hardware Store Hookup*

Summary: Y/N just broke up with her boyfriend and kicked him out, she is redecorating her apartment and the guy who works at the hardware store just has something special to him.

Pairing: Harry x reader

Word count: 4.7K

Warnings: Smut!! Protected sex tho, oral female receiving, p in v.

Taglist: @justmystyles @bitchybabyharry @harrysslut7 @swiftmendeshoran @lucasandharold @harrysbabycherry @htaylor18 @rose-garden-dreamz @myalovesharry @mellamolayla @hsonlyangelxo @yousunshineyoutempter @heartateasee @blueheisenbergtragedy @bikestyles @bohemianrhapsody86 @cherrylovers-world @harrys-littlefreak Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist! 🤗

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A/N:  Ugh, these two are so cute and loving. Makes me wanna paint my house and find Harry at my hardware store.

Setting down the last box of his belongings in the entryway of her apartment building. Y/N feels bittersweet. This building has been their home for the last two years, but the second she found out he cheated on her she was packing up all his shit and moving him out.

“I don't understand why you won't just listen to me! We can work this out!”

“I'm done talking to you, Michael.” She responds, her voice void of emotion. “The apartment is in my name, and I'm paying the bills, you're out.”

Michael huffs and walks around her as if he's going to leave, but turns around and comes right back. She can feel his eyes boring into her and her skin crawls. He's trying to play the victim and she can't stand it.

“Fine, you know what? Just... just fuck it, Y/N. I don't even want to live with you, you're an ugly bitch anyways. I can find someone prettier and younger to take care of me than some fat cow.”

“You're an asshole, Michael. I never want to see your face again.” She replies, opening the door and pointing outside.

“Fuck you!” He spits, picks up his boxes and leaves.

She watches as he gets into his truck and pulls out of the parking spot before she goes inside and closes the door. As soon as she locks it she collapses on the floor and bursts into tears. A year ago Michael was her knight in shining armour, her soulmate, the love of her life. Now she wants to erase his entire existence from her memory.

***

A couple of months pass and Y/N feels like it's finally time to transform their home into her own. The couch was a gift from her parents when they moved in together and it's not even comfortable. It's also stained and ratty and she's ready to get rid of it. She's browsing Pinterest when a couch catches her eye, it's white and has a tufted back. It looks beautiful, so she clicks on the website and begins filling her cart with things for her new interior.

Shipping the pieces takes quite some time as they get delivered by truck and they schedule an appointment with you to make sure you're home. Still, three more weeks until her furniture is supposed to be delivered, so she decides to make most of the time in between and visits the hardware store for some paint.

The hardware store is surprisingly quiet and she has the aisle to herself. There are dozens of different brands of paint and it's overwhelming, let's not even get started about all the different colour options. She has an idea in mind, something warm, inviting and calming. Something that feels like home.

“Can I help you?” A voice says behind her and she startles, almost dropping the cans of paint she picked out.

“Ah, yes! Please!” She chuckles, turning around and looking at the man behind her.

He's tall, very tall, and wearing a navy blue polo. He has a nametag, 'Harry' written across it. He's got curly, dark brown hair, and his face is handsome and symmetrical. The thing that stands out to her the most are his eyes, they're a soft green, almost grey and they remind her of the sea. His lips look soft and pouty and she can't stop staring.

“You seem lost.” Harry smirks.

“Yeah, a bit, actually.” She chuckles. “I need paint for my apartment and I don't really know how much I'm gonna need or where to start. I just wanna do my bedroom and the living room.”

“Well, first, let's start by picking out a colour. Do you have an idea of what you want?”

“Oh, um, yeah!” She smiles, grabbing her phone and showing him her Pinterest board. “Something like this.”

“Ah, I see. A warm colour, that's good. And what are you painting over?”

“Well, right now it's a cream colour.” She explains, following him through the aisles as he looks at paint cards.

“Okay, so we'll probably want to stick with a neutral colour for the living room, because the natural light changes a lot. Here.” He hands her a warm yellow coloured paint card, “This one would look great, it's warm and it will compliment the furniture.”

“I love it.”

“And your bedroom, we'll do something more daring, because that's more of a personal space.” Harry smirks at her. “I think something darker to add some mystery, but with a pop of colour would look great, like maybe a navy wall with a bright coloured accent piece.”

“I have a yellow throw I'm planning on using. That's good contrasting colour, right?”

“Yes! Exactly! You can use the yellow throw to really add some warmth, especially during winter, and the blue to contrast that and create some depth.”

“That sounds great.” She smiles, her excitement growing. Harry is charming and his excitement for her project is contagious. “I can't wait.”

“Let's head over to the paint mixer, yeah?”

They walk towards the back of the store, where the mixing area is located. During their walk Harry asks her what her more about the wall sizes so he knows how much she'll need. She tells him everything he needs to know and Harry gets to work. The heavy paint buckets cause his muscles to flex and his biceps bulge. He's definitely a looker and she can't help but blush and tries to turn her attention elsewhere.

“There we go.” He smiles. “Let's go get some painting supplies and we'll ring you up, yeah?”

“Perfect.”

“How are you planning on doing this?”

“Hm?”

“The painting.” He chuckles. “Are you planning on doing it yourself or are you hiring a painter?”

“Oh, I'll do it myself, it's only the two rooms, right? I can handle that.”

“You can, absolutely.” Harry grins. “You're brave. Most women hire painters to do that sort of thing, or their boyfriends.”

“Oh, well, I don't have a boyfriend. I guess I'm just doing this all myself.”

“That's admirable. I wish more women were like you, not afraid of getting their hands dirty. You're going to be fine.”

“I hope so.”

“Trust me, you'll do great. And if you need any advice you know where to find me. I'll be glad to help.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She says. Harry loves that she calls him by his name that she clearly read off his name tag. “I appreciate it.”

“It's my pleasure, darling. Let's get you checked out.” Harry gives her a small wink and they head to the counter. He helps her lift all the heavy items onto the conveyor belt so his colleague can scan them. He normally wouldn't give this much attention to a customer, but he's drawn to her, she's different.

Y/N notices him staring as they load her purchases onto the conveyor belt and it makes her blush. She can't help but look at him and the way his lips move as he talks. They look soft and she can't help but imagine what kissing him would be like.

“Will that be all, miss?” His colleague asks, snapping her out of her daydream.

“Um, yes. Yes, thank you.” She smiles, handing her her debit card.

“I'll bring these to your car.” Harry says, lifting two buckets of paint and carrying them outside.

“Oh, thank you!” She smiles, grabbing the other bucket and following him. She knows he's giving her some kind of special treatment as he shouldn't be doing this, but she isn't complaining. She's not complaining at all.

He sets down the buckets next to her car, and she unlocks the trunk so he can place them inside. He turns around and looks at her. He wants to say something, anything, to her, but he doesn't know what.

“Do you have a card or something? So I can contact you if I have any questions?” She speaks up, feeling brave.

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Harry grins, reaching behind him and pulling out a small note block. He scribbles down his name, phone number and writes hardware store employee underneath as if it's an official business card. He rips off the piece of paper and hands it over with a goofy grin on his face. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She chuckles. “I'm Y/N, by the way.”

“It's lovely to meet you, Y/N.”

“Likewise.” She grins. “Well, I have to get going. I still have to buy a few more things.”

“Of course.” He nods. “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” She smiles, getting into her car and driving off.

As soon as she's out of sight, Harry lets out a sigh and heads back into the hardware store.

“Hey, mate.” His colleague says. “What was that all about?”

“What was what about?”

“Don't act stupid. I've never seen you give special attention to a customer.”

“Shut up.” Harry chuckles, walking towards the back room. “It was nothing, I was just being nice.”

“Uhuh.”

Harry sighs, rolling his eyes as he starts to put away some equipment. He has no idea why he's so intrigued by her, she was just a normal customer, right? He thinks back to the way she blushed when he spoke, and the way she fiddled with her hands. Maybe he's just imagining things, but he's definitely got a soft spot for her. ***

She's spent the last few days painting the walls of her bedroom, as a darker colour needs multiple layers and drying times. It's finally time to paint the living room and she's excited. She's picked out the perfect colour and the weather is cooperating so she can leave the windows open.

She's put on her favourite music and has a cup of tea next to her as she paints. Her hair is up in a messy bun and she's wearing sweatpants and a sports bra. She's enjoying herself, and the room looks great so far. The colour is a bit darker than what she expected but she doesn't hate it. It's warm, and inviting and she's happy.

After a few hours her back and arms start hurting, so she decides to take a break. She grabs her phone and takes a picture of the wall and posts it in the family group chat.

She scrolls through her Instagram feed when she suddenly remembers the card that Harry gave her. She pulls it out of her pocket and enters his number in her contacts. She debates on whether or not she should send him a message, but decides to do it anyway.

Y/N Hey Harry, it's Y/N, the girl from the hardware store. I've finished my bedroom and I'm doing the living room now. The colour looks amazing, thanks again for helping me pick it out.

She sends the text and immediately puts her phone down. She can't believe she just did that. Did she sound desperate? Did she sound too eager? Is he going to reply? She's got no clue, and it's killing her.

“Get a grip, Y/N.” She whispers to herself. She shakes her head and grabs her cup of tea, taking a sip. She looks back at her wall and sighs, she's got a long day ahead of her.

The sun is slowly starting to set, and Y/N has just finished the wall. Her hair is still up in a bun and she's sweaty, but she's happy with the result. The walls look amazing, the colour is beautiful and she can't wait to show her parents tomorrow.

Her phone vibrates, and she grabs it to check the notification. It's a text from Harry.

Harry I'm so glad to hear that, love! I bet the colour looks lovely with the sun setting right now.

She can't believe he called her 'love' in a text, it's insane. He barely even knows her. But his message is sweet and cute and she's smiling like an idiot.

Y/N You'll have to come and check it out for yourself.

She stares at her phone screen for what feels like an eternity. She can't believe she just flirted with him. She's not even sure if he's single, and if he is, does he like her? He could be interested in someone else, or he could even be straight for all she knows.

Harry Are you inviting me over?

Y/N I'm not stopping you.

Her heart is pounding and her hands are shaking. She's definitely overstepping, but she's hoping it won't scare him off.

Harry I leave work in about 10 minutes. What's your address?

“Shit.”

Y/N Oh, it's 27B, Parkview Apartments.

Harry Be there in 20.

“Fuck!”

She can't believe he's actually coming over. She runs over to her bathroom and quickly brushes her hair and her teeth. Her apartment is a mess, and she's not wearing any makeup. She looks terrible and he's going to be here any second.

“Calm down.” She whispers to herself.

She walks out of the bathroom and starts cleaning up the living room. There are paint supplies everywhere, and she wants the place to look at least a little presentable.

A few minutes later she hears the doorbell and her heart almost leaps out of her chest.

“Coming!” She yells, rushing over to the front door and opening it.

“Hey.” Harry grins.

“Hi.” She smiles. “Please, come in.”

Harry steps inside and closes the door behind him. She looks stunning, despite the fact that she's wearing sweatpants and a messy bun, which makes him feel a little overdressed.

“Your apartment looks nice.”

“Thank you.” She replies, closing the window. “It's a bit of a mess right now, but I'm working on it.”

“Don't worry about it, I understand.”

“Um, would you like something to drink? Some water or beer or something?”

“A beer would be great, thanks.”

“Alright.” She nods, walking over to the fridge and pulling out two cold beers.

Harry sits down on the couch and watches her. She's got a few paint stains on her pants and her sports bra and he finds it endearing. He can tell that she's trying hard, and he's definitely charmed by her.

“Here you go.” She smiles, handing him a beer.

“Cheers.” He says, clinking his bottle against hers.

“To your apartment looking better than ever.”

“Cheers.” She smiles. “And to the man who helped make that possible.”

They both take a sip and stare at each other for a few seconds. Y/N has a feeling that something might happen, but she's not sure if it's the right thing.

“So.” Harry starts, clearing his throat. “What are you going to do now that the painting is done?”

“Oh, well, I'm still planning on doing a few other things.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. I've ordered a new couch, and I'm thinking of getting a new rug.” She answers before Harry moves closer to her.

“So, you don't mind getting this couch a little dirty?” He asks her. Harry is blunt, but he feels the way she's looking at her. It's almost as if she's undressing him with her eyes, he can see the desire sparkling in them.

“Dirty how?”

“You know what I mean, love.” Harry smirks, taking another swig from his beer. Y/N doesn't know what has gotten into her. Normally she's not like this, not at all, but she wants him, badly. She's been craving him since the moment she saw him, and she's tired of denying herself.

“Yes.” She whispers. Harry doesn't reply, instead, he leans in and captures her lips with his own. The kiss is intense, full of lust and hunger. Y/N has been waiting for this and she's not going to waste the opportunity. The last couple of months with Michael have been stale, she's been missing this exciting feeling deep within her.

Harry pulls her closer and kisses her harder, his hands wandering over her body. Y/N moans into the kiss and straddles him. He grabs her hips and pushes her down on him, creating delicious friction between them. Y/N can feel him growing harder and his bulge pressing against her core. She wants him, and she wants him now. Harry breaks the kiss, and Y/N whimpers at the loss.

“You're a very good kisser.” He murmurs. “Are you always this good, or am I just lucky?”

“I don't know, maybe you're just lucky.” She teases, grinding down on his cock.

“Mmm.” Harry hums, leaning forward and kissing her again. This time, the kiss is even more passionate. Y/N wraps her arms around his neck and deepens the kiss, running her fingers through his hair. She pulls on it and Harry groans, his hands moving to her ass and squeezing it.

“Fuck, you feel good.” He mutters against her lips, squeezing her ass again.

“You too.” She mumbles, leaning down and kissing his neck. Harry groans as she starts sucking on his skin, leaving a trail of love bites. He knows that they'll be visible tomorrow and that his colleagues will have a field day. But he doesn't care, he loves it. He loves the fact that he's been claimed by her.

He spins her full body around in his lap, so her back is flush against his chest and his face is buried in the crook of her neck. His hands move up her stomach and under her sports bra. He cups her breasts and pinches her nipples between his fingers, making her whimper.

“You're so beautiful.” He mumbles, his lips pressed against her neck. She places her hands on his knees and grinds down on his cock, loving the feeling of him underneath her.

“Fuck.” Harry groans, thrusting his hips up, meeting her movements. “You're so fucking hot, you know that?”

“I'm aware of the effect I have on you.”

“Oh yeah?” He smirks, pulling her hair and forcing her to expose her neck.

“Yeah.” She reaches behind her to unclasp her sports bra and lets it fall to the floor.

“Fuck, look at you.” Harry grunts, grabbing her breast and squeezing it. Y/N throws her head back and moans. “Look at these perfect tits.”

He continues to massage her breast, teasing her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. Y/N arches her back, pushing her breast further into his hand.

“That feels so good.” She whines.

“Mhm.” He hums, licking a stripe up her neck. He loves the way her skin tastes, sweet and salty. He can't get enough. He sucks on her earlobe, one of his hands sliding down her body and slipping into her pants. He finds her clit, and two of his fingers circle it, making her gasp.

“Oh god.”

“Do you like that?” He asks her, continuing his movements because he already knows the answer.

“Yes.”

“You're so wet, baby.” Harry smirks

“Mmm.” She whimpers, grinding her hips into his fingers.

“I can't wait to be inside you.” He growls, his fingers dipping lower and sliding into her.

“Fuck.” She hisses, her nails digging into his legs.

“That's it, baby, let me hear you.” Harry grunts, pumping his fingers in and out of her. He curls them and hits the perfect spot, making her cry out in pleasure. Her walls are spongey and tight around him, making him impatient. But the thought of feeling her come all over his hand is more than enough for him to keep focussed. He wants her to leak all over his hand, to make a mess for him and only him.

“Oh fuck, please, more.” She whines, her thighs trembling. She's never felt this way before, the way he touches her, the way he makes her feel is intoxicating. She loves how she's still half-clothed, and yet, he's managed to make her feel exposed. She's not ashamed of the noises she's making, but she's definitely enjoying the way he's making her feel.

“More what, baby?” Harry asks, his lips grazing her ear moaning softly to send shivers running down her spine.

“More of you.”

“Oh, I'll give you more, baby. Just be patient.”

“Yes.” She cries out, feeling her orgasm approaching. She knows it's close, and she wants it, badly. Her hips start grinding down on his hand, her movements becoming faster and less controlled. Harry continues to pump his fingers into her, his thumb rubbing her clit, making her body shake.

“Oh, fuck.” She gasps, her walls tightening around him. She comes, squirting all over his hand. Harry moans, his dick twitching as he feels her squirt.

“Holy fuck.” Harry moans, watching the mess she's made. “That's so fucking hot.”

“Harry...”

“Mmm.” He hums, as he picks her up and roughly lies her down on her back. He grabs the waistband of her now completely soaked sweatpants and pull them down her legs, throwing them to the side. He does the same with her panties. He gets rid of his own shirt, revealing his toned body. Y/N is taken aback, he's got some tattoos, which is not something she expected. But it suits him, and it's hot.

“Look at you, such a pretty pussy.” He hums, admiring her dripping wet cunt. She's glistening and his mouth waters at the sight.

“Stop staring.” She chuckles.

“Oh, I'm sorry.” He laughs. “Would you prefer if I did this?”

“Do what- fuck!” Y/N exclaims, as Harry suddenly leans down and sucks her clit between his lips. He places his big hands on the inside of her thighs to keep her legs nice and open for him. He is relentless, his tongue licking a strip up her cunt, making her squirm and cry out. He laps up her juices, enjoying every second of it.

“Fuck, Harry!”

“That's it, baby.” Harry groans, sending vibrations through her body. She's gripping the couch, her knuckles turning white. It's an overwhelming feeling to have him eat her out so eagerly right after she came all over his hand. She doesn't know how much more she can take.

When she first met him, she never would have guessed Harry would have been this skilled. The way his tongue moves along her pussy, his lips sucking and licking her clit and the way his fingers dig into her thighs is making her dizzy. She knows she's going to come soon, and she's not sure if she's ready for that.

“Mmhmm, yes.” She moans, her back arching. She grabs a fistful of his hair and holds on to it, pushing his head further down. He takes it as a sign and doubles his efforts, his tongue moving even faster and deeper.

“Oh fuck, yes, right there!” She cries out, her toes curling as her orgasm hits her. It's intense and makes her see stars. Her whole body trembles as her muscles contract, and her mind goes blank.

“Jesus, you taste so good.” Harry groans, as he carefully licks her clean. He gets up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Harry catches his breath and he looks down at the sweet girl in front of him. She is completely wrecked, and he's not even done with her yet.

“You okay?”

“Mhm.”

“Good.” He smiles, standing up and removing his pants and boxers. His cock is hard and leaking precum. He's long and thick, and Y/N can't wait to have it inside of her.

“Fuck.” She mumbles at the sight, a bit too loud. She's certain Harry heard her even though she didn't intend for him to hear it.

“What's that, love?” Harry grins, his cock throbbing.

“Nothing.”

“No, I want to hear you say it.” He insists, his eyes locked on hers.

“You're big.”

“Yeah?”

“And hard.”

“For you.”

“Fuck me.”

“Your wish is my command, love.” Harry laughs. He grabs his wallet from his pants and pulls out a condom, ripping the package open and sliding the condom down his shaft.

“Come here.” She tells him. He obeys and walks towards her, getting down on his knees in front of the couch. He leans forward and kisses her passionately, his hands cupping her face. He slowly pulls away, his eyes locking with hers.

“You're beautiful.” He murmurs.

“I bet you say that to all the girls who need help at the hardware store.” She teases.

“Oh, shut up.” He laughs, kissing her again. He positions himself, his tip pressing against her entrance. He can't wait to feel her, to be inside of her. Y/N's breathing heavily, her heart racing. He teases her by slowly pushing his tip up and down her folds before slowly pushing it into her. Just the tiniest bit to make her all needy and whiney.

“Please.”

“Patience, baby.” He whispers, his lips inches from hers. He keeps teasing her, his tip rubbing her clit. Y/N moans and her hips buck, trying to get him to push his dick inside of her. But he makes sure to not give in to her desires just yet. He pushes back into her, a little bit further this time, his tip disappearing inside her. But he doesn't go any further, and Y/N lets out a frustrated grunt.

“What's the matter, love?” He smirks, his hand slowly trailing up her stomach and resting on her breast. As he rubs his cock on her clit, his hand squeezes her breast and he starts sucking on her neck.

“You know exactly what's wrong, you fucking tease.”

“Oh, do I?” He chuckles, his hand squeezing her breast again, this time a little bit rougher.

“Yes.” She moans, arching her back. “Please, Harry, stop teasing me.”

“Alright.” He whispers, his lips brushing against her ear. He slowly thrusts into her, filling her up completely. He stills his hips, letting her adjust to his size. She moans, her hands resting on his hips, urging him to move. He complies and begins to rock his hips, pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in.

“Fuck.” Harry groans, his pace increasing. Y/N's walls tighten around him and her nails dig into his hips, as she tries to pull him even deeper.

“That's it, baby.” He growls, his cock sliding in and out of her easily. “You feel so good, baby. So fucking good.”

“You're so big.” She gasps, her eyes closed and her mouth agape. He groans, his hips slamming into her. His fingers find her clit, and he starts rubbing her. Y/N whimpers, her toes curling as his fingers and his cock bring her closer to the edge.

“Yes, baby.” Harry grunts, his free hand cupping her breast, his fingers tweaking her nipple. It's sending sparks of pleasure throughout her body.

“Oh god, fuck!” Y/N moans, her hips bucking, and her walls tightening around him. “Fuck, I'm gonna come.”

“Oh, baby.” He whispers, his voice dripping with lust.

“Shit.” Y/N gasps, her eyes flying open as her third orgasm washes over her. Her whole body is trembling, her muscles contracting. Harry feels her clench around his cock, and he knows that it won't be long before he comes too.

“Fuck.” He grunts, his thrusts getting sloppier. He curses under his breath as he pulls his cock out of her. He quickly rips the condom off and strokes his cock, coming all over her stomach.

“Fuck.”

They're both catching their breaths, both still riding their high. They look at each other and share a laugh.

“I've made a mess.”

“It's okay, my couch was a mess to begin with. We just made it messier.”

“Fair point.” He chuckles, leaning in and kissing her. “This was...fun.”

“Yeah, it was.” She says, her fingers running through his curls.

“How about we go and get cleaned up in the shower and then we can have a proper drink?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Y/N's never had a one-night stand like this. Normally they are rushed and messy. This was different. It was sensual, erotic, and passionate. And she didn't feel bad about it. It felt natural like she was meant to do this. Like she was supposed to have a fling with the hot guy at the hardware store. She's never believed in fate, but maybe this is what it feels like.

[its-time-to-write]

Hi y’all! This is my last unprompted angsty fic for a little! Gonna go back to our usually scheduled hijinks that are sitting in my request pile, I wanted to do this one first. I write all these as a way to deal with things that happen in my own life, whether it’s stressing about school and work, stupid romance, great romance, family, health, whatever, and I wanted to say (yet again) thank you for all the support. Sometimes I still can’t believe that you all like what I write but hey, there ya go

It’s funny, because my most popular fics are the ones that have been written directly out of my actual life. The ones that start out hard-to-deal-with, or with real, palpable heartbreak. The endings are often different because real life isn’t guaranteed a happy ending, but I’m allowed to take the past and see what it would be like if things went differently.

My characterization of Jamie is based on the only person I’ve ever really loved, which is why I can write his voice so clearly. I first watched Ted Lasso and was surprised at how similar they were, stupid hair and all. A lot of these fics are my way of archiving our story and immortalizing parts of it, as well as reminding myself that the love was there. It didn’t last and it wasn’t supposed to, but it was there.

Now, what’s real and what’s fiction? I’ll leave that up to you to decide, but I will say that it’s more than you might think and less than you might hope for.

So if you read this current fic and think, “huh, that was a really specific premise,” well I got news for you! It is. I’m in the first part of my journey on this, the early stages, and this story is not the way I want things to go for me. But I’m hoping that by creating a good ending out of a rough beginning, I can better face whatever lies ahead for me whether I approach it on my own two feet or with the assistance of some really sick wheels.

Anyway, enjoy this or skip it, it won’t hurt my feelings!

how to love being alive

Jamie’s at training when he gets the call. He barely registers the words on the other side when he’s cursing something awful, enough to make Roy Kent blush, and saying something about an emergency before speeding out the door. He pauses for a moment to look up an address in his phone, then he’s tearing out of the parking lot in a manner that puts Colin to shame. 

To summarize, he’s not acting like himself. 

He pulls up to a chiropractor of all places and the girl at the front desk must be able to tell who he’s here for because she just points to a door down the hall. Jamie’s pretty sure he’s never moved this quick in his life and wonders if this could translate to the pitch. Sure he’s fast, but he could always be faster. 

He bursts through the door to see you borderline catatonic, staring at the floor while a doctor pats your arm. She looks at Jamie and says, “Let’s chat for a minute outside,” before he has a chance to say a single thing. Jamie can’t tear his eyes away from you as the doctor leads him out and shuts the door. 

“Thought emergency contacts were for like, hospitals and shit,” he says. 

The chiropractor shakes her head. Jamie notes that her name tag says “Dr. Hadley,” and has a vague memory of you mentioning her a few months ago. 

God, it feels like a lifetime ago. 

“We’re not confident she’s in a fit state to get herself home,” Dr. Hadley says. “Her headspace is a little messed up, which is to be expected. Usually people come to these types of appointments with some moral support.”

Jamie asks, “What kinds of appointments?” and Dr. Hadley tilts her head at him. 

“You are Mr. Tartt, aren’t you?” she asks and Jamie just scoffs because he can’t decide between responding obviously, or telling her no, he’s not Mr. Tartt, that’s his father. He’s just Jamie. 

Dr. Hadley knows who he is because she doesn’t live in a hole in the ground, so she doesn’t ask for identification. She takes his scoff as permission to keep talking, so she says, “She’s here for her MRI results. We’ve been in the process of treating a protrusion on her spine.”

Jamie is positive everyone in this office must think he’s on drugs because Dr. Hadley is talking like he’s supposed to know this, but for the life of him he knows you’d never said a thing. 

“Your girlfriend has been in a severe amount of pain over the last few months, and we’ve finally been able to see the extent of the problem. Apparently she thought it would just go away, but it never did. So now she’s here with us.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Jamie says automatically. Because it’s true, innit? You’re not. You’ve been broken up for a month because he couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t take the irritation at attending his matches and the tossing and turning in bed at night and the fact that you were wound so tight that you’d snap at the most minor offenses. 

You hadn’t been surprised when Jamie said he couldn’t do it anymore, it’s over, and at the time he had wished that you’d shown just a tiny sliver of emotion. After all, a year and two months is a long time to be with someone for you to coldly slide him his key and then turn away as though he were a stranger. 

He could have sworn there was a glimmer of tears in your eyes, but they’d looked that way for a bit now so maybe it was just allergies. There’s no reason for you to have been in the verge of tears for the entire month before the breakup, right?

Right. 

But he can’t think about that now because Dr. Hadley is frowning at him in a way that so comically reminds him of Roy’s sister that he has to bite back a laugh. 

Everything’s all twisted. 

“I certainly hope your split was amicable,” Dr. Hadley says. “You’re the only one listed as her emergency contact. She needs someone to get her home safely.”

“Right,” says Jamie. “Yes. Fuck. Right. Um, what exactly is wrong with her?” 

Dr. Hadley shakes her head. “That’s her personal information to share with you at her prerogative. And we should probably go see her, I’m sure she doesn’t want to be alone for long.”

Jamie snorts at that. This doctor doesn’t know you at all. If you’ve received any type of bad news the last thing you want is people hanging around. 

Jamie used to pride himself on being the only one you’d let into the bad-new bubble. 

You don’t count with those other people, you’d said once while wrapped around Jamie so tight he thought he’d have to call Ted to bring a crowbar. You said, I don’t have to pretend around you. I don’t ever get tired of you.

Jamie bitterly thinks that that statement turned out to be a lie, but he shakes it off because you’ve only been separated a month, and apparently he’s still your emergency contact for a doctor he didn’t know you had been seeing and fuck if you didn’t look like the most pitiful thing he’d ever seen. He’ll pretend it’s ok for as long as it takes to get you home and comfortable, and then he’s calling this office to get his number switched off. 

So he follows Dr. Hadley back into the room as she softly says your name in order to break whatever trance has you studying the carpet like your final exam is in ten minutes. 

You can barely look at her as she whispers something about going home and being gentle, to which you nod and finally look at Jamie. 

He wonders if you recognize him, because the stare you have is so vacant that you might as well be looking at a stranger. 

“Is she on drugs?” he asks because it looks like you’re on drugs. 

Dr. Hadley shakes her head and holds out her arm to help you up. “No, she’s just in a lot of pain. And emotional distress. It’s a killer combo, and she’ll need extra gentle handling for a while. No sitting for too long, no bending, no lifting. There’s a back support at the front desk for you to take.”

Jamie thinks he hears something pointed in the way Dr. Hadley says, extra gentle. What, like he doesn’t know how bad an injury can take you out? He’s in the Premier League for fuck’s sake. He knows how to deal with a strained muscle. 

Dr. Hadley transfers your arm over to Jamie’s so smoothly that he barely understands what’s happening as she ushers you both out the door, thrusting a small foam roll into Jamie’s free hand. 

“For lumbar support,” she says. “Won’t help much, but it’s better than nothing.”

Jamie’s pretty sure he’s said thanks as you climb in the car and then he’s in the drivers seat and it’s dead quiet. 

“Right,” he says to the silence. “What the fuck.”

You’re picking at your nails something fierce. Jamie has to fight the urge to take your hand in his. A month of separation is not long enough for this shit. 

“Can you just drive?” you ask in a broken voice. “I don’t want to be sitting for longer than I have to.”

There’s a new pitch in your voice, one Jamie’s never heard before, so he doesn’t argue. He doesn’t turn on the radio or a playlist or a podcast or anything, just drives in silence. He knows if it’s quiet long enough, you’ll talk. 

He’s the opposite. He doesn’t need time to crack wide open, just a kind touch or a soft glance and he’s an open book. He was always shocked how early into your relationship you’d figured that out. A soft, “What’s on your mind, Jaim?” and he was unloading about whatever stress or fear he had. 

He’s two minutes away from your flat when you break the silence. “I have gradual onset paralysis,” you say in a voice devoid of emotion. “‘Gradual onset’ means it happens over time. Paralysis means, well…paralysis.”

Jamie can hear what you’re saying and he understands it, but what catches him is the way you’re like nothing more than a hollow body. Not cracking a joke, not picking a fight. Just- empty. 

Jamie says a long and drawn out “Fuuuckk,” because what else can you say? It’s not really his business to comfort you or to pry, except he’s the one the doctor called, so he allows himself one question. 

“How did it happen?”

Last he knew, you were healthy as a horse. 

“Two disks in my spine popped,” you reply, still in that same awful emotionless voice. “They’re not really sure how, could’ve been any number of things. Anyway, it got into my nerves. And my spinal cord. And it’s messing things up and it’s only going to get worse. The scans were to see if they could operate, because sometimes you can remove the shards. Or whatever it is. But I guess they can’t, because if they tried I’d definitely be paralyzed. So all I can do now is be in pain and wait for my legs to shut down.”

Jamie doesn’t know how to respond to any of that but he’s saved from thinking of an adequate response because he’s at your flat. 

It was smart of you not to sell it when you’d moved in with Jamie. He wonders if you knew the breakup was inevitable. 

He hops out and opens the door like a gentleman, offering his hand like he’s some Mr. Darcy-type shit, except you had both agreed that Roy was Mr. Darcy and he was Bingley. So it doesn’t fit at all except as soon as you’re done clutching his hand so you can get out without unnecessary pain, his hand flexes itself like he’s in that damn movie. 

It wasn’t even a conscious choice, just a thing his hand decided to do, and he definitely thinks he’s going to have to talk to Ted about this. Or maybe Sam. Sam knows shit and is good at empathy. Maybe he’ll know what to say when your ex-girlfriend tells you she’s not going to walk ever again. 

Jamie follows you to the door as you fiddle with the lock and push it open with a sigh. For a moment he doesn’t know if he should go inside, but it smells like honey and cinnamon because it’s the beginning of fall and he thinks that he should at least make sure you’ll be alright. 

He notices you’re moving weird. All stiff, like. You’re trying to get an icepack out of the freezer but you can’t maneuver in a way that’s comfortable so Jamie grabs it and hands it to you. 

You mumble, “Thanks,” and Jamie catches a glimpse of the perpetual glimmer in your eye. 

“D’you need me to call someone?” he asks. “I can get Keeley down here. Or fucking… Ted. Or Colin.” He doesn’t say Sam, because he needs Sam. He can’t talk to Sam if he’s here with you. 

You shake your head. Jamie wonders if it hurts to talk, but he remembers how much you hate the sound of your voice when you’re crying. 

You take a slow, shallow breath to collect yourself. “I’m ok,” you finally say. “Not much anyone can do, and you’ve got training. I- I didn’t know they’d call you. I still have to switch your number with someone else. I’m probably going to ask Keeley since my family’s still far away.”

“Right,” Jamie says. Not much else to say. Except- 

“You were seeing that bone doctor when we were together, and you didn’t fucking say anything?”

It’s accusatory and he knows it, but he can’t for the life of him say it kinder. Ted’s always on about communication and shit, and that is not communication. 

You shuffle over to the couch and use it to help you lay face down in the floor. The icepack is precariously balanced on the small of your back. 

“Didn’t know how to tell you,” comes your muffled voice. “Least, I figured out how to tell you too late. What was I gonna say, ‘Sorry I’ve been a complete bitch to you for four weeks, I’ve got shit floating around in my spine that makes me hurt so bad I want to die?’ Sounds fucking stupid.”

Jamie wants to say, Swear jar because it’s a long-standing joke, but he catches the words right before they reach the tip of his tongue. 

“You could’ve said something,” he replies instead. “Chronic pain’s shit. It’s really shit and it makes you act like shit to the people you care about. It’s not an excuse, but it’s a reason.” As the words are coming out of his mouth, Jamie is reminded of a time when the roles were reversed, and you were giving him the “excuse versus reason,” speech. 

You’d said, You’re dad’s an abusive prick, Jamie. Makes sense that you’d have a lot of negative emotions. 

Fuck, if only you’d said something sooner. Maybe this would be something that you’d be cracking jokes about, or Jamie would be holding your hand, or he’d be laying right next to you as he runs his fingers through your hair. 

But your muscles spasm so that thought gets banished as you bite on your forearm in an effort not to yell. 

“Fucking hell,” Jamie says. “I don’t think you’re sorted on your own. I’m calling Ted.”

He walks to the other room so he can pretend he can’t hear your protests. 

—

Ted leaves training to Roy, Beard, and Nate. What’s the point in having four coaches if one of ‘em can’t leave for family emergencies?

Sure, you’re not actually family, but that’s Ted for you. He doesn’t do casual friendships. 

Jamie is out the door like a shot as soon as Ted knocks with a “Sorry, coach,” that Ted barely has a chance to wave off. 

Ted doesn’t say much once he’s inside, just rambles on about training and Kansas and Henry. He’s clattering around in your kitchen and you can’t find it in yourself to care what he’s doing so you just keep laying on the floor, willing your back to stop hurting. 

Finally, he comes over and sets down a smoothie in a short glass with a straw. 

“It’s so you can drink it without moving,” he explains. 

“I don’t think I can do this,” you say more to the couch legs than to Ted.

He sighs from where he’s crouched down next to you. “You don’t really have a choice, darlin’. You have to do this. The question is, are you gonna go through it alone?”

You shrug as best as you’re able. 

“Wrong answer,” says Ted, standing up. “You’ve got a whole crew of people here who are gonna root for you and support you with whatever you need. All you got to do is ask, sweetheart.”

Ah, fuck, you’re crying again and Ted can definitely tell because your shoulders are shaking. He’s pretty sure you’d want to save face so he stands up and says, “Beard’s coming over after training. Says he wants to figure out how to modify your house for a wheelchair or something. Thought I’d make us all dinner so we’re not so hangry when he mentions taking an ax to anything.”

The mental image of Coach Beard chopping down your stairs is enough to make you smile a little through your tears.

—

Waiting is really shitty. Like, really shitty. Every day is the same thing: tingly legs, shooting pains, phantom cramps. The worst was when Dani and Richard were over and you stood up to get something from the fridge, and your legs decided at that moment to lose feeling. You panicked with your arms held out for balance as you swayed back and forth for a moment, willing your feet to fucking move. They did, but not before Dani and Richard were on you in a flash, ready to catch you if you fell.

“Well that was weird,” you joke in an effort to cut the tension. They laugh, but you still catch their worried glance.

“You do not have to put on a brave face for us,” Dani says. “If you want to joke, we will joke. But if you want to cry, we will cry too.”

“You can cry,” Richard says, “I will just pour more wine.”

You laugh. There’s been a steady stream of Greyhounds at your flat for the last week and a half. Everyone and their mother (quite literally) has come by to see you. Your own parents were coming in a week to stay indefinitely while you sorted things out.

You wonder if it’s easier to lose control of your legs slowly or all at once? On the one hand, you at least have notice. But on the other hand, the long, drawn-out waiting feels like slow torture. Every day you wake up from restless sleep and experimentally wiggle your toes. Every day, you check off one more box on your mental calendar as you count down to a date that doesn’t even properly exist.

The only person who hasn’t visited is Jamie. You don’t blame him, though. Keeley’s come round almost every single day and has been successfully switched to your emergency contact. She’s the one you’re calling as soon as you discover you can’t move.

You’re pretty sure it’s getting closer. Your legs fall asleep more frequently and things are all numb. It’s like you know you’re in pain, but it’s not quite registering with your nerves.

It fucking sucks.

—

You don’t believe in intuition like spirits and all that, but you believe in it in that your brain can pick up things that you couldn’t if you were actually trying.

That’s why you’re pretty sure this is it.

Walking is pretty much a no-go right now, so you stiff-leg yourself to the couch and sprawl out as comfortably as you can.

You call Keeley, and she’s over in no time.

“Hi babes,” she says as soon as she’s through the door, “Can I call Rebecca for girls’s night?”

“Sure,” you say, “Might as well live it up.”

Keeley replies, “Great! She’ll be here in ten minutes,” and you laugh, really actually laugh, because of course Keeley’s already called her.

Rebecca swoops in all smiles and no sympathy which is great because if one more person pushes their lower lip out at you, you’re going to scream. She’s brought drinks and Keeley’s pulling out snacks and you’re going to talk and giggle until you fall asleep, ready for what the morning has.

“Is Shandy making a move on that one player?” Rebecca asks Keeley from the couch. 

“Nah,” Keeley calls back, “He said he wasn’t interested right now. Still hung up, I think.”

“What player?”  you ask. You know what Shandy’s like, and you feel for the poor guy.

Rebecca and Keeley are silent before Keeley says, “You wouldn’t know him.”

“Bullshit,” you reply. “I know everyone on that team and I know you haven’t signed anyone new recently. Is it Colin?” 

Rebecca shakes her head and gives Keeley a look. Keeley shrugs. “You’re the one who brought it up, babes.”

Rebecca turns to you. “It’s Jamie,” she says. “She’s been trying to bag him ever since Zava showed up.”

You shake your head. “She’s not right for him. He deserves someone better than that.”

Keeley’s back from the kitchen and scrutinizing your expression. “And what exactly do you mean by better?” she asks.

You laugh. “Oh no, not me. I wasn’t talking about me. No, I’m not- he needs someone different. Like, I don’t know, Roy’s sister, maybe? She’s great and a doctor to boot. Very caring too.”

“You’re caring,” Keeley says slowly, “And anyway, Molly doesn’t like him like that. They’re just friends.”

“Hang on, are you putting yourself in the same bracket as Shandy?” Rebecca interjects.

You shrug. “I was a complete bitch the last month we were together. There’s no excuse for it. I’m just surprised he lasted as long as he did.”

“You were in fucking pain!” Keeley exclaims. “You said you weren’t sleeping and everything fucking hurt and you couldn’t even think straight.”

You grab a handful of candy from a bowl. “Keels, I appreciate the sentiment, but I majorly fucked it. Like, there’s no going back. So he can date whoever he wants as long as it’s not fucking Shandy. Can we please, please move on?”

Rebecca’s eyes are narrowed but they both acquiesce. “Keeley, what about your love life? I’m sure it’s boring as usual.”

Keeley shrieks and smacks her with a pillow. “Fuck off,” she replies. “I’ll have you know it’s going very well…”

—

You were right. You wake up still on the couch tangled in Keeley’s arms, and the standard toe-wiggle just… doesn’t happen. It’s quiet, the early morning type, the kind where the sunlight isn’t so harsh and birds are chirping softly and all of Richmond hasn’t quite got up to begin their day. 

As you look at your unmoving toes, the first thing you feel is a rush of relief. The waiting’s over, you think. 

You look over to the wheelchair that’s been leaning patiently against the wall all this time. Here’s the first day of forever. You’re in no rush for it to start, so you let Keeley’s little snores and Rebecca’s heavy breathing lull you back to sleep. 

—

It’s definitely a learning curve. And it’s frustrating. And if one more person catches you crying out of sheer rage, you’re going to start throwing things. But like Ted said, you don’t really have a choice. 

Your mom said, “The only way out is through,” then grinned at the murderous glare you shot her way. She opened her phone and pulled up a picture of you, age three. “Same lovely expression as always,” she remarks cheerfully. That cracks your frown. You always were a funny kid. 

It takes a while to figure out how to get places. Keeley (the absolute angel) volunteered, but she’s busy with the PR firm and quite frankly, a little too delicate to help you into a car. You made the mistake of saying this exactly one time and because subject to a rant about how she’s “not weak, just PETITE FOR FUCK’S SAKE!!”

Roy had punctuated her argument with a couple “That’s fucking right, babe"s all while rolling his eyes behind her back. It made you giggle. 

The general consensus was that at any given reasonable hour (or unreasonable if you’re Richard or Bumbercatch) a Greyhound or coach would be able to get you where you’re needed. And today, that place is Nelson Road. 

“How often does Jamie come visit?” Jan Maas asks, straightforward as ever. 

“Um, never,” you reply. “We broke up, remember?”

“Right,” agrees Jan Maas. “We all know that, I just assumed you had gotten back together.”

You laugh. How absurd. “And why on earth would you assume that?”

“Because he talks about you all the time,” comes his prompt reply. 

Huh. That’s interesting. You haven’t received so much as a single emoji from Jamie, but hadn’t thought a thing of it. But this, this is strange. This does not fit into your idea of how broken up people act. 

“Weird,” you say. “Wonder what the fuck that’s about.”

Jan Maas shrugs and moves to lift you from the car. 

—

It’s weird to be at Nelson Road, number one because it’s been FOREVER, number two because you’re eye-level with all sorts of things you’d never noticed before (ahem, part of the wall Roy kicked that no one cared to patch up), and number three because the last time you were here, it was as Jamie Tartt’s girlfriend. 

Jan holds open the door as you roll in, ready to face whatever lies in wait. 

It turns out whatever is a very excited Ted and Beard as well as a neutral Roy who present you a coaching jacket and a whistle. 

“You’re coaching with us today because that little rat bastard Nate went to the dark side,” Beard says. 

You remark, “Tell us how you really feel,” earning a snort from Roy and a chuckle from Trent Crimm. 

“Oh yeah,” Ted says, “this is Trent. He’s writing a book.”

“Cool,” you say, “but you do know I know jack shit about coaching?”

Beard shrugs. “Neither do we. Worked out pretty well so far.” That earns another snort from Roy. 

“Right,” you say. “Well, I guess I’m up for anything.”

“You mean ‘down,’” says Ted. “Oh I’m sorry, is it too soon?”

“Never,” you reply. “It’s never too soon to make trauma-related puns and this world, it’s either laugh or cry. So fuck it, I’m going to laugh.”

“Fuck yes,” grunts Roy before turning on his heel to yell at the team to GET THE FUCK ON THE PITCH YOU LITTLE PRICKS!

—

You don’t do much except sit there and watch as the coaches yell and point and run drills. It’s a chore to remind yourself not to check out Jamie’s butt as he runs by so you start thinking not yours, not yours, like a mental mantra. 

He’s not looking at you so you won’t look at him and you’re sure it won’t be a problem because there are so many people to look at and talk to, except lunch rolls around (haha) and you sit at the head of a table and Jamie’s on the bench right next to you. So. There goes the no eye-contact plan. 

You take exactly two bites of your sandwich before thinking fuck this and pushing yourself back so you can roll away. You can just take the elevator to see Becca. 

You’ve made it a good way down the hall when you hear Jamie calling your name while saying, “Wait,” so you move a little faster. 

But it’s still new and you’re painfully reminded that arms are not legs so he catches you with ease. 

 “The fuck are you running away for?” he asks, and you want to point out that technically, you weren’t running. Metaphorically though, he’d be right. 

“I’m not running,” you reply. “I was just going to see Rebecca.”

“Bullshit,” he says. “I know you, and that was running. Is it because of me?”

“No,” you say, and you realize how much you’ve been looking up today. Your fucking neck needs a break so you rub it and look straight ahead, past Jamie at a life-size decal of O’Brien on the opposite wall. 

“Why would I be running away from you? You’re not- I’m the shitty ex in this situation. I’m the one who fucked things up, Jamie, so… you don’t have to like, pretend that it’s your problem. I actually think it would be better if you were just mad and avoided me instead of whatever the hell is currently happening.”

Jamie rubs his jaw. He should be exasperated, he should, but instead the gears in his mind are turning. A few words stick out to him and then it’s like the final puzzle piece has clicked into place. 

“Hang on,” he says slowly. “Hold the fuck up. Did you mess things up on purpose?”

The moment the words are out of his mouth he wants to take them back and apologize, because there’s no way they’re actually true, except you have a look on your face that can only be described as guilty. 

“Fuuckkk,” Jamie breathes out and you hurriedly interject, “It wasn’t intentional! At least, not at first. It started because I was irritable because I hurt a lot, and then I convinced myself that I was faking it so I got mad at myself for being a little liar. And then I couldn’t sleep because I hurt so bad and everything was making me uncomfortable so I started snapping at you. I noticed it pretty quick so I figured I’d get the pain checked out and sorted because I didn’t think pulled muscles were supposed to last this long. And it turned out that it wasn’t a pulled muscle but some of my disks were all weird, and then one day in between physical therapy and the chiropractor, I fell on my back and jostled everything wrong and it fucking popped.”

Jamie thinks he knows exactly when that was. He remembers you saying something about falling while walking to your car after work and him asking if you needed ice. It was at the tail end of things, and he’d taken your stiffness figuratively as opposed to literally. Like, you were acting all cold because you hated him, not because you couldn’t move. 

“So,” you continue, “I just leaned into it. I mean, Dr. Hadley was only one of my doctors, but she’s the one who told me I- you know, could end up like this. She said if things popped and it got into my spinal cord or fluid or whatever and they couldn’t get it out, it was only a matter of time before it messed everything up. They only way to stop it at that point would be to not move so either way, I end up stuck.” 

You half-sob, half-laugh. “I didn’t know how to tell you and I could tell you were already annoyed with me so I just decided to let it happen. You’re better off without me, anyway. I hate asking for help and I hate when people give me empathetic looks or what-fucking-ever, and I was going to have to ask you for a lot of help. You don’t even fucking have time for that, Jamie.”

Jamie is at a loss for words, and you’ve run out of things to say. 

You stare at each other in the hallway by the elevator, breathing heavily. You’ve both triggered each other’s fight-or-flight response, and it seems you’re both down for a fight.

“Right,” Jamie says finally, “ok, yeah, ok. You didn’t tell me because you didn’t want me to have to deal with this?”

You nod. 

“Right,” he says again. “That’s fucked up.”

You don’t respond and he looks at you closely. “You know that’s fucked up, yeah?”

You shrug. 

“Jesus, babe.” Jamie runs his hands through his hair. He’s going to have to fix his headbands. “Alright,” he says yet again, “look. Dr. Sharon and me- we talk. And, you’re supposed to be able to talk to people about shit like this. Like, me playing football isn’t supposed to mean I don’t have time for the people I love. And if you’re feeling that way or if you’re hurting, you have to tell me so I don’t think you’re being all pissed off because you hate me. That’s the whole point of love, babe. You take care of each other’s shit.”

“Jamie, I can’t get places easily anymore. I can’t drive and I can’t go up steps. I will never be able to storm the pitch to kiss you or walk with you in Brazil. I get mad really easily because everything’s so fucking frustrating and I just want to punch something.” You shake your head. “You don’t deserve any of that. You need someone who can be there for you and isn’t a total pill to be around.”

“Are you fucking trying to push me away?” he asks.

“Yes!” you exclaim. “Obviously!”

“Well fucking don’t. You almost had me the first time, but good luck getting rid of me now.”

“Fine!”

“Fine!”

“For fuck’s sake, just kiss,” groans Will, walking by with an armful of laundry. 

“Fuck off, William!” you both say in unison and then Jamie’s on one knee, eye-level with you and brushing a thumb across your chin. 

“Fucking hell, love,” he breathes. “You have to remember that you can talk to me, yeah? Just promise you’ll remember.”

You nod, unable to speak. 

“Good,” he says. “We’re giving this another go. And if you can’t kiss me on the pitch, might as well do it here, yeah?”

[bluemari23]

Can you please write bts reaction when their crush's niece or nephew (19 months old) says their name? I have a niece who is the same age, and I managed to get her to say Suga!!! It was sooo cute🥰🥰

omg so I also managed to get my younger nephew (when he was a baby) to say suga! it was the absolute cutest thing ever!!

also, I kind of changed it from their crush to their s/o because I was finding trouble trying to write it. I hope that's okay!

Namjoon

He can't help but to watch you as you play with your niece. You both were babysitting while your sister and brother-in-law were out for a date night.

"Okay, now who is your favorite uncle?" He hears you question your niece, making his eyebrows furrow in confusion, knowing you only have one brother.

He moves closer to hear what's going on better, only for him to hear your niece begin to chant his name.

"Joon! Joon! Joon!"

"Good job baby!" Namjoon absolutely swoons, running up to you both and taking your niece from your arms, swinging her around as she claps her hands.

Jin

"So, we don't have any more fruit, but we do have some yogurt?" Jin questions as he turns to you, where you stand at the kitchen island holding your nephew on your hip.

"That'll work!" You exclaim, just happy there is something in the fridge your fruit hungry nephew will eat.

"Now, why don't you hold him while I get his high chair from the living room." You hand Jin your nephew and go to the living room, leaving your two favorite boys alone.

"Now, it'll be our little secret, huh?" Jin whispers to your nephew, handing him a small little spoonful of whip cream before reaching for the yogurt.

"Jinjinjinjin." You nephew babbles, but all Jin hears is his name.

"BAby! He said my name!" Jin yells out, your nephew still repeating his name to varying different cadences and tones.

"Oh yeah, ive been trying to teach him." Your nonchalant tone is ignored by him, as he jumps up and down with your nephew in excitement.

Yoongi

Daycare was filled with f many children but he couldn't find your niece. He was the one supposed to pick her up from daycare today, seeing as you had a last minute appointment.

"Hello, I'm here for (niece's name)." Yoongi say's to the first worker he can find, but is ignored in favor of the man chasing after a running toddler.

"Uh, okay." Yoongi just keeps moving forward, only to see your niece wobbling toward him, yelling his name, well, a version of it."

"Yooni. Yooni. Yooni." Oh my god, Yoongi doesn't think he's seen anything cuter than you, but maybe your niece wins this round.

"Hi, baby." He coos, picking her up in his arms and giving her a kiss on her temple.

"Did your auntie teach you my name?" He questions before humming to himself as he carries your niece and her bag to the door.

Hoseok

"Now, are you sure I'm doing this right, baby?"

"Yes Hobi, I promise." You watched as your husband tried to wrangle your nephew into his onesie for bed. It was a little funny for you, seeing as your nephew didn't want to go to bed and knew that you both were trying to get him to bed.

"Obi Obi Obi!" Your nephew chants in-between giggles, think his uncle was playing with him. His words stops Hoseok in his tracks, knowing your nephew was saying his name, or well, as best as he could.

Hoseoks, head whips around to look at you, a sheepish smile on your lips as your surprise for him kind of failed, but still ended up working.

"Uh, surprise?" You give him a grin, listening as your nephew continues to chant your husbands name.

It takes a couple more long minutes before your nephew is dressed and in bed before Hoseok is upon you and presses kiss after kiss on your lips in excitement and happiness.

Jimin

"Now, little one, say Minie." Jimin pleads with your niece again, trying to get her to say his name before she says your brothers name. He is determined to be the favorite uncle (even if you're not married yet).

She just continues to giggle, thinking he is playing a game with her as he bounces her up and down in his lap. His facial expressions of dramatic despair aren't really helping his plans either.

"Please, for uncle Minie" He tries again, only to get more giggling and a small hit to his cheek as a reply.

You can't help but feel a little bad for your fiancé. So you decide to show him what you've been working on the past couple weeks when he was away on tour.

"Alright, babygirl. Why don't we show uncle Minie what we've been working on, huh?" You sit behind Jimin, leaning on his shoulder as your niece listens and reveals your surprise.

"My Minie!" She practically screams at him as she jumps at him, almost knocking him back from the force of her excitement.

Jimin's eyes are wide, mouth open in shock as holds her to his chest. It takes him a couple of seconds, but then he moves quickly, holding both you and your niece in his arms and almost bouncing in excitement.

Taehyung

"You know, love, I don't think I'm doing this right?" You turn away from stirring the soup on the stove to see your nephew literally hanging and swinging from your boyfriend's arm.

You can't help but let out a small laugh at the expression of confusion on your boyfriend's face, and the happiness on your nephew's.

You turn back around, turning the stove off and moving the soup to let it cool down before turning back to your two guys, watching as your nephew tries to climb up onto Taehyung's shoulders.

"tae tae tae tae tae." Your nephew repeats, something you're not sure your boyfriend can even hear as he talks over your nephew.

"Is he supposed to do this? How is he this strong already? Doesn't he need to take a nap?" Your boyfriend just continues to ramble, unsure of himself until he stops.

"TAE!" Your nephew is yelling now, pulling at his hair, trying to get his attention.

"Did he just say what I think he said?" Taehyung's eyes are wide, his body frozen as he stares over at you, now noticing the smile growing on your lips.

"I taught him how to say your name while you were out with Jungkook."

As soon as those words leave your lips, Taehyung, with your nephew still clinging to him, moves over and cups your cheeks, kissing you deeply on the lips causing a noise of disgust to leave your nephews lips.

Jungkook

"Do it again!"

"Please, (nephew's name)!" Jungkook pleads with your nephew as he walks into the room, holding your nephew against his chest and walking your way.

"Show your aunt what you did, please!" Jungkook continues his pleading, making the grin on your nephews lips grow wider as he enjoys the "game" they're playing.

"What did he do, exactly?" You question, the side of your lip tilted up as you try not to smile, knowing exactly what your nephew was doing, you having put him up to it.

"He said my name!" Jungkook exclaimed, excitement lacing his tone as he looks at you.

"Oh, did he?" You question teasingly, pretending you don't believe him.

"Yes!" He turns back to your nephew, "Now, don't be shy, show auntie what you did?"

It seems your nephew had enough teasing, and decided it was time to say it again.

"Kookie!" Your nephew claps his hands, proud of himself as Jungkook bounces him in his arms, happy that he didn't imagine what happened.

"See!"

"Yes, baby. I see." You smile at your favorite men.

I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)

[mpregandproud]

Isaac II (Part 6)

After the last scare, everyone at home was very attentive to me again. I felt like a king with so much attention. My children brought Isaac and me breakfast in bed, cleaned the house, and were all day long looking after me to provide me with all the attention I needed. Maybe it was too much attention, but I'm not going to complain, it's not every day a man can feel so well taken care of.

Sandra went to live with Cal. The idea was that they would move in together later, but between the pregnancy and giving me some peace and quiet at home, they decided to start their life project together without further delay. The good thing is that since they live in the same town we see them all the time.

Patrick and Isaac are living a kind of honeymoon. The two families know about their relationship and his future fatherhood. After overcoming their initial doubts they are in that phase of unbridled euphoria. You can tell their youth by seeing them continuously snuggled up on each other in a corner of the couch giving each other kisses. It is not surprising to see them spending a night at each other's house. If they were in a normal situation, as parents, we would tell them that they can't sleep at their boyfriend's house, but of course, nothing is going to change anymore.

Three weeks later our older children returned to college. Sandra, on the other hand, opted to take a year off to be a mom. She and Cal are staying in town working at his parents' business, an upscale clothing store. Our youngest children are back in high school. All of them, including Patrick. We had second thoughts about sending him to high school or tutoring him and Isaac, but they both wanted to go on with their normal lives, even though they might have a hard time in school.

I could use a little relaxation at home to re-live this moment with some intimacy. Isaac still didn't want to have sex with me, though. If he was already afraid at the first warning, the last scare made him completely abandon the idea of fucking me again. For him it is more important to sacrifice us until the children are born. “We'll have many years to fuck wildly,” says the idiot. I can't wait, I'm pregnant, hormones are making me horny all day long, I need to fuck once and for all. But nothing, impossible, I had married the most strong-willed man in history.

The beginning of the school year was complicated for Isaac and Patrick. Not a single day went by without some hooligans calling them “faggots” and picking on them for having put on weight. And with the usual unconsciousness of adolescence, or out of sheer pride, both shouted to the four winds that they were pregnant and kissed each other in the middle of the hallway. Be that as it may, that almost suicidal gesture meant that they were never messed with again. In the light of this, these characters only dare with those who are afraid of them. Good for my son. I wish I had been like him when I was young.

At five months pregnant I had an appointment with the doctor for a new ultrasound. I called Dr. Caroline to also treat Sandra, Isaac and Patrick so they could feel more comfortable with someone they trusted.

To reassure them I had them come in before me, but they wanted me to go with them. Sandra went in first with Cal, and on the way out she was thrilled to learn that she was pregnant with a girl. Knowing the history in the family she was really scared that she might be pregnant with multiples, but no, as Dr. Caroline told her, it is not that common for women to have multiples.

Then it was Isaac's turn, so I went with him. When he came into the office he asked if Patrick could come in as well since he was his partner. Dr. Caroline agreed, it wasn't the usual thing to do, but she was fine with them going through this together. They both wanted me to stay too.

Isaac was the first to lie down on the gurney. He was the one with the bigger belly of the two. Even though they were supposed to be 3 months pregnant, he had an obvious belly already. The doctor put the gel on his belly and began to explore him. Isaac was shaking, Patrick took his hand. “Congratulations, boy, you're expecting three beautiful babies. Triplets”, the doctor told him. Isaac's face was somewhere between excitement and shock. Finding out you're expecting three babies at the same time at such a young age has to be overwhelming.

“Three kids? Patrick I'm scared, what are we going to do?” said Isaac. “Don't worry, honey, we'll get through this, and we'll get through it together. We can handle this and so much more”, Patrick told him and kissed Isaac on the forehead. When he sat up and wiped the gel off his belly he melted into a hug with Patrick. As mature as they are, sometimes I forget that they are just two little boys going through an experience that doesn't fit their age.

After a couple of minutes of cheering each other on it was Patrick's turn. The younger of the two didn't have as big a belly as Isaac's, although I'm afraid he won't get as much positive news as Sandra. As Dr. Caroline applied the gel to his belly, Patrick asked her if she thought they might be multiples as well. “Yes, it is very possible. The cases of pregnant men that we have documented, which are not many yet, tell us that the likelihood of having multiples is much higher in men than in women. The scientific community has a theory that having larger body sizes benefits the gestation of more babies at the same time”, Caroline replied. “I see”, Patrick said somewhat contritely. “But we'd better get it out of the way”, said the doctor.

After a few moments the last doubt was cleared up. “Twins, you're expecting two babies, Patrick”, Caroline told him. “Two babies, Isaac”, Patrick was excited and happy. I'm surprised he wasn't scared like Isaac. “Aren't you scared, my love?"”" I asked him. “No, I know it won't be easy, but you and daddy were able to raise twelve babies almost at the same time, and I'm sure Isaac and I will make it being together", he sat up slightly and kissed Isaac on the mouth. “I love you so much Isaac, we're going to make it, don't worry, together we can”, and kissed him again. This scoundrel has forgotten that Caroline and I are here.

When the two boys left the room to wait for me, it was my turn. The doctor confirmed that I was doing well with my pregnancy and that she thought the rest was doing me good to avoid further scares.

“You see, doctor, the rest is doing me good for the pregnancy, but not so much for my personal life. I don't know if you understand me”, I told her.

“You and Isaac haven't had sex all this time?”, she asked me in surprise.

“No, not once. He thinks if we fuck he's going to kill the kids or something”, I explained.

Dr. Caroline laughed. “No, nothing like that. Sex is not dangerous for you. You need to not exert yourself physically, but the hormones that sex would release would do you a lot of good to help you physically in this process. Sex is health, sex is always beneficial, tell Isaac to cut the crap”, and she burst out laughing again.

I picked up Patrick and Isaac and dropped them off at the high school to attend the last classes of the day. I came home and there was my husband teleworking. When I saw him I grabbed him by the shirt and immediately pulled him into bed.

“That's it, let's fuck once and for all!”, I told him so confidently that he was startled. “Dr. Caroline told me that we have to fuck a lot, that it releases substances in my body that will help me cope better with the pregnancy. That you're not going to put the babies at risk. OK?”, I told him.

Isaac let out a snort. “Fuck, why didn't you ask sooner, do you know how hard it's been for me to put up with me all this time? I'd see you around the house with your huge belly, your wide hips, your rounded thighs and that ass that looks like it's begging me to give it love. Let's not wait any longer”, he said.

We sat on the bed and he started to take off my shirt. It had been so long since I had felt this pleasure. His hands running over every millimeter of my pregnancy-tightened skin. He took off my shirt and moved down to my pants, which hid the biggest erection I've ever had. He laid me down on the bed, removed my underwear and took my penis into his mouth. It took me 10 seconds to cum and I still had a huge erection.

He undressed completely. He lay down next to me and asked me to mount him, to put his cock up my ass and ride him. I asked him if he was sure, I no longer weighed the same as I did five months ago, I had already gained 110 pounds since I got knocked up between the pregnancy, fluid retention and all the food my husband and children were feeding me. He didn't hesitate for a moment. He begged me to do it and I did. I felt his skin inside me again. He cum just as fast as I did for the first time, filling me up inside like I hadn't for a long time.

Why did we wait all this time? I don't know, but after today I'm sure it was worth it. But despite the good, I don't plan to wait that long again, we have to make up for lost time.

Go to Part 7

[thetorturedbuckydepartment]

chapter seven: looming on the horizon

pairing: Bucky barnes x plus-sized!reader

summary: Six months ago, you were appointed to be Head Nurse to the Avengers by Tony Stark. Every day, you count your lucky stars, knowing the horrible past you quickly ditched back in England. It holds you back, restrains you, from getting close to anyone when on your new job.

That's until you met and fell in love with Bucky Barnes. The supposed assassin with a heart of gold, who seems to be eager to get to know you. To peel back your layers piece by piece, but could you trust him once you're laid before him raw and vulnerable?

masterlist

PREVIOUS PART -- CHAPTER SIX: I THINK HE KNOWS

warnings: language, mentions of Bucky’s past (very brief), mentions of potential DV (not explained), mild angst

word count: 2.3k

Taglist: @scott-loki-barnes @cjand10 @blackwidownat2814 @blackbirdwitch22 @laughterafter  @blackhawkfanatic @mcira @bxckybxrnes24 @rachellovesloki @toffeacademia @bean-bean2000 @lana525 @selella

A/N: hope u guys like it so far!! and it's just the calm before the mild storm in the next chapter, so be prepared for emotional turmoil! pls like / comment / reblog if you are enjoying the story or if you want to be added to the taglist!!

It was the best way to wake up on one of the coldest nights of the year — wrapped up so sweetly in Bucky’s arms tight around you, murmuring your name every so often in his sleep, and your legs entangled in the most intimate way. Or maybe he’s awake and is doing it for the hell of it — for the love of your name on his tongue.

It is nothing short of magical — especially after the confessions he made to you last night about not fucking Sharon. About how he finds you prettier. It makes your head spin with something a lot lighter, and less bitter than alcohol. It makes you glow. 

The sleepy smile on your face quickly drops when the sharp dagger of morning regret pierces your skull, and suddenly everything is too bright and loud. You rest your forehead against Bucky’s chest, the steady beat of his heart working to soothe you, and to drown out any other noises that make you wince.

“You awake already, doll?” And oh, you missed this. The night where Bucky was drunk and you had slept together, the thing you missed the most was the morning after. His sleep-fogged voice and his lazy limbs, pulling you in tighter. As he is now.

“You can sleep in a bit more, we still have a couple hours before Fury wants us in a meeting. I’ll be right here, promise.” His grip on you tightens, and you try and muster a single sentence that isn’t tinged with pain.

“My head hurts, Buck.” You whine and pout like a little child, even though he can’t see you. And it’s a shame you miss the most dopey grin on his face in the process — so content with the new development in matters of his heart that all he wants to do is spend the day away with you. Exactly like this, all wrapped up in each other, cosy and warm. He feels like he’s died and gone to heaven, to be able to hold your soft and warm body to his in this way.

“You did have an awful lot to drink last night, love.” The nickname sets your cheeks on fire, and you hug him tighter to you, arm secure around his back, and you begin to stroke up and down with the very tips of your fingers. He shudders against you, and you just think he’s cold.

“Mmhmm. Oh well, it was nice while it lasted.” You can’t believe that that’s what it took to end up like this with him again.

“I missed you.” He presses a kiss to the top of your hair, and you feel your heart speed up, beating so hard it reverberates around your throat and adds to your headache.

“Me? When?” You snuggle further into his grip, even though it’s beginning to burn with the heat generated between the both of you. 

“Always. When I’m sparring, when I’m teaching fuckass trainees how to not get themselves killed on missions. But I missed sleeping with you, like this. The last time we did, it was probably the first time in ages I’ve slept properly. You’re so comforting…I missed that.”

You grin, even though he can’t see it. “Me too. I— I think it’s the first time I’ve felt so safe sleeping next to someone else. I just wasn’t sure how to ask to do it again, you know…all things considering.”

“Yeah? You wanna do this again?” He asks, silently begging you to say yes. He remembers when he would pray for times like this, to be held and feel something that wasn’t abuse or pain. And he will pray again, on his hands and knees, just to hold you like this for five minutes more.

“Yes. I would love to.” He smiles, his heart too beating hard at your remittence to him. He kisses your head again.

“Since you’re up, you wanna go have breakfast? I can make us pancakes.” You shake your head.

“No, no. You’ve done enough, let me do something for you, for once.” You begin to move away, but he pulls you right back. 

“You think you can handle it with your headache, baby? That’s cute, but just sit back and let me do this for you, please? You already do more than enough for me, by making me happy. Now, we’ll get up in five minutes, okay? Just five more.” You can’t resist, giving in. Especially after feeling the chill in your room.

“Mm, just five.” 

Five minutes turns into an hour. Which turns into two. And then you really have to get up, and he leaves you like it kills him. He returns with some medicines for your head and a glass of water, and you take them willingly, letting your hands brush. He sits next to you, and you talk some more. He carefully detangles your hair as best as he can, and you let him. 

He probably doesn’t know how big a deal this is for you. Part of the reason you left England behind is to do with it. Well, not exactly. But your ex-boyfriend just loved pulling on your hair too much. When he was angry, when he was horny. 

You’ve never let anyone touch it since. Bucky knows this, and ever the gentleman, he asks. He always asks you, what you want. How could you not fall for him?

And then, while swallowing bitter white tablets with fingers carding through your hair, you realise you’re falling in love with him. And it scares you.

And then you smile, wider than you ever have before.

                                            ————————

Bucky can’t let go of you. He holds onto you tight, arm around your shoulders without a care in the world for who sees. What they say.

Because when you smiled at him so sweetly, and let him run his hands through your soft, perfect hair, it sealed the deal. When you laid with him for hours after promising a few minutes, he knew it. He felt it, in his bones, in his heart.

He’s in love with you.

Desperately.

Madly.

And it’s a beautiful feeling, regardless of if you feel the same or not.

You sit next to each other in the meeting room, as always. And just like clockwork, Fury looks angry, Steve determined. The rest of you, incredibly confused. 

Tony stands at the head of the table, and all eyes turn to him and you slip your hand out of Bucky’s not wanting to get caught. You weren’t doing anything wrong, but for someone to see and assume the wrong things, the painful things, will only break your heart worse.

Bucky is perfect, he’s everything you want…in the body of a man you can’t have. 

You might be falling in love, but it’s one-sided, you’re certain.

“Alright, now what I’m about to say doesn’t leave this room. Understood?” Everyone nods solemnly.

“We’ve just got intel that HYDRA are setting up a base here, in the old estate of the Russian millionaire, Anastasia Antonov.”

“The CEO of BloodRush Tech,” Nat informs from your other side, leaning in with interest. BloodRush Tech works in conjoinment with the government to create the most up-to-date technology to aid in hospitals and the military. Her involvement…would put the entire nation at risk. You gasp next to her, knowing the grave threat that must be prevented.

“Right now, she’s vacationing in Bali while ex-HYDRA agents move into the green fields and set up a base. We’re not sure exactly what they’re planning to do, as of yet, but we suspect that this will be the first of several covert locations across the state and country, operating much like sleeper cells,” Steve continues from the other side of the table, and your heart drops. You quickly glance back at Bucky and grab his hand again, sandwiching it between both of yours. It happens to be his vibranium one, but you stroke it in soothing motions nonetheless, knowing that even the mention of the certain organisation’s name puts him on edge. He leans into your touch, marvelling in how you’re quick to comfort him. In all of your months being here, this is probably the biggest threat you’ve seen. He’s wondered why you’re not more stressed, or scared.

“So what’s the mission, Tony?” Bucky asks, being extra polite even though there is a rivalry there. You’ve never asked what it is, and he’s never offered the information by himself. You choose not to push it, not knowing what invisible landmines you might step on.

“The estate is recently purchased, and Anastasia’s link is still dubious. Knowing HYDRA, there’s no chance it’s just a simple transaction, so we’ll be running surveillance on her. The main mission is to infiltrate the Antonov Czech Estate, get all the data they may have  and get out. It’s a simple extraction, shouldn’t take more than a few hours. Sharon’s done some espionage for us, and she’s reported that there’s currently only around 6 agents on site.”

“I’ll go.” Bucky says, steely eyes determined. He’s never looked more beautiful in this moment, his heart of gold shining through. You worry, though. Should he be allowed to go? You don’t know the extent of his rehabilitation in Wakanda, if the Winter Soldier is still in there, somewhere. He’s told you, through tears and heavy breaths, how he’s scared the Winter Soldier can still take over, regardless of all the triggers being removed. Going into a place crawling with people who can essentially turn Bucky, the Bucky you know and love, off. 

You decide to voice your concerns later, in private. You rub your hands against him, silently reassuring him. “You sure? The original plan was Steve and Nat go in, and Nurse tags along with her crew for damage control.” Even as Tony speaks, you and Bucky look at each other, blue eyes staring into yours, silently communicating.

Are you sure you want to go? Your eyebrows twitch at him.

Positive. I can handle it.

I’ll be there too, if it helps.

He flashes you a quick smile, in acceptance of your reassurance, before returning to the conversation. “I can go, Stark. There’s nobody who would know HYDRA better.” You catch the stutter in his voice, and grip him even tighter. “No offence, Steve,” he quips.

Steve breaks his professional character for a split second, offering Bucky a small smile back. Bucky revels in it, feeling like he’s finally getting back all of the pieces of him he’s lost to time and cruelty. His heart, given to you and you only. His sense of camaraderie, provided by the others in this room.

“Yeah, sure. I trust him, we can work together. Plus, Nurse is going. He’ll definitely be fine.” Nat flashes you a smirk, which you try to ignore. Everyone turns to look at you, and the shame creeps up your neck in a hot tendril at all of the eyes on you. 

“Um, Mr Stark, I actually had a question about that.” You swallow, your voice coming out more meek than you intend. You’re facing away from Bucky, but you can feel his arm wind itself around you, reassuring you and granting you the courage to speak louder. 

Tony smiles, still taken aback at your polite manner in a room full of crass brutes. “Nurse, you can just call me Tony. Go ahead, sweetheart.”

You sit up a little straighter, forcing confidence into your tone, even as you feel Sharon glare at you. Why is she doing that? Is she jealous that you’re being so touchy with Bucky? Why would she be, though? You may be staring at him with hearts in your eyes, but he looks at you with platonic fondness. Nothing more, you remind yourself.

You deal with the matter at hand. 

“Um, who else is going on the mission? I just need to know in terms of numbers, because I’ll need to take the same number of nurses, and two surplus just so we have all the hands we could ever need on deck. And then I’d have to work out a schedule for the infirmary here, so…” Tony considers your question deeply, fingers tapping his chin in thought.

“Hmm…So for now we have Nat and Bucky. Then we’ll have two SHIELD ops to do surveillance. That’s pretty much it, seeing as it’s a covert mission.”

“Okay. I’ll be taking five nurses alongside myself, if that’s alright.”

“Sorry,” Steve cuts in. “We can only afford you and two more, dear. Otherwise, we risk exposing ourselves.” Your heart is beating out of your chest, can you do this?

You glance back at Bucky, the one person who is guaranteed to reassure you in your abundant moments of self-doubt. And you take a deep breath.

“Yeah, that’s fine. I can make it work.” You just need to make sure you’ve had a good night’s sleep, eaten well, and are wearing the comfiest pair of shoes. Just in case. 

“Great. We go Wheels up at 0300, in 12 hours.” As everyone begins filing out, you look at Bucky once again.

“We can do this,” you reassure the both of you, putting on a brave face. Your heart is going crazy, knowing the consequences of a poorly gone mission, not just for you and Bucky, or for the people in this compound. The entire nation rides on you, on your ability to carry out this mission and save everyone. But you'll think about that if things go south.

“We can do this. And, can I speak to you after the mission? There's something I want to talk about." He searches your eyes for any sign of panic he should quell. He finds none. He's made up his mind -- he'll tell you. Because looking into your opal eyes is like looking in a mirror, and he can't let the opportunity of a lifetime of a chance with you pass him by. You, not knowing any of this, nod. Ever curious, ever anxious.

But you’ll make sure Bucky comes out of this alive. Even if it kills you.

NEXT PART

[goatcheesecak3]

Bus stop Pt. 5

Adam Faulkner-Stanheight x F!reader

M!reader version will be out in the next few days :^)

Includes: brief mentions of past violence, allusion to ptsd/trauma, fluff, angsty themes

Summary: after much persuasion, Adam starts going to therapy. After a few sessions he's ready to face one of his biggest fears.

Adam and y/n sat in the waiting room of the therapist's office. The couple had been together for six months now, and y/n, who had always proudly gone to and advocated for therapy her whole life, had finally convinced Adam to make an appointment. This was y/n's regular therapist, Dr Luther Graham, a grey haired man in his sixties. He was exactly what you would picture if you imagined santa claus working a day job, a plump and rosy cheeked man with a long snowy white beard stuffed into a suit and suspenders. He was the sort of person anyone would feel safe talking to, which is why y/n was so sure that Adam would benefit from a session with him. Of course Adam, who was skeptical about therapy as a whole, was reluctant to pay him a visit, and only conceded that he would be willing to give therapy a try if y/n promised to go with him.

The waiting room felt like a living room from the sixties, with brown walls, art deco chairs (which looked fun, but weren't the most comfortable), and yellow mood lighting. The room felt welcoming, but in a clinical way, as though it was an alien's perception of what a human home was supposed to feel like, Adam supposed. The brown walls were adorned with certificates and plaques boasting Dr Graham's qualifications. Adam assumed that these were meant to inspire confidence in patients that this was a legitimate doctor who knew what he was doing, but for him they only reminded him of his own lack of high school diploma.

Adam's fingers were entangled with y/n's as the pair sat quietly, waiting to be called into the office. He suddenly felt a small squeeze on his hand, and turned to look at y/n.

"You're biting at your lip again, sweetie" she whispered, "what's wrong?"

Adam shook his head

"Just... this is all kinda new to me"

Y/n gave him a sympathetic smile

"Doctor Graham is lovely, I promise, you don't need to be frightened. If you really don't like it once we get in there, we can go straight home, but you'll be so proud of yourself for at least giving it a try"

Adam smiled weakly, and held y/n's hand tighter.

A wooden door creaked open, and out popped a smiling Doctor Graham's head.

"You must be Adam" he beamed, "come on in, I'm sure y/n's already told you about how this all works"

Adam shot y/n a terrified look.

"Oh, Doctor Graham, Adam was hoping I would be able to come in with him for his first session, just to make him feel more safe" y/n said calmly

"That's absolutely fine, whatever makes you most comfortable, Adam" Dr Graham smiled.

In the office were two sofas facing eachother, one which seated Doctor Graham, the other Adam and y/n. The silence was punctuated only by the ticking of an ancient looking grandfather clock, until Dr Graham spoke.

"So Adam, why don't you start by telling me a bit about yourself?

Adam turned to look at y/n, almost for approval. His eyes were asking "can I trust him? Can I tell him about me?"

"Go on, sweetheart, you don't need to be afraid" y/n encouraged him.

Adam let out a deep breath and began to speak.

"My name is Adam, I'm twenty-six and I'm a photographer. Oh, and I was kidnapped by a serial killer a few months back" he scoffed, in that familiar unserious tone.

It wasn't that Adam took what he went through lightly, quite the opposite in fact, it was just that he could only even begin to broach the subject in a jokey manner or else he'd begin to spiral.

"Would you care to elaborate on that last point for me, Adam?" Doctor Graham enquired.

"I don't really like talking about it" Adam replied.

"I understand that, not wanting to talk about a traumatic event isn't unusual. But I'm certain you often think about what you endured. Perhaps you might find some comfort in articulating those thoughts out loud, Adam. Legally I can't tell anyone about what's said in this room, so it would be just as private as your thoughts, only this way you get some advice in return" Dr Graham said.

Adam stared at his feet and considered what the doctor had said. If he was being honest with himself, it sounded like a good deal, but he was still unsure.

"You know, Adam," y/n said,  "maybe you'd feel like you could talk more freely if I stepped outside? People tend to get the most out of therapy when they have privacy"

Adam shook his head

"No, I can't do this without you, don't leave" his voice had a tinge of desperation to it, and his grip on her hand tightened, something which Doctor Graham seemed to pick up on.

"You've made it clear that you feel safer in y/n's company, why is that, Adam? Enlighten me" he asked.

Adam let out a deep breath that he didn't know he was holding.

"Y/n takes care of me and we love eachother, why wouldn't I want her to stay?"

"Well that makes sense, but judging from your reaction when you thought she might leave the room, perhaps it's less to do with you feeling comforted by her presence, but moreso afraid of her absence. Tell me, Adam, have you experienced any significant abandonment in your life?"

Adam was absolutely floored by this, Doctor Graham seemed to be able to read him like a book. His bit his lip and stared at the floor, his body tense and uncomfortable as he shifted in his seat.

"I suppose you could say that, yeah... when I was being held captive there was this doctor who was being held with me, he managed to escape and he said he'd get help but the asshole never came back."

His voice was laced with anger and hurt.

"Thank you for sharing that, Adam, I know that must have been difficult for you" Dr Graham said, "is the fear of abandonment a regular thought for you?"

Adam nodded

"I try not to let it get to me but... I don't know, I guess it's something I worry about a lot"

The conversion got a lot deeper over the hour long session, Adam opened up about his time spent in the bathroom, about how he was scared of the dark and how the sound of metal clanging put him straight back in that room. And of course, how bathrooms as a whole were something he did his best to avoid, only showering if he really had to. Dry shampoo and deodorant had been his best friends for the last few months.

"Well, that about wraps it up for today's session. Well done for being so candid and honest Adam, I hope you'll benefit from this"

"Um... thanks" Adam bit his fingernail nervously, but managed a small smile. He really was proud of himself.

"Do you think maybe... I could book another one of these? For like next week or something?" He asked shyly.

"Of course, I'm very glad you've found this helpful" Doctor Graham beamed, "I'll book you in for the same time next week?"

...

Later that day, y/n was over at Adam's apartment folding up some of his clothes and putting them away, while Adam sat on the bed bundled up with a blanket draped over his shoulders. He had been feeling somewhat vulnerable after opening up and reliving his trauma earlier on, so he was enjoying being babied a bit. Y/n had made him a warm mug of tea and taken care of any chores he needed doing around the apartment, just to give him some time to recover.

Although Adam did indeed look adorable all wrapped up, he was beginning to smell... ripe was the kind way to put it.

"Sweetheart?" Y/n asked

"Hm?"

"I was thinking about what you said earlier, about not liking bathrooms... and I was wondering if I could help you with that?"

Adam froze, his entire body tense and immediately afraid.

"Only if and when you're comfortable, maybe I could run you a bath and I'll get in with you, to make sure you know you're not on your own?"

Adam bit his lip and looked away, embarrassed.

Of course he wanted that in theory, sharing a relaxing bath with his beautiful girlfriend was any man's dream, but the reality? He was frightened. He could barely take a two minute shower, let alone a full bath.

"You don't have to make any decisions yet, but when you're ready I want you to know that I'm here for you, okay?" Y/n said, her voice soft and gentle, as though she were worried that she may scare him away.

Adam nodded, and retreated further into his blanket, feeling uneasy at the prospect of taking a bath.

"Oh sweetheart, come here" y/n said lovingly, taking a seat beside him and wrapping her arms around him, "I don't care how long it takes, I'm never giving up on you baby"

She pressed a kiss into Adam's temple, as his body relaxed and fell into her, clinging onto her tshirt tightly.

...

A week later,  Adam was due to stay at y/n's house overnight. He'd had an appointment with Doctor Graham earlier on in the day, alone this time, and had reached the conclusion that he was ready to tackle his fear of bathrooms. He was terrified, but he knew it was time. He texted y/n.

Adam: I think I want to try having a bath

Y/n: sweetheart, I'm so proud of you! Do you want to try at my place tonight?

Adam: yeah, I think I do

But I'm still really nervous

I might chicken out at the last minute

Y/n: the fact that you're even considering it is such a huge step, well done baby :) how about when you come over, ill run you a bath and you can decide later if you think you're ready to get in. We'll take this at your pace, okay honey?

Adam: that sounds good. Thank you :)

Adam arrived at y/n's apartment feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. He hated feeling so helpless, so vulnerable. He wanted nothing more than to overcome his fear, but it was difficult for him. Every thought in his brain was screaming at him to turn on his heels and run home, but he wanted to be brave, and he knocked on the door.

Y/n welcomed him in with a smile and a much needed hug, before escorting him to the sofa and placing an already made mug on hot chocolate on the coffee table in front of him. She'd made it just the way Adam liked, with marshmallows and lots of cream- he had a real sweet tooth.

"I know you're nervous, but I want you to know that you don't have to do this if you don't think you're ready. Just relax and enjoy your drink, no one's gonna be upset if you don't think you can do it yet" y/n cooed, sensing Adam's fear before he had even spoke.

"Thank you" he smiled weakly, "I was thinking, maybe we could start with me just standing in the doorway to the bathroom, and I can watch while you run the bath? Just to get myself prepared?"

Y/n felt her heart ache. She was so proud of her sweet boy for being so brave, he really was trying, but it just killed her to see him so scared. Something so small, just being in a bathroom made this grown man tremble with fear like a beaten dog. She silently cursed the name jigsaw for doing this to such a sweet man.

"Alright sweetheart, if you think that might help" she replied, wiping a small bit of hot chocolate off of the corner of Adam's mouth, making him chuckle slightly.

Adam finished his drink, and hesitantly followed y/n to her bathroom. It was a simple room, not much that was worthy of note, but one thing which comforted Adam was the cleanliness of it all. No dirt, no grime, it even had a light floral smell emanating from a bowl of potpourri on the windowsill.

He stood in the doorway to the room, hugging himself and watching longingly as his girlfriend fearlessly entered the room. He wished that he could do that too.

"Alright, babe, I'm gonna turn the tap on now, I'll make sure we get the bath nice and warm okay?"

Adam couldn't speak

"Look, I've even got some bubblebath to try and make it feel a bit less serious" she comforted, showing a bottle of lavender scented bubblebath to him.

"O.. okay" Adam nodded.

As the minutes went by, Adam watched as the tub filled up, and the time to actually enter the room drew closer. With every passing second his heartbeat grew stronger, until he swore he could practically taste his pulse. He swallowed a lump that seemed to be forming in his throat and bit his lip, like he always did when he was anxious.

"Are you ready?" Y/n's voice interrupted his train of thought.

Adam shook his head, "I don't ever think I'll be ready" he laughed wearily, trying not to let himself spiral. Despite the way he felt, Adam began to get undressed, pushing through his fear as best as he could.

Y/n had removed her clothes as well and was ready to get into the bath.

"You wanna do this together?" She asked, holding her hand out for Adam to take it. His own hand trembled like a leaf, he breathed heavily through his nose, as he shut his eyes and took a step forward into the bathroom.

"Well done, sweetheart, you're doing so well"

He flinched slightly as his bare feet touched the cold tile ground, a feeling he knew all too well, but soon his feet found themselves on a soft and fluffy bathmat, and his fears depleted.

Stood next to the bath, hand in hand with y/n, Adam stared down into the water. The last time he'd been in a bath was when he had woken up in one, fully clothed, freezing and shackled to a pipe. This was nothing like that, he thought. The water looked warm and enticing, almost welcoming.

"You don't have to if you don't want-"

"No." Adam cut y/n off, "I need to do this. I.. I don't want to be scared anymore"

His words sounded confident, but his voice trembled. Tightening his grip on y/n's hand, he stepped into the water.

Y/n stepped in with him, her soft hands making their way around his body, holding him in a tight hug.

"Baby, I'm so proud of you" she whispered, kissing his cheek.

Adam gulped, he could feel his breaths becoming shallow, but he knew it was now or never.

"If.. if I sit down will you hold me?" He asked, his lips quivering

"Of course honey, I'll even wash your hair for you" y/n replied, her voice calm and reassuring. Everything about her brought Adam peace, she was his personal sanctuary. If she was with him, he could do anything.

With a deep breath, Adam sat down in the bath, leaning back into y/n's chest and letting the warm water run over his body. Y/n was hugging him tightly from behind, placing gentle kisses into the crook of his neck.

"So brave, I'm so proud of you honey"

Adam relaxed into her touch. He didn't say much, just allowed himself to feel her loving hands all over him. The way they carefully massaged his scalp with a sweet smelling shampoo, the way they gently caressed his bullet wound, accompanied by whispers of how handsome he was. An endless string of "I love you" and "I'm so proud of you" was all Adam could hear, not the sound of cold, damp dripping, the rattling of chains, or even his own thoughts. Unbelievably, he felt perfectly calm.

Once the bath was over, Adam got changed into a pair of pyjamas that y/n had bought specifically for when he stayed over. Snuggled up in bed together, he felt a sense of hope for the first time in a while. He was getting better, life was starting to be worth living.

A/n hello! Sorry this took so long to get out, I've had the flu and i haven't been able to write much without falling asleep lol. Sorry this isn't my best work, but I'm sure it's at least enjoyable! Also, I need Adam related suggestions because I'm feeling a bit lost for new ideas lately, so please leave a request! It can be something you might want to see in the bus stop series, or perhaps just a standalone fic with Adam, or some headcanons etc - anything really! I love getting requests :^)

Hope everyone is having a good new year so far! :^)

[zet-sway]

Fanfic: Sonnenblume

Or, I finally wrote a desert vacation fic.

[Read on AO3] - Rated E for SPICYEEEEEEEE

Pairing: Thane/FShep | Rating: 18+ | Words: ~4600

There’s a kind of transcendental brilliance to this place. Some kind of inebriating mix of oxytocin and fresh air and sunshine that ignites his synapses and levitates his heart until he feels he can touch the radiant sky.

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“I think I found a place,” she says one morning. “An old friend of my mom's, they have a vacation home back on Earth, out in the American Southwest.”

Thane raises a brow at her. They're cleaning out the cargo hold, offloading collector tech at the citadel tower dock for distribution to the council races, each of them making their requests for research and study.

“I've never been to Earth,” he muses. There are any number of arid planets to visit, it seems almost foolish he is just now considering that Earth has many climates, deserts included.

“I haven't been in a long time. Grew up in space, last time I was topside was before my Spectre appointment. But my mom's friend says it's the perfect time to visit. A month from now it'll be hotter than a Krogan’s quad.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Earth sounds lovely, Siha.”

Her smile could light up the deepest reaches of dark space.

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Day 1

They're docking in Vancouver, slipping out the cargo hold and on to a taxi to whisk them away right under the noses of the Alliance's top brass.

The joy in her eyes is supernatural, he thinks. Unshackled from the military for seven scant days, Shepard practically glows with the energy of her newfound freedom. They leave an absolutely amateur trail of evidence as they flee south, along the west coast of the United States, through mountains and redwoods and oceans. The only stop they need to make is to pick up new clothes, snacks, and sunscreen.

They're on vacation.

He has to think to remember how to say it in his mother tongue. Ten years ago, he hadn't the funds to take time away from work after his marriage. Like many within the Compact, his life had always been driven by work, using the few pockets of silence in the spaces between each job to secure the next contract, research the next target, or hone his skills. Little time had ever been spared for himself. This… outing, this vacation, is something he's long thought belonged to the upper echelons of society and caste.

But he supposes he is wealthy, in some sense.

He's in love.

Wealth is watching Shepard parade almost girlishly in front of the shopping center’s changing rooms, all blushing cheeks and nervous laughter as she twirls the golden yellow sundress that she insists she's “unsure” about. Wealth is the way her face lights up when she spots a large, wavy brimmed hat across the aisle and races to try it on. Wealth is how she winks at him over her oversized sunglasses, and the levity in her voice when she says, with a devil's grin, “They'll never recognize me now.”

She might be right. The man at the checkout counter doesn't spare them a second glance as he checks out with their things.

Vacation suits her. And as they hail another transit to take them to the arid southwest, he thinks it's beginning to suit him too. He's rather looking forward to the breezy garments he’d chosen for himself.

Shepard's ruby red hair is swallowed by her massive sun hat, casting a broad shadow down her lean and muscled frame and the golden fabric of her dress. “Civvies,” she calls them. “You know, civilian clothes.”

He's quite certain there's nothing civilian about her. Her shoulders are too square, her calves and arms too hardened. She turns the eyes of the other passengers, oblivious to or simply ignoring their blatant stares. He feels like a shadow by comparison, clothed for now in the dark colors so typical of his profession. Still, her head falls against his shoulder and she slips her hand into his, laying claim to him all the same. Her silent affection makes his heart and body ache for her.

With practiced breaths, he slips beneath the waves of memory, willing himself through the minutes until the moment when they’re finally alone.

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Soon enough, they find themselves stepping off yet another transport not far from their rental.

Nearly one with the rocky desert, the low-roofed home is a dissertation in minimalist design, with flat, concrete lines gliding across deep-set windows, leading his eye to a modest entryway and through the glass beyond. Dimly, he wonders if he might have the funds to purchase the property; the volus bankers who minded his accounts probably thought him dead, having let his assets sit untouched for years. A minimalist by nature, this is precisely the place he had long dreamed of living.

Shepard tugs his hand, her skirt fluttering in the transport's downdraft, and his thoughts melt beneath her eyes, lit from within by a soft, cybernetic glow in the shadow of her sun hat.

She drops their things the moment both feet are over the threshold. Before he’s even figured out how to lock the door, her mouth is on his. She pulls him - grasps him by the shoulders and tugs him deeper into the house, kicking off her sandals as she goes, leading him towards whatever furniture lies beyond. True to her nature, his Siha is impatient. She is the fiery crown of Arashu, and he the rolling tide of Kalahira. He tempers her flames, grasping her wrists and flattening her hands against his chest as he kisses her, slow and deep.

The idyllic home they'll share for the week isn’t much more than background noise as she yields against him.

Her shoulders are already kissed by the sun, dusted with a delicate pink hue that warms beneath his touch. He slips a finger beneath one narrow strap of her dress, sliding it down her arm, trailing kisses in his wake. One luscious breast comes free, then the other, and her dress falls to the ground without ceremony.

Not long after, she's straddling him on the couch, grinding down on him with those soft little moans he's replayed over and over again in his mind.

Their first time was like this. He basks in the ethereal headspace between past and present, crisscrossing them in his mind as her hips roll against his, hot breath on his neck. And then she lets out the smallest whimper, a sound so vulnerable and soft that he cannot help but breathe her name in return, clutching her close. His dominant hand settles on her backside, aiding her motion; the other rests between her shoulder blades as he drives himself up into her heat, his mouth wandering in clumsy gasps along her chest. The way she lets her weight fall against him is an unspoken surrender, a precious gift she has chosen only him to receive.

He will never know why she chose him. But if it's him she wants, then she shall have him. Every night, again and again, until she screams his name in ecstasy and they lay in satiated exhaustion.

Tu-fira.

He belongs to her.

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It’s difficult to articulate how natural this feels.

Night falls, a chill settling over the rocky desert. He’s been alone with her many times, but never quite like this. In the short time they’ve known one another, she’s never been more than a commlink away from her crew, her mission, her ship and her duty. Here, nestled under a sea of stars, they’re more alone than either of them have been in decades. He watches the light of the backyard firepit cast flickering shadows on her bare skin, their hands intertwined.

Long after driving one another to sweat-kissed exhaustion, they remain entangled, engrossed in conversation. It’s like meeting her for the first time all over again. The armored force of nature who had carved a willful path into his life now lay naked in a nest of blankets with him, firelight dancing in her eyes, deep into a long and meandering train of thought. She weaves tales of her life before the Alliance, of joyrides and hijinks that would have made even his younger, rambunctious self hesitate. Her excitement touches his soul with a kind of contentment that he’s not touched in what feels like a lifetime.

Inevitably, the chill of night becomes too much to bear, and their talks meander back to the physical; stories of life before one another and the various trysts that preceded.

He can hear the desire in the deep, red edge of her voice; the way her tone dips from casual to sensual as she stands, clothed only in the dancing hues of firelight, and leads him to the crisp, untouched sheets of their shared bed. He pulls her close, scaled hands sliding across bare human skin, pointedly savoring her, willing his want and his love to find their way into every corner of her soul.

He wants. Oh, how deeply he wants.

He whispers prayers into her palms, one by one, as she rides him into the break of dawn.

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Day 2

Morning comes and goes in silence.

They lay heedless to the sun's motion, tangled soft sheets lit by the dreamy glow of day through the deep-set awnings and windows of their rental. Thane dozes in and out of sleep with her in his arms, heart swelling each time he wakes, awash in the scent of her hair and skin. They lie together for some time, and when she rises, he curls into the space where she had slept, unwilling to part with her residual heat.

Heat stirs in his limbs as he hears the shower kick on, his body calling for her as though he's woken up back in time, a younger, more virile man. Half in dreams, he can see her naked and robed in morning dew like a siren, and he cannot resist.

He finds her in the frameless shower, sunlight streaming through the window beside her. Water pours over her in rivulets of gleaming light, the sun illuminating the strong dunes of her back, gleaming off her shoulder blades and the curve of her spine.

Shepard, of all the people he had known, was made of sunshine. She was made of the fiery warmth and light of day, bathing him in her glory and simultaneously blinding him with effortless radiance.

And it's here, pressed up against the polished concrete wall beneath a lukewarm deluge of water, that he shows her all the ways he loves her. Shows her how, if he angles his hips just so, the last of her burdens melt away and he knows her as only he can; through the gentle, mewling gasps of an angel on the verge of tasting her own glory, manifesting the soft heat inside her as he drives himself against her deepest reaches.

He has to be mindful of his eyes. This has always been true, will always be true of all drell, but never more so than when she nears the peak of her pleasure. Shepard is possessive, perpetually communicating her need with unending motion, gripping him close as though the mere inches between them are a chasm too great to bear. He watches the way crystalline drops of water bead on her neck and shoulders, they way they catch the morning sun like diamonds, casting pinpricks of dappled light against his own scales and streak down the shape of her as she moves against him, contorted and desperate to take him deeper, to break herself upon the sanguine friction of their joining.

Her head knocks softly against the wall, her back arching, chest thrust toward him. And then she breaks. Sweet gods, how she breaks.

It's almost more than he can take. Words can never hope to say all the beautiful things she is when she comes.

He gathers each gasp, each heartbeat, every droplet of water on her parted lips and every clench of her heat around him. He drinks them all in, safely locked in the depths of his blessed memory for all his days. There is no greater gift in this life or the next.

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Day 3

Much as he would like to spend the entirety of their ‘vacation’ finding a reason to make love to her on every unoccupied surface in their rental, Shepard has made sure to include other activities in their itinerary.

He wakes to find her half dressed, smiling at him as she pulls a swimsuit top over her head. It’s a deep, forest green, with wide, high straps that criss-cross over her collarbones in an attractive triangular shape. He blinks, anchoring himself to reality as though he can't be sure she's real. And if his drowsy eyes find purchase in the alluring curve of her breasts peeking through the small cutout at the top’s center, he's certain the gods will forgive him.

The mattress dips as she sits beside him. “Come for a ride with me,” she whispers by his ear.

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Thane has often heard that human skin is easily burned by their planet’s star. He’s never quite believed it until Shepard.

He finds himself on a beach, massaging the soft cream she calls ‘sunblock’ into her back and shoulders, wondering how he could have ever gotten so lucky. His Siha, his warrior angel, so vulnerable without her armor that she wants - needs - his hands to protect her soft human skin, heals his soul with this one simple act; the intimate joy of being her protector and lover as he takes care to make sure she is thoroughly covered. The ocean breeze blows strands of her carmine hair across her forehead as she turns her head to him, smile lines deepening with delight as their eyes meet.

They pass the time in golden luxuriation, prostrating themselves beneath the radiant heat of Sol for hours, never more than an arm’s length apart, until the sun dips below the horizon and paints the sky in a myriad of hues somewhere between floral and fire.

And as the sun bows out for the evening, he bows her into the sand, lips locked and knees knocking against her own as they collapse together on soft, weatherworn sand that clings to the warmth of the sun as it bids them goodnight.

He never wants to leave this place.

Goddess above, Earth is the very image of serenity. Freer than free, his breath unburdened, his elation pours from him into her waiting mouth as they taste the salt air together. Her beach towel is a poor shield from the sand, but it hardly matters as he uncovers her skin, inch by precious inch, until she quivers beneath his touch, the sound of his name carried away by the rolling swell of the ocean.

He can taste the sea between her legs, the irresistible twang of life and salt and need that rises from her like water from a stone.

“Don't stop,” she breathes.

He couldn't - not if he wanted to. He wants this memory exponentially more than his own pleasure. A moment finer than all the collected treasures of the galaxy, etched into his mind for the rest of his days: his Siha writhing beneath his hot mouth, gripping his scalp, crying out as she tumbles again and again through ecstasy of his making.

He could die here, he thinks. Perhaps he's already dead. He nuzzles her thighs, warm and soft, as she floats down from on high. Yes, if the gods wish this to be his grave, he would gladly bow his head in thanks.

It's an hour’s trek back to their rental, but they will stay here until the ocean wind becomes too cold to endure, dunes yielding beneath them just as flesh yields to flesh and they become one.

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Day 4

It’s the honeymoon phase, he thinks to himself, running his fingers through her hair as she lies sleeping on his chest.

Thane has been here before, in another life, waxing and waning in the warmth of his wife’s bed. Deep in a distant rational corner of his mind tries to tell him: it won’t be this way forever. But does that matter? Does it really, actually matter? Months ago he would have said that he was but a tooth on a cogwheel, destined to spin around in repeating cycles of loss, memory, and despair. But this fierce woman pursues him with all the endurance that humans are known for. Bit by bit, she chips away at the rigid crust the last ten years have borne upon him, and he is alive. Alive in ways he hasn’t known in what feels like a lifetime.

They will spend this day treating themselves to all the beauty that earth’s arid lands have to offer. From the bleached, rolling dunes of sand, to the baked and rocky landscapes dotted with life in its most hardy forms, to the golden time-carved radiance of the painted desert - Goddess preserve him. His past has never felt further away. With her by his side, his world is filled with sunlight in much the same way as Earth’s gleaming sky, now so familiar and perfect to him that he would just as easily call it home.

And when the sun’s heat is too much for her human skin to bear, he trades the scenic vistas of the American southwest for a landscape of another kind.

Her skin glows, its color deepening with each passing day in dappled patterns that betray her state of undress throughout their travels. He finds it endearing, the way her cheeks and shoulders are dusted with more freckles than he'd seen when they arrived, the way her chest and thighs remain lighter in color than the rest of her, drawing his eyes, his hands, his mouth to worship at the temple at is her body. She kneels between his knees and blesses him with the sweet heat of her mouth, stealing his breath as she tastes him, crimson hair the perfect anchor for his hands as she takes him higher and higher.

He had underestimated her appetite for him. Perhaps he'd underestimated his own appetite in turn. They haven't even made it back to their rental and he can already smell the need on her, the cramped taxi insulating and perfuming the air so thickly he can almost taste her, slick and soaking with arousal, maddeningly just out of reach but with nothing but her panties between her need and the rest of him. Powerless to the heat of her mouth, he spirals through his lust as she pleasures him, soft hands and pink lips around his shaft. Her artificial eyes gleam up at him through her mussed hair, and goddess preserve him, he’ll hack the engine himself if it’ll make this taxi go any faster.

She's fumbling at the lock as he pushes her against the wall beside their front door, covering her mouth with his. Lips locked, they stumble inside. His hand drops down to her thigh, palming at the warm skin just beneath her skirt. Shepard, in turn, tugs him in the direction of the bedroom.

He considers this, allowing himself to be led as he considers all they’ve had the pleasure of seeing today - of her radiant smile beneath her oversized sunglasses, unable to conceal the joy of her eyes from his perfect recollection. Of her freckle-dusted shoulders beneath the shadow of her sun hat. And he decides in that moment that no - as much as he adores their soft bed and its sex-scented sheets, he loves her in the daylight more.

The back patio opens with a wave of his omni-tool, and he presses her into the opulent cushions around the fire pit. She chuckles against his mouth - perhaps he's become too predictable, but it no longer matters.

There’s a kind of transcendental brilliance to this place. Some kind of inebriating mix of oxytocin and fresh air and sunshine that ignites his synapses and levitates his heart until he feels he can touch the radiant sky. He ruches up her dress, fabric sheeting off her body until she's all warm, decadent skin against a backdrop of their shed clothing. He groans inwardly at the sight of her, the shadow of her clavicles arching nearly above her soft breasts, tipped with that same aphrodisiac shade of desire that awaits between her lush thighs.

She smiles so sweetly at him, but her eyes are shaded with mischief as she opens her legs for him, teasing her folds beneath his heated gaze. He falls to his knees before her, palming her silken thighs, kissing the wet, sanguine warmth between her legs as though it were her mouth.

Her hips rise to meet him, rolling against his tongue as she brings one ankle gently against his back to guide them together, and Thane breathes out a low, pleasured groan. He loves this - the way her body talks for her, knowing full well he needs no encouragement but asking all the same, driven by biological instinct to share the most intimate parts of her humanity with him - a man from another world. Her body calls for him, beckons him, and he is both her servant and sire.

“Please, please Thane,” she whispers, hands reaching blindly for whatever parts of him she can reach.

He lifts from his place of worship with a breathy inhale, curling his arms around her thighs and hauling her bodily until she rests on the very edge of the cushion and the tip of his cock falls against her wet heat. And then he pushes forward, savoring the way her soft flesh yields to him, how her silken walls conform to every inch of his thick, ridged length, swallowing him to the hilt.

She breathes his name as he bottoms out. Takes a moment to catch her breath and then pushes up on her elbows and then her palms until she’s close enough to wrap one arm around his neck and pull him close. Thane folds an arm around her in turn, pumping in and out of her blessed heat. Thank the gods for her brilliant human flexibility.

The sun beats down on his back, his body shielding her vulnerable human skin from the worst of its rays, as he makes love to her with long, deep thrusts. He could never hope to articulate this specific kind of ecstasy - the ruddy heat of Sol crowning him with the same deep heat he seeks deep inside her.

It’s not what he would call fucking, but it’s not what he would call tender, either. It’s somewhere in between. It’s the heavy, sweet push and pull of two lovers, their minds blank of all thoughts beyond the tension, friction, heat, and pleasure that flows between them; tongues sliding together, hands clutching at skin and scales, at once desperate for release but determined not to reach it, to stay in this moment forever, unwilling to part with the sybaritic heaven they share. She locks one thigh around his hips, bracing herself with one hand so she can touch his face with the other, fingertips trailing almost too roughly against his sensitive ruby cheek as she grinds her cunt onto his heavy girth.

He needs her closer, needs her harder, consumed by the need to become one with her in that sanguine way only two lovers can. Parting from her for just a moment, he slides both knees on the cushions with her, hauling her up onto his thighs, watching for a moment as she grinds her flushed, creamy slit against his length before sinking himself back into her depths. They rock together until he’s sure beyond doubt that she’s out of her mind, blissed out and debauched before the combined heat of her sun and his desire. Until the satin sheen of sweat pooling in the hollow of her throat is too laden to cling to her skin, and she moans his name into the wide open sky. Only then does he drop his hand between them, drawing wide, steady circles around that incandescent neural bullet between her thighs.

Her voice is lost as she comes, words and sounds dying in her throat as, at last, the pleasure is too much for her body to bear. He watches beneath heavy-lidded eyes as she tenses, cries out, and breaks, as her body sings like a plucked harpstring; knowing that for those precious few seconds, she is well and truly his, and his alone.

When her mind is wiped of all thoughts but him, his embrace, his kiss, and the pleasure at his hands, he can finally let go.

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Day 5

He wakes to the sound of music playing softly from another corner of the house. Decades old, by the sound of it, plucked notes singing on a guitar string beneath the melodic voice of a human weaving a tale of a dark desert highway. He’s heard this one before, playing over a crackling stationary radio in the cargo bay where she’d often done routine maintenance on Normandy’s ground vehicle.

Rising with a contented breath, he pads over to the common area to greet the day.

She’s wearing one of his robes, and nothing else. A breezy, cream-colored cotton garment that’s too wide in the shoulders for her more feminine frame. She lets it drop down one arm, the fabric collecting in the crook of her elbow just beneath where her hand rests on the door frame. The rest of it hangs open, gauzy fabric illuminated by the glowing sun streaming in from behind her, framing her in ethereal light. Though her face is in shadow, her artificial eyes are just bright enough to search his soul as she peers back at him.

In that moment, his Siha is more angel than warrior. She's posing for him, framing herself in a mental postcard to commemorate the effortless beauty of this place, this life, this love.

She pauses in the doorway for a good long while, as though she knows precisely what she's doing. Cocking her hip, idly running her long, calloused fingers through her hair, waiting for him to sear this image into his blessed eidetic mind for the rest of his days.

It’s so easy, wrapping her in his arms, kissing her again and again, bitter coffee on his tongue and warm sun on his face.

“I got a message from Hackett this morning,” she says softly.

The tone of her voice makes his stomach clench with unease, and he takes a moment to suppress the tremor in his throat.

“How long do we have?”

“Until tomorrow morning.”

He pulls her tight against his chest, as though by some miracle he could keep her from ever leaving the safety of his arms again. Shepard tucks her head into his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Thane.”

“Do not apologize, Siha.” Her hair is soft on his cheek, and he breathes deep as his eyes settle without focus on the rocky landscape outside her lovely picture-frame window. “This sojourn has already brought me more joy than you could ever know.”

When she kisses him, there’s a desperation in her that he’s not felt before, as though she shares his worry. That she’s been called away is unsurprising, in and of itself. But the tension in her shoulders makes his heart quake with an obdurate fear that will linger throughout what remains of their holiday.

He resolves to suppress it. If Shepard has taught him anything, it’s how work and purpose can stave off one’s demons, if only for a little while.

“What would you like for breakfast, Siha?”

She lifts her head then, and her smile is worth whatever heartache lies beyond the indefectible threshold of their abode.

He will take what he can from this moment. Reality can wait just a little longer.

[brokebonewritings]

Bless Me, Father

Priest! Matt Murdock x afab! reader

Tags/Warnings: 18+, violence, smut, mention of religion, hurt/comfort

Summary: Seeking a priest for guidance. You just weren't expecting this priest to be an ex, and a vigilante.

Word Count: 4.2K

Navigation | Masterlist

A/N: This was written for a really dear friend of mine. I love them a lot, and I hope they love this story just as much! Pair this fic with A Question of Lust by Depeche Mode and Church by Chase Atlantic.

You walk into the church slowly as you think about what you would say. The cold bitter air pricks your nose, immediately warming as you step into the sanctuary. It’s been a long time since you have been here, though you feel comforted by the environment. Setting your bag and scarf on a pew, you walk towards the confessional booth and step inside quietly. You inhale and exhale before speaking to the priest on the other side.

“Bless me, father, for I have sinned.” You start. Hearing him shift in the booth next to you, you continue on. “It has been 3 months, and 15 days since my last confession.”

You continue to tell him about things you have done in the past few months. About things you feel are wrong, and how it makes you feel. How you felt shunned by your family for expressing your personal thoughts and interests. You begin to tear up as you finish speaking.

He sits for a moment before speaking. The air felt tight around you as you anticipated his voice.

“My child, there is no reason to weep.” His voice was soothing, much like a cup of hot chocolate. He continues. “What you are feeling about yourself is not wrong. You are on a journey of self discovery. Embrace it, and those who shun you will see the butterfly they mistook for a caterpillar. There is no penance for you today.”

You glance over at him, and catch a glimpse at the young priest. He looked stiff, as if he were a mannequin. You nod at his words and wipe the tears from your eyes. Stating the absolution, you thank him and step out of the booth. 

Lingering for a moment, you took in sight of the beautiful cathedral. Nothing felt more peaceful than the quietness of the church. A few nuns were staggered in the pews or kneeling at the altar. The smell of sweet incense flowed through the air.

Turning to look over your shoulder, you see the priest step out of the booth and turn his head in your direction. He smiles and makes his way towards you to walk you out.

“I haven’t seen you here in a long time, y/n” He starts, you can tell he was shifting uncomfortably.

“Yeah, it has been a while huh?” You avert your gaze to the wood flooring. “Not since our breakup” 

He winces at that comment. You didn’t have mal intent behind it. Just stating the fact. It had been a nasty one at that. He wanted to become a priest, and you wanted to have a family. Simple as that.

“Listen if you ever need to talk…” He sighs. “You know where you can find me.”

“Sure, sure. For godly insight I suppose?” You mutter. “Since when did Father Lantom step down?”

“About a month ago. I was appointed here personally.” Seeing the grip he held on his cane, you decided to take your leave. Not wanting to further the conversation before it got too awkward.

“I, uhm, have to head to work. Those court documents are not gonna write themselves, I guess.”

“Right. Well. Hopefully I will see you back again soon..” He said, giving a curt nod before you turn to leave. “And, God be with you, y/n”

“God be with you too, Father Murdock.”

“He WHAT?!”  Karen whispered in your shared office. She really was your closest friend so obviously you had to tell her.

“Right! So he was my ex from college which was so long ago, but god we were so in love.” You crossed your arms in defeat. “How could he look even better now?!”

“Oh no! You cannot go running back to that ‘used to be good’ feeling.” She stood and crossed to you. “Did you forget that, HE’S A FUCKING PRIEST.”

“I KNOW!” You huff. You were perfectly content without the knowledge of Matt actually achieving his dream. Sure it was extremely selfish of you to think, but he did break your heart. No wonder you hadn’t heard anyone talk about him, he basically fell off the face of the earth. Lost in thought, you hardly noticed when your boss approached your office.

“What’s up guys? What’s the hot gossip?”

You look up to see your boss, Foggy, leaning against the doorframe. Hardly a boss though, he liked to consider himself a friend to everyone in the office. 

“y/n wants to fuck a priest!” Karen casually said. You gasped loudly at her sudden statement, and stood up from your chair.

“I never said that!”

“Woah, didn’t see that one coming.” Foggy chuckled at the response. “Why a priest though?”

You roll your eyes as you lean against your desk. “It was a really long time ago okay? And he definitely wasn’t a priest then.”

Foggy cocks an eyebrow and looks at Karen. Who in return gives him a look.

“So what was he then?” Karen asks, looking back at you. You considered the question for a moment before sitting back down.

“Just a good catholic boy, I guess.” 

“You guess?” Foggy says suddenly.

“I mean, sure we had some fun.” You start quietly. “But we always found our way back to church on Sundays…”

“I thought you weren’t religious?” Karen asked curiously. You considered the question before answering.

“I’m not anymore. Not after how everyone made me feel after our breakup.” You turn back towards your desk to end the conversation. Foggy and Karen both shrugged at each other before going back to their own tasks.

Letting the tears fall silently from your eyes, you didn’t like when people watched you cry. Not that you liked to be emotional, but you didn’t want anyone to see you as weak.

The work day was long and strenuous. You worked quietly at your desk, only looking up to answer questions or find more paperwork.

Clients called and you helped to the best of your ability to answer questions, sending them to Foggy if you couldn’t. Until it was way past your time to head. You hadn’t realized it was dark outside. Turning around, you noticed Karen was also still working.

You gather your belongings and stand to leave. Giving Karen a quick hug, before heading out.

You walked quickly down the street after getting off the bus. Not that you were trying to act in fear, but you definitely knew that someone was following you down the street.

Hell's Kitchen was never the safest at night anyways. Working late was the worst, especially in cases that involved some sort of underground organization.

Turning down another block, you turn your head to see if the man is still following you. Of course he fucking was. What is the deal with men these days? Maybe you were overthinking it, and he just lived on the same street as you. Clearly you were too lost in your anxiety to not notice the second man coming from in front of you.

“Hey, pretty thing. Where are you rushing off too?” He says before grabbing your wrist. You gasp suddenly, trying to rip your hand from his grip.

“Please let go, I’m just trying to go home!” 

“Oh honey… Our boss would like to have a word with you.”

Without missing a beat, the man wraps his arm around your waist, and begins to pick you up. The kicking and punches you were throwing didn’t seem to phase him.  His other hand covered your mouth to muffle your screams.

That’s when you noticed a dark figure standing on top of the building nearest you. You prayed that it would help you. 

And just like that, your prayer was answered. Maybe. You watched as the figure jumped down into the alley way. Forgetting that for a moment, you continue to kick and flail your arms to deter the man. 

Of course there was a parking structure for these guys' convenience. You never understood how no one caught on to these things. While putting you into the car, you feel his body slamming against the door with force. Laying on the floor you scream as you see a man clad in a full white suit tower above you.

“Wait! Wait!” He puts his hands up in surrender “I’m a good guy I promise!”

Finally getting a full look at him, you realized you had never seen this hero before. Sure you’ve run into Spiderman multiple times, and even that Dr. Strange guy.

He stretches out his hand to help you up and you hesitantly take it. You narrow your eyes at him once you’re out of the car. The accent was not from around here. British. It was definitely British. “So who are you supposed to be?” You ask.

“Oh erm. Just call me Mr. Knight.” He starts and then continues with a bow. “It’s a little late to be walking around here, innit?”

You shrug and stand there awkwardly. Reaching for your satchel you finally realize it was missing. Turning back to the car you bend and reach around for it. Once you find it, you climb back out and turn to see that this “Mr. Knight” guy was gone and replaced with a scarier version of a mummy.

He sees the surprise on your face and the fear flash in your eyes. “Same guy. Don’t call me Mr. Knight though.”

The once crisp white suit had turned into a wrapped garment with a large crescent moon in the middle of his chest. It really did look like a superhero outfit.

“Stay right here. I need to get rid of these guys.”

You nodded and watched as both goons got back to their feet in a battle stance. The man in white pulled two crescent shaped blades from his chest, and waited for one of them to throw a punch. As they began their battle, you ran further back to avoid any debris flying around.

Turning your back against the violence, you didn’t want to see what was going to happen. Your eyes shut tight as you hear the gargled screams of your kidnappers. Once you determined it was all over you glance back up and see another figure standing in the dark parking structure.

Gasping loudly you trip over your own feet before falling backwards. You scramble back up and run over to the man who just saved you. He looked confused as to what you were frightened about. That was until he saw the figure. 

“If you know what’s good for you then you need to leave.” He said.

The figure in front of him growled. “I’m only here for her.”

Wait. You had seen this silhouette before. Sometimes as you walk down the street you would catch a glimpse of him. ‘The Devil of Hell's Kitchen’ they called him.

“It’s him.” You let out slowly. The man in white looked towards you, before you noticed the grip on his crescent weapons.

“Listen, guy, the lady is not interested in getting kidnapped tonight.” He said harshly. “You look like you don’t wanna die tonight either.”

“What makes you so sure you’re gonna kill me?” The figure taunted before taking a step forward. You look at this stranger with begging eyes. Hoping that you wouldn’t have to be in the middle of a hero battle. He sighed as he looked at you and then back at the devil.

“You asked for it pal.” He muttered before running towards the dark figure. Each fluid motion of his fists were dodged by the other man. You could tell that he was growing tired of the devil missing his punches.

He snarled loudly before yelling, “I’m tapping out!”

Suddenly the wraps disappeared and the white suit returned. The crescent shaped knives were replaced with a long bow staff. Breaking it in half, he readied himself for the devil’s next attack.

He was quickly met with a kick to his face and the sharp inhale really proved how hard the kick was. The next rounded kick was stopped by the chain attached to Mr. Knight’s staff. The devil flipped back as he untangled the chain from his ankle.

It was like lightning the way that Mr. Knight moved. He threw his hook up towards a pipe and went into a sprint. Swinging himself around so that he could end up on the other side of the other man. Failing as the devil grabbed hold of his forearm and slammed him on the ground.

The sound alone made your ears ring. You stayed behind the car door watching them fight. It was the only battle you have seen up close, and boy did it not fail to both excite you and make you feel fear.

Continuing with his motion, the devil begins to punch the hero into the cement. Over and over. Until finally there was a sudden stop of movement.

Mr. Knight held the devil’s fist, straining to keep it from making contact with his face once again. You noticed that the man in red looked up suddenly at you. His intense gaze made shivers go down your spine.

“Oi, wait a minute I know you!” Mr. Knight said suddenly. “Daredevil! It’s Us!”

‘Daredevil’ snapped his head back down to look at Mr. Knight and pulled his fist away.

“Steven?” His rough voice sent more shivers down your spine. The tone sounded vaguely familiar, like you had heard it somewhere before.

“Yeah mate!” 

The man in red stood up fully and held his hand out to help Steven up. You don’t understand fully how he didn’t recognize him, if you saw a suit that crisp you would have remembered immediately.

You stand surprised as the suit morphed back to the wrapped garment. It changed right in front of you, just like magic.

“Where’s your partner, Spector.” Daredevil asked. “You never go anywhere without them.”

He winced after the question. Something personal you supposed. “It’s the reason why I’m in America.” He leaves it at that.

Both men turn to look at you. You cower a bit not really knowing what they are about to do. The devil takes a step towards you, and you promptly take a step back. He holds up both his hands.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He states. “I thought you were in danger.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Yeah well, Sailor Moon beat you to it.”

“Hey!” The other hero said with offense in his voice.

You both turn to look at him. He hesitates a moment, most likely not going to say another word. How could you be meeting two heroes in one night? Well, not heroes, more like vigilantes it seemed like.

Clearing your throat, you looked around at the scene and wondered which lucky person would find that in the morning.

“This has been real fun, but I’d really like to go home and sleep.” You finally say. Daredevil and Mr. Knight both nod towards you as you start walking away.

“Let me walk you home.” A gruff voice says, turning to see Daredevil take a step towards you. It wasn’t a question, it was clearly a statement. “To make sure you get home safe.”

You shrug and walk towards the entrance of the parking structure. A voice calls from behind you both that makes you stop dead in your tracks.

“Hey Murdock, if you see my partner, give me a call…” Moonknight said with a hint of sadness in voice. You glance up at the vigilante beside you. Murdock. Matthew Murdock. The only Murdock you knew.

He reaches a hand up to touch your shoulder. Not believing what you had just heard, you flinch away.  “Matt?” You managed to choke out.

“I’m sorry.” He says gently. “Let’s just get you home.”

“No.” Tears pricking your eyes. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”

“Fine.” He says before starting to walk again. You follow close behind him. Street after street you managed to keep up with him. Seeing the church come into view you realize that he was taking you to his own sanctuary.

Matt opens the side gate to the cemetery and steps aside so you could enter first. You step inside and head to the bench you both sat at when you were younger. He lingers a bit by the gate before entering and following you deep into the graveyard.

Once you both are inside, and he makes sure the coast is clear, he takes off his mask. Setting it down next to you, you stare at it. You cannot actually believe that you were saved by Daredevil. Well sort of.

And to make it all worse, Daredevil was your ex. Your knight in shining armor was someone who completely broke your heart. How poetic. You look up at him as he paces.

“You do realize how sacrilegious this is, right?” Your comment definitely breaks the ice. The smile that tugs on the corner of his mouth is only slightly comforting.

“This started way before the priest thing.” He stops pacing and sits next to you. “While we were together actually.”

“You’re joking.” Your mouth gapes open. He stays silent. “Oh god. You’re serious.”

He grabs the mask before speaking up. “ It’s partially the reason why we broke up.”

“What?” You his through your teeth. Was this guy serious right now? “What do you mean it's partially the reason why we broke up? You said you wanted to pursue a life of Christ, Matt.” 

“I did! Didn’t I?!” He raised his voice. “I did what had to be done to protect you, y/n!”

You stood from the bench and put your hands over your ears. Not wanting to hear another word from his mouth.

“Okay what are you doing?” He asked.

“I don’t want to listen to you anymore!” You shout. “I mean do you even know how ridiculous that sounds!”

“I did it for you, y/n! I did all of this for you!”

Then there was silence. Not even the wind howled through the trees in that moment. Letting everything sink in, you felt your heart pounding against your chest. You bring your arms down in a folded position and stare at the man in front of you.

“I really was in love with you, Matt.”

“I’m still in love with you.” He stood as he confessed. “I think about you. Morning, Noon and Night.”

Air that was trapped in your lungs was released all at once. Like you have not been breathing for a whole year. You felt insane to think that this wasn’t some convoluted nightmare.

He took a step towards you, and you let him. Feeling like this had all happened for some divine reason, you let him take your hand. His glove was rough against your skin. You never broke your eye contact off of his face. Studying how his jaw tensed and untensed, or how his eyes always followed the sound of your voice.

“Please Matty.” You sniffle. “You broke my heart once. I can’t take it a second time.”

“I promise you, there won’t be a second time.” He says before leaning down and kissing you gently. It takes a moment for your brain to process what was happening. Once you realize it was in fact a real kiss, you kiss him back. Arms snaking their way around his neck and his around your waist.

The kiss becomes more hunger filled. You can tell you both were touch starved by the way your hands began to roam. His body was pressed into yours, and you could feel yourself getting more turned on every second.

“Sweetheart.” He says. “You smell so fucking good.”

You moan lightly against his lips. Taking his bottom lip between your teeth, you tug on it lightly earning yourself a low groan. The way it vibrated between both your chests went straight to your core.

“Matty. I need you.” You pant as you pull from him slightly. He cups your face with his hand and nods.

“I need you too, sweetheart.”

Rushing through the front door of the church, you kiss the man in front of you with an intense passion. You can’t remember the last time you were touched by a man. Let alone kissed by one. 

The way he grabs your waist with his gloved hands was addicting. You feel every desire and you’re sure that he could smell your arousal. You begin pushing him towards a pew before he turns you around and stops the motion altogether.

“Wait.” Hearing his voice startled you. “We should move to somewhere more private.”

“Where? The only other place is your office, and I’m not about to be bent over a desk, Matt.”

He raises an eyebrow and looks in thought. Whatever was going through his head made your heart start to race. Taking your arm, he leads you towards the confessional booth pulling off his suit, and your own clothes in the process.

Once he is satisfied with how naked the both of you are, he climbs inside. You follow behind him and once he makes himself comfortable in the seat, you straddle his lap.

Leaving a trail of marks down his neck, you feel the heat of his hard cock against your stomach. Moaning from the sensation you readjust yourself and begin to slide him into you. You hear the way his breath catches as your tight cunt passes over his cock.

It’s silent in the church, the only sounds being made were the moans coming from you and the priest you had underneath you. You can’t help but wonder if this was the wrong thing to be doing. Despite those thoughts, you continue to lewdly whimper and sink yourself onto him.

“Oh Father Murdock, how fucking holy art thou” You smirk as you hungrily kiss him.

This makes him groan against you as he thrusts himself deeper inside you. Gasping loudly, you feel his cock in the pit of your stomach. How he managed to thrust that far into you was an act of God. You look down to watch his hips thrust up into you, and you push down onto his cock. It was absolutely breathtaking knowing that he was doing this to you.

“Y/N, you are going to be the absolute death of me.” He gapes, “You feel like absolute heaven.”

“I’m not going to last much longer, Matty” You clench around his length as you begin to bounce more sloppily.

You hear a slight growl creep up from the back of his throat before he grabs your thighs and flips you both over. This new angle had you at a curve, which made each thrust more earth shattering.

“You don’t get to come until I allow it.” His voice echoed through the small booth. Chills were sent up your spine. Looking up at this holy man through your lust filled eyes, you try to focus on every feature of his face. The way his jaw was tensed, and how his eyebrows furrowed.

The intensity of each thrust sent you into an overstimulated galaxy. Seeing stars was typically not what you experience in times like these. Then again, you both had not had sex in a long while.

His panting mixed together with the groans falling from his lips was drawing you to your edge. The little voice in your head kept repeating itself. ‘You don’t get to come until I allow it.’. Fuck did that have an affect on you.

Your moans began to sound more high pitched as the overstimulation hit you. He lowers his head to your chest, taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking on it harshly. The gasp you let out pleased him even more.

He continued to suck before moving his mouth to your neck, leaving small bruises here and there. You could feel his thrusts start to slow down as if he were getting tired. 

“Pl- please, I'm begging you.” You whimper pathetically. 

He smirks before whispering in your ear. “On the count of three. Okay, sweetheart?” 

You nod as you groan loudly.

“One.”

His thrusts begin to pick up, as he fucks you harder than before.

“Two.” 

Your cunt starts to clench around his cock as you try to hold on for that third number.

“Three.”

You both moan and pant as you come together. The pulse of his cock as it releases his hot seed into you feels good against your quivering pussy. Never before have you experienced an orgasm this good.

Breathing finally steadying out, you stare up at him. The sweat running down his forehead was very prominent. You noticed a smile beginning to make his way onto his face. You smile as well.

“What?” You ask quietly.

“I think this is the most sacrilegious thing I have ever done.” He says back in a whisper. 

“Oh and not the vigilante thing?”

He shakes his head before pressing his forehead to yours. “How bout you tell me about what has your heart racing at the moment?” He says instead.

“I just didn’t think I would ever be doing this.”

“How about you share your confession then?” He says while giving you another small thrust making you moan.

“Oh…” You ponder. “Then, bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

[kurogane2512]

Lisa Birthday 2023

Character: Lisa x fem!reader

Type: Angst with happy ending

Happy birthday to Lisa once again! So much changed since the last birthday fic I wrote for her but she's still one of my top waifus in the game <3 I love her so much omg, I was so glad we got some Sumeru content on her and outfit is stunning!! I hope we continue to get more content on her, and even more affectionate content at that! <3

"Hey, Y/n. Thanks for taking over early today."

Wyratt spoke as you entered the Knights of Favonius HQ in order to begin your daily shift.

"No problem, happy to help."

You replied with a smile and walked over to the post outside of the Favonius Library, he spotted a gift box in your hand and smirked then leaned over to whisper, "Good luck~"

"H-Hey, stop it...!"

Wyratt chuckled then waved and walked out, making you sigh and turn to face the door of the library as you took a deep breath and readied yourself.

"I'll give this and tell her today...I will!"

You then opened the door and looked over at the librarian's desk to see Lisa standing in front of the table, she turned around almost too excitedly as if she was waiting for someone but calmed down when she saw it was you then smiled and walked closer.

"Oh my, isn't your shift rather early today, Y/n?"

"Y-Yes, Wyratt had some work so we changed earlier...."

"Hehe, I see~"

You smiled then walked closer while holding your hands behind your back, making Lisa curious as you fidgeted slightly before bringing your hands forward and holding a small bouquet of Cecilia flowers that you handpicked yourself in the morning along with a small gift.

"Happy birthday, Lisa."

Lisa's eyes sparkled and she smiled back softly then accepted your presents.

"Thank you very much, sweetheart. Oh, these flowers are lovely! Cecilias are my favorite~"

"Yes, I know. That's why I chose them...."

Lisa smiled then put the bouquet on the table before unwrapping the gift to find a book inside.

"Isn't this....the new novel from Fontaine that's a bestseller everywhere so much so that there are no more copies available for months? I haven't been able to get a single copy so far...."

Lisa's smile widened, "Thank you so much, darling. I don't even know how you were able to get it but I appreciate it a lot. I'll be sure to read it and discuss my thoughts with you~"

"S-Sure....Actually—"

You stopped mid-sentence as you glanced at her desk and saw 2 cups filled with tea and a plate of cakes kept on it, seemingly prepared for a guest.

"Hm, what is it?"

".....Were you expecting a guest?"

Lisa followed your eyesight towards the tea cups and sighed, "Hah~ I was. But I suppose it's pointless now...."

You thought for a moment then realized who she was referring to, "You mean the Traveller?"

"Yes....I sent him a letter some time ago asking him to stop by and visit for some time. I was expecting him to show up today considering the occasion but it's already past 9 pm now...."

You bit your tongue and averted your gaze, feeling slightly irritated.

"I see. Well, there's still a few more hours. Who knows he might show up any minute now~"

You mused with a fake smile, getting a small smile from Lisa in return. "Hehe, I'll hold onto that. Thank you once again for your wishes, Y/n."

You smiled and bowed then walked out of the library, giving her space to herself. You leaned on the wall and looked down in discontent, clenching your fists together then releasing them with a sigh.

"She has everything prepared for his welcome....I should have known. Why did I even think I stand a chance? I couldn't even confess now....For her, it's always him...."

Indeed, you had known for a long time that someone already occupied Lisa's heart the way she did yours. You remembered back to your first day here, a newly appointed Favonius Knight given the night shift to guard the library. You had heard of Lisa long before your appointment but never seen her since you weren't an avid reader and practically never visited the library; who would have guessed you would be given to guard it as your first duty after becoming a Knight.

And, who would have guessed you would come to fall in love with the very same mysterious librarian you had barely ever seen. The way she greeted you every morning before you left, the way she smiled, the way she laughed. The pleasant aroma from her tea and cakes would reach your nose even through the library door and you'd be lost in it. You had come to admire her bright and easygoing persona; she was the type of person liked by all of Mondstadt and everyone felt comfortable in her presence.

Children came to her library to read all sorts of books and she always made the effort to guide them, even sometimes holding group reading sessions for them. It was clear how much she loved books, there was something so endearing about her that you didn't even realize when you were drawn in. You'd hear parts of her conversations with different people through the door which enabled you to learn about her likes and dislikes, each of those things making her more endearing to you.

However, your position always made you uncertain. You were just a mere Visionless guard with minimal hobbies, you were not gifted in any way. You had worked hard day and night to be able to join the Favonius Knights; even then, you weren't strong enough to join the main divisions that were sent out on expeditions and monster exterminations hence you were assigned this guard duty. On the other hand, Lisa was a plethora of vibrant colors. 

Not only did she have a Vision but she was one of the top graduates of the esteemed Sumeru Akademiya, seemingly their best in the last 200 years. And her wisdom was very evident; you'd overhear her discussing so many different projects and theories with Albedo and Sucrose, speaking of terms you had never even heard of. Yet, despite all her skills and knowledge....she was the kindest and most loving person you had ever met.

You had come to realize you developed a liking to her, something that went much deeper than admiration but you never felt you deserved her. You were content with just watching her as she brightened up your life with the simplest of gestures...... Then came the day when she met her match, a person equally dazzling and gifted as her— a Traveller from another world with golden hair and unmatched power, rivaling even the Archons.

He instantly stood up against one of the legendary beasts of Mondstadt and was bestowed the title of Honorary Knight, a feat you couldn't even think of in your wildest dreams. He could even use elemental powers without a Vision, the difference between you two was clear as day. Then you noticed Lisa's behaviour around him. You initially thought she was just being kind considering his situation but it quickly became clear she meant more.

Their conversations always lasted long, he even became her apprentice for some time and learned various things from her— all the while you stood outside that same door every single day and simply heard her go about her life with him. You'd overhear her talking to Grand Master Jean about him, saying how she misses him and wishes he'd come to visit sometime. She took a trip to Sumeru and you found out she met him even there.

However, you had also learned something else. Despite how much she liked him and cared for him, it didn't seem like he thought the same. He never sent any letter or information about his travels; she would always find out from other sources. He had become famous all over Teyvat which meant he certainly made many companions along the way, who knows he might have even had some lovers every now and then.

This is where you felt you stood a chance; if he continued treating her the same way then perhaps, she'd move on from him and be open to someone else. In your eyes, she didn't deserve the way he treated her at all. You had found out that even on her Sumeru trip he barely spent any time with her despite her continued invites, you couldn't deny this angered you. She thought of him the way you thought of her, you would do everything in your power to make her happy. Yet....that happiness never came from you.

You stopped your recollection of the past and looked at the door, wondering if he'd really come. It was soon close to 11:30 pm and you felt sad for Lisa, how could he be so heartless? Still, you knew you couldn't blame him. He could be anywhere in Teyvat doing great things as usual while this lovely librarian waiting for him in hope and anticipation. 

It was now midnight and nothing changed, he didn't come. You wondered how Lisa was feeling, you wanted to go in and check up on her but held back. Some moments later, she herself walked out carrying some things and locked the library before glancing at you with a smile.

"Well, I'll be going now. Too bad he couldn't find the time to come, maybe I'll read about his great doings in a newspaper soon. I'll see you tomorrow, Y/n, and thank you once again~"

You smiled and bowed and watched her walk out of the building then you clenched your fist and punched the wall behind you, feeling frustrated.

"That look in her eyes....she was crying. I'm sure she was crying because he didn't even come to wish her on her birthday! What kind of Honorary Knight is he to make a woman cry like that! Dammit! She doesn't deserve this at all!"

You stomped your foot and leaned back on the wall, feeling helpless deep within.

"....I woke up early morning and spent hours picking up those flowers, even had to fight some Hilichurls and injured myself. Not to mention, for the book I....No, I shouldn't think this way. I was hoping for her to move on but....I'm the one who needs to let go here. There's no point in this...."

The next morning came and your shift changed before she came in, feeling slightly relieved you wouldn't have to see her so soon. An hour after you left, Lisa came in and brewed some tea in Jean's office as the two of them sat down together to have breakfast.

"Lisa, are you okay?" Jean asked out of concern, she could tell Lisa wasn't feeling fine.

"Yes...I just....I just wish he came."

"Honorary Knight? Did he not even send a letter wishing you like Collei did?"

"No, nothing...."

"Lisa....I'm so sorry. I know how much you like him..."

"It's okay, Jean. I suppose I was holding onto false hope and having the wrong expectations. I know he is busy and has no time for a mere librarian like me, I'll just try to....think of him less from now on."

Jean sighed and nodded then went back to looking at the documents on her table.

"What are you looking at, Jean?" Lisa asked.

"Ah these are just the vacation details of all our Knights. Since it's summer now so everyone applies for leaves but I can't send all of them away at the same time so I have to schedule their duties."

Lisa hummed and glanced at some of the papers when her eyes fell upon your name and she pulled the paper towards herself.

"Oh, is this about that week-long vacation Y/n took last month? Did she give any reason for it?"

"All I know is that she went to Fontaine to get something; something quite rare apparently considering she went all the way there for a week."

Lisa suddenly recalled last night when you gave your gift to her, a famous novel from Fontaine that had no copies in circulation anywhere else since last month. 

"Could she have....No, it can't be....Why would she....?"

"Now that you bring this up, I do wonder how her trip went." Jean suddenly spoke, making Lisa snap out of her thoughts.

"Hm? Why is that?"

"Well, Fontaine is a big nation, much bigger than Mondstadt and from what I know, she has never been outside of Mondstadt until now. Not even to Liyue. It must have quite difficult for her to visit a big and fast-growing city like that all alone. I really wonder what was so important there for her...."

Lisa looked away and pondered for some time before excusing herself and walking towards the library. She sat upon her desk and took out the book you had gifted last night then began reading it. She was too lost in her feelings last night that she simply accepted it out of courtesy and didn't bother to go through it. As she read, she came across various notes you had attached inside on some sections that you found interesting, mentioning your own thoughts on them.

She smiled as she read your opinions and realized how much she agreed with them, mentally noting down several points to discuss with you later. She read through the book with such enthusiasm and excitement that she finished it by evening, only stopping for tea break and some walks in between. She reached the final page and found the last note from you, quickly opening it with curiosity only to be extremely surprised at its contents.

"Dear Ms Lisa, congratulations on completing the book! I knew you would read it till the end. I hope you liked it and that it was how you expected it to be. It was the first time I read such a long book but I enjoyed it very much, I'd love to take some book suggestions from you whenever you have time!"

She smiled to herself and was about to close the book until she realized there was another page to the note.

"My apologies for saying it this way but I couldn't think of a better way. I love you, Ms Lisa. I love you very much, a lot more than you can gather through this. I know you'd expect one to be brave enough to say it directly but I don't think I can. I just wanted to let you know how much you mean to me; ever since I was appointed here, you brightened up my life like nobody else. I came to cherish every little moment I got to experience of you, be it with or without me."

"You are very beautiful and kind, and I wish you an eternity of happiness with the person you love. You don't have to feel obliged to reply to me, I do have an idea of what you'd say and it's okay. I just wanted you to know I'm always here for you and will support you, be it as a friend or just another guard. I'm just glad I got to meet you and fall in love with you, it was one of the best feelings I have ever had. Thank you for coming to my life."

Lisa's mouth hung open and eyes widened as she almost dropped the book. She composed herself and kept the book aside then looked down and pondered deeply.

"Look how negligent I have been....All this time, I was chasing someone else when there was a person right beside me willing to do everything for me....And I barely spared any thought to her. She picked up those fresh flowers for the bouquet, I could tell by the quality. And then this book....going all the way to Fontaine for it...for me....."

She pinched the bridge of her nose then firmed herself, finally sorting out her feelings. She looked at the time and saw your shift was to begin soon hence stood up and went near the door to listen in when you would come in. Sometime later, she finally heard footsteps approaching followed by you and Wyratt exchanging greetings before he walked out and you took his post. She took a few deep breaths and thought what she'd say then was about to open the door but you opened it before her, catching her off guard.

"O-Oh, I'm sorry I didn't realize you were there, Ms Lisa. I hope you didn't get hurt."

You asked with genuine concern as she gazed in your love-filled eyes, feeling lost in their depth.

"Ms Lisa? Are you okay?"

You asked again and all she could do was grab your hand and pull you inside by force before closing the door and pinning you on it, trapping your figure in her arms.

"M-Ms Lisa?!"

You exclaimed in surprise but were soon silenced as she leaned forward and connected her lips with yours, kissing you gently. Your lips moved with hers in perfect rhythm, slowly and steadily as you tasted each other, your hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer and she softly moaned into the kiss before slowly moving back. The two of you gazing at each other as you panted, slightly breathless from the kiss.

"....I read your letter at the end of the book, Y/n. And....I accept, I accept your love."

Your eyes widened in surprise, "B-But, don't you love him...?"

She chuckled, "I realized I don't. You made me realize what love is and that's not how I felt about him, especially not recently."

You stared at her in shock then she cupped your face and kissed your cheek, "Would you like to date me, Y/n? I....love you too."

You were on cloud 9 at this point, it was the happiest moment of her life.

"I'd be very much honored to; I promise to keep you happy."

[star-named-riddle]

(it's over 1k, I told you I was dropping the microfic bit)

Day 3 - Birthday

He despised his birthday, she knew that much. He had know hers from the beginning, even before she had joined his ranks, proud that Cygnus was of his eldest daughter. So proud he had made a point of mentioning it to Lord Voldemort that first year she had been out of Hogwarts.

So proud he had invited the Dark Lord himself to their dinner party for the second year she was home to celebrate it.

By then, she had begun her studies under him, but his birthday remained a mystery to her. It had taken her years to figure it out.

She knew how old he was, she had deduced his exact age from the gap between her father and him at school. She figured he had been born later in the year, like her, otherwise he would have been a year more above her father at Hogwarts. But month and day eluded her still.

Men like Abraxas, who had shared a dorm with Lord Voldemort, were either far too loyal or far too scared to share the information.

Bellatrix huffed at the thought of her conversation with Abraxas. The man had been positively cryptic about the matter. She had dared and tried to pry into his mind to collect whatever memories his reminiscing stirred up. She had found herself on the harsh end of an ice blue glare.

“You’re good, but not that good, Bella.”

She had not apologised.

“Why do you want to know? Drop the matter, it’s of no use to you.”

Bellatrix had bit her tongue inside her mouth at that. What was she supposed to tell him? That she wanted to give their master a birthday present? That she wanted to wear pretty underwear for her lover to peel off of her on that night?

She had even entertained the thought of tracking down the records from the orphanage where Lord Voldemort had lived as a child, and quickly found the error in her ways as she found the place to be not only a ruin, but also one owned by Lord Voldemort himself.

Who had found her self-appointed mission funny for a little while. He teased her mercilessly about it, going so far as to whisper a taunt in her ear as he placed his own birthday gift around her neck during her last birthday.

“Pity you can’t wish me happy birthday on the actual day, Bella.”

He had kissed that spot behind her right ear that they both loved, but the sting of the taunt had not diminished. His smile on the mirror had been positively wicked. And he had laughed at her attempted glare.

She had finagled his zodiac sign out of him after weeks of trying. She amused him with her perseverance on the matter. And she was well aware that he had given it to her as a boon. She had uncovered important information concerning the Aurors, and her master had seen it fit to reward her.

The problem was that being a Capricorn born in 1926 left her with ten possible birthdays.

She had been inclined to think him a child of the solstice. She was, after all, a child of the equinox, and to think them so compatible, meant for one another by the stars themselves, fed her ego in a way she was unlikely to admit.

He had chuckled, deep in his chest, once he found the thought in her mind.

He wasn’t born on Christmas either. She had tried that last year. She had given him a small box as she sat down on his desk, feet dangling off the floor, and a coy smile on the corner of her mouth.

“We don’t usually exchange gifts, Bella.”

“It’s not a Christmas gift, my Lord.”

He had toyed with the box then, turning it between his long fingers, appreciating the anticipation painted across her face.

“It’s not my birthday, you rotten creature,�� he had said, his playful tone alone making up for her disappointment.

Still, she had turned twenty-five last September, and her self-appointed mission had been going on for three years. Which was two years and eleven months longer than she had planned for it to be.

She had three possibilities remaining. The 23rd, the 27th and New Year’s Eve. And judging from his sour mood on every December 31st she had been near him, she was willing to bet that was his birthday.

He did despise it, she knew that much. He had never celebrated it in school, Abraxas had told her. Her father had mentioned they were mostly absent on the day, given it was during Yule. Most of his schoolmates were home celebrating with their families, some overseas even, while Lord Voldemort remained at Hogwarts, alone. Cygnus had never seen anyone wish him a happy birthday, even a belated one after the school break.

Bellatrix did not know why her master disliked his own birthday so. Or why his mood seemed to be appeased every time it was clearly established that the dinner parties were about the New Year. And not himself.

She had thrown dinner parties over the last three years during those suspicious ten days. Never on Christmas, which was spent at Black Manor or Grimmauld Place, and never on New Year’s Eve, which was traditionally spent at Malfoy Manor ever since she could remember. And over those dinner parties, there would always come a moment when she was alone with Lord Voldemort in some corner of the room. Every time, he had smiled down upon her and whispered “not today”.

She had considered throwing such dinner parties on the 23rd and on the 27th, but those days had ruled themselves out this year.

She had gone Muggle hunting on the 23rd, so that she would have targets for a new spell Lord Voldemort meant to teach her. She had daringly remarked that maybe she ought to put bows on her newly acquired test subjects, and he had laughed wholeheartedly.

“First and foremost, it is not my birthday, Bella. Second, should you ever gift me Muggles still breathing, not mangled, and not a piece of information to make up their lack of worth to show for it, I’ll be sure to let you know the extent of my disappointment.”

Bella laughed in response, and made sure every single Muggle met a gruesome end during her lessons.

On the 27th there had been a dinner party at the Selwyn’s. She had worn a deep green dress that clung to her shape, and dainty underwear. The Selwyn family kept a zoo of sorts, one they liked to offer a tour of every year, showcasing the new beasts they had bred or purchased. Bellatrix had plans for herself, her master, and the hour the tour would last. She had not hidden his gift in her garter, though, as she was mostly sure of his birthday then.

Still, he had taken his time appraising her clad in nothing but underwear. His fingers traveled over the silver embellishments on it, steadying over the silk bow that closed her bra at the front.

“Is this your idea of a birthday present, Bella?”

“It’s not your birthday, my Lord, is it?” she had replied, confident on the answer to that question.

He had answered her by pulling the bow undone, and taking her against the wall.

Today was different. It was the 31st, and it was his birthday. He would be moody upon his arrival at Malfoy Manor, and she would make sure to lift his spirits before midnight.

She tucked his gift in her garter.

Also on AO3

[pbandjesse]

I just got home from my beading workshop. Which was so fun and such a lovely night. But I had to really hold myself together and of course as soon as I came home I completely fell apart. I just had a Popsicle and am laying down with sweetp. I am thankfully not nauseous but man am I tired.

It's not even that I am frustrated that I have to go to work. I'm frustrated when there isn't anything for me to do and I'm just. Sitting around. It drives me crazy. I could be at home! Laying down! Making stuff! But instead I'm just. Scrolling on Pinterest. But thankfully there was some stuff to do today, but there were still hours of me just being tired and frustrated.

I also didn't sleep well last night. I woke up at 2 and was absolutely completely awake. And my brain was looping about things I wanted to do in the house. Change the ceiling light. Packing James office to make space for baby. Ripping up carpets. Building a new closet. Feeling claustrophobic. Just not having the best time.

I would end up walking around the house and writing down things that I wanted to do. And emailed the list to James. They, being a sweetie, would write it all out and make a plan to get through my list. Love them so much.

I would eventually fall back asleep but it was not great. I woke up for real at 730 and I just felt really bad. But I had to get myself together to wait for our appliances to be delivered.

James would leave not long after I moved downstairs. I ate the peach I got yesterday. It was not quite ripe enough but it was still good.

I was laying on the couch when James texted me that they rescheduled our delivery again. For tomorrow. Frustrating. James was very mad. I was just annoyed but it's whatever.

I wasn't going to rush to work. Instead I would go and walk over to the CVS to get a refill of my zofran. Which ended up being really easy. While I waited for them to fill that I walked around the store. I got cheese puffs and moleskin to fix my shoes that gave me blisters. And once I had paid my $1.79 for my pills, I headed out.

I jumped in my car and drove to camp. There wasn't much traffic. I would get to camp around 9 and was still earlier then everyone else. And I didn't have my office keys so I decided I should just go up to art and fix my shoes with the moleskin. I would also gather a few more bead things for my workshop. And by the time I finished fixing the shoes I heard Elizabeth and Heather pull in. So I went to the office too.

I would spend the beginning of the day printing and stapling my handouts for the workshop. And I would work on creating a color sheet for my naft feild trips. And would print out some calendars for the next few months so I could write down all the trips and jobs and appointments. It's going to be a busy couple months.

I would work on some small tasks on the computer. Some emails, some gathering of information. But I also was just. Not doing enough. So I would spend a really large chunk of the day writing out notes for each specialty area from the summer. Who ran what. What went well, what didn't, things I think for next year. Suggestions about who should be running things and who shouldn't. My thought was since we were having a meeting today it would be good to be able to point toward this. Even if I wasn't there for the meeting.

I struggled to eat my lunch. Everything tasted bad today, or at least weird. I would eat most of the bag of the cheese puffs. And tried hard to drink water but it just tasted bad and it was very frustrating.

I would go up to art and laid in my hammock. I would end up falling asleep for a half hour. It was not a nice nap. Like it was really nice laying there but I felt very odd when I woke up and I was just not having fun.

I would shake it off best I could and would go back to the office. We were supposed to have a meeting today but it would end up getting moved to tomorrow. I was only annoyed because I wanted to go home so bad but I was staying for the meeting. But it's fine. I would be okay.

For the last hour I would work on some stuff for next year's music festival. And I felt good being productive. But by 330 I was like. It's time. I gotta go home.

So I checked in with Heather and she said that was fine. I got my stuff together and went home.

I'm glad I left when I did. Traffic was really bad and I wouldn't get home until 430. I only barely beat James. When I got back here I would turn the oven on so I could make a pizza.

James would get home and got to work changing the light in the studio. And I went and laid down while I waited for my pizza.

I had to leave here at 530. But that gave me enough time to finish gathering my materials and eat my pizza and be horizontal for a little bit.

But then it was time to go! And I was a little.nervous but it would end up being such a wonderful evening.

I set all my stuff up. And I had 7 people in my class. We would spend the first 20 minutes going over my background, the history of beading, and the tools we would use. I would show how to attach the beads. And then I set everyone to work.

Beading is a slow process. And we would work through 8. And it was just such a lovely group. We talked about work and life and it was just such a lovely night.

Beading on felt has its own problems. And our needles were getting wiggly and we were laughing and it was just such a good energy. We were also just laughing because there was a cowboy tapdance class above us?? It was so loud at times it was like they were going to fall right through the floor. But that would only go until 7. And our last hour was much quieter. With just my music playing.

We cleaned up at 8. And I only had the one basket so it was an easy clean up. And a few of them promised to sign up for my next class. They were excited to hear that all the home ecc classes were with me. Which made me feel really happy.

I also told them I just found out I was pregnant and when Parker was there I told him I was going to take the spring off to work on a "long term project" and showed him the ultrasound and I thought it was so funny. He was very excited for me, as were everyone in the class. It is really nice that other people are being so nice to me and excited for me. It helps a lot.

I went home and it's only about a 5 minute drive. I was very happy to be home where I could fall apart again.

James was here and was being so sweet. They got my that popsicle and I took a shower and now we are in bed. And I am so very very tired. Tomorrow they are apparently going to deliver our appliances, for real this time. Fingers crossed. And when that's done we'll see how I feel and if I'm going to go to camp. I probably will. I want to. I just want to have stuff to do.

Now though it is time for sleep. I love you all very much. Sleep well everyone. Goodnight!!