#and most of you would do it again in a heartbeat

[fandoms-x-reader]

Sensitive! MC

Requested By: @fairwish

Summary: The brothers' reaction to an MC who is sensitive and gets upset about not having anyone who cares about them in the Devildom. The Demon Brothers x Reader Word Count: 3,064

This doesn't have Belphie because of the lesson it's based on! Sorry <3

Based on Lesson 6-15

You had been torn away from your life and taken to an unfamiliar place full of creatures that humans portrayed as scary and evil.

You didn’t know anyone in the Devildom. You didn’t have anyone who cared about you or that you could talk to about the trouble you were experiencing.

You were all alone, terrified, trying to figure out how exactly you ended up here.

And to top it all off, none of your new acquaintances seemed to care.

They all carried on without a worry in the world - as if it was the most normal thing in the world for a human to be in Devildom.

They didn’t do anything to try and soothe your pain of missing home or calm your fears of being surrounded by demons.

In fact, some one of them - Mammon - spurred them on by threatening to eat you if you didn’t listen to them or do as they asked.

You did your best to put on a brave face, to pretend as though their words and actions didn’t affect you as much as they did.

But it was hard to keep your composure when it was clear that not a single one of them cared about you.

-

You made your way to the Assembly Hall, your heartbeat still pounding in your chest.

You had just left the music room where you had a very intense one-on-one conversation with Lucifer after your near-death experience where you tried to save Beel and Luke.

“Hey, how about that Y/N, you’re alive!” Mammon stated as you entered the large room, a smile on his face that you weren’t sure was one-hundred percent genuine.

“Let’s see…yep, you’ve still got both arms and both legs. Your eyes are still in their sockets, and your ears are still attached. Guess you’re okay,” Beel added.

“I want to know what Lucifer did. You’ve got to give me the deets L-8-R, yo!” Levi said, a bit too excitedly. 

“Whaaat, you’re still alive? Well, that’s boring,¨ Asmo replied, a small frown on his face, as if he was disappointed

You want to scoff at their reponses. How could they be so nonchalant with everything that just happened. How could they not care at all that you almost died trying to protect their brother.

“Of course. Unless he went crazy again like last night, Lucifer wouldn’t hurt Y/N,” Satan stated, the mention of your name bringing you out of your thoughts.

“And do you know why that is, Y/N?” Satan asked you, a small smirk resting on his lips as he asked the question.

You wished it was because Lucifer liked you. Or at the very least because you were a human. But you the knew the answer.

“Because I’m an exchange student,” you replied, softly, casting your gaze away from the demons standing in front of you.

That’s all you were to them - a business transaction. A pawn that was being used to ensure Lord Diavolo’s vision came to light.

“Exactly. I see you have a good grasp of what’s going on here,” Satan replied, and you felt tears begin to sting your eyes.

“If anything were to happen to one of our exchange students, it would make Lord Diavolo look bad,” Satan continued to explain and you took a deep breath in an attempt to steady your emotions.

“Lucifer would never do anything to harm Lord Diavolo’s reputation,” Satan added and you felt the ties that had been previously holding you back snap.

“You know, I actually forgot about that. For a moment, I was starting to think that Lucifer might actually care about me. Thanks for me reminding, Satan,” you replied sharply, your angry eyes locking with his surprised ones before you left the Assembly Hall.

Satan hadn’t expect such sarcasm to come out of you - such wrath. None of them did. 

You had passed Lucifer and Lord Diavolo on your way out of the Assembly Hall and they could feel your irritation radiating off of you.

They didn't follow after you though, instead turning their attention to the five other demons inside the Assmebly Hall, silently demanding an explanation as to why you were so upset.

Lucifer thought that he had patched things over with you after your conversation in the music room.

He wasn’t the best at apologizing but he was sure that he had gotten his point across about how regretful he was over his actions.

He thought that you had accepted his apology and that things were okay, but after seeing you storm out of the Assembly Hall, we was no longer sure that was true.

After his brothers told Lucifer what happened before his arrival, he thought it would be best if he went and checked on you himself.

He found you in the courtyard, remnants of the tears you had previously shed streaking down your cheeks.

Lucifer wasn’t sure how to start the conversation. Mostly, because he wasn’t exactly sure why you were so upset.

It took a little bit of time, but when you finally opened up and told Lucifer about your troubles, he was surprised. 

He was surprisingly sympathetic to what you were going through, but he didn’t exactly let that side of himself show.

He had already apologized to you for his part in causing you discomfort in the Devildom and he was the Avatar of Pride, after all, so getting a second apology was a tall order, and an unlikely one.

But, you did notice Lucifer doing small things around RAD and the House of Lamentation.

It could be simple things that provided more comfort for your life in the Devildom or moments of appreciation that Lucifer treated as trivial but ended up meaning more to you than you thought it would.

After that conversation with Lucifer, one thing was clear - he and his brothers weren’t treating you right and they needed to make amends for that and correct their course of action.

Mammon could arguably be the most sensitive among his brothers when it came to certain things.

He had his fair share of moments where he felt like he didn’t matter to his brothers and times where he felt like there wasn’t a single person in the Devildom that cared about him.

So, he knew just how devastating those thoughts could be.

When you first arrived to the Devildom, Mammon’s concern was making sure that he made himself out to be intimidating and indifferent towards you so that he could have the power in the friendship.

He wanted to dictate when and where the two of you would go and how things were done. After all, if he was going to be your babysitter, he wanted full control of the situation.

But that didn’t really work out for him, and it didn’t take long for him to not only have to bend his knee to your will - but he wanted to.

The truth was he had fun with you and you always found a way to make him smile. Though, he refused to say anything like that. Hell, he refused to even think anything like that when he was around others.

But, when you had your outburst in the Assmebly Hall, Mammon had seen the pained look on your face. The same pained look that he had seen on himself in the mirror.

He followed after you almost immediately, not letting you get too far before he caught up and pulled you into an empty classroom.

He stood in front of you, silence filling the air as you did your best but failed to hold back your tears.

Mammon dared himself to reach up and use his thumb to brush away the tears that were rolling down your cheek.

“I’m sorry, it’s just hard to keep it together when no one around you cares about you,” you stated, barely above a whisper as you kept your gaze on the ground.

Mammon felt his heart shatter as you spoke those words. He knew that he was at fault just as much as his brothers.

He wanted to tell you that he cared about you, but every time he opened his mouth to speak those words, they got lost.

So, instead he pulled you into his arms, hoping that his gesture would be enough to prove you wrong.

Hoping that you would see that even though he had a tendency to act aloof, on the inside he was screaming for you to show him attention and to care about him the same way he cared about you.

Levi isn’t the type of person who knows how to handle this kind of situation.

He wasn’t even planning on going in to school today. He was perfectly content with doing his studies from the comfort of his bedroom.

But, ever since he made a pact with you, he had to admit he felt some sort of desire - a very SECRET desire - to spend more time with you.

The idea that his brothers would be hanging out with you at school while he was sitting at the House of Lamentation, missing out, was enough to spark the sin that he tried so hard to control.

And now after seeing everything that had just happened, he was heavily regretting his decision to leave his room.

Because now he was stuck between a rock and a hard place.

On one hand, he wanted to disappear back to his otaku haven and pretend like he never saw your outburst

On the other hand…he couldn’t. He felt like he had to do something to help, and the feeling only grew when he didn’t see any of his other brothers moving to go talk to you.

His social anxiety was skyrocketing, but he couldn’t leave a fellow TSL fan in their time of need. That was the reason the told himself when questioning why he was doing this.

When he finally did find you, he once again froze in place as he tried to figure out his next move. He didn’t expect to find you crying.

He found some nearby tissues and slowly approached you with them, relaxing slightly when you gently took them from him and began wiping away your tears.

Levi managed to ask you why you were crying and when you explained it to him, everything made sense as to why you snapped at them.

Levi was almost always self-depracating. Sometimes it was easier to tell yourself that no one loved you then get your hopes up and get hurt. 

But he didn’t want you to go down that rabbit hole - because it wasn’t true.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to do it, but he was going to find a way to show you how much you meant to him and his brothers.

He was going to prove how just in your small time there, you had already changed at least three of them for the better. And it wouldn't be long until the others followed suit.

Levi might not have the perfect words to say or the perfect way to cheer you up, but what he did have was a true friend.

And you may have to wait a while until he’s comfortable enough for him to tell you that. But, in the meantime, he’ll do what he could to show you that at least one person cared about you.

Satan had been the one you snapped at, so he was by far the most surprised.

For one, he wasn’t exactly sure what about his statements made you so angry.

He wasn’t trying to be rude or offensive, he was simply stating the facts about Lucifer.

For two, he didn’t think you had such rage inside. 

In a somewhat twisted sense, he dared to admit seeing you portray his sin gave him a small sense of gratification.

But, that thought was at the back of his mind. At the front, was trying to talk to you about what happened.

He took some time to properly analyze the situation. He tried to come up with every possible reason that could have caused you to lash out.

He wanted to have a response to any situation so that when he did talk to you, he wasn’t floundering for words.

He found you in the library at the House of Lamentation a little while later and he was grateful you were in a quiet and private place that he just so happened to be comfortable in.

You looked up from your book for a moment to see who had entered before returning to your fictional world. 

Satan came to sit down next to you and paused for a moment before saying, “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

It was a much more sincere apology than you would expect from the Avatar of Wrath and it was enough to pull your attention away from your book.

“It’s not what you said. It’s what it reminded me of,” you replied with a small sigh.

“What did it remind you of?” Satan questioned, his eyes holding no malice but a hint of curiosity

“That I’m alone down here. That I don’t have anyone to turn to or talk to. That I don’t have anyone who cares,” you replied softly, your eyes looking away from Satan’s intense ones.

Satan had thought about this being one of the reasons, but he was stuck in a mental debate.

He was so used to being apathetic but something about the way you opened up to him melted his heart and he suddenly felt an innate desire to protect you.

“The library is a great place to go if you’re feeling lonely,” Satan stated.

It was always his comfort place, so he saw no reason why it couldn’t be yours.

Not to mention the fact, that he was typically in the library and maybe a small part of him was hoping that he could also be something you sought out when you were feeling lonely.

Asmo didn’t really understand the weight that his words carried until you were angrily walking out of the Assembly Hall.

As soon as you disappeared from sight he began questioning himself. Did he really say it was boring that you weren’t dead?

He had meant it as a joke when he first said it. It was a joke that most demons would find funny and he was so good at trying to be a people pleaser.

He was used to making those kinds of jokes because it would boost the way he looked in front of other demons and we all know how important his reputation was to him.

But your outburst made him realize how it must have sounded to you - a human who had been torn from their world and thrown into one that was vastly different. 

And a twinge of guilt poked at his heart, gradually growing in intensity until he felt like he could no longer stave off the need to apologize.

He found you in your bedroom and was thankful that the two of you would have a moment to be alone.

His apology would be so much more genuine if it was in privacy where he could drop the mask he constantly wore in public.

When you opened the door Asmo suppressed a gasp as he saw tears rolling down your cheek and the guilt only continued to eat away at him.

He had always thought that crying was such an ugly thing. But when you did it, it had a certain elegance.

You had a way of making anything you did beautiful. It was a trait that Asmo was actually quite envious of.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” Asmo said, the words spilling from his lips before he had even fully registered what he said. 

You were confused by his sudden confession and as you tried to find the right words to reply with, he continued.

“I'm glad you're okay. And I'm sorry I made you cry," he added.

Asmo grabbed a nearby tissue and gently brought it to your cheek, dabbing away your tears.

You knew that what he said was probably a joke, but it didn't make it hurt any less.

You opened up to Asmo and explained why it hurt so much to hear everyone say those things and it was like a lightbulb went off in Asmo's head.

He completely understood where you were coming from and he hated that none of them even thought about how hard it would be for a human to adjust to life in the Devildom.

In an attempt to show you he cared about you, Asmo will turn up his charm 100% on you.

More compliments, more hugs, really anything he could do.

And if that wasn't enough he would take you out with him and introduce you to some of his friends.

Being lonely was one of the worst feelings and Asmo never wanted you to feel that way.

Beel felt the most guilty after seeing you so upset.

He was the one you were protecting when Lucifer tried to attack you.

You had stepped in front of him and shielded him.

He had been so thankful that Diavolo managed to reach Lucifer in time and stop him from hurting you.

And he made sure to tell you as much when you were resting up in his bedroom after the attack.

Yet, when that conversation was happening in the Assembly Hall, he said and did nothing to help you.

He could see you growing more and more upset as his brothers talked, but he continued to just stand by and listen.

As soon as you left the Assembly Hall in tears though, Beel knew he had messed up.

He immediately followed after you, genuinely worried about you.

When he finally caught up to you, Beel immediately wrapped you into his arms, pulling you closely into him.

Panic was filling every inch of his body as he tried to come up with the right words.

In the end, he told you, “My brothers were just kidding.”

You let out a small chuckle, gently pulling away from Beel and wiping the tears from your eyes.

“I know that what they were saying wasn’t completely true, but Satan was right. I don’t have anyone down here that cares about me,” you replied, and Beel’s lip turned into a frown.

He looked so sad and lost at your words that you almost felt like you needed to comfort him.

“When I asked you why you protected me and Luke, you told me it was because we were your friends and we were important to you,” Beel began, and your eyes locked with his indigo ones. 

“You’re my friend too, and you’re important to me,” Beel added with a small smile that portrayed how sincere he was being you.

His expression was enough to bring a small smile to your face and you allowed yourself to open up to Beel.

You knew that the whole experience brought the two of you closer, and you knew that Beel was someone who would always be there for you and someone you could always turn to.

[kiwriteswords]

And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like, "I love you."

AN: Since you guys seem to like the Shy!Reader drabbles!

Other Writing | Ao3

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Shy!Fem!Reader!

Word Count: 5.2k

Rating: Everyone

TW: shy!reader, alcohol mention

Five times you were shy around Aaron Hotchner because of your underlying feelings for him + one time, Aaron Hotchner was shy around you because of his underlying feelings for you.

one.

The office was unusually quiet, save for the occasional rustle of papers and the soft hum of computers. The rest of the team was out in the field, leaving just you and Aaron Hotchner behind to finish reviewing the case files for the next briefing.

You glanced at the clock. It was just after 6 p.m. Most people would be winding down their day, but for the BAU, the hours always seemed to blend together. Of course, you didn’t mind—working with the best agents in the FBI was an honor, but working directly under Aaron Hotchner, your team leader and a respected figure in the bureau? That was something else entirely.

And today, you were supposed to help him with the case files for the recent kidnapping case. Alone.

“Ready?” His deep voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you nearly jumped. You didn’t have the time to dissect why this man--your boss, made you feel this way. As if every time he looked at you, it felt like he could see things differently--more than anyone else. You felt a level of exposure you were not quite used to. It wasn’t bad, no. Just made you feel sort of funny inside. 

“Uh, yes, yes, sir. Just—just a second.” You scrambled to gather your papers, your hands suddenly clammy as you fumbled with the file in front of you. Great start, you mentally scolded yourself.

You could feel his eyes on you, calm and patient, as you tried to compose yourself. Hotch, with his sharp features and intense gaze, sat down beside you at the long conference table, his presence commanding even though he said nothing. As usual, he was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, tie still impeccably knotted despite the long day.

He always looked so put together, so composed, and here you were, barely able to keep from dropping the entire file on the floor.

And that was the thing about Aaron Hotchner’s microscope; it was never him purposefully looking at you--through you with judgment. Just through a different lens, you could feel it. 

“Okay,” you breathed out, finally opening the folder and staring at the first page, willing yourself to focus. But of course, all you could focus on was him sitting beside you, his arm brushing ever so slightly against yours as he leaned in to review the documents.

Hotch’s voice broke the silence again. “I noticed some inconsistencies in the witness statements,” he said, pointing at a section in the report. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the proximity making your heartbeat quicken.

“Right, um, inconsistencies. Yes, I—I saw those too,” you stammered, your voice just a little higher than usual. You could feel your cheeks burning. Pull it together.

As you reached to turn the page, your fingers trembled slightly, and the edges of the papers crinkled under your grip. You cursed yourself internally. He’s going to think I don’t know what I’m doing.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Hotch glance at you. His brow furrowed, not in frustration, but in something softer—concern, maybe? Before you could stop yourself, you began speaking too fast, trying to fill the silence.

“I mean, the statements are definitely off, like you said. I was just thinking, you know, we could um, cross-check them against the surveillance footage from the convenience store and maybe, uh, match the timestamps, because—well, um, obviously, you’ve probably already thought of that, but I just thought…”

You trailed off when you realized Hotch wasn’t looking at the file anymore. He was looking at you. And oh god, that made things so much worse. You felt the tips of your ears burning now, and you quickly looked down at the paper in front of you, pretending to reread the same line over and over just to avoid his gaze.

“You’re doing fine,” Hotch said softly, his voice cutting through your spiraling thoughts.

You looked up, blinking in surprise. His expression was calm, reassuring even, as though he could sense how flustered you were. For a moment, you thought you saw the tiniest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I—thanks,” you managed to say, your voice barely a whisper. You bit your lip, cursing yourself for sounding so meek. This was Aaron Hotchner—your boss, your colleague. And yet, here you were, acting like a nervous schoolgirl with a crush.

Well, because you did have a crush. A big one. A ridiculous, all-consuming crush that you had been battling for months now. And being this close to him, feeling his presence so close—it was like your brain short-circuited every time. His cologne, his energy--everything that surrounded your senses was just like a drug making your brain work in ways it really shouldn’t be when you have a job to do.

Hotch nodded, his attention returning to the file in front of you, but the moment didn’t pass unnoticed. The air between you felt different now--lighter. As if he understood, on some level, that your nerves weren’t because of the case, but because of him. 

You worked in silence after that, the tension slowly ebbing away. But every now and then, you caught him glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, as if he was still watching, still noticing.

And for the first time, you let yourself wonder if maybe, just maybe, Aaron Hotchner noticed you too.

two.

It had already been a morning and a half. The team had gathered for a debrief, with everyone scattered around their desks reviewing the latest case notes. You felt the weight of exhaustion after the last long night, and from the looks of it, so did everyone else. It was natural for these long hours to catch up to you all eventually. 

“Coffee run?” you asked, glancing around at the others. JJ and Spencer immediately nodded, followed by Morgan flashing you a grateful smile.

“I could use about three cups,” Emily quipped, massaging her temples.

You smiled back and quickly made your way to the break room. As you stood by the machine, the familiar hum of it brewing filled the room. You glanced at the lineup of mugs in your arms, including the one you had specifically set aside for Hotch. His was easy to pick out—simple, just like the man himself.

For some reason, even the simple act of grabbing coffee for him made you feel jittery. Maybe it was because of the way he always carried himself—calm, collected, completely in control. Or maybe it was the way he looked at you, like he was always assessing, always paying attention.

Or maybe it was because you had the world’s most inconvenient crush on your boss.

You sighed and shook your head. It's just coffee. Be normal.

When the machine finally finished, you loaded the cups and returned to the bullpen. As you handed the team their drinks, your nerves started to build as you approached Hotch’s office. His door was slightly ajar, and through the gap, you could see him typing away on his computer, his brow furrowed in concentration.

You knocked softly, pushing the door open a little wider. “Coffee?”

Hotch glanced up, his eyes softening for a brief moment as he saw you standing there, juggling the last two mugs. “Thank you,” he said, his voice warm but as professional as always.

You stepped forward, holding out his cup. “Uh, here,” you said, your voice coming out a little I quickly. As he reached for it, your fingers accidentally brushed against his.

The contact was fleeting but sent a jolt through your whole body. Your breath hitched, and suddenly, you were hyper-aware of how close he was. Your heart thudded against your ribcage, and you swore he must have heard it. You tried to ignore how your hand trembled slightly, but it was impossible with Hotch standing right there.

For a second, he didn’t move. His gaze flickered down to your hand, then back up to meet your eyes, and you could have sworn there was a flicker of amusement in his expression as if he was beginning to catch on to the hold he had over you. He took the cup from you carefully, his touch deliberate and slow. 

“Thank you,” he repeated, but this time, there was something softer in his tone. His lips curved ever so slightly—a small smile, barely noticeable if you weren’t paying attention, but you were. You always were.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. Why am I such a mess around him?

“Oh—uh, no problem,” you managed to stammer, suddenly unable to look him in the eye. You took a step back, desperate to escape before you embarrassed yourself further. “Enjoy your coffee, Hotch.”

You turned to leave, feeling your face burn with embarrassment. Behind you, you heard him chuckle softly—a rare sound, one that sent another rush of heat through you. You could only hope he didn’t notice how flustered you were. But then again, judging by that tiny smile, he already had.

three.

A grueling case with long hours and high tension called for alcohol and camaraderie. When Rossi suggested they all unwind at a nearby bar after wrapping things up, no one argued. The idea of a drink and a few hours of normalcy was too tempting to pass up--and much needed.

You found yourself sitting at a long table with the rest of the team, squeezed between JJ and Hotch. Normally, that would have sent your nerves into overdrive, but after the first glass of wine—and then the second—you felt your anxiety loosen just a bit. Just enough to breathe without overthinking every little move you made next to him.

The conversation flowed easily around you, with Morgan and Garcia trading playful banter while Spencer tried to argue some statistic about criminal behavior. You laughed along, but every time Hotch spoke, your focus snapped to him. You couldn’t help it. It was like your mind was on high alert every time he addressed the group, or worse—you directly.

“Good work on the case,” he said at one point, turning to you with that intense gaze of his. “You managed the witness interviews really well. I think it made a difference.”

Your heart lurched. He was complimenting you—praising your work in front of the whole team. The sudden attention made your pulse quicken, and you could feel your face heating up despite the buzz from the drinks.

Before you could stop yourself, the words just spilled out.

With a slightly bolder tone than you usually used around him, you turned to face him fully, giving him a playful smile. “Well, maybe I just wanted to impress you, Hotch.”

The second the words left your mouth, you realized how bold they sounded. You raised your glass slightly, locking eyes with him for a moment longer than necessary. You’d just flirted with your boss. There was no going back now.

Hotch blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but then a slow smile—rare but devastating—appeared on his face. “Is that right?” he replied, his voice low and most definitely amused. 

Your heart practically stopped, but before you could spiral too much, JJ leaned over with a laugh. “Well, someone’s confident tonight.” 

You hadn’t even realized that not only did you flirt with Hotch, but you happened to do it in front of your coworkers--your profiling coworkers. Ones that were well-trained and versed in all sorts of fucked up psychology that “having an apparent crush on your older boss” would fall under. 

The moment passed quickly, and the conversation shifted again, but your head was spinning. The buzz from the drinks had officially worn off, leaving you hyper-aware of everything. You spent the rest of the night trying to avoid looking directly at Hotch, hoping that maybe—just maybe—he hadn’t taken your words too seriously.

By the time you walked into work the next morning, the weight of what happened at the dinner hit you full force. I flirted with Hotch. The realization felt like a brick sinking in your stomach.

You avoided his office all morning, burying yourself in paperwork and case files. Every time someone walked past your desk, you jumped, paranoid that it would be him coming to say something—anything—about last night.

Why did I have to say that? What was I thinking?

By midday, you were a ball of nerves. Every interaction with Hotch now felt loaded, as if you were walking on a tightrope. When he passed by your desk and gave you a small nod of acknowledgment, you nearly knocked your coffee over, your hands trembling as you tried to act casual.

You could still feel the burn of embarrassment every time you remembered how easy the words had slipped out. And the worst part? He hadn’t seemed uncomfortable at all. If anything, he had smiled. That tiny, knowing smile that you couldn’t get out of your head.

Later, when you were both in the conference room, going over case files, the tension felt unbearable. You barely managed to string together coherent answers every time he asked you a question, your brain too busy screaming Don’t be awkward.

But even in your shyness, you couldn’t help but wonder if he remembered what you said. If maybe, somewhere behind that calm, professional exterior, Aaron Hotchner had actually been flustered, too?

four. 

Everyone else had left hours ago, but you were still there, finishing up some paperwork that seemed never-ending. The only sound was the soft clicking of your keyboard and the occasional creak of your chair as you shifted positions. Being the newest member on the team, you often double- or even triple-check everything, afraid it would be wrong. This cost you a lot of your spare time, but in fairness, what else did you have going on? 

You weren’t surprised that Aaron Hotchner was still there, too. He was always the last to leave, always pushing himself past his limits. It was one of the things you admired about him—and maybe one of the reasons you found it so hard to concentrate whenever you were alone with him.

You glanced at the clock. It was well past 9 p.m., and the fatigue from the long day was starting to settle into your bones. You leaned back in your chair, rubbing your eyes when you heard footsteps approaching. Before you could turn around, Hotch’s calm, steady voice cut through the silence.

“You’ve been at this for hours,” he said softly, standing just behind your desk. “Maybe it’s time for a break.”

Your breath caught in your throat for a moment. You hadn’t realized how quiet it was until his voice filled the space. His tone almost vibrating against your ears. 

You quickly straightened up, trying to act casual, though you could already feel your pulse quickening.

“Oh, uh, yeah… probably a good idea,” you said, a bit too quickly. You glanced up at him, and for a split second, you wished you hadn’t. He was standing close—too close—and the sight of him with his tie slightly loosened, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, sent a fresh wave of nervousness through you. Why did he always have to look so effortlessly composed?

Hotch tilted his head slightly, as if considering something. “I was about to make some tea,” he said, his voice low and calming. “Would you like some?”

Tea. Something about the simplicity of the offer made your heart flutter. “Sure,” you replied, smiling faintly. “Tea sounds nice.”

A few minutes later, Hotch returned with two steaming mugs. He set one down beside your stack of papers and took a seat in the chair next to yours. 

You quickly pulled your hand back, hoping he hadn’t noticed the way your breath caught in your throat. But of course, he noticed everything. That’s who he was.

“Long day,” he said quietly, sipping his tea and glancing over at you.

You nodded, trying to keep your thoughts from spiraling. “Yeah. Feels like the days are getting longer.”

Hotch smiled softly, a rare but welcome sight. “I’d say you handled it well.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Compliments from Aaron Hotchner were few and far between, and when they came, they always seemed to hit harder than you expected. You swallowed nervously, feeling the familiar heat rising to your cheeks.

“T-Thanks,” you stammered, looking down at your tea and willing yourself not to blush. But it was no use. You were hyper-aware of how close he was, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. Every word you could have said stuck in your throat, as if your mind had gone blank.

There was a brief silence, the kind that felt charged with something unspoken. Hotch leaned back in his chair slightly, his gaze steady on you. You could feel it—his calm presence, his quiet strength—and it only made your nerves worse. How did he manage to make small talk feel so intense?

“You don’t have to push yourself so hard, you know,” he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “You’re already doing more than enough. There’s nothing you need to prove--you deserve to be here.”

Your breath caught again. Was he worried about you? The thought made your heart race even faster. You tried to find the right words, but they felt stuck. All you could manage was a small, awkward laugh. “I guess I’m just trying to keep up with you.”

Hotch’s expression softened further, and for a moment, you swore there was something in his eyes—something warmer, more personal. He didn’t respond right away, just held your gaze for a beat longer than necessary.

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire now, and you quickly took a sip of your tea, hoping it would calm your racing heart. But the silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like a quiet understanding had passed between the two of you, something unspoken but undeniably there.

Maybe he put together all of the pieces and realized you were hopelessly crushing on him, so he had pity and let you be. Maybe he thought men made you nervous--but then again, he’d seen you all buddy-buddy with Reid or even Morgan.

As the minutes passed, the tension slowly ebbed away, but the closeness remained. Hotch’s presence beside you felt reassuring, yet it kept your pulse thrumming in a way that made you wish you could stay like this just a little longer. Even if it meant fumbling over your words, you wouldn’t mind.

five.

The overhead lights buzzed softly, and the air was thick with the smell of coffee. You were sitting at the round table in the conference room, papers spread out in front of you, piecing together a presentation for the case debrief tomorrow. Your focus was sharp, and for once, you weren’t thinking about how close Hotch was sitting. Well, almost.

Aaron Hotchner was seated at the head of the table, reviewing files and notes from his section of the case, his brow furrowed in concentration. The silence between you felt comfortable—until it wasn’t.

Out of nowhere, Hotch spoke up, breaking the quiet. “Your organizational skills are impressive,” he said, his tone casual but sincere. “I don’t know how you keep all of this together so efficiently.”

You froze, your pen hovering above the notebook in front of you. He complimented you--again. The words sunk in slowly, and you could feel your face start to burn. Why did he always catch you off guard like this?

“I—uh, thanks,” you stammered, suddenly feeling the need to escape. Your heart raced as you realized how flustered you must look, your cheeks burning under his calm gaze. You barely managed to glance up at him, but his expression wasn’t teasing. It was soft, warm even.

“I just try to stay on top of things,” you mumbled, pushing your chair back too quickly. The sound echoed through the room, making you cringe. You could feel your face turning crimson as you gathered up your papers in a rush, trying to hide your embarrassment.

Why did he have to say something so nice? Why did you have to react like this every time?

You gave him a brief, awkward smile and practically bolted for the door. “I-I need to get this to JJ,” you blurted out, even though you had no intention of doing so.

As you reached the doorway, your hand on the handle, you heard him call your name—soft but unmistakable. You froze in place, half-turned, not daring to look back fully.

“By the way,” he said, his voice still calm but a touch more serious. “You don’t need to rush out every time I give you a compliment.”

Your breath caught, and for a split second, you weren’t sure if you could move. There was no teasing in his tone, no sharpness—just a quiet, sincere warmth. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe, just maybe, Hotch noticed more than you thought.

You finally turned slightly toward him, meeting his gaze briefly. “I… I’ll try not to,” you whispered, your voice shaky but honest. Without waiting for a response, you slipped out of the room, your heart pounding in your chest.

And as you left the room, you heard Hotch chuckle softly to himself. It wasn’t cruel; it was amused, affectionate even. That only made things worse.

As you walked down the hall, the sound of his words still echoed in your mind, replaying over and over. You didn’t need to rush out every time he complimented you. And for the first time, you wondered what might happen if you didn’t.

+one

It had been weeks since the last case that left you fleeing the conference room after Aaron Hotchner’s casual compliment about your organizational skills. You’d spent every day since trying to keep your interactions with him as short and as professional as possible, but avoiding him entirely wasn’t exactly an option. You were part of the team, and your role often required working closely with him. That only made your constant nervousness more exhausting.

Every time he passed by your desk, every time he said your name in that calm, authoritative tone, your heart would skip a beat. The nerves were always there, simmering just under the surface. You weren’t sure if he noticed how flustered you got around him or if he simply chalked it up to work stress. Either way, it made every interaction with him feel like walking on a tightrope.

And today was no different after another intense case had finally been closed. You were finishing paperwork at your desk when you saw Hotch step out of his office, his eyes scanning the bullpen. The moment his gaze landed on you, your stomach twisted.

He started walking over, his strides purposeful. You tried to keep your face neutral, even as the heat rushed to your cheeks. Stay calm. It’s just work.

You looked up at him when he stopped before your desk, forcing a smile. “Do you need something?”

Hotch’s expression was unreadable, but something in his eyes seemed different today. Less intense, more… hesitant? “Can I see you in my office for a moment?”

Your heart thudded in your chest, and you quickly nodded, not trusting your voice. You grabbed your notepad, assuming it was something case-related, and followed him back into his office.

As you stepped inside, he closed the door behind you. The click of the latch made the room feel suddenly smaller--more intimate. You turned to face him, clutching your notepad like a shield.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of your voice.

Hotch didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he walked over to his desk, leaning against it, his arms crossed. His posture was relaxed, but there was something in the way he looked at you—something that made your pulse quicken.

“I’ve noticed,” he began, his voice measured but quieter than usual, “that you’ve been avoiding me.”

Your stomach dropped. He noticed. You hadn’t thought it was that obvious, but of course, this was Aaron Hotchner. He noticed everything.

“I… I h-haven’t been avoiding you,” you stammered, though you knew it was a lie. “I’ve just been busy. Lots of cases lately, you know.”

Hotch’s gaze didn’t waver. “That’s not what it feels like.”

You swallowed hard, your nerves threatening to overwhelm you. He wasn’t angry; his tone wasn’t harsh or accusatory, but there was a weight to his words that made your throat go dry. He uncrossed his arms and took a small step toward you, closing the gap between you just enough to make your breath hitch.

“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he continued, his voice softer now. “But I’ve noticed how you’ve been acting around me. And I have to admit, it’s been difficult to ignore.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest, your mind racing. Was he going to reprimand you for being unprofessional? Did he think you couldn’t handle your job because of the way you acted around him? Would he send you off to report to someone different? You felt the familiar heat rising in your cheeks and wished you could disappear.

“I’m sorry if I’ve been… awkward,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. At this moment, you felt like a small child, “It’s just—”

Before you could finish, Hotch interrupted, his expression softening in a way you hadn’t seen before. “You don’t have to explain. I think I know why.”

His words hung in the air between you, and suddenly, everything felt different. You blinked, your breath catching in your throat. “You do?”

Hotch took another small step forward, his gaze never leaving yours. He was so close now that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. For the first time, you noticed the way his usually composed features seemed more vulnerable—like he was grappling with something inside himself.

“I’ve noticed because I’ve been feeling the same way,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart stopped. He feels the same way? Your mind struggled to process what he was saying. Aaron Hotchner, your boss—the man who was always in control, always so composed—was confessing that he had feelings for you?

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Your thoughts were a tangled mess, and all you could do was stare at him in stunned silence.

Hotch ran a hand through his hair, an uncharacteristically nervous gesture that sent a ripple of shock through you. He seemed just as uneasy as you were, as though he wasn’t used to being in this position—being vulnerable. “I’ve been trying to ignore it for a while,” he continued, his eyes searching yours for some kind of reaction. “But…but I can’t anymore.”

The silence between you felt thick with unspoken words, with all the tension and longing that had been building for weeks, maybe even months. And now it was all out in the open.

“I don’t know what to say,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Hotch smiled—just a small, almost shy smile that you’d never seen from him before. He let out a soft chuckle, “Neither do I. This is… new for me.”

Your mind was still racing, but somewhere amidst the chaos, you realized that he wasn’t just confessing to you. He was just as nervous, just as unsure. For the first time, Aaron Hotchner—the man who always seemed unshakable—was standing in front of you, vulnerable and open.

You felt a surge of courage then, maybe fueled by the realization that this wasn’t one-sided. He was just as affected by you as you were by him. Slowly, you took a step closer, closing the remaining distance between you.

“I didn’t think you’d ever notice,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly, though steadier than before. You took a breath, forcing yourself to keep eye contact, despite the fluttering nerves in your stomach. “I thought I was just… making a fool of myself. That you’d think I was unprofessional.”

Hotch’s expression softened, his gaze never leaving yours. He shook his head gently, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name, something more tender than you’d ever seen from him before. “You haven’t,” he said softly. “Believe me… I’ve noticed everything.”

The weight of his words hit you, and for the first time, you realized how closely he’d been watching, how much attention he’d been paying to all the little moments you thought were only one-sided. A warmth spread through you, melting away some of the nervous tension that had been building for months.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward anymore—it was charged, yes, but it was also full of something else. Understanding. Relief. The unspoken truth you’d both been dancing around finally laid bare.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke, just stood there, the distance between you feeling impossibly small. You took a deep breath, your heart still pounding but lighter now, and offered him a small, hesitant smile. “So… what happens now?” you asked, your voice quieter, as if you weren’t sure you wanted the spell to break.

Hotch’s smile was subtle, but it reached his eyes this time, easing some of the tension in his shoulders. “I’m not sure,” he admitted, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. “But I do know this… whatever we decide, we don’t need to rush.”

His words were steady and reassuring, and for the first time in a long while, you felt like you could breathe. The uncertainty was still there, yes, but so was the certainty that you weren’t alone in this anymore. That the feelings you’d been so afraid of had been mirrored all along.

You nodded slowly, a smile tugging at your lips. “Together, then?”

“Together,” he echoed, his voice quiet but firm.

And just as you turned to leave, feeling the tension melt away, Hotch called your name again. This time, his tone was softer, almost hesitant. You turned back to face him, your breath catching in your throat.

“One more thing,” he said, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’ve spent a lot of time noticing you. Maybe now… we don’t have to hide it anymore?”

His words lingered in the air between you, heavy with meaning. You swallowed hard, your heart racing again, but it wasn’t from nerves this time. It was from the hope that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something real.

You smiled a genuine smile this time. “I’d like that.”

With that, you left his office feeling lighter than you had in months. And for the first time, the uncertainty ahead didn’t feel so daunting.

tag list:

@zaddyhotchzaddyhotch

@estragos

@todorokishoe24

@looking1016

[izvmimi]

“Oh, you’re here!”

Izuku’s voice snaps you out of your waking reverie, and his hands placed gently on your shoulders help steady you once again, bringing you from the sometimes cajoling, sometimes shrill siren call of nostalgia back to the present day. He leans close, letting his chin rest gently on the top of your head and somehow knows to hesitate before asking you any other question. He’s followed your gaze by now, and sees where you’ve been staring, your feet still planted firmly in your tracks, and it’s easy to tell that the old Non-no shirt, series 5, that the meta war refugees got him over a decade ago, pressed unnaturally wrinkle-free and clean and put behind glass have sent you back to that unfortunate era. 

You nod slowly, and his hands slide from your shoulders down the sides of your arms, gripping you gently. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks. 

His voice is soothing and steady, unlike your just slightly shakier one as you ask,

“I already know your answer to this, but…,” you turn to him slowly, and look him in the eyes, “would you do it all again?”

Izuku stiffens for just a moment, not out of hesitation in his response but because of the gravity of your feelings for him at that very instant. He knows that even if he’d sacrifice himself in a heartbeat for even a fraction of that responsibility again, it’s one of the things that scares you the most about him, even if it’s the thing about him that’s also most loved by you.

After all, you’re the one that framed the shirt to put in his study, himself being content to just keep it in a suitcase among all other extra clothes and keepsakes he lugged with him from his old apartment to your new home together.

You are the one who reminds him that his sacrifices mean something, and even if they are natural to him, they should not be taken for granted by anyone in the world he’s sworn to protect.

Taking in a short but deep breath, and letting out an exhale, he answers.

“Yes, I would do it all again.”

He worries you’ll frown but instead you smile to yourself, then step forward to wrap your arms around him. A little confused about the suddenness of your emotion, but also warmed, he lets his arms wrap around you to keep you close.

You stay like this together for a few moments, Izuku practically forgetting why he’d come looking for you, and you practically forgetting why you’d come into this room in the first place, just basking in the fact that your bodies still breathe life on the same plane, at the same wavelength, and you still have each other to hold in a world that is safe and better for all of his efforts.

[vevobly]

What if I have asthma and dating nat? 😔

Dating Nat But You're Asthmatic Headcanons

A/N: You ask and I provide. Devour and enjoy, Anon! :D

Natalie didn't know about it at first. She pretty much assumed you were just like her, free from diseases and all that shit. It's not until some random day while she's smoking, when she passes her cigarette for you to try, that you decide to tell her that you're asthmatic.

Cue Nat's confusion and surprise! Oh, and a little bit of anger at that. I mean, why the fuck didn't you tell her that before? She smokes a shit ton of cigarettes. That, itself, could be way fucking dangerous to you.

(You just shrug it off with “it never came up” and Nat becomes fucking pissed.)

Since then, though. Nat became very hyper aware of your triggers. She'd always be looking out for things like smoke and dust, steering you away from any of it before you even notice.

Granted, she still smokes. She just toned it down a bit, especially around you. Most of the time when she smokes, she makes sure to step far away from you. When she's done, she'll come back to you, smelling like mint gum most of the time.

Sometimes, when you catch her smoking, she'll literally just throw away her cigarette. Dusting her clothes off to get rid of any ashes from her cigarette earlier that might have fallen on it.

Believe it or not, Natalie even fucking got an inhaler just for you. (She said it was in case of emergencies when you found out about it) She always keeps it in her jacket's pocket or tucked away in her bag.

With that, you can bet your ass she jokes a lot about being your personal inhaler holder. She can't fool you, you know her too well now. And you can tell she likes feeling being needed by you in that way.

Nat tried quitting smoking before, just for you. And while it succeeds for a while before she slips back into it, you appreciate it. I mean, it just goes to show how much she actually loves you.

When you have an asthma attack, Natalie will be hella determined and panicking at the same time. She’ll just be right there, urging you to stay calm while trying not to freak out herself. Once it's all over and dealt with, she’ll give you a stern “don’t scare me like that again” and cuddle with you quietly after. She'll still be on edge from the whole thing happening, though.

Bonus! You can think of it however you like, but Natalie loves hearing you breathe. It's just, I don't know? Reassuring. It calms her down just to hear you being alive. Sometimes, she'll even lay her head against your chest, listen to your heartbeat and all that. It kinda grounds her, you know? Knowing you're here, with her, well and not dead yet at least. She doesn't know what she would do without you—

[junimatcha]

things i love about u ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

eren x reader

The rain tapped softly against the windows, filling the small apartment with a peaceful rhythm. The world outside was drenched in the gentle drizzle of a late evening, but inside, it was warm and quiet. You and Eren made sure to have days like these, where you could be lazy with him.

Eren lay stretched out on the couch, one arm around you, pulling you closer under the heavy blanket that draped over both of you. The dim light of a nearby lamp cast a soft glow over the room, painting everything in muted shades of amber.

You rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. His warmth seeped into you, wrapping you in a sense of calm that felt almost too perfect. The rain, his heartbeat, the occasional deep breath he took—it all blended together in a soothing harmony.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to. This moment was enough—just the two of you, lying together as the rest of the world faded into the background.

But tonight, there was something different about Eren. He was not usually this quiet, he seemed like he was lost in thought. You could feel it in the way his fingers brushed absentmindedly through your hair, the way his hand lingered on your back as though he didn’t want to let go.

After a long stretch of silence, his voice finally broke through the soft hum of the rain.

“Do you know how much I love you?”

The question was quiet, almost hesitant, as though he was unsure of how the words would land. You looked up at him, slightly surprised but smiling. Eren wasn’t one to talk about his feelings openly. Most of the time, he showed them in small gestures—in the way he’d pull you closer in his sleep or the way he’d make sure to walk on the side of the sidewalk closest to the street.

But now, his green eyes were focused on you, his expression softer than you’d seen it in a long time.

“Someone is feeling sappy tonight” you teased lightly, as you nudged him gently with your elbow.

His lips twitched into a faint smile, but the seriousness in his gaze didn’t waver. He held you tighter, as if trying to find the right words. And then, he started to speak again, his voice deep but laced with a tenderness that tugged at your heart.

“I love the way you laugh,” he began. “Even when you’re trying to hide it, like when you’re nervous or embarrassed. It always makes me want to laugh too.”

You blinked, taken off guard by the sudden confession. He wasn’t done though.

“I love how you listen to me. Even when I’m not saying much. You just… you get me. You know when I need to talk and when I don’t.”

You had always felt that Eren found it hard to open up, and you’d never pushed him. But hearing this now, hearing him tell you how much he valued your quiet understanding, made your chest tighten with emotion.

“And I love how you remind me it’s okay to take a break,” he continued, his fingers lightly tracing patterns along your arm. “Even when I feel like I can’t stop. You know exactly when to pull me back before I push myself too far.”

His voice was soft, barely more than a whisper now, and you could see the vulnerability in his eyes. This was the side of Eren that very few people ever saw—the side that was raw and open, the side that didn’t always have the answers or the strength.

“And most of all,” he said, his voice faltering for a moment before he regained control, “I love how you make everything better, even when I didn’t know something was wrong. Just… you being here, with me… makes everything make sense.”

A lump formed in your throat as you listened to him pour out his heart, each word wrapping around you like a blanket of warmth. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you couldn’t stop the small, shaky breath that escaped you.

You reached up, cupping his cheek gently as you gazed at him, your eyes reflecting the emotions he’d stirred within you. “Eren…” you whispered, your voice trembling with all the things you wanted to say but couldn’t find the words for.

His hand came up to cover yours, his grip firm yet tender. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes closing for a brief moment. “I’m not good at saying this kind of stuff,” he admitted with a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “But I need you to know… you’re everything to me. I don’t say it enough, but I love you. More than anything.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, but they weren’t from sadness—they were from the overwhelming rush of love you felt for him.

“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly as you spoke. “With all my heart, Eren.”

He shifted slightly, pulling you even closer, his arms wrapping securely around you as though he never wanted to let go. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a long moment as he breathed in your scent.

“I’m scared sometimes,” he confessed quietly, his breath warm against your hair. “Scared of losing you. Scared of the future. But when I’m with you… it doesn’t seem so scary. I know we’ll be okay.”

You closed your eyes, nuzzling into his chest as you held onto him tightly. “We will,” you promised. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Another silence fell between you, but this one was filled with a quiet understanding, a mutual trust that didn’t need words to be felt. The rain continued to fall outside, soft and steady, as the two of you lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms.

Before you drifted off to sleep, you heard Eren’s voice one last time, a soft whisper against your hair.

“I’ll never stop loving you. Not even for a second.”

And with that, you both let the world fade away, content in the warmth of each other’s embrace.

[goldenempyrean]

Close Your Eyes

〚 Notes - We haven't had a collab in a while, have we? I joined with the amazing @mapis-putellas on this so hopefully you enjoy! 〛

〚 Pairing - Supercorp 〛

〚 Summary - Lena is stubbornly working when she shouldn't be. Kara comes to bring her home. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 2,380 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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Kara had assumed it was nothing. In fact, she’d hoped desperately it was nothing. It wasn't like Lena hadn't woken up a little stuffy before. A little grouchy and clingy wanting to be held just that bit little longer than normal. If truth be told, it was quiet a common occurrence - especially during allergy season when all of that pollen was in the air.  

However today it seemed as though Lena had wanted nothing more than to stay in bed. Kara’s gentle hand grazed softly over the bare skin of her back as she'd burrowed herself against her chest.  

For a second, Kara had assumed she'd fallen back to sleep. This wasn’t like ger at all. No matter what, she was always up and out of bed before the clock could even strike seven.  God forbid, a Luthor stay in bed idle while the day passed them by. 

That morning Lena had seemed a little more subdued than normal as she sipped her tea and forced down some breakfast, but Kara again had thought nothing of it and simply put it down to simply allergies and the fact she’d just woken up. She had no reason not to believe it. 

After a quick shower, Lena left for work, as usual. The only difference being was she hadn't kissed Kara goodbye before she'd left. Now that wasn't normal.  Kara’s brow furrowed a little as she watched the door close behind her, her distinct crinkle forming at the bridge of her nose. Something seemed off. 

There wasn’t much she could do now except finishing getting herself ready for the day. Lena was constantly in the back of her mind however. Kara had a habit of zoning in to Lena's heartbeat periodically throughout the day despite her duties as super girl. It wasn’t spying or anything malicious, it was just that hearing that rhythmic beating was comforting and reminded her about all the good in the world, especially after a rough fight or incident. However, each time today that she'd listened in, Kara had heard said heartbeat speed up for several seconds before returning to normal.  

Now, the blonde may had been a little naive sometimes, but she definitely wasn't dumb. She knew full well that they were sneezes. Sneezes of which Lena was trying, and apparently failing, to stifle.  Now she really knew something was wrong. 

Lena never sneezed. Not really. They'd been together for over two years and Kara hadn’t seen Lena had only sneeze in her company more than 3 times. She'd passed that record by triple today already, and it hadn't even been two hours since they'd departed for their respective jobs.  

Her suspicions only grew from there and she just about managed to refrain from flying over to L-Corp and demand Lena go home. Kara knew that that wouldn't go down too well. Especially when her girlfriend was a little more...cranky than usual.  

It was no secret that Lena was a workaholic. In fact, she'd told Kara just that not too long after they'd first started dating - almost as though she was trying to warn Kara away.  

It hadn't worked, obviously, and slowly but surely Kara had gotten used to spending most days by herself. She'd visit L-Corp most days with lunch, - because Lena was nortotrious for forgetting the fact that humans need do indeed need food to function, and after they'd eaten, Kara would manage to coax Lena into her arms for a few minutes of snuggles, and then back to work it was.  

It was pretty much routine now. Their normal. And whilst Kara did sometimes wish they'd spend more time together, she'd gotten used to the fact that it was an uncommon occurrence. The last time they'd spend the entire day together was during her last solar flare just three short months ago.  

Lena had pretty much waited on her hand and foot, and had attended to every single one of her needs without question. She'd held Kara for hours on end, Kara's head on her chest and Kara's arms beneath her shirt, hands tenderly grazing over her bare sides. There had been lots of kisses too. Forehead. Nose. Cheeks, and lips.  

It was glorious, and despite the pain she was in, Kara had never wanted the day to end.  

Of course it had though.   

But apparently now, it was Lena's turn to be sick, which Kara was about 98.7% certain Lena was. The neglected 1.3% doubt was later confirmed when she'd gotten the phone call from Lena's assistant, Jess, pleading with Kara to come and get her girlfriend before she inevitably passed out.  

It had taken Kara mere seconds to make it to L-Corp, and with a deep sigh, - because she already knew Lena wasn't going to let herself be brought home without a fight, she pushed open the balcony door and slipped into Lena's office, meeting her girlfriends surprised look with a soft, yet hopeful smile.  

"Kara?" The sound of her voice alone has Kara's heart aching. It was so hoarse that it sounded painful.  

"Hi baby," She greeted her, walking over and crouching down. Lena turns in her chair to face her, and Kara automatically placed a hand on each of her thighs and gave them a soft squeeze. 

Lena sniffled wetly - a sound Kara decides to ignore, at least for now - before resting her hands atop of Kara's own. "What are you doing here?" She asked as she tilted her head to the side, and Kara had to physically refrain herself from awh’ing out loud as she interlaced her fingers with Lena's slightly smaller ones.  

"Jess called," was all she said, and that was all it takes for Lena's seemingly good mood to drop. She pulled her hands out of Kara's own and attempted to swivel herself out of Kara's personal space with a disgruntled look on her flushed face.  

Expecting this, Kara doesn't let this deter her and placed both hands on the arms of the chair preventing Lena from moving. Lena was visibly upset at this, eyebrows furrowing and lips falling into a small pout. Making it clear she wasn’t going to leave this, Kara reached to cup her chin and was met with Lena swatting her hand away and attempting to stand up. 

"Hey hey, no." Kara lightly chastised her, gently taking both of Lena's hands into her own. "You need to sit back down. I may be strong but I don’t think it’d look good if Jess walked in on me picking you up from the floor." She attempted to joke to ease the tension, and much to her relief, Lena's lips quirk up ever so slightly at the corners. 

"Jess called me," The blonde continued from earlier, doing her best to ignore the pleading look currently being sent her way. She hated confrontation. Especially with those she loved and Lena was the person she loved most in this world with the exception of Alex.  

She wanted so badly to leave Lena to her day because she hated seeing her girlfriend so upset, but she just couldn't bring herself to do so. She'd never forgive herself if she knowingly let Lena work herself to exhaustion like this. 

So, she took a deep breath and forced herself to continue, "She called me and told me you were sick. And baby, you look it. You shouldn’t have even come in today.” 

Lena sniffled again; her green eyes considerably shiny with the onslaught of tears. "Kara..." she trailed off pleadingly, her voice breaking. By now, she was becoming considerably flushed in the face, her brow damp with sweat, telling Kara it may be best to hurry up and finish with this conversation so she could take her home.  

"I must admit I was suspicious from the second you woke up this morning," The pad of Kara’s thumb softly began grazing over her feverish skin. "I should’ve said something then but I decided to let you trust your own judgment, which I realised now may not have been the best decision."  

Lena, despite her obvious inner turmoil, leaned into Kara's soft touch, telling Kara all she needed to know. "Let's go home, okay?" She rises to her feet and holds out her hands.  

Lena frowns, "Kara, no. I have to work. You know that. I can't-" 

Okay. Attempt two it was.  

"Can't what? Be sick? Leave your job for one measly day so I can take care of you?" She wasn't opposed to getting a little defensive herself if it meant Lena would actually listen to her.  

Lena frowned at her, "That's not fair. You know how much this job means to me. I can't just-" she abruptly cut herself off, and for a second, Kara was concerned and watches as Lena's nose twitched and lips quivered. Seconds later, Lena pitched forward into her seat and sneezes both loudly and wetly into her hands.  

"Hts'choo!"  

Kara let out a quiet sigh as she grabbed two tissues from the almost empty box on Lena's desk and once again crouched down in front of her. She offered them out without a word as her hand comes to rest on the small of Lena's back, and the woman shyly took them from her with a somewhat embarrassed look on her face before softly blowing her nose.  

Kara waited patiently as Lena disposed of said tissue before she squirted some sanitiser onto her hands. She knew it may be best to give her a few moments to gather herself because the next time she attempted this conversation, she wouldn't be asking. 

In the meantime, Lena sniffled again and leant back in her chair as she looked up at Kara through tired, glassy eyes. Kara knew it was time for her to go home. Staying here would only do more harm than good and she knew that secretly, Lena would also much prefer to be cuddled up in bed rather than sitting uncomfortably at her desk. 

So this time she tried a different approach, “As L-Corp’s CEO, it’s your responsibility to make sure your company performs at its best, right?”Kara began, and waited for Lena to nod in acknowledgment before she continued, “You’re sick and quite clearly it’s contagious from the way the security guard I passed was sniffling. As CEO, It’s your responsibility to make sure your staff are doing the best job they can do and well, they can’t do that if they’re also coming down with whatever nasty bug you’re fighting, can they?” 

“So, it’s not only in the best interest of yourself but also your company if you be brave, admit you’re not feeling the best today and let me take you back home.” Kara finished. Her logic was irrefutable, even Lena could understand that. 

The ravenette seemed to fight herself on what to do before after a few long seconds, finally giving into the smallest of nods. That was more than enough for Kara. She reached down and helped Lena up, pulling her waist up and towards her into a hug. She could feel Lena hold her breath as she rested her head onto her shoulder, seemingly trying to stop herself from breathing heavily or sniffling. 

“You’re okay love, just relax.” Kara whispered as she rubbed her back as Lena let out a long shaky exhale, “You’ll be okay, I promise. A nice hot bath and some snuggles on the sofa is just what you need. Thank you for letting me taking you home.” 

“M’sorry I’m so stubborn, I know it’s difficult-” Lena began but was cut off by Kara shushing her gently, her hand reaching down to take it into her own as she led her towards the door. 

She pushed open the door and held it as Lena walked through, “I knew what I was signing up for. Yes, you’re as stubborn as anything and it can be a real pain in the... anyway, regardless of that I still wouldn’t change you for the world. You’re my Lena Luthor and I love you.” Kara finished by kissing her softly, making up for the one she lost this morning. The two stayed like that for a minute until Lena had to inevitably break away to breathe. 

Kara smiled softly as Lena took a deep breath, the strain still visible on her flushed face. “Come on, let’s start getting you home.” She said quietly, wrapping an arm around her girlfriend’s waist as they headed towards the elevator. She could feel Lena leaning more of her weight against her, a clear sign of just how exhausted she was.  

The ride down to the lobby was quiet, save for the occasional sniffle or cough from Lena. Some curious people glanced at them curiously as they passed by, but no one dared say a word. Jess stood by the front desk, looking relieved as they approached. She gave her an appreciative nod, a gesture she knew Jess understood. She made a mental note to buy her some flowers or a small gift at a later date. 

In the meantime, Kara continued to guide Lena out of the building and into her waiting car. She helped her settle into the passenger seat, buckling her in with careful hands. “Just relax, okay?” she murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair away from Lena’s face. 

The driver looked at her curiously, “Where to Miss Danvers?” He asked as Kara climbed in the backseat at the other side. She thought for a moment as Lena scooted over a little to lean against her side, letting her head drop onto her shoulder. 

The blonde couldn’t resist cooing quietly at how clingy her previously stubborn and crank girlfriend had become, “Pharmacy first please then back to our apartment. Thank you.” She turned to Lena, letting her hand come to the back of her hair to gently undo the tight ponytail she’d had it pulled up into. Instantly she could feel Lena’s expression soften slightly as the pressure in her head relieved just a little, “Just close your eyes and sleep love. I’ll get everything we need and when you wake up, we’ll be back home, okay?” 

The Luthor sighed softly and nodded, her eyes fluttering closed as she quietly whispered, “Thanks Kara.” 

“You’re welcome sweetheart.” 

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[ri-writes-if]

🌙 O's bonus story

I wrote a small thing for that scenario with a panic attack. It’s for O. You can read it here or under the line. I might be preparing another one for L with another idea, ehe

Your back hits the wall as you grip the clothes on your chest. It feels like your lungs are burning. Your heartbeat, painfully loud, drowns out all other noises.

As you slid down the wall, your gaze unfocused and breathing heavy, O catches you before you hit the floor. They crouch, trying to look into your face, and cup your cheek, the touch light.

They aren’t the best demon to deal with such a situation, but they wouldn’t trust anyone else with you. Even if it comes awkwardly to them, they force themselves to act as they were taught to.

O is better suited to dealing with whatever made you panic rather than offering comfort, but they’ll set aside their preferences for you. You need them here.

They slip their hand to your palm and hold it, squeezing it once. “[name], it’s all right,” they say. Their voice guides you through darkness like a beacon. “Nothing will hurt you while I’m here. You’re safe.”

You grip their wrist, unable to form words as you choke on air. O considers it a sign you don’t want them to leave. It brings them relief. They don’t know how they would leave you alone in such a state if you wished for it.

O lowers to their knees and pulls you closer. When you go willingly, they embrace you, their hands resting on your back and shoulder. Not the best position, but it matters little with you shivering against their chest.

“Try focusing on your breathing,” they say, their cheek pressed against your head. “This will pass soon. And I’ll stay with you until it does. Come on. Breathe with me.”

Several minutes crawl by while you regain your senses. When your panic abates and you can breathe properly, you slip your hands around their waist. O almost smiles. They guess you don’t want to move, perhaps having no energy now, so they raise you carefully, waiting as your hands settle around their neck instead, and carry you to a nearby couch.

They hesitate putting you down. They want to hold you longer. O remembers how they found you in the room, and their grip on you tightens. They turn to settle on the couch, still keeping you in their arms. Your head falls on their shoulder under their chin again, a position O thinks most comfortable. They could sit like this for hours.

“Do you need anything?” O murmurs, afraid of breaking the ensued silence. It feels different. Peaceful. Peace? An unattainable luxury for both of you recently. Maybe that’s why they’re so reluctant to let go of it.

“Nothing,” you whisper, your voice bleak. “Can’t move. Stay?”

As you ask, your arms press on them just a little harder. A hint of your uncertainty in the face of their potential refusal.

O can’t imagine why they would refuse. Before? Maybe. But the months have blended into a careless stroke on a canvas of their life, yet you’ve lingered on their mind like no other. It’s not because they’ve seen you at your weakest or spent quite some time with you. Their heart isn’t so easily opened.

It’s something else.

They would lie to themselves if they found a reason to refuse you and leave. And O sees no point in lying to themselves.

“I will stay,” they say.

You relax once more, and they smile. Almost laugh at themselves. What type of arrangement is this? What are they doing? Breaking their rules, closing their ears so they won’t hear the obvious. How foolish.

Fine. They will be a fool then. Sometimes it’s easier to give in than to fight against yourself.

[angels-heap]

Every now and then, I stumble across conversations about how fucked up the HL(VRAI) fandom was in 2020, and it's so wild to me that the relevant "examples" are almost always individual off-putting fanworks or individual trolls and not, like, the rampant harassment. Guys, the worst part was the harassment!! The handful of people who posted fucked up shit for shock value were annoying, but the overblown response to those trolls and the ensuing harassment campaigns against anyone who could possibly be construed to have anything in common with them were infinitely worse.

... then again, I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of these folks claiming one gross-out fic ruined their fandom experience were also the same people who spread all the discourse and organized the harassment campaigns, so 🤷

[trappedinafantasy37]

There are multiple gods in the game that you can directly interact with and they all have ties to the narrative. You can interact with Shar via Shadowheart. You can interact with Mystra via Gale. You can interact with Myrkul via Ketheric when he takes on the avatar form. You can interact with Bhaal via Durge and in the fight with Orin. You can interact with Bane after killing Gortash and using "Speak with Dead" in which the soul you speak to is not Gortash, but Bane himself. I would include Vlaakith in this list but Vlaakith is not a god, she is a lich presenting herself as a god. And, of course, there is the Absolute which doesn't really become a god until it ascends into the Netherbrain (although that is debatable).

But, did you know that Lolth will also interact with you? As far as I am aware, Lolth is the only non-story related god in which you do have interactions with. One of them is only available if you are a Lolth-sworn drow, and the other is only available if you are a Cleric of Lolth (you do not need to be Lolth-sworn for it).

The first instance is in the goblin camp with the spiders in the pit. This does require that you are a Lolth-sworn drow and that you have the ability to speak with animals. When talking to the spiders, you will have the option to present yourself to the spiders as Lolth herself. If you fail the persuasion check, Lolth gets pissed off as she was listening to you and is not happy that you tried to present yourself as her. And she tells the spiders you are an imposter and they attack you. But if you succeed the check, Lolth doesn't do anything and the spiders will think you are Lolth. So, Lolth doesn't really have a problem with you pretending to be her. But if you are going to pretend to be her, you better do it right. If the spiders think you are Lolth, you can ask them about what's going on in the goblin camp and the spiders only talk about one thing. They immediately tell you that there is another drow in the camp who has forgotten her way and that she is forsaken. And, as I said, Lolth is here. She heard the spiders admit this. Lolth does nothing about it.

The second instance is in the Underdark with the Phalar Aluve. When you interact with the sword, you have two different checks, a Strength check and a Religion check. If you do the Strength check, you can just pull it out of the stone and be on your merry way. If you perform the Religion check, the narrator will tell you different things depending on certain conditions. If you are a Lolth-sworn drow and/or a Cleric of Lolth, the narrator will tell you that the religious rite to pull the blade from the stone is blasphemous as it pays honor to the weak. If you are of any other race and/or cleric of any other god, the narrator will tell you that the sword is of Eilistraee and the rite pays honor to the fallen. The religious rite is that you spill a little bit of your blood and the sword will rise out of the stone on its own. If you do this as a Cleric of Lolth (you don't need to be Lolth-sworn) you will feel hundreds of spiders crawl all over you as Lolth is warning you not to do shit like that ever again. Not only did you perform the religious rite of another god, you performed the religious rite of a god she hates. And she is letting you know how much she hated that.

These are the only two instances in the game that I have found in which Lolth interacts with the player but there are plenty of other moments in which Lolth could interact with you, but doesn't (such as with the Phase Spider, the baby spiders in Grymforge, Kar'niss, or the dead spider in the Gauntlet of Shar). Of these two moments where Lolth does interact with you, one of these instances is in the goblin camp, and the other is in the Underdark not too far away from the goblin camp. I don't think it is much of a coincidence that these two interactions occur in close proximity to Minthara. Almost as if Lolth has a reason to be in that area specifically to watch and monitor things, and you just so happened to be there. And the only things that compel her to interact with you is because you pissed her off. But, as long you don't piss her off, she will do nothing and she will say nothing.

When Minthara was being tortured by the Absolute, she prayed to Lolth and begged Lolth to give her the strength to fight her enemies. But Lolth does nothing and Lolth says nothing. In fact, that was the full extent of Lolth's "punishment" for Minthara, nothing. All Lolth did was not answer Minthara's prayers and not show up when Minthara needed her the most. Lolth did not torture Minthara like the Absolute did, Lolth did not turn her into a drider, nor did Lolth eat her. All she did, was nothing. And yes, Lolth is known for abandoning drow and no longer interacting with them. A drow has to do something incredibly awful in order for Lolth to just back away from them entirely. But you cannot convince me that Lolth is going to let one of her Baenre's go so easily. It's not as if Minthara has done anything truly awful either to make Lolth that mad.

According to Minthara, she herself has sinned against the Spider Queen, but it's not as if she chose to abandon Lolth, she was forced away and mind controlled into being devoted to another god. But would this make a difference to Lolth? Does it really matter if Minthara was compelled to have faith in another god besides Lolth? It isn't until Minthara is freed and feels the absence of Lolth that she chooses to no longer follow Lolth. Minthara even mentions how turning against Lolth is a big no-no in Menzoberranzan. Minthara herself at one point has hunted down and killed those who turn their backs from Lolth so she knows the same will be done to her if she were to ever return home. In fact, if you are a Lolth-sworn drow or a Cleric of Lolth, you are given unique dialogue options with Minthara to kill her because she is a traitor to Lolth and these options continue to show up until you recruit her into your party and she joins your roster. Despite all of this, Lolth does nothing. Minthara spews anti-Lolth rhetoric left and right, and Lolth does nothing. If you take Minthara to the tabernacle, she will spit on a shrine to Lolth, and Lolth does nothing.

Minthara is also able to walk through the Gauntlet of Shar, which is in the Underdark, and Lolth does nothing. Sure, you could argue that its connection to the Shadowfell and the fact that Shar is there via Shadowheart is enough to keep Lolth away. The lore of DnD does not make it quite clear what the relationship between these two goddesses are. But I am willing to bet that Lolth is smart enough not to step on Shar's toes because Shar would annihilate her. However, there is a small little section of the Gauntlet where it actually does spit you out directly into the Underdark and into Lolth's territory. Minthara can walk right out there just fine, and Lolth does nothing.

But most importantly, Minthara's default ending is her returning to the Underdark with the sole purpose of destroying House Baenre and then killing Lolth. Destroying House Baenre could lead to a chaotic and political disaster in Menzoberranzan, and Lolth does nothing. Minthara quite literally wants to kill Lolth and has intentions to do so after taking House Baenre, and Lolth. Does. Nothing!

If Minthara goes into the Underdark and destroys House Baenre, this will cause chaos and death. And the Baenre's won't be the only ones she has to destroy, but any and all allies of House Baenre in which they do have a lot. And Lolth will feed off of all the death and carnage and chaos that Minthara is about to bring to Menzoberranzan because Lolth loves chaos more than she hates traitors.

Maybe, Lolth has not abandoned her as Minthara thinks she has. Maybe, Lolth has done nothing and said nothing because Minthara has not actually upset her. Maybe, Lolth has done nothing and said nothing because Minthara is already doing everything Lolth wants her to do. And all it took, was making Minthara think that Lolth abandoned her. There was no need for Lolth to answer Minthara's prayers, because Minthara always had the strength to fight her enemies.

[chuluoyi]

✎ throughout heaven and earth

- gojo satoru x reader

a sudden mission. a curse beyond your grade. all hell breaks loose when gojo realizes that there are hidden machinations behind the incident that befalls you

genre: feral!gojo, injured!reader, hurt/comfort, exponential fluff !

note: we need a gojo who will go ballistic against the higher-ups for dragging you in their mess :) refer to this for the reader's CT, and this loosely takes place after the events in heaven's fury, and the epilogue is based on this very brilliant idea :))

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Something isn’t right.

You should’ve known it was strange when they assigned you with a sudden mission with little to no briefing. You should’ve gone through with your gut feeling and informed Satoru about it.

Because if you did... now you wouldn’t be running for your life like this, frantically dodging the hacks and slashes of this chainsaw-like cursed spirit that was evidently not a Grade 2 as what you were told.

“Ah!” you yelped as the sharp ends of its body struck your shoulder, leaving you bleeding openly. This was no small wound—it was deep enough to make you stagger.

You had to do something about this because merely avoiding wouldn’t save your life. You had to come back in one piece. You have to— for your baby and Satoru.

What if I can’t? The sheer thought made you tremble. Your baby boy was still so little and he needed you more than anyone, and Satoru...

God, you couldn’t bear to leave him alone. Not again. He couldn't handle losing someone again, not after all he had already lost.

You gripped your whip—your cursed weapon—tightly amidst your bleeding hand. You had barely enough cursed energy for a domain expansion that guaranteed a sure-hit effect. You have one shot. This was all or nothing.

But you weren’t sure if it would work, because you were on the verge of exhaustion, and this was a special grade curse. Your domain expansion was definitely not as refined as the Satoru’s, and this monster was an enemy of his class.

“Satoru...” your voice came out in a sob. You were terribly scared, and honestly you were entitled to. You weren’t even sure you would survive this at all, and all you could think now was your husband’s silly grin and how much you loved him.

And right afterwards, you saw the cursed spirit lunging at you, and with everything left that you had, you screamed—

“Domain Expansion: Transcendent Veil!”

“Gojo-sensei, p-please come back... Nee-san is...!”

Satoru was in Kyoto when he received that call from Megumi— and that moment shattered his world as he knew it.

“Megumi, what is it?”

“She w-was sent on a mission... but then it's a special grade— a-and... she... she e-exorcised it b-but—!”

He teleported without second thought to Tokyo. His mind was blank, the only sound he could hear was his own violent heartbeats, and his fists were clenched so tightly.

“The cursed spirit got her too… It made a cut on her neck.”

His most precious wife... the one person he must protect at all cost, was now possibly—

“Megumi.” He saw him sitting on the hallway of the headquarters’ hospital the with his son on his lap—you had asked him to look after your baby—and the boy looked up to him.

“Gojo-sensei...” Megumi appeared shaken, and seeing that, Satoru immediately took his child from his hands, pulling the little kid into his embrace.

“Go back home, I’ll stay here.”

In all his life, Megumi had never seen Gojo Satoru as calm as he was now. He looked fearsome, as if he was in the battlefield.

“Ichiji.” Satoru turned to the other man rigidly standing next to Megumi, causing him to stiffen up even more. He didn’t say anything further as he pat his little son’s back, and yet Ichiji knew all the same what he wanted from him.

“It’s from… the higher ups, Gojo-san.” Ichiji gulped as he said it. “Y/N-san was suddenly called in yesterday night, and she was told it was an urgent mission.”

“Who called her?”

“It was…”

When Ichiji told him the name, suddenly Satoru barked a snort, and his lips curled into a manic grin. It was a menacing sight for both Ichiji and Megumi, as he looked almost unhinged if not for his secure grip on his son.

But contrary to what they were thinking, what filled Satoru at that moment was pure, unadulterated fury. A righteous sense of being crossed—because, how fucking dare they?

Those higher ups first pressed him to execute Yuji, and when he paid them no mind… now they staged this atrocity against you, most definitely to serve as a warning to him.

“Ichiji, tell them that I’ll pay a visit tomorrow. And drive Megumi home tonight.”

He would make his point loud and clear. He would show them how wrong it was to ever test him. But…

The plan barely satisfied him. They hurt you. His heart finally lurched as he processed the fact… when he heard his baby’s soft whimper against his shoulder.

. . .

You sustained serious injuries, but finally, you were out of critical condition.

When Satoru was allowed to see you, you were still connected to many monitors and breathing machine. He brought your baby too inside, and upon clearly seeing both of them, suddenly your eyes welled up with tears.

“Hey…” his hand gripped yours reassuringly. You sniffled when the strain of your broken ribs made you almost cry out in pain, and Satoru immediately calmed you down.

“Sweets— hey, don’t cry, yeah? You did good.” He pressed a soft kiss on the back of your hand. “You did freaking good. You’re okay now. You’re going to recover, yeah?”

You gave him a tearful little nod, feeling so grateful that you could see him again. And unbeknownst to you, seeing you like this broke his heart too.

“Mwa...” your baby, cradled in your husband’s arms, suddenly stretched his tiny hands towards you, and Satoru handed him over for you to hold.

With the little strength you possessed, you reached out to stroke his soft cheeks. Your son... the thought of how close you came to death brought another tear rolling down your cheek.

All sort of thoughts went through Satoru’s head at the sight. His wife, the mother of his son, who is proud of him for everything he does—

—and their sorry asses dared to hurt you.

Suddenly all he saw was red.

And he swore he would make it right to you. Soon.

“Ah, Satoru-kun… to what I owe the pleasure?”

“…I’ve heard that it was you who assigned that special grade mission to my wife, correct?”

“Oh, that. First of all, I must apologize for my... oversight. We were misinformed... Our scouts made a mistake while filling the files.”

Satoru was trying not to lose his composure first thing after coming here. Really.

But the knowing tone of the elderly Jujutsu Commander only fueled his rage, growing stronger the longer he stood behind this stupid paper divider.

“So it’s a mistake, huh?” he repeated in a satire manner. “Then do you know that my wife has just gotten out of her maternity leave this week?”

The man behind the divider chuckled quietly. “Satoru-kun… I know the sentiment. Of course you’ll be worried, and it did end in a rather… unfortunate incident. However, jujutsu sorcerers are bound to their duty, and your wife cannot rely too heavily on her status as a member of the Gojo clan to be excluded from—”

Fuck it. He had no patience any longer.

“Seems like I need to be a lot rougher, after all.”

Suddenly the room crackled with electricity and the Jujutsu Commander gasped at the sense of foreboding he felt. “Gojo, you can’t—!”

“Heh, but I can.” He let out the most satisfied laugh before opening his palm and chanting in a lower voice: “Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue.”

In a matter of seconds, the audience chamber of jujutsu headquarters turned into a pile of destruction. The commander barely made it out the deadly vacuum vortex with a shriek.

“Ah! N-no! Get a-away from me!” Satoru stared down at him coldly through his unobstructed heavenly eyes, as he pitifully tried to crawl away. He took one step towards him, stomped on his hand ruthlessly—causing the man to scream, before he got down to his level.

“N-no! Please, s-spare me...!”

“This is my first and last warning to you.” It was beyond terrifying, to see those six eyes in this close proximity. But even more dreadful was the tight chokehold on his throat—

“If you ever try to pull this idiotic stunt again on my wife, know that I can and I will snap your neck.” Satoru’s face split into a sinister grin as he tapped the man’s nape, before he crushed the bones of his hand with a crack and made him howl. “Remember that, yeah?”

. . . that day, none in jujutsu headquarters dared to spread any word about Gojo Satoru’s outrageous conduct, even when it was an attack against their own highest ranking leader.

“Satoru, you don’t have to, really—”

“Nuh, uh! I’ve promised you I’ll nurse you back to health!”

Unaware of anything and everything, you thought that your loving husband was a silly jester trying to make you feel better. On the fifth day of your stay in hospital, you were well enough to eat solid food, and Satoru insisted on spoon feeding you the fruits he cut himself.

“Good girl,” he praised with a wholly playful smile as you chewed on the watermelon. You looked at him with a mock frown, pursing your lips.

“You’re making me look like a kid.”

“You are, in fact, my second kid, so I have all rights to baby you.”

You let out a giggle, but then suddenly your throat felt like it was closing in and you coughed. Instinctively, you reached for your neck— your fingers tracing the scar there.

You still could remember the sense of paralyzing fear you felt as soon as your neck was cut. The heavy bleeding that followed, the way the world blacking out around you…

“Sweets…?” Satoru put down the plate and got a grip on your trembling figure. He gently pushed your chin up to meet his eyes. “Hey, look at me. Look at me, hmm?”

Your frantic eyes locked onto his, and your rapid breathing steadied. Your clammy hand reached out to touch his face... before you lunged forward, throwing your arms around him.

“Sweetheart…” Satoru hugged you back in return, sighing against the nape on your neck, as he planted a soft kiss there.

You tried your best not to cry but it was hard not to while remembering everything.

“I-I was so scared…”

“Mhm.”

“I-I kept thinking… w-what if I c-can’t see you… or baby again…? I… I s-still want to do a lot of… things… w-with you…”

The way you shook in his arms like a fragile leaf made something inside him burn. He was supposed to provide you with security, give you a life far removed from curses—

Having left that warning against the higher-ups wasn’t enough, he should’ve made him beg for his life more—

“Listen to me,” Satoru said as he broke the hug, the deep frown in his grave expression made you almost sob. He gently wiped your overflowing tears with the pads of his thumbs.

“Stop thinking that. You’re alright. You’re going to get better. You and me—we are going to raise our son together.”

You took in each of his words fully, even as your lips quivered.

“And mark my words…” Right in this moment, you thought that your husband was most dashing as he gave you his promises—as his blue eyes glimmered under the light. “They won’t ever lay their hands on you ever again. Not while I’m here. Not ever. I already made sure of that.”

You were curious about what he did, but you chose not to press further when Satoru leaned in suddenly and brushed his lips against yours in a soft kiss, melting your heart into mush.

When he pulled away, it was his usual teasing grin on his handsome face. “Now, I only have one duty left— that is to get my cute wife back on her feet. So, be a good little wifey and have lots of fruits and sleep, okay?”

You giggled freely this time, feeling tremendously safe and loved, and instead of answering, you chose to peck his lips instead— hoping that he’d know that you trusted him with your whole life.

. . .

“By the way… Satoru, where’s our baby?” you missed your pumpkin, and while being with your funny husband lifted your spirits, you wanted to cuddle him too.

He chuckled in response. “Ah! Since Megumi is on an assignment, I left him with Ichiji earlier! Don’t worry, I’ll come pick him up soon, ‘kay?”

Epilogue

“I’m going out for a bit, and if you ever make him upset or cry… I can and I will sense it! So Ichiji—do your best!��

“Bwa…”

“Eeek!”

Ichiji stared at Baby Gojo with literal sweat on his forehead, as the little being curiously looked up at him.

By all means, this baby was adorable. Even more so when his father dressed him in a shark onesie. It was a peculiar choice—just like any of Gojo’s choices were—but it sure made the baby look even more endearing.

But the thing is… he didn’t feel secure enough to hold him! Especially when he didn’t know if Gojo’s claim of telepathic connection with his son was true or not!

Amidst his thoughts, suddenly Ichiji felt a soft touch on his arm and immediately turned to find the little munchkin putting his little hand on him and staring at him with such pureness unbefitting of Gojo Satoru’s son.

How can this baby be a stark contrast to his father? Ichiji was almost tempted to snuggle him, but he knew better.

“O-oh… d-don’t touch me…”

And as he retracted his hand back, the baby suddenly widened his eyes, feeling betrayed apparently, as his little lips wobbled and face scrunched up, so ready to burst into tears—

“Hic…”

“—!! Nooo! Don’t cry! Your father will fry me! Eeek!!”

[joelsgoldrush]

“GIVE ME THE FIRST TASTE” | 10k

logan howlett x fem!reader

part 2 of “GUILTY PLEASURE”

"Your hungry flirt borders intrusion / And I'm building memories on things we have not said / Full is not heavy as empty, not nearly, my love / Give me the first taste / Let it begin, heaven cannot wait forever / Darling, just start start the chase, I'll let you win." The First Taste by Fiona Apple

SUMMARY: From the moment you first laid eyes on Logan, you knew he was a tough nut to crack. But if there’s one thing you love, it’s a challenge. As your relationship grows, you’re determined to show him that, in this universe, he can also be loved.

WARNINGS/TAGS: smut - mdni 18+ fluff, angst, drinking, dirty talk, slow-burnish, age-gap (reader is 25), once again wade saves the day, domestic!logan, soft dom!logan, logan calls reader “kid”, they watch (500) days of summer, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, thigh riding, thumb sucking, throat fucking, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v, creampie (i would say i’m sorry but i’d be lying)

AUTHOR’S NOTE: jeez. hi guys!!! hope you’re doing alright. this is the 2nd part to “guilty pleasure.” writing for these two has been a total rollercoaster, but god was it worth it. as i always tell you, english isn’t my first language, so if you come across any mistake and you feel like letting me know, there’s no problem. thank you so much for all the support you’ve been giving my posts. i’m happy strangers out there take the time to read my silly stories :)

A girl and a mutant walk into an apartment…

Actually, you’re still trying to come up with the rest of the joke. But one thing’s true: Logan’s about to set foot in your place.

You curse under your breath, putting both your hands to work as you struggle to open the door. “Fucking swollen wood. I hate humidity,” you mutter, glancing back at Logan, who frowns as you keep trying different maneuvers to get the door to function properly.

It’s a shitty situation overall. And having that gorgeous man practically glued to your back isn’t helping in any way. You can tell he wants to give you a hand, but you’re not having it—women in STEM or something of the sort.

“May I—” he starts, though you cut him off before he can finish.

“I’ve got this. Just need to—” you say, ramming your shoulder into the door with enough force to make it finally give away. Almost stumbling over the carpet but managing to catch yourself, you sigh in relief. Meanwhile, Logan stands still, scrutinizing you until you gesture for him to enter. “Welcome to the smallest apartment in New York City. It's nothing fancy, but it’s got everything you need for a comfortable stay on a budget. Make yourself at home!”

Logan narrows his eyes, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips before stepping inside. Each of his movements seems to be premeditated as he tosses his jacket onto the couch, surveying the room. A portrait of when you were a kid, probably six or seven years old, catches his attention. He tilts his head, picking up the picture to examine it more closely, and then flashes you a lopsided grin. “How cute.”

“Well, I’ve changed a lot,” you take the picture from his hands, returning it to the shelf where he had gotten it from. 

“Well,” he echoes, mocking your tone, “your beauty certainly hasn’t.”

His eyes bore into you as you meet his gaze. What amazes you most is that he’s being completely honest. In a heartbeat, you look away, wondering what’s gotten into you. Usually, you’re not this awkward—you’ve learned how to take compliments over the years, knowing how to smile just right, to flutter your eyelashes. To blush and giggle in command. Those were the tools that helped you to survive countless first dates—your dearest aces up your sleeve.

There’s no use denying that they remained just that: first, failed dates. You hope you never have to go back to dating apps after this.

“Are you hungry? ‘Cause I’m starving,” you say, trying to walk away from him, although he’s faster, catching your hand in his. 

“Hey,” he urges you to make eye contact with him, his voice perplexingly soft. “Is everything okay?”

You nod so vigorously that you nearly strain your neck. “I’m fine, I swear. I just never get past this point.”

Inching closer, he presses his lips together for a split second, his brows furrowing in confusion. “You lost me there.”

“Guys who come into my apartment don’t tend to call back,” you admit, a flush creeping up your face, cheeks getting hotter. “I happen to believe it’s a curse, though I’ve kissed, like, a hundred toads so far and it still won’t break.”

“So y’think you’re gonna scare me off,” he raises an eyebrow, grinning. His rough fingers become gentle as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s sweet. Should be the other way around.”

Wow. You two are a match made in heaven.

As you detach yourself from his embrace and head to the kitchen, you decide to look for something edible in the fridge, finding different trays of food from days ago, none of which look appetizing or suitable for feeding the Tin Woodman standing behind you.

All of a sudden, the unmistakable metallic sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing rings in your ears, forcing you to spin around. The image that unfolds before you is peculiar, to say the least: he’s cornering your cat against the door.

Why is he about to fight a cat?

“Please don’t kill him?” you take a step in his direction and scoop the little ball of white fur into your arms. Logan stares at both of you, eyes squinted and brows knitted. “I’m sure he’s the cutest feline you’ve ever seen. Have mercy on him.”

“I didn’t know you had a cat.”

“Earnest wasn’t aware of your existence either,” you reply, scratching along the animal’s back. He purrs beside your neck, his yellowish eyes never leaving Logan’s. “Earnest, this is Logan. He has claws just like you.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to that,” Logan warns you, retracting his claws with a sigh. You can’t help but wonder if he ever feels tranquil, at peace. “Y’know, you’ve doomed him to bad fortune with that name. Is he at least toilet trained?”

“Are you hating on The Importance of Being Earnest?” you ask, expecting a retort, though apparently the play’s title doesn’t ring a bell for him. “Oscar Wilde?”

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, kid?”

Now’s your time to roll your eyes, setting the cat down and letting it run away. He likes to hide in the bathroom—don’t ask why, because not even you know the answer to that. You flick your gaze up back to Logan, placing your hands on your hips. “See, you gave him trust issues.”

“He’ll survive. Don’t they have seven lives?”

This is the perfect conversation to have with someone who just ate you out thirty minutes ago: how many lives do cats have. Jesus.

At some point, Logan flops onto the couch, stretching out. You shudder as you hear him crack his neck, the popping sound getting on your nerves. He pats the empty side of the sofa, spreading his thighs until he’s almost taking up all the space. “Come here.”

Putting aside all your thoughts, you accept the invitation. You sit down, motionless, and his arm grazes the cushion behind your head, pulling you closer to him. You rest your cheek on his chest, letting out a deep sigh, one that you’ve been holding in since you got to the apartment. Is it possible that he knows you craved this? This proximity, this kind of affection. To be held—it’s been your only wish for months. He drums his fingers on your shoulder blades, then starts rubbing your back ever so lightly.

Far from dozing off, you feel alive.

It’s hard not to lose track of time and space when you find yourself immersed in the warmth he offers, and that’s when you realize how deeply you’re falling for this man. “Logan?” the mere thought of asking him what’s been on your mind terrifies you. The last thing you want is to ruin things—or whatever it is that you have. He hums, a low, heavy sound in his throat, indicating you to continue. “I have a question.”

“Ask away.”

You lift your face from his chest and look him in the eye. The city’s still alive outside, with music and chatter sneaking in through the window. Everything seems to be perfect, and you wish you could stay like this—just staring at him as if he were a painting in a museum, and you the critic who can’t stop writing articles about its beauty.

Okay, that was… weirdly specific. 

Logan tries to hide his smile as you peck his lips repeatedly. For a moment, you almost forget what you were going to ask him in the first place. But then he’s ready to listen, and you a wave of nausea washes over you.

“I know that we came here to… engage in adult practices.”

“Fucking, you mean.”

“I didn’t want to be that straightforward, but yeah,” you say, shaking your head as to rearrange your thoughts. “Would you mind if we stayed like this?” to emphasize your point, you kick your shoes off and put your legs on top of his lap. He observes the whole sequence without daring to utter a word. “Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to try that too. I truly do. But… right now, all I want is to cuddle,” he’s still silent, making you even more nervous. “I’m sorry. Is that okay with you?”

His whole body engulfs yours, your cheek coming to rest once again in its original position. You can feel the rhythmic beating of his heart, each breath he takes, the air he exhales dampening your nape. Logan peppers your neck with chaste kisses before pressing his lips to your temple. His voice comes out strained, partially muffled by your hair. “Who do you take me for, huh?” he’s right there, beside your ear, fucking everywhere. There isn’t a single centimeter of your exposed skin that he isn’t touching, marking as his. You don’t give him an answer, in part because you’re unsure of what to say. He takes your silence as a cue to keep talking. “Let me take you to bed.”

“I can walk on my own.”

“I know,” he mutters, standing up with you in his arms, one arm beneath your knees and the other one under your shoulders. Logan’s not used to being this cautious, this patient with someone he’s known for less than two weeks. You see it in his eyes when he lets his guard down—something that has cracked, a shell that’s been broken.

As he places you gently on top of the covers, he lingers for a moment, crouching beside the bed and searching for your lowered gaze. His fingers are warm as he tilts your chin up. “I didn’t come here just to have sex with you. That was a possibility, of course—but it’s not the main reason why I’m here,” he rasps, words accompanied by the light brush of his lips against yours for a quick, brief kiss. “I care about you. A lot. I’m fine with whatever we do as long as I get to be close to you,” he grabs your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He then goes back to his usual bossy self, his demeanor changing. “And I don’t want to hear you apologizing for not wanting to have sex ever again. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now you’re making jokes?”

“I can’t have serious conversations,” you confess, observing the look of pure confusion on his face. “It’s true. I once spoke at a funeral and they cut me off forty seconds into my speech.”

Logan laughs at your sudden confession, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Rising to his feet, he begins to unbutton his flannel, pausing after the first few buttons are undone, waiting for your approval. “Do you want me to stay tonight?” 

“If that’s what you want.”

“It is what I want.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

His words don’t hide any real threat—that you know.

You stifle your laughter, shedding your clothes. Instead of going to the bathroom to change, you toss your work clothes carelessly to the floor, opting for an old pair of pajamas that are the complete opposite of sexy. They surely have seen better days.

Logan’s eyes trail over you, taking his time to analyze the faded lettering on your wrinkled shirt. “Keep calm and eat pizza?” he reads aloud.

“Hey. I bought it when I was seventeen.”

“You could use a new wardrobe.”

“Well, what about you?” you tease, toying with his belt. “You’re gonna sleep like this in my bed?”

“Can’t wait for me to get my shirt off, huh?” he grins, that all-too-familiar smile on his lips.

You play along, folding your arms over your chest. “You think so highly of yourself.”

Without breaking eye contact, Logan unbuckles his jeans, letting them pool around his ankles. He then shrugs off his flannel, leaving him in just his briefs and vest. You scan his body, and the room suddenly feels a hundred degrees hotter, the air between you thickening. Logan notices your reaction, chuckling. “Don’t get too excited. This is all you’re getting today.”

“I think I’ve already heard that before.”

“Kid.”

You raise your hands in surrender, showing him your palms and mouthing ’sorry’. Approaching your bed, you pull back the covers and slip into it. When you see Logan still standing there, you frown. “Where are your manners? Come here. I’m very impatient.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but he doesn’t make you wait long. He proceeds to get under the sheets beside you, occupying that side of the bed that’s always been empty. As you both settle in, facing each other, you can’t help but giggle, your contagious laugh getting to him. “What now?”

“You’re beautiful,” you whisper, tracing the bridge of his nose with your index finger, a featherlight touch that has him closing his eyes. In the soft glow of the night, with the city’s distant sounds filtering in, he looks breathtaking. “I mean it.”

“Do you have an off switch?”

“I’m… not sure. Let’s find out tomorrow.”

“You need to sleep,” he pulls you onto his chest with firm but gentle hands. He intertwines his legs with yours, holding you close.

“Wait. I have a game to play.”

“It’s late.”

“Please?”

He sighs. “Okay.”

“We have to make confessions until we fall asleep.” 

“You just want to talk—that doesn’t even qualify as a game.”

“It does in this universe,” you reply, feeling his chest rumble with a chuckle as you settle more comfortably against him. “I’ll start: remember the first night you came to the bar?” he hums in acknowledgment. “It wasn’t Burger Night. We don’t serve food. I just wanted an excuse to talk to you.”

He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. “I knew. You don’t have a kitchen down there, baby,” he falls silent, taking his time to come up with a confession of his own. “I have a fear of flying.”

“Really? You, of all people?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be judged.”

“Oh, don’t be such a crybaby,” you tease, burying your face further into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his scent. He shivers slightly where your nose touches his skin. “I like you. It’s kind of scary, and I’m sure saying something like this probably goes against the rules of dating 101, but I do. I feel safe with you, like—like this is where I’m supposed to be.”

Almost as if the pieces of the puzzle finally fit together, you think to yourself, though the words stay unspoken.

You’ve come to learn that Logan’s not a man of many words—he’s more of the “show, don’t tell” kind of guy. So when he makes you lift your face, you’re not surprised by the way he kisses you: hungrily. Passionately, like a starved man at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A soft whimper gets lost somewhere in your throat as his tongue makes its way into your mouth, languidly stroking yours.

“We didn’t brush our teeth,” you whisper against his lips, laughing when he groans in exasperation.

“You love having the final say, don’t you?”

“I’m being serious, Logan. Cavities are a real issue for me.”

“You can always get new teeth.”

“But my morning breath—”

“It’ll stink anyway, and so will mine,” he responds, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat once he settles into his ideal sleep position. “Good night.”

“Night,” you murmur, nuzzling your cheek against his neck. Despite your efforts to ignore it, being cradled like this feels incredible. You can’t believe you went twenty-five years without it.

Just as you’re about to drift off, curiosity strikes. “Can you get tattoos?”

“Bub, I was actually falling asleep.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry,” you mumble, feeling a bit sheepish.

More silence.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“What was the Great Depression like?”

“Fuck me,” he mutters, his voice gruff as he shifts lightly. “It was fine. Now go to sleep.”

And you do, but not for long. An abrupt coldness wakes you up, eyes wide open, feeling disoriented. It’s still pitch black outside, far quieter than when you first fell asleep. The clock on your nightstand reads it’s 3:17 am, though it feels like you’ve only been in bed for five minutes.

Then you see him—he’s twitching in his sleep on the far side of the bed, his painful grunts reaching your ears. Most of what he says is unintelligible, but there’s one word he keeps repeating over and over again without fail: “No.”

You don’t usually have nightmares. What’s the best way to wake someone from one? You’re still thinking when he starts mumbling again, his voice thick with distress, and now he’s throwing his arms in the air as if he were fighting off something—or someone—in his dreams.

Pressing your hands to his cheeks, you attempt to hold his face steady. He clenches his fists, his breath quickening the more he battles whatever’s haunting him. “Logan,” you whisper at first, subtly shaking his shoulders, but his eyebrows stay furrowed, deep in his nightmare. This time, you tighten your grip, fully sitting on top of him. “Logan. Logan! Wake up!”

Without warning, you’re on your back, pinned against the mattress. Logan’s straddling your hips, caging you in with his body, the weight of his adamantium skeleton pressing down. Your hands are trapped beneath his, and you watch as he clenches his jaw, teeth bared in a way that looks painful. His eyes are so dark and wild you barely recognize him, prominent veins throbbing in his neck with each labored breath he takes.

“Logan,” your own voice sounds unnatural, forced, as you do your best to bring him back to reality. “It’s me. You’re alright.”

That seems to get through him. Logan stares at you in disbelief, his eyes softening as they take in your terrified expression. He abruptly pulls away, retreating to the nearest wall. He’s gasping for air, slamming his eyes shut, his legs trembling. The only sound you can hear is his rapid breathing. You get up from the bed, taking a step in his direction, but you don’t manage to go any further since he stops you with a shout.

“Stay right there!” he’s growling, pointing his finger at you. “I’m serious. Don’t come any closer.”

“Logan…”

“Please, no!” his voice increases in pitch, not being able to meet your eyes. “Please. Just stay there.”

You comply, not wanting to upset him any further. Sitting back on your knees, you try to appear calm. A man so strong, capable of things you can’t even understand. A weapon turned against himself now stands before you, pushing you away as if his presence were poisonous. He slumps to the floor, the fabric of his vest soaked with sweat.

Once he’s fully conscious, you cautiously crawl toward him, watching his every move. On a random day, this might have been funny for both of you, but right now, there’s no room for laughter. Logan shakes his head, his shoulders tensing when you reach out to hug him, wrapping your arms around his broad frame. It takes him a couple of minutes, but eventually, his body sags against yours. For a while, neither of you speaks. You just thread your fingers through his hair, hoping the closeness will help soothe him. “Feeling better?” you whisper in the shell of his ear, and he pulls back to look you in the eye. You caress his cheek, his stubble rough against your skin. “Welcome back.”

“I’m sorry,” it’s the first thing he says, covering your hand with his. One by one, he kisses your knuckles, still shaking his head. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You had a nightmare—it’s not like you could control it.”

“But I could’ve hurt you,” he says, lowering his gaze to your wrists, where his fingerprints have left their mark. “God. I’m so sorry. I have to go.”

“Wait!” you grab his arm, your mouth setting in a hard line, stopping him from leaving. “Don’t run away from me, not now. Don’t push me away, Logan.”

“I could’ve done something much worse.”

“But you didn’t. It was a nightmare, baby. You didn’t know,” you kiss his forehead, hoping to talk some sense into him. “Please, stay. Let’s try to get some more sleep.”

“What if—”

You hold his face close to yours, your noses brushing. “You won’t hurt me.” 

This time, he lets you keep him close, the roles now reversed. You can see him fighting his exhaustion, not wanting to fall asleep. But the more you play with his hair, the harder it is for him to stay awake.

“I’m alright,” he says, seemingly reading your mind. It’s hard to tell whether he’s reassuring you or himself.

“I know,” you knead his shoulder, aiming to ease the tension knotted there. “You better sleep, or I might start rambling again.”

A faint, tired hum escapes him, at long last allowing his eyes to close. “I like hearing you talk,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your collarbone, drifting off soon after that.

You continue to hug him, feeling the weight of his body gradually relax against yours as his breathing evens out. The room is quiet, but your mind is far from it: a tornado of emotions swirls within you—concern, relief, love, and something else you can’t quite decipher. It isn’t until sleep finally claims you too that your brain stops going a hundred kilometers an hour.

The most surreal Sunday night of your whole life.

“So… when will you let me see Lolo again?”

Wade’s question makes you stop mid-pour, flicking your eyes between the drink and him. A few seats away, you hand a glass to Adam. Returning to where Wade’s currently sitting, you dry your hands on your apron. “Why are you even here?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, and he gives half a shrug. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t holding him against his will.”

“He’s been crashing at your place almost every night. You have your own methods, woman,” he raises one finger, then quickly adds another, pointing at your shirt. “Two methods, in fact.”

At that, you laugh mirthlessly, shaking your head with a grin. “I’m surprised anyone would willingly date you.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts, taking a tentative sip of his beer and leaning back in his chair.

You glance at him while you wipe down the bar, looking for something to occupy your hands. “He’s not my boyfriend—yet.”

Wade mimics a punch in his chest, just where his heart’s supposed to be, though you’re starting to question whether he has one. His lips form a small, exaggerated pout. “That must hurt, doll. You got yourself into a situationship with a goddamn fossil. Good luck getting out of that.”

“It’s not that bad,” you say, rolling your eyes. “We’re cool this way. There’s absolutely no need for a title.”

“Okay, let’s rehearse that one more time because you look like you’re about to cry,” he lifts an eyebrow, drawing nearer. “You want the title, right?”

“I don’t.”

He props his chin on his hand, laughing at you. “Yes, you do. You can’t fool me.”

“I said I don’t.”

“I said I don’t,” he mocks you, kicking his legs and puckering his lips.

You can’t help but throw the towel down on the counter with irritation, giving in. “Okay! Of course, I want the fucking title.”

“There she is!” he exclaims, throwing his hands up in a triumphant gesture. “Glad we’re speaking the truth now,” he tilts his head to the side, noticing your sudden silence. “Hey, drop the long face. I’m sure he’s been thinking about it. In order to understand Logan, I usually compare him to elders over ninety.”

“Why would you do that?” you ask, your tone a mix of mild annoyance and curiosity.

“Just think about it! Senior citizens didn’t date for too long in the past. They’d go straight from strangers to lovers. Take my grandparents, for example: in the span of one year, they met at a party, then got married, and had five kids. Do you really want to have a litter of Logan’s grumpy, hairy puppies?”

“Wade, that’s not even possible.”

“The point is,” he continues, finishing his beer and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Logan’s rusty in this area, alright? I’d bet a thousand dollars he probably dated Cleopatra.”

“How did you pass History in high school?”

“I never graduated, but keep that between us,” he lifts his shoulders, shrugging. He spins the empty bottle, contemplating his next words. “You should tell him how you feel and what you want. That’s what works best for Vanessa and me. It’s easier that way—you can’t expect him to just guess.”

You wrap your arms around yourself. “I just wish he’d realize it on his own.”

“Well, sometimes you need to give the other person a bit of guidance. I’m just laying out the basics of a relationship here. Did your parents hate each other or something?”

The irony of it all. “They got divorced when I was little.” 

“Oh, god,” Wade sighs, rubbing his temples before glancing at you. “Let me get this straight: Mommy and Daddy weren’t exactly the poster children for love. And you also happen to be a bartender. Anything else, honey? Please tell me you’re at least getting laid, because otherwise, I’m going to feel tremendously sorry for you and your mental health.”

Just then, you hear your name being called. Smiling at Wade, you mumble: “Saved by the bell.” Once you’re back from taking some orders, Wade jumps to his feet, coming around the counter to hug you.

“Dude, what’s the matter with you?” you ask, loosely returning the hug. 

“You’re a fucking survivor,” he whispers in your ear, genuinely sounding concerned. “I don’t know how you do it—you seem so put together. I would’ve lost it by now. A life without sex sounds awful.”

“Jesus, Wade! Get off!” you stretch your arm to punch him in the back, earning a groan from him. “Back to your seat, gentleman. I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“I’m a certified sexologist. Your secret’s safe with me,” he declares with a smirk, gesturing to his empty beer. “But first, I’m gonna need more of this tasty apple juice.”

“I hope you’ve got some cash on you,” you say, getting him another beer. “Why do I get the feeling Logan would kill us if he knew we’re talking about this?”

“Isn’t that what makes it even better?”

Swaying on your feet, you scrunch your nose, momentarily lost in thought. “He won’t let me touch him. I don’t know if it’s me that does something wrong. We do have our… moments, but he takes care of himself. And usually in the bathroom.”

Wade goes white in front of you. “How long has this been going on?”

“Over a month.”

“Oh. That’s bad, like, really bad.”

“Thanks! I’ll be sleeping on the highway tonight. You can always join me.”

“Doll, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, alright?” he waves his hand dismissively, then sets his palms flat on the counter. “I know I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but talking to him is your best bet. This isn’t something you can just brush under the carpet. You’re like a goddamn radio—put it to good use.”

Just as you’re about to reply, you spot Logan entering the bar. You raise a hand in greeting, waving at him. He meets your gaze and smiles briefly, and so your eyes drift to Wade’s, shooting him a warning look. “If you keep this to yourself, I won’t charge you for today,” you mutter through gritted teeth, to which he answers by pretending to zip his mouth closed.

Logan takes a seat next to him, ignoring his presence. Instead, he focuses entirely on you. “Hey, kid.”

“Hey, homey.”

“Hiya, Wade,” Wade greets himself with a mock cheer, patting his own back, which makes you laugh. He turns to Logan and his whole face lights up. “I’m afraid to tell you I can’t sleep when you’re not around.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Get your shit together.”

“You’re the worst roommate ever! Can’t believe you got yourself a girl and completely forgot about your bro,” Wade murmurs under his breath, just as his phone rings. “Thank God. I’ve got to go. My love nugget’s calling,” he announces, heading for the door. Before leaving, Wade blows the two of you a kiss. “I hate you both, but I also love you. Peace out, my friends!”

Logan and you exchange glances. “He’s a funny guy, isn’t he?”

“You could say that,” he replies, leaning in to kiss you on the lips. Logan intends to deepen the kiss, but you pull away after a couple of seconds. He frowns, clearly confused. “That’s how you greet me?”

You bite your lip, trying to suppress a giggle. “My tip jar is practically empty, and I hate to say it, but it’s your fault.”

“Do you want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Oh, no.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not,” he plants a quick kiss on your cheek, making you smile. “You have classes tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, at 9 am,” you almost grunt, not feeling too enthusiastic about it. “I’m gonna need your help. I can’t sleep through my alarm, okay? The professor said tomorrow’s class is an important one. Midterms are right around the corner, and I can’t take the liberty of failing them.”

“That won’t happen,” he assures you, and you believe him. “I can be of help, don’t worry. You won’t oversleep.”

Oh, Logan. Sweet, lying Logan.

Turns out you ended up oversleeping. Twenty-five years on this earth, and you still haven’t learned not to trust a man, even if his puppy-dog eyes silently beg you to do otherwise. The thing is—you love them. You love men. And you’re especially fond of the one currently sleeping in your bed.

The first rays of sunshine hit your face, waking you up. You attempt to raise a hand to shield your eyes, but moving any limbs feels like a Herculean task. A warm body is pressed against your back, one veiny arm draped over your stomach. Logan remains fast asleep behind you, his steady breathing succeeding in making you feel at ease. You reach back, running your fingers through his messy hair, and he grumbles in his sleep, instinctively pulling you closer.

What a nice, domestic morning. Yep, you’re getting used to this. And nope, you don’t regret it, not even in the slightest bit.

Though there must be a mistake, because you’re preeeeetty sure you had something important to do. 

Oh. You have classes. Had—past tense.

You reach for your nightstand, blindly groping for your phone. The charger is lying on the floor, the plastic of it all damaged. Perhaps Earnest had chewed on it while you were sleeping? You gently pry Logan’s arm off you, sitting up, and your bleary eyes land on something barely peeking out from under the bed.

It’s your fucking phone. The screen is completely shattered, with three distinct holes in the middle of it. Three holes, how strange! You can’t help but wonder who might have left them. Clutching your pillow, you whack Logan in the face with it. “Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”

He groans, trying to take the pillow away from you. “What the fuck is wrong with you, kid?”

“I wish I had a UNO reverse card because I should be the one asking you that!” you jab your finger into his chest, showing him the ruined phone. “You broke my fucking phone!”

“What?” he asks, voice laden with sleep, still disoriented. He holds the phone, carefully scrutinizing it. “I think I don’t know how to hit the snooze button.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I believe you’ve made that very clear,” you huff, tossing the phone aside as you flop back onto the mattress. The clock on your nightstand says 11:05 am, and you cover your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. “Next time, when it goes off, just wake me up and I’ll do it.”

Logan settles beside you, resting his head on his forearm as he watches you. “I’m sorry, bub. I’ll get you a new one.”

“It’s fine,” you murmur, sighing. This is your free ticket to be a menace. “I should’ve known dinosaurs and phones would never get along. My bad, pal.”

You don’t even get to see his reaction because he starts tickling you, the room filling with your laughter. Squealing, you try to wriggle away, but his fingers dig into your ribs, expertly finding your most ticklish spots. Your giggles escalate into breathless laughter, your eyes squeezed shut as you desperately attempt to push him away. He’s relentless, chuckling when his own laughter bubbles up. 

“L-logan, stop!” you gasp between fits of laughter, aiming to grasp his hands.

“We dinosaurs love tickling people. Sorry, sweetheart,” he manhandles you until you’re perched on his lap, fisting the fabric of your (his) shirt. Leaning forward, he captures your mouth in a heated kiss. “I’m sorry about the phone,” he slurs the words against your cheek, his lips trailing down to your neck. You tell him that it’s okay, trying to find a comfortable position on top of him, and that’s when his thigh presses against your core, your eyes widening at the unexpected sensation. Logan’s no fool, noticing the way your breath hitches. “What’s wrong, baby? You woke up needy?”

“No, I just—” you trail off as he does it again, his strong thigh coming in contact with your clothed cunt. You search for leverage by placing your hands on his shoulders, glancing at him. “Logan.”

“I’m all ears,” he rests his back against the headboard, the tent in his boxers impossible to ignore. “You want to get off on my thigh,” he states with certainty. It’s not a question—it’s a full-on statement. He knows what you want, what you crave. “Come on then. Grind against it.”

You do as he says, not caring to think twice. You start moving, rubbing your wet pussy against his muscular thigh. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and soon, you’re whimpering his name, your hands trailing down his abs. Why hadn’t you tried this before? It feels fucking amazing.

From his position, Logan stares at you, his lips slightly parted, eyes clouded with lust. Your arousal drenches your panties, soaking through them, the fabric clinging to his coarse leg hair. He glances down at the mess you’re making, his grin widening as he takes in the sight. “Goddamn, woman. I’m gonna make you clean it off, I swear to God.”

“Need your help,” you whisper, lowering your head, the heat in your cheeks intensifying. The coil tightening inside you is almost unbearable. A kiss is what you lean in for, desperate for more, though Logan appears to have other plans. He fists your hair, pulling at your nape and yanking your head back. The roughness of the movement pulls a moan from your lips, your mouth parched like a desert. 

“Eyes up here, okay? You look at me when I make you come,” his raspy voice makes you feel tingly, each word sending shivers down your spine. His hands fiercely grab the flesh of your hips, guiding you, helping you grind harder against his thigh. You think you’re on the verge of drooling when you catch the way his abdomen flexes, working to push you toward that long-awaited release. “That’s it, there you go,” he rasps, relishing the sounds he’s eliciting from you, each of your gasps feeding his desire.

Time slows as the warmth in your belly finally erupts, your eyes fighting to stay open through the aftershocks of your orgasm. No actual words leave your mouth, just a string of whines and moans, some carrying Logan’s name. He swallows every single sound you make, everything you give him, grunting as your legs tremble and shake atop him.

He lets you collapse onto your back, your breathing gradually evening out. “I think I saw fireworks behind my lids,” you confess, your mouth dry, expecting Logan to flop onto the mattress beside you. But he doesn’t. Through your blurry vision, you contemplate as he positions himself between your parted legs, getting dangerously close to your cunt. “Logan, what are you— Oh, fuck,” you moan mid-sentence when you feel him pulling your panties aside to lick a slow strip through your folds, collecting your arousal. He points his tongue, dipping it into your entrance, and you wince, squirming. “Santa Claus, is that you?”

Logan grins against you, closing his mouth around clit for a moment. He then shifts until he’s eye-to-eye with you, two of his fingers sliding into you in one smooth motion. “Give me another one,” he murmurs, his other hand slipping under your shirt to play with your nipples, pinching them. 

You never imagined two fingers could bring such intense pleasure. You just lie there, taking it like a good girl, as Logan sometimes call you. “Please, I need you,” you cry out, your fingernails scraping against his torso.

“I know, darlin’. I’m right here,” he rasps against your temple, moving his fingers in and out of you with more enthusiasm. But what he doesn’t understand is that you need all of him. Your hands itch to touch him, to feel the weight of his cock. The corners of his mouth turn up as he watches you struggle to find words. “Wish you could see yourself like this. Such a pretty girl, so gorgeous like this,” his fingers keep grazing that bundle of joy deep inside you, and he goes in for a kiss, the sour taste of your slick invading your taste buds. “Tightest pussy I’ve ever had. Need to stretch you real good before fucking you with my cock.”

Bingo! That last sentence does it for you, and you come for the second time in the morning, your cunt clenching and spasming around his fingers. You hide your face in his neck, mouthing at his Adam’s apple. He hasn’t trimmed his beard in days, and it shows because you can now feel a burning sensation on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“You’re allowed to break all my phones from now on,” you suggest, only to hear Logan’s laughter in your ear. He snakes a hand through your hair, shoving it back away from your face. You feel him kiss your sweaty forehead, and as you press yourself closer to his body, something hard nudges your hipbone.

Absentmindedly, you trace the waistband of his boxers with your index finger, your eyes snapping to his face. Logan freezes on the spot, and it’s almost as if he’s stopped breathing. Without a word, he rises from the bed, his movements sudden and almost mechanical. You watch him, puzzled, as he heads toward the bathroom, the intimacy of just moments ago being abruptly replaced by a dreadful silence.

“Logan, is everything okay? Do you need something?” you ask and he pauses at the bathroom door, his back to you. For a brief second, you think he might actually open up, but when he turns around, his expression is neutral, masking whatever thoughts are running through his mind. At last, he flashes you a quick smile.

“I’m fine,” he says, his tone gentle but distant. “Just gonna take a shower. Then we can have breakfast together, right?”

You nod, his words easing the growing sense of frustration gnawing at you. He disappears into the bathroom, and the sound of running water soon follows. You sink back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. You take your pillow and bury your face in it, letting out a muffled groan. There’s something he isn't telling you, something hidden deep beneath his usual gruff exterior. Although you try to piece together the fragments of his behavior, they don’t quite fit.

The minutes drag on, and the sound of the shower becomes a distant, constant background noise. You close your eyes, visualizing your happy place, but your thoughts keep spiraling. All you can do is wait—wait for him to come back and act as if nothing had happened.

Logan’s right there, just a few feet away—yet in moments like these, he feels miles apart. It’s one of those days in which, no matter how hard you try, you can’t seem to bridge that distance. 

It had all started with you asking Logan “Have you ever watched (500) Days of Summer?”

Of course, he had refused to watch the movie at first, and of course, you had threatened him with phoning Wade to let him know that Logan wanted to have a sleepover. That had done the trick.

You had asked for a day off at the bar, and surprisingly, your boss hadn’t objected. That turn of events led to this moment: sprawled out on the couch with Logan, the two of you watching the final minutes of your favorite film. Logan takes a long drag of his cigar, eyes trained intently on the screen. He’s only wearing sweatpants, which had caused your attention to drift from the plot a few times. The fact that you managed to sit through the entire movie without needing to pause it makes you feel particularly invincible.

Hey.

You again.

Yeah. I, uh, was just wondering if maybe after this, if, um, you— you want to get some coffee or something.

Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sort of supposed to meet someone after this.

Okay.

“That poor fella,” Logan murmurs, taking a slow sip of his beer. You look up at him from where your head rests on his lap, a contented smile playing on your lips. His fingers absently stroke your hair.

“Just wait,” you say, pointing to the screen of your laptop.

Sure.

What’s that?

Why not?

Okay. Well, then I’ll just, uh— I’ll wait for you.

We— we’ll figure it out.

We’ll figure it out.

“They’ll figure it out!” you exclaim, but Logan quickly shushes you, his attention unwavering.

My name’s Tom.

Nice to meet you. I’m Autumn.

When the movie comes to an end, you’re met with Joseph Gordon-Levitt breaking the fourth wall, staring straight at the audience as if he knows he’s about to get himself into a mess with another girl named after a season. You sit up, your eyes eagerly searching for Logan’s. “So? Did you like it? I’ve watched it seven times now. Can’t understand how it gets better each time.”

Logan closes his mouth around his cigar, inhaling deeply before answering. “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he says, his hand finding your cheek, thumb brushing softly against your skin. “Summer’s a bitch, though.”

“I respectfully disagree,” you tell him, grabbing his beer and giving it a try, only to grimace at the taste. Shuddering, you set it back down. “Why don’t you like her character?”

“Well, for starters, she did Tom dirty. Played with him like he was a damn rag doll.”

You raise an eyebrow, hugging a cushion closer to your chest as you lean back into the couch. “He knew from the beginning she didn’t want to be his girlfriend. Summer was clear—Tom just though he was smart enough to change her mind.”

“They acted like boyfriend and girlfriend the whole movie,” he scorns, placing his cigar down into the ashtray with a bit more force than necessary.

Is your first argument going to be over a movie? Exciting.

“Logan, they weren’t even official.”

“But she made it seem like they were,” he insists, the frustration in his voice growing.

“They were in a situationship—the perfect example, really. That’s not the same as being a couple.”

His gaze dips to the floor, brows knitted in a deep frown. “I think you’re relying on the technicality that they never used those titles. I mean, they did everything together. Isn’t that what normal couples do?”

Lord have mercy.

“Logan, who am I to you?” you inquire, crossing your arms over your chest.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes, the question clearly catching him off guard. “You are—what? I don’t understand. Is this some kind of mind game you’re playing?”

“It’s actually very simple: if someone were to ask you about me, what would you say? Am I a friend? A bartender?” you inch forward, holding your breath, your tone faltering slightly. Meanwhile, Logan’s hands tighten into fists at his sides. “A fling? Your girlfriend? You complain so much about Summer, yet you can’t even name what we have.”

The living room falls into a heavy silence. Logan blinks slowly, his forehead creasing as he processes your words. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“Because these are the kinds of conversations we need to have. I understand you don’t want to have them, but I do.”

“Fine. Then tell me what it is that you want,” he asks, his mouth snapping shut when he sees you snorting in response.

“I don’t— I don’t know! To know how you feel, if possible?” you stand up from the couch, taking the cushion with you. You grind your jaw, gnawing on your bottom lip. “Why is it that every time I try to touch you, you push me away?”

He scrunches up his face, mirroring your movements and rising from his seat. “Bub, can we please talk about this tomorrow—”

“No! You don’t get to make all the choices, that’s not fair. Deciphering you isn’t easy, Logan. I’m not asking you to tell me everything you’ve been through. I just wish I could know how you feel about me. I can’t stand in front of you and pretend I don’t mind where this is going, because I’m more than sure I’m falling in love with you. “

“You can’t. You shouldn’t,” he says, his expression hardening. He turns his back to you, running his hands over his face in frustration before heading to the kitchen.

“Well, what were you expecting?” you follow him into the kitchen, finding Earnest on top of the fridge, beholding the scene with a curious gaze. “You basically moved in here, gave me a free trial of what life with you might be like, and now you have the audacity to appear surprised when I tell you I’ve caught feelings?” salty tears start rolling down your cheeks, and you spread your arms wide in exasperation. “Oh, but you’re right. How could I’ve been this stupid, to fall for the damned Wolverine!” you laugh bitterly, expecting him to break eye contact, but he doesn’t. “You think you’re so bad, so broken. Guess what: you’re not, because I love you, and I couldn’t care less about your past. You may think you’re unlovable, but you’re not, you hear me?”

For a heartbeat, the world seems to pause. And so he says:

“You are the most exasperating person I know.”

“Wow. Thank you so much!” you retort, your voice dripping with sarcasm. You run a hand through your hair, infuriated. “That makes me feel better!”

“Let me do the talking now,” he says, taking long strides toward you, and the proximity makes you lower your head. “You’re not getting the final say today. Just because I’m not over-sharing my feelings all the time doesn’t mean I don’t have them! In fact, I do. I may not express them openly, but they exist. And I wish you could see inside my head! You’d be delighted at how much time I spend thinking about you,” you cackle at his words, rolling your eyes. His fingers grip your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “There hasn’t been a single moment since the day we met that I have stopped wanting you. Your voice is like a goddamn radio that, no matter what I do, I can’t turn off. It’s like I’m infected by you, and I hate it!” his eyes burn with a mix of anger and affectionpur, his pursed lips softening as he continues. “No good ever comes from caring this much about someone. So excuse me for being scared of ruining the only good thing that’s happened to me in years!”

You hit him with the cushion—not with enough force to make him hurt, but enough to make a point.

“Drop it, kid.”

“I’m—” you hit him again, “not—” and again, “stupid. I know what I’m getting myself into,” as you attempt to raise the cushion once more, Logan takes it from your hands, throwing it on the counter. Your shoulders sag, trying to find the strength to keep going. “And I know for a fact,” you add, glancing at his conflicted eyes, “that the easiest thing for me would be to walk away from you, but I can’t. It’s too fucking late.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I do! These are my feelings, okay? Mine, not yours. You don’t have the right to decide who I love and who I don’t.”

Logan’s eyes squint, scanning your face. “You’re… obnoxious.”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”

“And I—I love you,” he confesses, his nostrils flaring with emotion. Opening your mouth to say something, you close it moments later, your gaze locked on his. “You could take what you said, pretend as if I didn’t exist, and I wouldn’t say a thing, y’understand? I would move cities if you asked me, because I love you that fucking much, and I want you to be happy.”

You reach for his hand, briefly intertwining your fingers with his. Looking at him through your eyelashes, you rub your fingers over his stubble. “And what if my happiness comes from being with you?”

Logan lets out a harsh breath, his arm curling around your waist, pressing his chest to yours. “I can’t promise I’ll be the perfect boyfriend. I’ll probably makeplenty of mistakes.”

“Fine with me.”

“And you’ll be mad at me. A lot.”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll make sure it’s mutual.”

Both of you laugh then, and you’re taken aback when he brushes his nose against your cheek, silently seeking permission to kiss you. His lips move hungrily against yours, trailing his hands down your spine, pulling you closer. He breaks the kiss and laughs at your eagerness when you chase after his mouth. You end up perched on his lap as he settles into one of your kitchen chairs. Logan stares into your eyes, his gaze drifting lower. “I won’t push you away this time. Not anymore.”

That’s your cue to finally do what you’ve been yearning for weeks. You fall to your knees in front of him, shaky fingers that graze the hairs on his happy trail. The bulge in his sweatpants is close to your face, and your mouth waters at the thought of having him between your lips. “Can I?” you ask, your voice a touch higher. 

He draws a long breath, tilting his head slightly. “You may, baby.”

You pull at his sweatpants and boxers, sliding them down his legs just enough to free his hard cock. As you take a look at it, you find yourself at a loss for words, the sight overwhelming. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the first taste of his precum as you envelop his head between your lips, that musky scent of his hitting you.

A whimper escapes you, and Logan hisses when you run your tongue along the slit, his hands gripping the back of your neck tightly. “Fuck, darlin’. Thought about your mouth so many times, but never imagined it’d feel this good,” he cants his hips up, causing your movements to stutter. “You can take a bit more, can’t you?” his question ends with a guttural grunt, his fingers tightening on your hair. “Gotta show me how much you want this.”

Logan takes all that you give him. You lower your head further, taking in another inch of him. Sex’s supposed to feel good, but this? It feels even greater. And he’s not even inside you yet, you hear a voice murmur in your head. The hand on your nape encourages you to move faster, and you sneak a hand between your bodies, grasping him by the base. You swallow around him, eyes fluttering open when he tugs sharply at your hair..

“Thaaaat’s it, honey. Just like that, want you to choke on it,” he grumbles, running his mouth just the way you like. The tip of his cock nudges the back of your throat and tears fill your eyes. You pull away to catch your breath, still stroking him as you regain composure. Logan’s gaze is intense, and he stares into your soul, his chest heaving. “What’s wrong, sweetheart? Dick got your tongue?”

You’ll definitely get back to that joke later.

“Will you—can you—”

“Come on, beautiful. I don’t have all day.”

God, you love it when he’s mean.

“Fuck my throat,” you plead, your voice barely above a whisper.

A smile dangles on the corner of his lips. “We both know you can be nicer.”

The fucker makes your pulse race. “Can you fuck my throat?” you ask again, more insistently. “Please.”

He guides himself into your mouth, smirking as he watches how your eyes roll back in pleasure. “How polite of you to say please. Some good manners you’ve got.”

You whimper around him, your body responding to the rhythm he sets, fully immersed in the intensity of the moment. And for a while, you drift away, losing your sanity with each thrust of his hips, every tug at your hair. It’s almost impossible not to compare him to your past hookups. You try to recall at least a single instance when another man made you feel this way, but no memory surfaces.

Time seems to stretch and warp. You don’t really know when it happens—he pulls you off his cock, cradling your face, examining you. “You fucking love that, don’t you?” he asks with that sweet, syrupy voice, brushing away your tears. There’s no room left for embarrassment, so you nod, closing your mouth around his thumb. Defeated, Logan shakes his head, pressing his finger against your tongue. “I was planning on coming on your mouth, but I think I’ve got a better idea.”

In the blink of an eye, you’re in your bedroom. Not even a metaphor—he picks you up and basically runs to your room, closing the door behind him. You prop yourself on your forearms, trying to process what’s about to happen. Logan, already naked, climbs onto the bed after you, He kisses you slowly, tracing the curves of your body. “You still want this?”

“I do. I’m just… nervous, that’s all,” you admit, flashing him a quick smile. “It’s been two years of celibacy for me. Will it fit?” you ask, glancing down at his cock, and Logan stares at you in confusion. “Also, how many girlfriends have you had? Just curious.”

“I don’t think this is the time for that conversation.”

“You’re right,” you agree, lying back on the mattress, bracing yourself for what’s to come. “Were they pretty?”

“Bub.”

“Yes?”

“Shut up,” he replies with a smirk. “Focus on me, okay?”

Despite your tries to crack jokes at the worst possible moment, things escalate pretty quickly. Logan’s got three fingers inside you, pumping them in and out. He’s already made you come once with his mouth—to get you more relaxed, he had said. Wanting sounds slip past your lips as he doesn’t miss the chance to hit that spot that makes you squeeze your legs together. The tip of his nose drags long lines up and down the skin of your neck, mouthing at your jaw.

“I’m ready,” you mumble after some minutes, reaching for his cock and stroking him. “Let’s break the bed.”

“You’re lucky you’re this cute,” he says, catching your lips in a kiss. “Condom?”

“Negative, Sergeant.”

“You don’t have any?”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “I don’t want you to use one.”

The way his gaze darkens doesn’t go unnoticed by you. His hand guides your face toward his cock. “Get me wet,” he commands, and you oblige, sucking him into your mouth. You hum around him, unable to contain yourself, and you hear Logan chuckling above you. “Can’t believe this is what it takes for you to shut up. Gotta keep your mouth full all the time.”

Once he’s satisfied with the way you’ve slicked him, he positions himself over you, caging you between his arms. Logan pins you down with his body, his hot breath mingling with yours. When you stare into his eyes, all you see is pure love, and your heart swells with affection. “Will you fuck the bad jokes out of me?”

Logan laughs, rubbing his length along your folds, grazing your clit for a fleeting second. “I sure as hell will,” he assures you, lining himself up with your wet entrance. He looks into your eyes for approval. “Ready?”

“I was born rea— Fuck!” you nearly scream as his head breaches you, your eyes squeezing shut. Turns out his fingers weren’t enough. “Fucking mutant dick.”

“You’ll love it, believe me,” he husks next to your ear. His arms shake where they rest on each side of your head, seemingly as affected as you are. Logan pulls out, and then fucks into you with a little more force.  “How are you still so tight? You’re killin’ me here.”

“I’ve got no idea, but you feel—amazing,” you gasp, latching onto his back, holding him close to you. His thrusts gain strength, and suddenly he’s bottoming inside you. “Oh, god. I can feel you in my stomach.”

“I know, baby, I know. Can feel it too,” he curls one of his hands around your throat, keeping you in place. From his position, he can watch the way your face contorts in pleasure. Lowering his head to envelop one of your nipples between his lips, he sucks hard. “You were desperate enough to get on your knees in the damn kitchen. You’ll be good now too, am I right?”

“Yes. Yes. I can be good,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading. “Anything you want. Just don’t stop.”

“I’m not stoppin’, princess. Don’t worry,” his mouth curves into a wicked grin as he drives into you again, this time even deeper. His hand on your throat tightens slightly, just enough to make you feel the pressure, grounding you in the moment. “That’s my girl,” he murmurs against your chest, his voice laden with need. 

Each thrust has you gasping, your body arching off the bed to meet his. Logan’s grip on your neck loosens as his hand slides down to grasp your hip. He squeezes your tender flesh, pulling you harder against him, as if he can’t get close enough. The bed creaks under the intensity, but you barely notice, too far lost in the rhythm of his movements.

“You’re perfect, all I’ve ever wanted,” he slips his free hand between your bodies to find your clit, and the moment his fingers make contact with it, you can’t help but whine. “So fuckin’ perfect,” you hear him repeat, more to himself than to you, his voice stranded as he tries to hold himself back, letting you chase your own release first.

The pressure inside you builds up, tightening with every skilled flick of his fingers. You’re sure you must look like a mess, sweaty and sticky, though the way he looks at you makes you forget everything else. “Logan, I’m—” you croak, the wind being knocked out of your lungs with each relentless thrust. “I think I’m gonna come.”

He picks up speed, snapping his hips faster. “I’ve got you, let go for me. I’ll take care of you, baby, I swear,” his pace becomes erratic, digging his fingers into the softness of your thighs as the headboard keeps slamming against the wall. Your body obeys him, a shuddering release tearing through you, moaning Logan’s name and gripping him like a vice. “That’s it, fuck, that’s it,” he doesn’t stop, driving you through your orgasm. His eyes snap to your face, contemplating how wrecked you look. “Tell me where—please, sweetheart.”

“Inside.”

“What?”

“I said inside. Come inside me, Logan.”

He’s not strong enough to deny you such a thing. Logan buries himself to the hilt, groaning your name as his cock twitches and paints your walls with his thick seed. Beside your head, his claws unsheate, tearing into the pillow. He ruts against you, his body trembling and writhing against yours, already apologizing for the pillow incident while pressing his forehead to your shoulder. “Sorry, I’m sorry. That hasn’t happened in a while.”

When Logan collapses beside you, he pulls you into his arms, kissing you eagerly. You return the kiss, wincing as you feel a bit of his cum slip out of you, rolling down your thighs. He stares at your glistening cunt without an ounce of remorse, and you close your legs. “That’s private.”

“It wasn’t very private a minute ago.”

“Logan?”

“Tell me, bub.”

“Knock, knock.”

He must truly love you, because he plays along: “Who’s there?”

“Ice cream.”

“Ice cream who?”

“Ice cream for you all night long.”

“Guess I didn’t succeed in fuckin’ the bad jokes out of you,” he teases softly, letting his head fall back on the bed. “But it’s fine. I’ll just have to keep tryin’.”

This is the story of how you end up dating a man who’s two hundred years old. But it’s also the story of how that same man learns to let his guard down and open his heart. So, remember this, kids: the sky’s the limit, especially when it comes to love—and yes, even when it involves dating mutants.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[radiance1]

This au again lawl. Where Danny wears these special sunglasses to hide his eyes that also track down ghosts in his human form.

The Justice League tracks down a summoning for the ghost king, an eons old tyrant of the infinite realms and known to bring war and devastation whenever he is summoned.

The cultists do manage to summon the ghost king, except, not how they wanted. They did indeed summon the king, but Pariah Dark is still trapped in eternal sleep and somehow, just, somehow, they managed to draw the lottery and dragged the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep to the summoning circle.

So there the Justice League were, wondering what to do with the (currently) locked away and sleeping ghost king.

Until Constantine's coat flipped itself open and a boy with glowing white hair and a mist of blue blowing from his mouth.

"Old man." The boy greeted.

"Brat." Constantine said.

"Do you mind explaining why and how this," The boy gestured to the Sarcophagus. "Is here and not in Pariah's Keep?"

"Funny story, that one." Constantine said, only half-jokingly. He then went on to explain that the Justice League came to track down cultists, said cultists somehow managed to drag that here, and now they didn't quite know what to do with it.

The boy stood still for a moment, before taking off his sunglasses to pinch the bridge of his nose and sighed, a large amount of blue flame spilling from his mouth. "Ancients above, why is it every time something notable happens, it's always you?"

Constantine snorted, reaching into his coat for a pack of cigarettes and lighting himself one. "Hypocritical coming from you."

"I know, but still." The boy walked over to the Sarcophagus and sat on it, as if it wasn't the thing currently holding one of the most powerful ghosts in the infinite realms. "You know smoking is bad for you, right?"

"What, you learned that in class?" Constantine snarked, making no move to do anything and causing the boy to sigh again, toxic green eyes looked around the room, falling over each hero present before homing in on Flash. The boy pointed to him. "You. Come here."

"Whatcha want with red?" Constantine asked and the boy simply shrugged his shoulders. "Passing on a message."

The boy blinked once, and if he was surprised that the Flash was already in front of him, then he didn't show it. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a green sticky not, motioned for Flash to bent down and stuck it on his forehead.

Superman was... concerned. There was a heartbeat there, he could hear it, but it was so slow and seemed rather weak, like the boy was near death.

"Alright, now I gotta get old mean and green back to his keep before the Observants get on my case." The boy put back on his sunglasses and got up, waving Flash away and lifting up the Sarcophagus above his head he walked over to Constantine, whose face wrinkled.

"That ain't going to fit." The warlock pointed out and the boy scoffed, probably rolling his eyes behind his glasses. "And you've fit bigger things, just shut up and lift the coat old man."

Constantine did so, and somehow the boy just shoved the entire Sarcophagus inside. The boy was very obviously smug as the blue mist that was blowing from his mouth the entire time petered out. "I'll clean up the mess on my end," The boy said before waving his hand in the Justice League's general direction. "You deal with all that."

"Just get going already, I'm not about to get those sentient eyeballs on my ass."

"Yea, yea. You got enough to deal with as is." The boy then stepped inside Constantine's cloak and as soon as the man let it drop, he disappeared.

Constantine looked around the room, silently assessing the situation as he brought another cigarette to his lips.

He lamented the fact he would have to deal with this sober.

[nezuscribe]

𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬

pairing: gojo x fem!reader

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

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

word count: 14.1k (sorry)

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

jjk masterlist

it all started with that night.

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

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

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

the staring, the judgment. 

“is everything all right?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

he wasn't cruel when you met him. 

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

because before there was lydia, there was satoru. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she snorts, rolling her eyes at your romantics. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

surely, it can’t be.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

not knowing if it would be your last. 

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

find you?

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

he was positively gorgeous. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you suck in a breath. 

one nod. 

yes.��

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“not down there with you, your highness-” 

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

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

he nods in understanding. 

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

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

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

“i’ll find a way.” 

“what-” 

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

—-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i don’t believe we’ve met,” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you smile, looking at him from the side. 

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

he chuckles, shrugging his shoulders as his eyes glint. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—-

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

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

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

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

your brow raised slightly in questioning. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“get out,” he mutters. 

“i…” you take a step back.

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and those eyes that you think about every night. 

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you know this hand, know this voice. 

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

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

“no,” he simply says, “you don’t-”

“but i said-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your fingers curl into his hand. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“perhaps.”

[myname-isnia]

I am beginning to regret my life decisions

[kiyinian]

Part one

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・

Ex-husband Simon who: Didn't leave your side when you said you were pregnant, who went to see you every day, even if those visits were after his work, in the middle of the night.

Ex-husband Simon who: Made video calls to you when he couldn't show up at your house, talking to you and the children, asking you multiple times if you were okay. Most of the time he listened to you talk about your day, he listened until you fell asleep on the other side, and he watched you sleep for a while. When he saw that you were safe and well, he would whisper goodnight and I love you, hoping that you would somehow hear it.

Ex-husband Simon who: Always found a way to go to all your appointments, just as he had done with your other times when you were pregnant. Every month he would go with you for a check-up, he could even play the tough guy, but he couldn't hold back the tear that formed in the corner of his eye when he heard the little ones' heartbeat. His own flesh and blood.

Ex-husband Simon who: Cried his heart out when he found out he was going to be the father of two girls, feeling nervous at the same time. At the ultrasound, he held your hand so tightly, his other hand stroking your hair as you watched your girls. He couldn't have been happier, and even happier that you were carrying his children once again.

Ex-husband Simon who: Almost committed a traffic accident when one of your kids called him, the little one saying that you weren't feeling well. He drove as fast as he could to your house, his hands shaking as he went to look for you. It was even worse when he found you pale, almost falling to the ground, probably a drop in your pressure. But it was enough to keep him up all night.

Ex-husband Simon who: Wouldn't take no for an answer when you told him he didn't need to move in with you, that you could manage on your own. But how? A whole house to look after, children, pregnancy. No, it was too much. You didn't have to deal with it on your own when he was around. So despite your protests, the next day he showed up with his suitcases, ready to move in with you once again.

Ex-husband Simon who: Did everything in the house, he didn't let you lift a single weight, he didn't even allow you to spend much time walking back and forth. You were pregnant, getting bigger and bigger, all you had to do was relax. The rest he did without complaint. Although he did burn the food, most of the time.

Ex-husband Simon who: Never ignored your cravings, no matter if it was late at night, or early in the morning, he would buy you whatever you asked of him. Even if it meant going out in the middle of the night to buy some random flavor of ice cream, he didn't care, as long as he could see you satisfied.

Ex-husband Simon who: Bought all the baby's utensils together with you, from the crib to the clothes, bottles, pacifiers, whatever you wanted to buy, he would go with you, and pay for everything, of course. Always buying toys for your other children, too. And he'd always buy whatever you wanted or needed, he'd never forget you.

Ex-husband Simon who: Surprised you by preparing the babies' nursery with everything you had bought, he renovated an entire room to make it fit for the arrival of the girls, and he also made some changes to the little ones' room, giving it to them as a gift.

Ex-husband Simon who: Watched you every night, waiting for you to fall asleep, keeping a watchful eye in case you needed something, anything. He was willing to help you with simple things, even if you needed help going to the toilet, if you had a craving, he was there for you. Once he saw you already asleep, curled up in the sheets, cuddled up with your comforter, he would go over to you and give you a kiss on the forehead, whispering I love you, and silently praying that you would respond with an 'I do too'.

Ex-husband Simon who: Agreed to spend the whole night by your side, comforting you after you had a terrible nightmare involving the children. He lay next to you as you asked, gently wrapping his arms around you and hugging you, kissing you on the cheek and calming you down.

Ex-husband Simon who: Felt his heart skip a beat when you told him you loved him and needed him, and that you wanted him to move back in with you and the children permanently. You didn't have to ask him twice, because he was absolutely sure that he would come back to you whenever you wanted him to.

Ex-husband Simon who: Couldn't contain the urge to kiss you, to touch you, just hearing you say you loved him, was enough to ignite a hot flame in him. In a matter of seconds he had his hands all over you, once again claiming what was surely his.

Ex-husband Simon who: Slowly pushed you to the side, spooning you from behind, his lips on your neck as he slowly entered you, pampering you with little kisses here and there. He made love to you so gently, in such a loving way, thrusting into you nice and deep, just the way you liked it. He'd be fucked if he didn't make this night with you count, he did everything the way you loved it, just to hear you begging him for more and more. He wasn't going to let you out of his arms that night.

Ex-husband Simon who: Woke up before you, ready to make breakfast for you and the children, but all his plans went up in smoke when he heard you give a little gasp, whispering that your water broke. He panicked.

Ex-husband Simon who: Knew it was your third pregnancy, but he couldn't control the adrenaline when you went into labor, it was always like the first time. He didn't waste much time and took you to the hospital, praying to whatever God up there that everything would work out.

Ex-husband Simon who: Stayed by your side throughout your labor, holding your hand while whispering sweet words in your ear, he didn't care how hard you were squeezing his hand, it even hurt, but he wanted to do the best he could to help you. It was desperate that he couldn't do anything for you, but his ears focused on the sound of crying that echoed through the hospital room, the first girl had come out, healthy and well. After some more time, thank God, the other little one came out healthy too.

Ex-husband Simon who: Cried inconsolably while holding one of the girls in his arms, rocking her while looking at her with all the tenderness in the world. She was so beautiful, so reminiscent of you. His heart beat so fast as he saw one of his little girls, his little daughter. Just as he didn't leave your side, watching you breastfeed the other little one. He tried to stop himself from crying even more at the sight.

Ex-husband Simon who: He won't leave your side, ever, not even if you asked him to. Especially now that your family was even bigger, he knew the responsibility that would come with two small children, but he also knew that every night awake would be worth it. Just as he wouldn't give up until he put a ring on your finger once again.