#this...turned out...WAY longer than I originally intended it to | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fandomfablesunleashed · 1 month ago

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Threads of Us

Zayne x reader

Summary: After a heated argument about Zayne’s constant overworking, hurtful words are exchanged, but the tension eventually gives way to heartfelt reconciliation and a deeper understanding between him and the reader.

Words: 2.1k

Notes: This was requested:

I really want to read some good hurt/comfort between reader and Zayne. I feel like they would argue about him working all the time (since he's a doctor) and some hurtful stuff would be said, but they would work it out later.

I had to give it a go. Turned even longer than I originally expected.

Really hope you like it, anon! 😊

English is not my first language

Masterlist

You slammed the cabinet shut, a little harder than you intended, the harsh crack of wood against metal punctuating through the silence. The plates rattled, but you didn’t care. He was late. Again. Another cold dinner, left to sit untouched, another evening spent alone in this empty apartment.

Then, the faintest echo of the front door clicking shut, signaling Zayne’s return. He slipped in like a ghost, and given how little you’d seen him lately, he might as well have been one.

“You’re late.”

The words weren’t loud, but they cut, sharp and direct. You didn’t need to raise your voice. You didn’t even need to look at him. You could already picture him, the lines beneath his eyes deeper than yesterday. He'd have the perfect, reasonable explanation. One that, no matter how sincere, would do little to erase the distance between you.

Zayne exhaled, slow, and tired. “I got caught in surgery. I couldn’t just walk out.”

“I’m not asking you to walk out of an OR,” you snapped, spinning to face him. “I’m asking you to show up for me once in a while. Is that really so much to ask?”

Silence. Then he muttered, “You knew what I did when you got involved with me.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve. “Right,” you said, your voice cracking, brittle like glass on the edge of shattering. “So this is just… how it is now? Me eating dinner alone and you coming home when I’m already in bed?”

“I save lives.” His tone was icy now. Defensive. “I don’t get the luxury of clocking out at five.”

“And I don’t get the luxury of having you, do I?”

The room went quiet. Too quiet. Your chest ached.

Zayne looked away first, his gaze fading, as if the weight of the words had already broken something inside him.

“What do you want me to do?” He asked, his voice tight with frustration. “Abandon my patients? Just walk away so you’re not lonely for a few hours?”

“You don’t even see it, do you?” Your voice trembled, fury and heartbreak colliding in your chest. “You come home like this is some hotel, and I’m just here. Waiting around like some goddamn afterthought.”

Zayne didn’t answer. He just muttered, “I’m not doing this right now,” and brushed past you, already halfway gone.

“No, of course you’re not,” you shot back. “You never do it. You bury yourself in work, like it’s some shield, and then look at me like I’m the one being unreasonable for needing more than the five exhausted minutes you toss at me in between your work and sleep.”

He stopped. Turned. His eyes were dark, hard. Nothing you have seen before. “This is who I am,” he said, each word clipped and controlled, just like him. “I can’t shut it off. People die if I don’t show up.”

“And I die a little every time you don’t show up for me!” you screamed, the words ripping out of you like they’d been waiting in your chest for months.

That landed. You saw it—something splintering behind his eyes, a crack in his perfectly maintained composure. But he didn’t speak.

You stared at him, chest heaving, eyes burning. “I don’t want to be in love with a man who only shows up when it’s already too late.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

And then, without a word, he turned and walked out of the room.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind him, a quiet sound that felt impossibly loud. Zayne braced both hands on the edge of the sink, head bowed, chest tight. The silence in here was different. It echoed off the tiles, coiled around his ribs, pressing in like guilt had found a body and wrapped itself around his.

He looked up slowly, eyes dragging to the mirror, and met his reflection.

Red-rimmed eyes stared back. A jawline shadowed with more than just a five o'clock stubble—exhaustion had carved itself into every feature. This was the face of someone who once knew how to balance life and love. Someone who used to come home to you and mean it.

Now?

Now, he barely recognized the man staring back at him.

Your words looped in his head:

“I die a little every time you don’t show up for me”

Zayne squeezed his eyes shut.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care. God, he cared so much it hurt. But he didn’t know how to fix it. The hospital needed him. His patients needed him. You needed him.

That’s where everything started to unravel. Because in trying to be everything for everyone, he was slowly becoming nothing to you.

He exhaled, shaky and uneven, and pressed his knuckles to his mouth as if he could shove the emotion back down. His shoulders trembled—just once—but he caught it before it could become something more. He couldn’t afford to fall apart. Not now. Not ever.

But maybe…

Maybe that was the problem.

He needed you. Not in the casual, passing way people say it. He needed you. He needed the way you looked at him like he was still human, even on the days he forgot how to be one.

But even he knew that needing someone wasn’t the same as choosing them.

He had to choose you. Over the hospital. Over his fear. Over everything.

Like you deserved.

You sat down on the edge of the couch, but your body didn’t really settle. Your leg bounced. Your fingers twisted in your sleeves. The apartment felt even empty now.

Like you were.

You could hear the distant creak of the bathroom door closing, and somehow that made it worse. You hadn’t meant to explode. Not like that. But the words had come out like a dam breaking. Loud and messy and soaked in things you hadn’t said until they’d turned sharp. Too sharp.

He’d looked so tired. Soul-tired. Like the weight of responsibilities he carried had seeped into his bones and made a home there.

And you hated it. Hated that even now, with all that weariness etched into him and knowing that he did not mean to hurt you in any way, part of you still wanted to scream. That stubborn, aching piece of your heart that hadn’t gone silent, that still burned with resentment and unmet needs.

It hadn’t shut up. Not even now. Not even when you wished it would.

“You knew what you were signing up for.”

But that didn’t make it hurt any less. And it didn’t change the truth. You still wanted more. Needed more. More of him, not just the fragments he handed you after the world had already taken the best parts. More than what was left over at the end of his too-long, too-heavy days.

Your anger had flared like a match—burning fast and bright—but guilt was the slow smoke that lingered. Thick and choking.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, as if you could hold the pieces together, as if that would calm the pounding in your chest. It felt so unfair. Wanting something so simple. His presence, his time, his attention and yet knowing the cost of it. Knowing that every moment you asked for was a moment he might not give to someone who needed him to save their life.

And still, the ache didn’t go away.

Because even if it made you feel selfish, even if the guilt tangled with your longing, you couldn’t stop needing more.

You closed your eyes.

“I don’t want to be in love with a man who only shows up when it’s already too late.”

God. That wasn’t acceptable. That was cruel.

Because he was trying, wasn’t he? Showing up when he could. Leaving pieces of himself in that hospital day after day, then dragging what was left of him back home to you.

You sighed, hands running down your face, ashamed of the heat that had filled your voice earlier. Ashamed that you’d made him feel like the villain when he wasn’t. Not really.

And now he was in the bathroom, probably thinking he’d failed you in every way that mattered.

You didn’t know how to fix this. But you knew you couldn’t just sit out here and pretend silence would do it for you.

You stood up. Took a breath.

Then you padded slowly toward the bathroom door—heart in your throat, guilt in your chest, love still burning underneath it all.

You raised your hand to knock.

You paused with your hand just inches from the bathroom door.

A moment passed. Then two.

You almost turned back. Almost convinced yourself it could wait until morning. But then the door opened.

And there he was, caught mid-step, about to leave. He froze when he saw you standing there. Surprise danced across his face, quickly swallowed by something heavier.

He didn’t speak. Just looked at you.

And in that look was everything he hadn’t said—exhaustion, overwhelming and raw; apology, quiet and aching; and something else, too. Something that looked an awful lot like fear.

Fear that he was losing you.

Fear that maybe he already had.

Your heart cracked.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered before he could say a word. “What I said… I didn’t mean it like that. I just… God, I miss you. And I hate how much I miss you even when you're right here.”

He let out a shaky breath. His head dropped.

“I know,” he said, voice hoarse. “I know you miss me. I miss you too. More than you probably think.” Then softer, almost broken: “I’m scared I’m becoming someone who doesn’t deserve you.”

You reached for him.

“No,” you said, fierce through the tears in your eyes. “You’re not. Zayne, you’re not a bad person for doing what you do. I just… some days, I don’t know how to live in the space between needing you and not wanting to take anything from you.”

“I want to give it,” he said. His voice cracked. So unlike him. “I just don’t know how to be enough for everyone. And I think the one person I keep failing the most is you.”

Your breath hitched. His forehead touched yours, and his hands trembled as they found your waist, pulling you close like he was afraid you’d slip away mid-sentence.

“I don’t want you to carry this alone,” you said. “But I also don’t want to lose me in the process of waiting for scraps.”

“I don’t want to give you scraps,” he said, and you felt the warm drops of tears hit your cheek.

You pressed your forehead harder against his, arms around him like an anchor, like you could tether both of you to this one fragile moment. This tranquil, broken, desperate moment felt like the beginning of something healing.

“I’ll do better,” he murmured, the words gentle but certain, like a vow spoken not just to you but to himself. “Not just try—do.”

“I’ll meet you there,” you said, pulling him into a full embrace. His arms wrapped around you tight, like he needed the reassurance just as much as you did.

For the first time in a long time, the silence didn’t hurt.

Weeks later, things were different.

It was subtle at first. Little things. Small changes you both made, like the way he stopped checking his phone every ten seconds when he walked through the door, or how you started planning actual plans instead of just waiting for him to show up.

Tonight, it was a Friday. Zayne was finally off for the weekend, and in what felt like forever, there was no rushed goodbye, no half-eaten dinner cooling on the table. Just the two of you, curled up on the couch, the gentle hum of your favorite playlist filling the space.

“I didn’t realize how much I was missing,” he said, each word chosen with care. “How much I was losing until it almost slipped away. You. Us.”

You shifted, turning toward him so you could see his face, the sincerity in his eyes mirroring your own. “I’m sorry for the way I acted,” you responded. “I know it wasn’t all on you. I was angry because I needed more, but I wasn’t giving you space to show up for me, not really.”

Zayne shook his head slowly, his fingers finding yours, threading through them like muscle memory. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“You had every right to be angry. I wasn’t showing up. I was too busy being a doctor that I forgot how to be… well, me. How to be the person you needed.”

You leaned in, your forehead almost touching his, voice barely above a whisper, but the truth behind it was eternal, carved deep into the very core of you.

“You are always what I need.”

#zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace x reader #doctor zayne #zayne li #zayne x reader #lads zayne #lnds zayne

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arcadia-of-pluto · 9 months ago

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Casually calling them "daddy" LADS

Word count; 1,913

Themes; slightly barely there suggestive content, fluff, established relationship

Warnings; mention of "daddy" ofc, fluff

Notes; So these turned out more fluffy than I originally intended...honestly, thought they'd be more smutty, but I've learnt that it's really difficult for me to write smut. Or at least, smut with little to no context before it all goes down. I might eventually write some smuttier drabbles, but regardless of smut, I hope you enjoy this little thing I wrote!

You saw that there was an old trend about calling your boyfriend “daddy” and videoing their reaction so, obviously, you wanted to give it a try…

Xavier

It's been almost a year since you and Xavier started dating– and it was a wonderful eleven months! He told you everything about himself. What his future with you was like, all of his feelings throughout the centuries, and you listened. You wholeheartedly believed him, because it would be one hell of a lie if it wasn't true…and you didn't think Xavier had the time or energy to come up with a complex lie like that.

But even if you now know, time moves on. There's not much you can do about your future self, so you can't really change the future in that way though…Xavier's here now, in the past, and that's all that matters to you.

Anyway, today was just a normal day as any.

You were sitting at the counter, keeping a close eye on Xavier– who was attempting to follow, yet another, cooking tutorial. The man was desperate to cook a decent meal for you. His heart dead set on making you something edible for your upcoming year anniversary…and while that was cute, you also wanted to mess with him.

You push your cup just out of your reach and make a big show of trying to reach for it, before sighing loudly.

“Daddy, can you pass me my drink please?”

You can hear the clang of a spatula hitting the floor and you watch Xavier’s body comically whip around to face you.

“What?” His head cocks to the side as his wide eyes were set on your face. “Say that again..”

“Hmm? I said ‘Xav, can you pass me my drink, please’.” You copy his head tilt and he quickly shakes his head.

“No, no you didn't.” He takes a few steps toward you before grabbing your hand in-between both of his. “Say it again.”

You couldn't resist his sweet puppy dog eyes, so you hold back a smile as you meet his eyes. “I...called you daddy.”

“Really?” He seems unusually excited. “So are we…?” His gaze lowers to your stomach and you can’t help the giggle that slips from your lips.

Gosh, he was so cute.

“Baby– no, no. We're not pregnant.” You run your fingers through his hair with a smile on your lips. “Are...you disappointed?”

“Mmh..” Xavier hums thoughtfully for a moment before he shakes his head. “No. We can just make it a reality later. No need to rush.”

Zayne

You and Zayne have only been dating for six months, but it felt like much longer. Having known each other since you were little, you both had always been close– well, your definition of close and his were probably different. You always thought of him as a friend while he tried to keep a distance and thought you hated him. But time brought you both back together with him as your primary care physician.

The two of you had been flirting up until his birthday and finally made it official once he blew his candles out on the cake you made for him. It was a sweet time, but that was six months ago.

Now, though, you really want to fluster the man.

He always embarrasses you and makes you feel nervous, but you never get to see him that way. Sure, his ears will turn red and sometimes he won't meet your eyes when you get too intense with him, but you've never seen him absolutely shocked. And you just wanted to see one look of surprise from him.

So, what did you decide to do?

You decided to casually call him "daddy” as a joke.

That should definitely go over well.

Zayne is seated behind his desk at the hospital, sorting through papers as you longue on his sofa. Your eyes continuously glancing toward the windows to make sure the door was shut and the blinds were closed.

“If you keep staring at the door, you just might burn a hole through it.” Zayne says, though he didn't even look up from his paperwork. He was attentive like that and probably already knew you wanted something or you were ready to go home. And he was right.

“When are we going home…daddy?” You ask as you kick your feet in the air behind you. You were on your stomach, resting your cheek against your arms as you watched his expression…which didn't change at all.

"Just give me a few more minutes, angel, and I'll be done.” Zayne pushes his glasses up with his index finger and clicks his pen, jotting down a few notes.

“I–” You puff your cheeks out with a small sigh and decide to keep going with it. “I want to go home now, daddy.”

“Didn't I just tell you to be patient?” Now Zayne finally looks up at you with one of his brows raised. “I'll deal with you when we get home.”

Rafayel

It's been four months since Rafayel asked you out. Four months since you tugged Rafayel down into the bath with you, which set off a chain reaction of a steamy night, followed by him asking you out the next morning; he also complained that you both went out of order, but he wasn’t too upset when you continued where you left off…

Now, though, you moved out of your apartment and to Rafayel's home, ‘Mo Art Studio’ at Whitesand Bay.

It was definitely odd at first, but it was a good change of pace. Always being by the ocean, able to take your morning walks together on the beach and collect seashells. You had a whole collection on your desk at work. He'd always give you the most unique and prettiest shells, saying “only the best for his cutie”.

He was also so easy to fluster.

You immediately knew you had him wrapped around your finger every time his ears would turn red. That same crimson slowly made its way from his ears to his cheeks, all the way to his whole face. So you assumed your little ‘prank’ would also have the same effect.

You were sitting on a beach towel in the sand with an umbrella blocking your eyes from the bright sun. In front of you was Rafayel, painting your visage, with an easel. His hand deftly moves across the canvas as he sketches the outline for his new painting.

Lately, you are the only thing he can paint. Always asking you to stop what you're doing so he can run and get his sketch pad. You could be doing something so normal and mundane, but he'd be struck with the inspiration to record your very image.

As much as you loved it and thought this was very sweet, after almost two weeks of this…You wanted some form of payback.

“Hey, daddy, can we take a break for a second? It’s really hot out here.” You squint your eyes to try and see Rafayel's face, your hand fanning at your body because you, seriously, are hot out here.

“Huh?”

It's like Rafayel is frozen in time, or buffering. He's just blankly staring at you with a confused expression on his face until his pencil drops into the sand. That's when he quickly stands up and makes his way toward you.

“Again.”

Now, it's your turn to be confused.

“Raf, what–”

“Not that, say the other word again.” His ears were red as he crouched down in front of you, a look of determination in his eyes.

“No– you're making it weird!” You put your hands on his shoulders, trying to put some distance between him as your face turns red.

“Please, I really need to hear you say it again! I'm seriously going to die if you don't.” There's your overdramatic fishy.

“Fine, but just this once.” You grumble, turning your head to look away from him. “Daddy…” Though you say it as low as you can and Rafayel groans, tilting his head back.

“Louder.” He rests his forehead against yours. “Come on, cutie. If you don't…I might want to change that to my new nickname.”

Sylus

It's been about…a year? Yes, definitely a year since you and Sylus started dating. Well, you both have differing opinions on when exactly you started dating. Sylus claims it was the moment he laid eyes on you in the N109 Zone, while you claim it was only about six months ago– which is when you and Sylus made a bet.

It was a bet where if he came back safely from his mission, he'd leave you alone. He wouldn't bother you anymore, wouldn't talk to you, contact you, anything of the sort…and you won, but you didn't realize he'd actually do it. So whenever you seeked him out to make sure he was safe, and he ignored you, you realized that maybe you did want him in your life.

This led to you running across the street to him and jumping into his arms like this was a hallmark movie, and you claim this was when you officially started dating Sylus.

But between us, you just agree with Sylus when he says a year, because if you don't, he'll pout for the whole day.

...And today was one of those ‘pouty Sylus’ days.

You went on a mission that was probably way too dangerous, even though you told Sylus you were going to slow down on your Hunter's work. But you couldn't just ignore endangered civilians. If any of them would have died, that would've been too much for your sympathetic heart to handle.

And even if Sylus understands your reasoning, he's still upset that you left without telling him– having woken up to a cold bed without you by his side sent him spiraling into a panic.

So, when you got home, you noticed he was sulking in the kitchen as he made dinner.

“Sy…” You take your shoes off by the door, nervously fiddling with your fingers as you tentatively walk into the kitchen. Standing behind the counter, you sigh, “I'm reeaally sorry...”

“If you're reeaaally sorry, then help me make our dinner.” He says, not looking up at you and that doesn't make you feel any better.

“Okay..” You finally step past the counter and you look around. “So…what do you need?” You were trying to figure out something– anything that could make Sylus feel better when a thought comes to your mind.

Most guys probably like it when their girlfriend calls them daddy…right?

“In the cabinet, top shelf. I need a bottle of garlic powder.”

Okay, you got this.

You take a deep breath and open the cabinet, straining your arm to try and reach the seasoning bottle, but your fingertips barely brush it and knock it over. “Shit…” You swallow back your nervousness before continuing, “Daddy, can you grab it for me?”

The room fills with silence for a moment, but then you hear Sylus chuckle.

“Sure, kitten.”

Your back suddenly feels warm as a firm chest presses against it and Sylus reaches up from behind you to grab the bottle.

“I ask you to do one simple thing and you can't even do that.” Sylus chides, clicking his tongue as he pops the bottle open to pour some into the pan on the stove.

“Da–”

“If you think a few empty words will make me feel better, kitten…you've got to try a lot harder than that.”

I'd like to say, this is definitely one of my better drabbles– one of my favorites, in fact!

I have like...six more ideas for drabbles and then I'll need to come up with some more. Like these new cards and Rafayel's student photoshoot event really had me thinking of how seriously the LADS men would take roleplaying– and that spawned a whole different drabble idea, so you can definitely look forward to that!

I'm trying to come up with new ways to do my drabbles, so that's why I did a little prelude before I started writing for the guys. Please let me know any feedback yall have for me! Especially with the coloured dialogue, I'm not too sure if I like it, but it seems really pretty and probably makes it easier to tell who is talking apart. (I won't use it for my fic though, only the drabbles!)

Anyway, I have a small personal project I'm working on this weekend so I probably won't be able to write any chapters for my 'Divisa' fic, but I'm still going to post chapter nineteen of 'Twist of Fate' and try to write at least two more chapters since I'm only on twenty-three or so.

I hope you all enjoyed these drabbles and I hope yall have a great night/day! 🩷

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thinkinonsense · 8 months ago

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Bewitched: The Rake and The Risk

˖⋆࿐໋ james logan howlett ✦ bridgerton au series

bewitched masterlist

chapter two

cw: flirting (mix of 1800s and modern day), jealousy, old time thoughts of women and marriage, james is a slut

pairing: viscount!logan howlett x fem!reader

a/n: sorry this is later than intended! i try to aim for a new chapter every friday but college is kicking my ass right now. next chapter will be longer!! also!! if you want to be tagged for the bewitched series please comment on the original bewitched masterlist post linked above this<3 there are so many of you lovely readers who want to be tagged and i need a more organized way to find everyone to add. sorry for the minor inconvenience. i appreciate every one of you!!

main masterlist

in all the twenty-nine years of knowing james howlett, lady chamberlain never would have pictured him coming to her home to ask about the eligible bachelorettes of the ton.

"what do you want to know, my dear?" lady chamberlain asked, sipping a cup of tea as the two of them sat in the living room.

"i am coming to you because as you know, my mother is expecting me to wed sooner rather than later and i was wondering whom might be the best women to seek out this season." james said, lying through his teeth.

if james really wanted to know who the best women this season were, he would've just opened the latest issue of lady cavanaugh. both of them knew this but it was more fun for lady chamberlain to tease the viscount.

"hm.." she smiles. "anyone in particular?"

"no."

the lie falls with ease. too much ease but lady chamberlain sees right through him.

"well, i did take note last night that the only lady you danced with was lady worthington's niece." she remarks slyly.

"the french girl?" he asks, playing coy. "i think i remember her."

lady chamberlain wasn't going to play games with the boy in front of her.

"i would hope so, you seemed quite fawned of her."

"i don't know if i would say that much."

"hm, so you don't want to know who she's planning to attended the mask ball with?" lady chamberlain smirks, knowing she's got him hooked.

everyone in the ton looked forward to the queens mask ball each season. it was the perfect way to help break the usual ice of finding 'the one'. that's where most couples tend to meet for the first time.

"let me guess..." james rolls his eyes. "prince harrison?"

lady chamberlain shrugs, placing her tea cup back on the dish. "the two of them talked quite a bit after you stormed off. she seems quite smitten with him."

"it's the first ball of the season. she has plenty of time to look for a better husband." he scoffs.

"well, dear... there are people who search their whole lives for something that's been right in front of them the entire time."

the elderly woman's words rang true in the room but james was far too in denial to notice them. instead, his ego was eating him alive. why would you not jump at the opportunity to be with the viscount?

˖⋆࿐໋

this afternoon was the queen's annual tea party. all the ton's debutantes gather to make friends and share their predictions for this season. anxiously, you paced the cobblestones outside, waiting for the carriage to pick you up.

"dear, it's not lady-like to pace back and forth." your aunt calls out from the doorway.

"my apologies," you reply, not stopping your feet.

"you're snagging the hem of your gown!"

thank heavens that the carriage was approaching. she waves you off, wishing you luck on your first adventure alone in the ton, wishing desperately she could join you.

your goal today is to make at least one friend. you'll even settle for an allied.

once you arrive at the queen's castle, you step inside. covered in soft pastels, flowers, and butterflies; you immediately feel calm. everyone is chatting and sipping tea at the tables. you sit down in the first available seat.

"you're the diamond, correct?" someone whispered next to you asks.

you turn your head to see a blonde girl to the right. she's wearing a soft yellow dress that doesn't quite fit her right.

"correct." you nod, offering the girl a smile to which she returns.

"shouldn't you be sat with the queen?" she asks, nodding to one of the beautiful girls surrounding the queen.

"probably but this was the first seat i saw." you joke, sipping on your tea.

the girl laughs with a small nod and introduces herself. her name is bridget and her father is a jewelry maker for the queen.

"i saw you dancing with the viscount last night at the ball." she smiles. "do you fancy him?"

almost choking on your tea, you shake your head.

"no, no, no. i don't fancy the viscount." you state.

bridget hesitates, watching your body language closely. the pressure gets you to speak up again.

"why do you ask?"

"because the viscount is a major rake."

the word rake rolls off her tongue with pure disgust. you'd never heard someone with such respect as a viscount be called something so dishonorable. rakes were known for their ability to seduce and lead on women with no promise of marriage.

"but he talks of his desire for a wife?" you question, more to yourself than to bridget but alas, she answers anyway.

"only because his mama is practically begging for a viscountess." bridget whispers.

you suppose this made sense due to the fact that most rakes never even intend to wed and after your conversation with james last night, he made it clear that marriage was not something he craved.

"trust me, you aren't the first lady to attempt to tie down the viscount. well, at least you have a shot since you're the diamond this season and all." the blonde girl rambles.

"oh, heavens no!" you repeat.

"hm, that's sad..." she sighs. "he is quite handsome."

"most definitely but i intend to wed for pure reasons."

"if that's truly the case, stay as far away from the viscount as possible."

˖⋆࿐໋

for the rest of the afternoon, bridget's words stuck to the front of your brain. if james wasn't so intolerable, perhaps he would make a good husband to someone.

once everyone finished with their tea, you decided to go sketch in wisteria park. the weather was beautiful outside and gave you the perfect inspiration needed to work on a new piece. normally, you would only draw on the sides of the letters written to your father back home. no one was more supportive of you than your parents. in a world where women mean nothing more than their wombs to society, it was rare to have parents who let their daughters have dreams.

sat on a patch of grass near the small pond, you set up your quill, small tray of paints, and paper. in the area where you decided to sit, across from you stood a beautiful cherry tree. as you work on the outline, you can hear footsteps approaching.

"i should've known i would find you here." a familiar voice says.

you don't even glacé up at the person near you, paying no mind to the man who seeks your attention most.

"do you want something, my lord?" you ask, fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

james' head spun every time those last two words fell from your lips, sounding to pretty the way that they roll of your tongue.

"you may call me, logan." he says. "if you so wish."

"logan?" you cock a brow, finally looking up at him.

"it's my middle name." he replies awkwardly.

"hm..." you pretend to ponder for a moment. "that's far too personal for me."

" 'too personal'? how might that be?"

james stands arms crossed against the cherry tree, glaring in your direction. you don't rush to answer his question instead you continue adding details to the branches and trees. he huffs under his breath, clearly irritated your lack of interest in him.

"well, we have no intentions to be together this season and we aren't friends so, there's no need for nicknames and such." you reply nonchalantly.

"you don't know my intentions"

a sweet giggle escapes you. james brushes off the warmth flooding his chest, rather focusing on topic at hand.

"oh, i bet i do."

suddenly, you drop your quill and give him your undivided attention.

"why are you even here, james?" you sigh.

"i was visiting an old friend this morning and wanted a stroll through the park."

"an old friend?"

the words left your lips before you could stop yourself. james was quick to notice the tone shift. he smirks, walking over to you and sitting on the grass to your right.

"mhm..." he hums.

"is she viscountess material?" you scoff, returning to your scribbles.

"and why would you care?"

why did you care? it's not like the two of you really know each other; yet, something about james made your blood boil. perhaps it was how he has a near perfect life and somehow still complains. he has no issues in finding a partner because everyone wants him. if he didn't have his head up his own ass, he would realize that.

"i don't."

"sounds like you do."

james liked watching your face scrunch up at little with dislike for him. how your pressure on the quill increases. how you avoid his gaze. how you pretend he doesn't exist next to you.

"i don't." you repeat. "i just cannot believe that someone like you is complaining about having to take a wife when all the women of the ton are smitten with you."

"someone like me?" james pretends to be offended but he was too busy enjoying this riled up version of you.

"someone who never gone with unmet needs, never struggled financially, never been under minded or overlooked." your words come out sharp but james doesn't let them cut deep.

"look, sweetheart..." he squints those hazel eyes, glaring deep into your soul and leaning in closer than he should've. "you know nothing of my families struggles."

"and you know nothing of mine."

james was so close to you. your noses almost touching before you pull away. being within his close proximity made you feel a foreign warm tingle deep in your stomach.

thank heavens that the park was empty, minus the two of you. the last thing you needed was for someone to see the two of you this close and label you as one of the viscounts mistresses.

"i-i must get going." you stutter, collecting your belongings.

"where are you off to?" he asks.

"i'm supposed to be accompanying lady chamberlain and prince harrison to dinner this evening."

his face scrunches with distaste at the mention of the prince. also, why would lady chamberlain hide this piece of information from him?

"isn't it quite early to prepare for dinner?"

"i must look perfect for the prince." you smile.

but not at james. you're smiling for that no good excuse of a prince who couldn't see that you already were perfect.

"you look fine to me." he huffs.

"it's vocabulary like that, that keeps you from finding a wife."

"and to think it was my insufferable personality that kept the ladies of the ton away."

it's difficult to hide the laugh you want to let out. instead you bite down on your cheek, not giving him the satisfaction of your laughter.

"ha ha ha." you mock dryly.

"do you always have a stick up your ass?"

james question makes your jaw drop. never in your life have you heard a man speak so vulgarly.

"that's no way for a viscount to speak to a lady." you scold. he can't help but roll his eyes at your comment.

"i'm sure that a man has spoken even more colorfully to you."

"what are you insinuating, my lord?"

"that i highly doubt a lady such as yourself still has her virtue." he shrugs.

never has your head spun so fast at a single sentence. you couldn't fathom that a rake like him has the nerve to question anyone's virtue.

"excuse me, viscount howlett but my virtue is none of your business." you rage. "and you have quite the nerve to question it."

"and why's that?"

james was playing with fire but he didn't mind getting scorched by your flames.

"i've heard the stories about you."

"like what?"

"like what you do with the promiscuous women of the night." your words leave a smirk plastered on his face as he watches you intensely.

"don't act so innocent either." james hums. "i'm sure you've had your fair share of promiscuous adventures in france."

a flush of red hits at your cheeks. the last person you wanted to talk about promiscuous acts with is james. mostly because your lack there of. only your own hands have touched you so intimately.

james studies your facial expression before it clicks for him. he shouldn't ask. he really shouldn't. but come on, he has to.

"have you never—" his words come to a halt when there's a ruffled noise inching closer.

"i'm under no obligation to answer you, viscount howlett." you scold, collecting your belongings.

"hm... seems like you've already answered my question." his cocky tone sends you over the edge of annoyance.

"shouldn't you be more concerned with finding a wife rather than my virtue? this season will be over before you know it and you will need to find one sooner rather than later."

james admired the way you spoke with such sharpness. you were shy and reserved but the weight of your words were heavy. there was grace in the way you spoke and he loathed it.

he loathed how perfect you were. how absolutely perfect you would fit into his life. how perfect you would be at being his little wife. only needing to plan parties and open your womb to his child. he would never stop you from your dream of painting either. all he wants is someone who can handle the duties that come with being his other half.

by the time james snaps out of his thoughts, you are long gone. off to get ready for your date with a man who's twice as rich as him and much more likable. the only thing he could do is hope that nothing good comes from this dinner.

──★

i'll tag everyone else who commented in the morning when i wake up <3

tag list: @v3rdee @squishyfruitloop @caswithdasas2021 @espressopatronum454 @brittdead @fake-bleach @blossoming-hotch @hotbisexualmess @imaginecrushes @wh0re4steelblue-eyes @b0nes-n-all @tvdelrey @prettyoatmeal @speedyvoidlove @lunavelha @merrul @bubblegumholland @divinesols @seasonofthenerd @adoredire @gl0wingsl0wtown @imithicwolf @charityjoy22 @sun7lowxr @melsunshine @internetitgirl17 @tsumukei @dolliestprncess @st4rrlighttt @crypticcowboys @mirrorballpalo @princessanglophile @planetxella @battieshroomz @tonyhawkstits @shinyshayminflower @babey-fruit-bat @oraclic @glnnnhaps @criminaly-supernatural @pxrwinkle @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere @tighrenicotine @midnightvitality @loonalockley @notbaldy420 @squishyfruitloop @summer-343 @reidshearts @marii-ren @fictionalmen-dilflover @brisingamenwearer @pedrohoe04 @taextannie @jrihensjd @tumharisakhi @readerofallthingss @etmoisara @paladinshenanigan-blog @hauntedwombateggmug @i-am-not-a-morning-person-83 @zaggprincess2 @atjlovverr @fallingfromjupiter @cards-and-daggers @reidsworld @imsuperbored @golden-ebony @joyfulpeanutsalad @mysticalmarvelousmagpie @thighridinglogan @pieuui @fanficcrow @alsoprettyinpink @rooroen @barbecuetiddy @potato-painter @milfhunter69sstuff @bel20blog @hypermarvellove @modicum-ofnothing @gemofthenight @laureniswolverine @d3ad2you @goldphish @mxtokko @ovohanna24 @i-voluntears @cherrypieyourface @petrichor-incorporation @csigirl3137 @justannie18 @yxtkiwiyxt @maddielovesurmom321 @madscape @mesopotamism @multifandom-boss-bitch @tecolote2755 @ririkacchi @crownofdecit @snow30285 @lenoradarkstriderr @willybillyletsgetsilly @sleepilysworld @mynatureworld @biiolumii @phantombaby @natlovesu @tumharisakhi @lokiswify @saph-cyare @burntsaltsblog @shedobeclownin @itsjuwulia @hazelwebster @cake-and-umbrellas @aureliusbrutus @loving-barnes @valorant-v @annagraceevanss @opheliaas-stuff @louisymomo @midnightvitality @ricespy123 @livingonsillylovesongs

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doctorwhoisadhd · 15 days ago

Text

genuinely world enough and time/the doctor falls was a story about queerness and conversion therapy, i think

lesbian (shown to be not out to her family) goes through cyber conversion and everyone sees her as this monster but she is quite literally saved by a gay kiss

multi-master episode with two consecutive incarnations, the latter being the first female incarnation in the shows history, where explicitly the one who has "transitioned" is shown to be the good one who eventually does the right thing. (i don't think this was intentionally about being trans necessarily, but it certainly is depicting the master as a character as gender non-conforming, especially with simm!master putting on eyeliner at one point.)

like bill's part of the doctor falls is about conversion therapy. turning her into a cyberman = removing her emotions, which is then shown pretty explicitly to not have totally worked because she still produces a tear, which was even given to her by heather. cyber conversion = gay conversion therapy, and this episode is basically saying that conversion therapy doesn't work because of this exchange:

bill is no longer a cyberman, because heather as the pilot has given her a second chance at life. and yes, bill still isn't human, but heather also says she can make her human again. so rather than being trapped in one mode of expression as the cyber conversion process had intended, bill can now do whatever she wants.

the two masters thing is important, but would be even more so if the doctor's regeneration from 12 to 13 had been a part of this episode, as had been originally intended. it's pretty obviously showing that simm!master is stuck in the past, and in fact literally is the incarnation directly before missy, who forces him to regenerate into her because it's time to do the right thing. again i think this is less about queerness (though there is some element of that in there) and more moffat writing about the fans ahead of the first female doctor. it's his commentary on how he knew people were going to react, with simm!master being a depiction of angry male fans who think the doctor shouldn't be a woman.

it also strikes me as deliberate along with this that bill is a lesbian specifically, and not say a gay man or something. if bill was a gay man that aspect of this story wouldn't work nearly as well because of what it's trying to say about specifically women. putting bill, a lesbian, through conversion therapy = forcing her to be in relationships with men that don't work and don't allow her to grow and be happy. in this way, she's a metaphor for doctor who as a show: forcing the doctor (or the master) to continue to be exclusively played by male actors would be a poor choice because the show is forced to stagnate, and can't grow and change the way it needs to in this century. moffat is saying here that it doesn't work to stay set in our ways.

even bill's last words to the doctor are an expression of her queerness:

#ari opinion hour #doctor who #the doctor falls #bill potts #ive been thinking this for years about time id write something up

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ruewritesoccasionally · 5 months ago

Text

Friction & Flames | Terry Richmond

pairing: terry richmond x black!reader

warnings: smut (18+), workplace rivalry, power dynamics, forced proximity, angst, rough sex, oral (f receiving), light hair pulling, explicit language, possessiveness, a lot of dialogue, a little slow burn and Terry being an absolute menace (but we love him).

summary: a classic enemies-to-lovers showdown: sharp words, sharper tension, and a deadline that forces them into close quarters. When tempers flare and restraint snaps, her and Terry finally settle their differences - in their own way...

word count: 6.4K

a/n: this came out much longer than intended 😭 this is a reupload, just reworked - the original didn't do as well as i would've liked but also it wasn't my best work. i'm much happier with it now though and i hope you guys are too 🫶🏾

The alarm buzzed, shrill and relentless. She groaned, blindly slapping at the snooze button before peeling herself out of bed. Coffee brewed while she moved through her morning routine—shower, dress, make-up—each step as precise and efficient as the last. The world felt easier when it followed structure, when things happened as they should.

Which was exactly why he drove her insane.

Terry Richmond had no regard for order, for rules, for method. He operated on instinct, on charm, on raw talent that somehow, infuriatingly, got him just as far as the meticulous planning she slaved over. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. But it was the reality she faced every single day as his co-lead project manager.

By the time she arrived at the office, it was still quiet—just the way she liked it. These early mornings were her sanctuary, the only time of day when she could get ahead without distraction. But of course, peace never lasted long.

The telltale hum of easy conversation carried through the space, growing louder as he made his usual rounds. Schmoozing. Charming. Doing absolutely nothing useful. She didn’t even have to look up to know Terry had entered the room.

“Morning, everyone,” his voice rang out, smooth as silk.

Her fingers paused over the keyboard. Not yet. Not today. She kept her gaze locked on her screen, willing him away with sheer willpower.

No such luck.

“Well, well, Princess” he drawled, stopping beside her desk. “I see someone made it in without getting lost. Impressive.”

Her jaw tightened as she slowly swiveled in her chair, eyes locking onto his. That smirk. That self-satisfied, arrogant, infuriating smirk.

“For the last time, Terrance,” she said, enunciating his full name like a curse, “it’s not Sweetheart, it’s not Babygirl, and it’s definitely not Princess. Now turn around and—”

“Terrance,” he interrupted with a hand over his chest, feigning a wound to his heart. “Damn. And here I was, thinking we were past the formalities.”

Her glare could’ve set the whole office ablaze, but he only grinned wider, like he enjoyed the fire.

He always did.

The smug grin Terry shot her before he strolled to his desk was enough to make her want to hurl her coffee at him. Bastard. He knew exactly how to get under her skin, and he did it with a deliberate ease that made her blood boil. She inhaled deeply, gripping her pen tighter than necessary, willing herself to stay calm. The workday had barely begun, and he was already pressing every button she had.

It had been like this for years. Their competition wasn’t just petty office bickering—it was a game of survival. A slow-burning, high-stakes war waged between two people too damn good at what they did to ever back down.

The promotions? She’d landed hers first. The biggest client of last quarter? He’d swooped in and stolen it from right under her nose. Every time she thought she had the upper hand, Terry Richmond would find a way to level the playing field—or tilt it entirely in his favour.

And he loved it.

She could see it in the way he watched her now, that knowing glint in his stormy grey eyes as if he was waiting for her to snap.

Not today.

Before she could drown him out with work, Linda’s heels clicked against the floor, her presence snapping the room into silence. Linda was direct, no-nonsense, and not easily impressed—so when she stopped by their desks instead of addressing the entire team, something was up.

“This next campaign is the biggest account we’ve landed all year,” she started, flipping through the folder in her hands. “Which means I need our best people on it.”

She paused—just for a beat—before letting the inevitable bomb drop.

“I want both of you heading it.”

Her stomach twisted, and she barely managed to suppress a groan. Of course.

Terry leaned back in his chair, the picture of casual amusement. “Our best, huh? You sure you want to put her in the running, boss?”

Her jaw tightened. “I should be asking the same about you.”

Linda exhaled sharply. “Enough. I don’t care how you two feel about it—I care about results. And between the two of you, I expect nothing but success.”

Linda’s expression remained impassive as she looked between them. “I don’t care how you two feel about it. This job is crucial, and it needs to be done. Quickly.” Her voice was sharp, clipped, leaving no room for argument. “In fact, why don’t you use tonight to start planning? Somewhere neutral. Off-site. No distractions.”

The silence that followed was thick, almost suffocating. The mere suggestion of being alone together outside of work sent an undercurrent of something charged through the air.

Terry’s smirk stretched wider, like a cat toying with a trapped bird. “Neutral, huh? Guess that rules out your place, Princess.”

Her jaw clenched at the nickname, her irritation simmering just beneath the surface. “Don’t call me that,” she hissed, voice razor-sharp.

Linda, either blissfully unaware or purposefully ignoring the crackling tension, made a quick note on her clipboard. “That’s settled, then. I expect a full report by tomorrow morning.” She barely spared them a glance before walking away, her heels clicking against the floor in sharp finality.

Terry, ever insufferable, watched her go before turning his gaze back to the woman standing in front of him. His smirk hadn’t faltered once.

“Looks like we’re stuck with each other tonight,” he murmured, voice low, teasing.

She shot him a withering glare, but deep down, she already knew—this was going to be a very, very long night.

The words settled like a weight in the air. She hated that Linda was right. Neither of them would ever willingly bow out of something like this, not when winning meant getting one step ahead of the other.

And Terry knew it too.

He tipped his chin toward her, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. “What do you say, sweetheart? Think you can keep up?”

She refused to look at him, refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, she turned to Linda and gave a curt nod. “Fine. I assume we’re getting full creative control?”

Linda returned the nod. “Within reason.”

“We’ll see about that,” Terry murmured under his breath.

Linda gave them one last pointed glance before walking off, leaving the tension behind her thick enough to choke on.

She should have just let it go. She should have focused on the work, ignored him like he was nothing more than an annoying fly buzzing in her ear.

But then she saw it—his damn smirk widening, like he knew she wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to bite back.

Slowly, she turned her head to him, keeping her expression neutral. “Try not to get in my way, Richmond.”

His gaze flickered with amusement, but he leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice. “I wouldn’t dream of it, babygirl.”

Her fists clenched at her sides as she bit back a retort. She was going to need every ounce of patience to survive this.

The hours ticked by, and as expected, Terry took his sweet time getting back to her about the details of their meeting. She wasn’t surprised. He loved making her wait, forcing her to reach out first. But she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction. Not tonight.

She went about her evening, refusing to check her phone, knowing that the moment she did, he’d win. And she’d sooner staple her own hand than let him believe she was sitting around, waiting on him.

When her phone finally buzzed, she ignored it for a few minutes before opening the message with deliberate disinterest.

Terry: Meet me at my place. 10 PM. Try not to get too distracted tonight, Princess.

She exhaled sharply through her nose, her fingers tightening around the phone. She should have known. Of course he’d make this as inconvenient as possible. Not a café, not a bar, not even the office—his place. A blessing in disguise to be honest. There was no way she’d let him pollute the sanctuary of her own home with presence.

He was testing her.

She could decline. Tell him to meet somewhere neutral, somewhere that wouldn’t give him the upper hand. But then he’d smirk that insufferable smirk and say something smug about her being too scared to be alone with him.

And she refused to give him that, too.

So she texted back.

Her: Fine.

The response was short, devoid of anything he could twist into a game. Still, she knew he’d find a way.

Standing in front of his door, irritation coursed through her, tangled with something deeper—something she refused to name. She wasn’t nervous. That would imply he had some kind of power over her, and he didn’t. He didn’t.

The door swung open, and there he was: Terry Richmond, leaning lazily against the frame and she was immediately annoyed. He looked too good. Smug satisfaction lined his face, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, exposing inked skin stretched over muscle.

"My, my, my," he drawled, letting his gaze sweep over her with deliberate slowness. "Don’t you look stunning. Don’t tell me you dressed up for me."

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Terry, you’re on my time now—use it wisely," she snapped, slicing through his charm before it could gain traction.

Terry raised an eyebrow, his smirk faltering for a split second as he clocked her no-nonsense mood. He adjusted quickly, though, stepping aside and gesturing her in with a lazy wave. "Come on in, then. We wouldn’t want to waste your precious time, would we?"

“Didn’t think you’d show.” His voice was lazy, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.

She tried pushing past him but he blocked her movements. “I’m here to work, not play into your little games.”

He finally moved, shutting the door behind her, a low chuckle escaping him. “Princess, everything we do is a game.”

She walked past him, jaw tightened, but she ignored him, scanning the apartment instead. It was neat, too neat. The kind of place that suggested he didn’t spend much time here, that it was more of a crash pad than a home. Still, it smelled like him—clean, woodsy, with a faint trace of cologne—and the familiarity of it made her stomach tighten.

Terry shut the door, watching her. Always watching. "Drink?"

"No."

He hummed, pouring himself a glass of whiskey anyway. "Suit yourself."

She moved to the dining table, pulling out her laptop. "Let’s just get this done."

Terry exhaled dramatically, taking the seat across from her. "So eager. You always this desperate to get away from me?"

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard before she met his gaze, bored. "Depends. You always this desperate to keep me around?"

His lips curled. "Oh, always, sweetheart."

She hated the way her pulse betrayed her. The way his voice dripped with a promise she refused to decipher.

As the night stretched on, she noticed his focus drifting—not from the project, but from her. His gaze lingered too long, tracing the line of her throat when she sipped her drink, flicking to her mouth when she spoke, dropping to her bare legs beneath the table.

She knew the exact moment he stopped caring about work.

“Tired?” she asked, feigning innocence.

Terry leaned back in his chair, stretching leisurely. “Bored.”

“Because you’re losing?”

His smirk deepened. “You think this is a competition?”

She mirrored his expression. “Isn’t it?”

The words hung heavy between them, thick with something unspoken. Something neither of them wanted to name.

Shaking it off, she focused on the task at hand. They settled into work, heads bent over the project, their focus sharp. For a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to believe this might actually be productive.

But Terry was Terry, and peace was never part of his repertoire.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know what they were supposed to be doing—he did. But slipping in his usual jabs was second nature, like breathing. Whether it was the clash of egos, his compulsive need to compete with her, or sheer stupidity, he couldn’t seem to help himself.

To her credit, she let it slide. For now. His behaviour, by his standards, was almost tolerable, and she kept her focus on the task at hand. So much so that she barely noticed the way his eyes lingered on her.

Terry wasn’t focused on the proposal anymore. His gaze drifted, taking in every detail: the shimmer of gloss on her lips as she spoke, the way her movements carried an effortless grace even in her irritation. He wasn’t oblivious to the effect she had on him.

She walked into every room with a quiet confidence that drew him in, her voice carrying an authority that demanded attention. And it drove him mad that she seemed entirely unaffected by him. Her refusal to acknowledge his flirtations turned into a game he couldn’t resist playing. He loved riling her up, watching her react. Every glare, every clapback—it all meant she cared, and that’s what he wanted.

He leaned back in his chair, letting her take the lead on the project, though his mind had long since wandered. His eyes lingered on the way she crossed her legs, the slight arch of her back as she leaned forward to emphasise her point. He imagined how it would feel to have her closer, to—

And then he couldn’t resist.

“So," he drawled, his voice low, carrying that signature teasing edge, "how many other guys would kill to be in my position right now?"

That was it.

Something inside her snapped. Her face flushed, anger blazing in her eyes as she shot to her feet. Fists clenched at her sides, she fixed him with a glare that could melt steel.

"You arrogant, son of a—"

But she didn’t get the chance to finish.

Terry was already grinning, wider than ever, his expression one of pure satisfaction. He basked in the chaos he’d created, every ounce of her fury a testament to his power to get under her skin.

He leaned back, utterly unbothered, his smirk taking on a wicked gleam. He’d pushed her to this point, and he loved it. Relished it. This was his game, and he was playing it to perfection.

The tension in the room shifted—thick, potent, and almost suffocating. He moved toward her with a predatory grace, every step deliberate, his presence commanding. Placing his hands firmly on the armrests of her chair, he caged her in, leaving no room for escape.

Trapped and surrounded by his heat, her senses were overwhelmed. But even as he asserted his dominance, one thought lingered in his mind: she would taste him later.

Leaning down, he lowered his voice to a murmur that sent shivers racing down her spine.

"You see how easy it is for me to get under your skin?" His breath ghosted against her neck, his lips barely brushing her ear in a tantalising tease.

"But between you and me," he continued, his tone thick with sinful intent, "I’d rather you be under me."

The hitch in her breath was almost imperceptible, but Terry caught it. Of course, he caught it. That was the thing about him—he noticed everything. The way her pulse flickered at her throat. The way her fingers clenched, then relaxed, then clenched again, like she was trying to fight off whatever was brewing inside her.

And the way she didn’t move away.

His smirk deepened, his hands still bracketing her chair, keeping her right where he wanted her.

“I can see you're thinking about it,” he murmured, his voice dipping into something richer, smoother, meant to sink under her skin. “We both know how this ends. Why fight it?”

She scoffed, though it came out weaker than she wanted. “You’re delusional.”

His lips twitched. There she was. “And yet,” he murmured, tilting his head, “you’re still standing here. Close enough to feel me.”

She swallowed hard.

Terry chuckled. Low, slow, like he had all the time in the world. He let one hand trail up the armrest of her chair, fingers grazing hers. Barely a touch. Just enough to make her breath hitch again.

Then, he leaned in. Closer.

She could smell the whiskey on his breath, the warmth of it mixing with something darker, something entirely him.

And she hated—hated—how badly she wanted more.

“You know what I think?” he murmured. “I think you like this. The arguing. The tension. The push and pull. I think it gets you off—”

She moved before she could second-guess herself. A sharp, frustrated sound left her throat as she grabbed him by the collar and yanked him down, her lips crashing against his.

Terry groaned, deep and guttural, as if he’d been waiting for this, aching for this. His hands found her waist, gripping tight, and then suddenly she wasn’t in the chair anymore—she was against it, her back pressed into the table as he stepped between her legs, pressing into her, all hard heat and impossible arrogance.

Her fingers twisted in the fabric of his shirt, holding him there, not that he had any plans to go anywhere. His mouth was urgent against hers—hot, demanding, a perfect mirror to the fire that had been simmering between them for months.

She bit down on his lower lip, just hard enough to make him grunt.

Good, she thought, satisfaction curling in her stomach. If she was going down in flames, he was burning with her.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark, wild, consuming.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for that,” he murmured, his thumb dragging over her bottom lip.

She licked the tip of it, just to watch his jaw tighten.

“I think I have some idea,” she teased, voice breathless, electric.

Terry’s eyes darkened, amusement flickering into something sharper. Hungrier.

“Alright, Princess,” he murmured, voice dropping to something low, something dangerous. “You wanna play?”

The air shifted.

The power balance tilted.

And neither of them were backing down.

Terry let out a slow, dangerous chuckle. Then he kissed her again—deeper, harder, bruising in its intensity.

His hands gripped her waist with practiced ease, lifting her effortlessly to her feet as he closed the remaining distance between them. Their bodies collided, his heat searing against hers. His lips crashed into hers with an intensity that was anything but gentle—a clash of teeth and tongues, raw and unrestrained. She tasted like temptation, and for a fleeting moment, the rest of the world ceased to exist.

She met him with equal fervour, her fingers threading into his hair and tugging him closer, pulling a low growl from his throat. He took it as permission to push further, his lips leaving hers to trail down her jawline. His teeth grazed her skin, nipping lightly before soothing the spot with his tongue.

As they pulled apart, his smirk spread, slow and calculated, dripping with satisfaction. His eyes gleamed with the knowledge of what he’d just unleashed. The storm between them was no longer just a simmering rivalry—it was a blaze, out of control, and neither one of them knew how to stop it.

“You think you’ve got this figured out, don’t you?” His voice was rougher now, all edge and low heat. There was an unspoken challenge in the air. He was no longer just teasing—this was war, and the rules had changed.

Her heart raced, her pulse thundering in her ears, but she refused to let him see the effect he was having. Instead, she shot him a pointed look. “I’ve got more than you think.”

He chuckled, the sound dark and mocking. “Always so sure of yourself, aren’t you?” He pushed off the desk, the sudden movement bringing them closer, his towering presence stealing her breath away. His eyes never left hers, hungry, predatory.

They were circling each other now, neither willing to show weakness, both battling for dominance. The air around them felt too thick, too heavy, but neither of them could make the first move. The competition had always been fierce, but this? This was something different. Something primal.

Her gaze flickered to the clock on the wall, as if time could be her ally. “I’m just here to finish the job,” she said, trying to sound detached, but the words caught in her throat, betraying her. They both knew it was more than that.

Terry’s gaze softened, just for a moment. Then he was back to his usual cocky self, pressing closer. “It’s funny,” he murmured, voice quieter now, like he was letting her in on a secret. “You act like I’m the one distracting you.” His fingers brushed the edge of her desk, and the simple movement was enough to send a shiver down her spine.

Her clenched her fists at her sides. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

She was playing right into his hands. Lowering himself further, his lips brushed along the line of her jaw, his breath hot and unrelenting as he whispered, "Nuh-uh. That’s not how this works, sweetheart. You’re in my house now." His voice dropped even lower, the words landing with weight. "And you play by my rules."

Fully closing the space now, his breath warm against her skin. “You always know how to keep things interesting, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his breath warm against her flushed skin.

It was a challenge. A dare. And it hit harder than any insult or word they’d thrown at each other before.

His proximity was intoxicating. She could feel his heat radiating off him, like a physical presence pressing against her own, testing her resolve. For a moment, she considered backing away, but something about the way he looked at her—so assured, so relentless—made it impossible to move.

His fingers grazed her wrist, just barely, the touch lingering enough to make her skin burn. She could feel her breath quicken, the air around them thick with unspoken words. The space between them was dangerously small now, and neither one of them was backing down.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" she asked, voice a little more breathless than she'd intended.

Terry’s smile turned devilish, the playful glint in his eyes sharpening. “What would be the fun in that?” he said, then stepped back, breaking the spell with a sudden, disarming ease. He ran a hand through his hair, cocky as ever. “Let’s see who cracks first, then.”

Her pulse quickened at the challenge, the tension between them building with every word. Neither of them was prepared to lose. Not this time. And as the clock ticked on, the battle between them grew more intense, the stakes impossibly high.

His hands moved with purpose, one slipping to the small of her back while the other pressed against her hip, guiding her until her back met the solid surface of the nearest wall. The coolness against her skin was a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from him, pressing into her with an intensity that made her breath hitch. Every nerve in her body was alive, her senses alight with the overwhelming presence of him.

She wanted to snap back, to hurl something biting, to put him in his place with that razor-sharp tongue of hers—but nothing came. Her thoughts were too hazy, clouded by the way he towered over her, by the way his body felt against hers. His presence was magnetic, undeniable, and it was pulling her under like a riptide she had no hope of escaping.

Then his hand brushed against her arm—a barely-there touch, yet it sent a bolt of electricity straight to her core. A sharp breath left her lips. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. She hated him, truly, deeply. But she wanted him just as fiercely. And no matter how much she tried to deny it, to shove it down where it couldn't be touched, it clawed its way back to the surface.

Terry took another step closer, deliberate, unhurried, his confidence infuriatingly steady. His fingers trailed lower, sliding to the small of her back again, and this time, he pulled her in. Every inch of her was flush against him now, the heat between them scorching, the last remnants of distance obliterated.

“What’s it gonna be, sweetheart?” he whispered, lips brushing the shell of her ear, his voice dripping with challenge. “You gonna keep pretending? Or are you ready to stop fighting this?”

The words settled heavy between them, the weight of them undeniable. The world outside blurred, irrelevant. All she could hear was the deafening pound of her own heartbeat, the ragged pull of her breath.

And then, like a dam breaking, every pent-up emotion, every unresolved moment between them came crashing down.

Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt before she could stop herself, a sharp tug pulling him into her space. She wasn’t following his lead anymore—this wasn’t about his challenge, his rules. She was setting the pace now. She was in control.

His smirk deepened, as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment. But she didn’t give him the satisfaction of gloating. She surged forward, her lips crashing into his with a force that stole the breath from both of them.

Terry groaned against her mouth, the sound raw, almost desperate. Then his hands were on her again, moving with an urgency that sent a fresh wave of heat through her. He caught her wrists in one swift motion, lifting her arms above her head, pinning them effortlessly against the wall. His body followed suit, pressing her there, letting her feel the weight of him, the full brunt of his control.

For just a second, he held her like that—let her feel the shift, let her know exactly who had the upper hand now.

Then his lips crashed into hers again, rough, unrelenting.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t gentle. It was everything they had never said, everything they had pushed down, everything that had burned between them from the very first moment they met.

The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in, trapping them in the storm they had created. Her pulse pounded against her ribs as his hands slid down, gripping her waist and pulling her tighter against him. His touch was firm, possessive, but there was something else beneath it—a quiet, maddening restraint, like even now, he was holding back.

She arched against him, breathless, defiant.

“Do you feel that?” he murmured, his lips a hair’s breadth from hers, his voice dark, taunting. “I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

Her breath shuddered as she stared up at him, her mind a blur of want and frustration, her body betraying her with the way it leaned into his.

And the worst part?

She had been waiting for it too.

The arrogance in his tone should have pissed her off. She should have shoved him away, thrown a cutting remark to put him back in his place. But instead, his words sent a shiver down her spine, pooling heat low in her belly. Her heart pounded—loud, insistent—as if trying to warn her, but she knew he could hear it, feel it, just like she could feel the heat radiating off him, pressing into her.

She hated that he had this effect on her. Hated how effortlessly he stripped away her defences, unravelled her completely with nothing but a look, a touch, a single taunting word.

In a blink, she found herself against the wall, the hard surface biting into her back, his body caging hers in. She should have fought it, should have snapped something defiant—but she didn’t. The space between them dissolved, his lips hovering just inches from hers, his breath warm against her skin.

“Do you want me to stop?” His voice was thick, roughened with something unreadable. It almost sounded like concern. But she knew better. This wasn’t concern. This was a test. A challenge. A game of control, of willpower, of just how far he could push her before she shattered.

Her lips parted, but hesitation caught in her throat. Because if she said no, she couldn’t take it back.

Terry’s fingers skimmed the side of her thigh, his touch maddeningly light, a whisper of contact that made her body jolt in anticipation. The bastard was waiting. Letting the silence stretch. Letting her squirm under the weight of her own restraint.

Her nails curled into his chest, tension coiling tight in her stomach, and she knew she was at the edge—dangling over it.

Then, barely audible, she whispered, “No.”

His smirk was slow, dangerous. “That’s my girl.”

Then his mouth crashed into hers.

There was nothing soft about it. No careful prelude, no tentative exploration—just pure, unchecked hunger. He kissed her like he wanted to brand her, own her, stake his claim right there against that cold, unforgiving wall. And she met him just as fiercely, dragging him in by the collar, teeth clashing, tongues tangling in a battle of dominance neither was willing to concede.

His hands moved with intent, sliding beneath her shirt, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of her ribs before finding the swell of her breasts. He cupped them through the thin lace, his thumbs circling over her nipples with infuriating precision. A sharp gasp left her lips, her body betraying her, arching into his touch instead of away.

Terry hummed against her mouth, amusement flickering through the kiss. “So sensitive,” he murmured, dragging her shirt higher, exposing her inch by inch like he had all the time in the world. “You needed this, didn’t you?”

She wanted to deny it, wanted to bite out something sharp to wipe that smirk off his face, but then his teeth grazed her jaw, his lips dragging down her throat, and any words she might have had died in a sharp inhale.

His hands were ruthless now, dragging her skirt up, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of her knickers. The moment he found her, slick and wanting, a curse left his lips.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his breath hot against her skin. “Look at you.”

Her thighs tensed, heat surging through her, but before she could process the words, before she could react, he was gone.

The sudden loss of his touch made her shudder, her breath catching—but then he dropped to his knees.

Her stomach clenched.

Strong hands gripped her thighs, pried them apart, lifting one over his shoulder with unrelenting ease. He didn’t speak, didn’t offer any more smug remarks. He just stared up at her, dark eyes gleaming with wicked intent, and then—

His mouth was on her.

A choked gasp tore from her lips, her head knocking back against the wall. His tongue was relentless, dragging over her with obscene precision, tasting her like he’d been starving for it. Her fingers twisted into his hair, her grip tight enough to hurt, but he only groaned, the vibrations sending another wave of heat crashing through her.

She refused to give in so easily. She refused to let him win.

But then he sucked—slow and devastatingly deep—and her entire body jerked, a whimper slipping free before she could stop it.

Terry chuckled against her, the sound smug, knowing. His grip on her thigh tightened, a silent warning, and then his fingers joined the fray—two slipping inside her, filling her with an unrelenting precision that had her shuddering against the wall.

Her resolve shattered.

“Terry—”

He grinned, curling his fingers just right, hitting that spot that had her thighs shaking. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured against her, voice thick with satisfaction. “Let me hear you.”

She had no choice. He tore the sounds from her, made her body betray her again and again, driving her higher, dragging her over the edge with devastating ease. And when it finally hit, when pleasure crashed through her like a violent storm, her body seized, her breath strangled, her fingers yanking at his hair as she cried out his name.

Terry didn’t stop. He worked her through every wave, every tremor, didn’t let go until she was fully spent, trembling, utterly undone.

Then, finally, he pulled back, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth.

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmured, his voice smug, satisfied. Then he rose, towering over her once again, his gaze locking onto hers as he wiped the last traces of her from his lips.

And God help her, she wanted more.

Neither of them had the patience—or the inclination—to take this upstairs. The moment stretched, charged, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken. Every second they waited only made it worse.

Terry’s hands were already on her, firm and insistent, guiding her towards the couch like he couldn’t bear even an inch of distance between them.

“Right here,” he growled, voice low and commanding. “I’m done waiting.”

She didn’t protest. Couldn’t. Her breath hitched as he turned her around, rough hands gripping her hips with purpose, bending her over the plush cushions. The anticipation was maddening, her skin buzzing under the ghost of his touch as his fingers trailed down her back, slow, deliberate—like he was savouring the moment, relishing her submission.

“Stay just like that,” he murmured, his voice dark silk, but his hands were anything but gentle. The rush of air against her thighs sent a shudder through her as he pushed her skirt up, his fingers dragging over the lace of her underwear before slipping them down in one smooth motion.

A sharp inhale cut through the silence. He wasn’t even touching her, but she felt it—his gaze, the weight of it scorching her skin.

“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself. “You’re perfect.”

Her nails curled into the fabric beneath her, fighting for something to ground her, but then Terry was pressing against her, all heat and hunger, the hard evidence of his arousal making her breath falter.

“Say it.” His voice was thick, strained, heavy with restraint he was barely holding onto. “Tell me you want this.”

She clenched her jaw, heart pounding. He wouldn’t move until she said it. Wouldn’t give her what she was aching for.

Her resolve cracked, her need eclipsing her pride. “I want this,” she whispered, her voice barely more than breath. Then, stronger—daring. “I want you.”

That was all it took.

His grip tightened—one hand pressing into the small of her back, the other bracing her hip—before he thrust into her in one fluid movement.

A broken gasp tore from her lips, her body arching as he filled her completely, stretching her, owning her. There was no hesitation, no restraint. He took her with raw, unrelenting force, his movements deep and demanding, fuelled by the same tension that had kept them at odds for so long.

His fingers dug into her skin, holding her still, keeping her exactly where he wanted her. “So fucking good,” he groaned, voice wrecked, like he was barely holding himself together. “Better than I ever let myself imagine.”

She barely registered the words. Her mind was slipping, drowning in the rhythm of him, the way he moved, the way he took. Every deep stroke unravelled her, pulling her further under, until all she could do was surrender to it—to him.

Terry leaned in, his chest flush against her back, his breath hot against her ear as his hand slid into her braids, tugging just enough to tilt her head back. “Don’t hold back, baby.” His voice was a rough whisper, wicked and coaxing. “I want to hear you.”

And she did.

Her moans spilled into the room, raw and unrestrained, each sound sending a fresh surge of heat through him. He rewarded her for it, driving into her with punishing precision, wringing every reaction from her until she was teetering on the edge, trembling, gasping—

Then she shattered.

A sharp cry broke from her lips as pleasure tore through her, leaving her breathless, undone. She felt him falter, his pace growing erratic, his grip tightening—then, with a deep, guttural groan, he followed her over the edge, his release spilling into her as he collapsed against her, spent.

Silence settled over them, save for their ragged breaths.

Terry’s hands, once rough and claiming, softened on her hips, tracing slow, lazy circles against her skin. He eased out of her, lingering for just a moment longer before stepping back, watching as she pulled herself together.

Then, with all the composure she could muster, YN wiped her mouth and turned to face him, lips curling into something wicked. “Well,” she said, smoothing her skirt down, “I suppose we can’t call it a productive meeting until we actually finish that proposal, huh?”

Terry chuckled, raking a hand through his messy hair, looking every bit as wrecked as she felt. “Oh, don’t worry,” he drawled, flashing that signature, lazy grin. “We’ll get it done. I work best under pressure… just like tonight.”

She arched a brow, crossing her arms. “Funny,” she shot back, “you didn’t seem too worried about the deadline when you were too busy getting under my skin.”

His grin widened, smug, infuriatingly charming. “Well, now that I’ve got you warmed up, I’m sure the rest of the work will be a breeze.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smirk tugging at her lips betrayed her. “Let’s just make sure we finish before Linda decides to make one of her famous surprise appearances.”

Terry laughed, shaking his head as he reached for his laptop. “Agreed. But next time—neutral ground, alright?”

“Next time?” she echoed, tilting her head. “You’re really pushing your luck, Terry.”

He leaned back, flashing her a wink. “Don’t worry, babygirl, I’m not done with you yet.”

And as they turned their attention back to the proposal, the tension between them still hummed in the air, thick and unresolved. They both knew this wasn’t over.

Not even close.

taglist: @writingsbytee @venusincleo @nickidub718 @notapradagurl7 @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @wildcardmelaninfreak

comments and reblogs are appreciated as well as feedback, i hope you liked it 🫶🏾🫶🏾🫶🏾

#terry richmond fic #terry richmond x black!reader #terry richmond #terry richmond smut #ruewrites #aaron pierre x black reader #terry richmond x black reader #aaron pierre #terry richmond fanfiction #aaron pierre x black!reader

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myjjongie · 5 months ago

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✶ THE TASTE OF MINT ── l. heeseung

IN WHICH: you have a big collection of lip balms, but never expected heeseung to make a mission out of it. the mission in question? finding which lip balm he likes the most on you.

PAIRING: bf!heeseung x gf!fem reader GENRE/WARNINGS: lower case intended !!, one shot, established relationship, kissing, they make out lowkey, fluff, skinship WORD COUNT: 1.3k ₊⊹♡ EVIE'S NOTE: we are gonna ignore the fact that two of my recent oneshots are both kissing related. they are MAJOR coincidences LMAO. also where are all my mint lip balm enjoyers at ????

heeseung always thought it was absurd that you had an abundant amount of lip balms stashed away in your bathroom drawer. not to mention heeseung found the growing collection to be pointless.

the idea of collecting something that you only needed one of didn’t make sense to him. he always thought that but never said anything since truthfully he found the growing collection adorable. despite his opinion on it, he enjoyed your smile more than he disliked your minor hobby.

that small dislike faded when he kissed your lips one day. what heeseung found astonished him. there was the unexpected burst of flavor from your lips. he remembered the taste of the flavor being pineapple. almost as if he was drinking a pina colada. since that day heeseung made a secret mission out of every kiss he took. hoping one specific kiss would lead him to his favorite lip balm on you.

unbeknownst to heeseung, today would be that day.

per usual you were getting ready for an outing with heeseung. you stood in front of the bathroom sink finishing off your hair. all that was left was applying lip balm. you opened the infamous drawer, as heeseung would call it at times. rummaging around you frowned at some of the ones you picked out. you picked out vanilla, it was a classic flavor but you weren’t in the mood for it. rummaging around again you found a cotton candy flavor, then honey, then a strange assortment of fruit flavors. with a sigh you ran your fingers through your hair. frustration soon building at the overwhelming options.

“are you ready yet babe?” your head turned at heeseung’s voice. an even deeper sigh left your lips at your boyfriend waiting patiently for you in the other room.

“yeah almost give me 5 more minutes!” you shouted out to him.

“this is ridiculous… all these lip balms yet i can’t pick out a single one i want to wear…” you cursed out under your breath at the new time crunch.

soon you went back to digging in the drawer. hoping to find one you’d actually wear. once hitting the bottom you did a little more moving around and grabbed a random lip balm not even bothering to look. hopefully the random pick would surprise you enough to wear it. pulling your hand out from the stash of tubes you open your hand to read the label. it was a mint flavored lip balm.

before your collection grew out of control, mint was always your go to. the feeling of the soothing chill on your lips felt good everytime you applied it. that memory alone made you excited to put it on.

“no way i forgot about this.” your voice was mixed with a bit of surprise and shock. you couldn’t believe you forgot about your original favorite flavor.

without anything else to think about, you applied the lip balm. there it was, that nice chill feeling that danced along your lips. finally feeling satisfied with your choice you closed the lip balm. settling the tube down on the counter, you got ready to walk away from the mirror. turning around you were startled by a figure. a scream escaped your lips as you realized the figure was heeseung. his silent approach startled you more than you anticipated.

“heeseung you scared me!”

“sorry. i just came over to check on you. you took longer than 5 minutes sweetie.” heeseung’s voice sounded worried as he focused on your startled form.

placing your hand on your chest you eased yourself from the sudden scare.

“it’s okay hee. im ready though so we can leave now.” you let off a smile to your boyfriend to help ease him. you could see a growing worried look stitched into his brows.

before stepping outside of the bathroom heeseung stopped you. his hand gently grazing your cheek. instinctively melting into his touch you couldn’t help but look up at him. your eyes studied his face, the worried look now dissipated. you realized as well his gaze wasn’t meeting yours. it was fixed a bit lower. you already had an idea of where his eyes were staring so longingly, it was at your lips.

as much as heeseung tried hiding it. you figured out what he was doing. noticing every time you applied lip balm he was magically there ready to give you a kiss. it didn’t take long to piece heeseung’s actions together. all those short kisses was him trying to find a lip balm he enjoyed on you. you never disclosed the new found information to heeseung. since watching him make a mission out of it was too cute. you then remembered it had been a while since you wore a mint flavor. so this one could interest him or maybe it wouldn’t at all.

heeseung couldn’t help taking his thumb to gently rub it across your bottom lip. he smirked slightly at the all familiar feeling of the slight waxy consistency, which now stuck to his thumb.

“you know your lips look extra nice right now. out of all the brands you use i don’t think i’ve seen you use this one yet?” heeseung was still focused on your lips barely paying attention to you answer him.

“oh i found a lip balm i haven’t used in a while. what do you think?”

“it looks really good.” heeseung responded absentmindedly leaning down to give you a quick kiss. his thumb now resting beneath your chin gently tilting your face up.

right away heeseung felt that cooling sensation that coated your lips the moment you put the lip balm on. he found enjoyment in the feeling, the way the flavor left off a refreshing taste to his lips. after a few seconds he parted away from the kiss. his thumb still tucked beneath your chin. you noticed the way he stood there. you asked yourself if he was wondering what the flavor was. it was a hard one to place since mint was a random flavor on its own.

“mint.” heeseung murmured underneath his breath. then once again his lips were met with yours. his lips grazed against yours gently but more earnestly. this time the kiss felt more heated, more intimate as if he wanted to take you whole.

a soft whimper escaped from you as heeseung’s teeth grazed your bottom lip. the feeling sent shivers down your spine. the sudden urgency from him caught you off guard. your hands placed onto his chest softly tapping at him to break away wanting to catch your breath. unfortunately to your dismay heeseung’s hand now snaked to the back of your neck keeping you steady. the new hold helped him kiss you deeper and more desperately. despite the itching feeling to catch your breath. you couldn't help but melt into the kiss. his lips moving about with need making your knees weaken. the soft sounds of your kissing echoed within the bathroom. your fingers felt like they were on fire from how tight you held onto his shoulders for support.

the kiss to heeseung was the same as any other kiss you both had. he didn’t understand why he felt so needy for your lips this time around. maybe it was the chilling effect of the mint that made the taste of your lips feel intoxicating to him. heeseung wasn’t able to put a finger on it, but he knew he wasn’t gonna stop anytime soon.

after what felt like forever, heeseung finally pulled back from your lips. though his hand still lingered on your neck, the smirk on his face deepened as he took in your dazed expression. looking into the reflection behind you, he couldn’t help but notice how your flushed face was mirroring his own.

heeseung smirked softly, his hand finding its way back to your chin. “yeah mint is definitely my favorite.”

without further hesitation he leaned in for another kiss.

perm taglist ( open! refer to this post ) . . . @ikeulove @leehsngs @nickiminajleftasscheek

©myjjongie 2025

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falseficus · 2 years ago

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I read a physical copy of monstrous regiment soon after listening to the audiobook, and I noticed two tiny discrepancies between the two editions that make an absolute world of difference. when I found out that these discrepancies existed (you’ll find reddit posts backing me up about them), I felt cheated that my first experience of the book had portrayed a less cohesive arc than pratchett intended

if you’re looking to buy or read monstrous regiment, I strongly recommend the doubleday 2003 version or the corgi 2004 version, which iirc contain the original text. The harper collins publications and audiobook both contain these changes, which imo are confusing and severely undercut the themes the book is trying to get across. if anyone knows the status of other editions of the book pls feel free to add on

obviously the audiobooks and ebooks are more accessible than physical books to some people, so if you read one of those just know that the original text is different in some key ways. I still recommend you read the book because it’s crazy good :)

the changes I noticed, beneath the cut to avoid some serious spoilers:

firstly, the last line of Jackrum’s last scene. in the Doubleday version, this line reads:

“Jackrum had turned her chair to the fire, and had settled back. Around him, the kitchen worked.”

in the harpercollins version, the line reads:

“Jackrum had turned her chair the the fire, and had settled back. Around her, the kitchen worked.”

this pronoun change is actually has huge implications. in the scene in question, jackrum, a transgender man, reveals that he joined the army in disguise. he is referred to as “she” throughout his background reveal. however, he then considers where his future will take him, and in the final line of the scene his pronoun reverts back to “he.” jackrum’s pronoun goes from he->she->he, encapsulating the gendery arc of the scene. however, in the altered he->she->she version of the scene, half of that circle is erased. the neat tie-up of jackrum’s journey is left confusingly unresolved, and the importance of his gender to the book’s overarching themes goes underemphasized

the second change I noticed is how maladict appears in the book’s ending:

in the Doubleday version, maladict appears “in full uniform.”

in the harpercollins version, maladict appears “in full female uniform.”

maladict is the last soldier to reveal [their] true gender, keeping up a masc/ambiguous presentation far after all the rest of the squad has come forward as women. “in full uniform” maintains this ambiguity, allowing the reader to decide for themself whether maladict comes forward and presents as fully female or continues to dress masculinely despite the fact that circumstances no longer require it (in fact I believe that the latter is more likely, as maladict says “thought I’d try again,” which could mean dressing in male uniform again). “in full female uniform” removes that ambiguity, and brings maladict’s arc to a somewhat unsatisfying conclusion. it eliminates the possibility of maladict as transgender or gender-non-conforming, and I’m left wondering, “if maladict presents as female so readily, why make such a fuss of it before now?”

both changes undermine the book’s message by eliminating its space for non-cisnormative identity… which is kinda crucial to the whole idea. im honestly really disappointed that these changes were made in any version of the book, because whoever made them clearly didn’t get the point

#monstrous regiment #discworld #terry pratchett #the frog speaks

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carawenfiction · 3 months ago

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So...remember how I said in that update post how I might MAYBE do a TSS rewrite and post it for free?

"Maybe" quickly turned into "definitely happening". Instead of making it outside of COG, however, the finished product that's already published will be updated with the rewritten files. This means that if you've already purchased TSS through COG, you'll have the rewritten version available. That's how I originally intended to go about things with the old rewrite and is the better option here to avoid potential complications.

I've been in contact with COG and they've let me know that I'd be able to do what I have in mind even if this results in a different wordcount and very different scenes/plot points and a different kind of main story.

I realize that this announcement is probably pretty jarring since my last post stated that I wasn't sure about doing a rewrite but that I wanted to if I had enough time. After making that post, I started creating an outline for the rewrite mostly for fun...and one thing kind of led to another. I want you all to know that I wouldn't be making this post at all if I wasn't sure about this. It's because I've already begun the process and feel incredibly motivated and inspired that I can do this that I'm making this announcement.

This rewrite is not going to be like my old attempt at a rewrite, though. It's an entirely new one that I feel much more confident about.

So far I've written the outline for the rewrite and started reworking already existing scenes from chapter 1 as well some new ones. I'm happy to say that the difference between how the rewrite process felt years ago compared to now is like light and day. It seems like those years I've taken away from TSS were very healthy and helpful in giving me some distance and letting me figure out what kind of story I really want to tell.

My plan is to rewrite book 1 and then make 1 full continuation after that. Instead of a trilogy, it looks like this version of TSS will be 2 volumes, but that doesn't necessarily mean that it'll be shorter than originally intended. I think it's more doable for me to rewrite the first book (starting from scratch while also using some already written scenes, since I've been assured I'm allowed to do so) and then make 1 complete continuation of it rather than trying to fill stuff out over 3 different entries, and I think it'll serve the plot and story as a whole to do it that way.

That being said, I fully understand that some - or most of you - might have trouble trusting my word after me failing to do the rewrite I wanted to years ago and not delivering a second book. That's completely fair. This time I'm not rushing things and I don't feel any pressure to do this. It's not something I do out of dislike for the original, but rather out of love for what it could be and what I could make it into, if that makes sense. I'm taking as much time as I need to and am not putting any pressure on myself to do this.

My other project takes priority right now so I can't dedicate all of my time to the rewrite, but I'm working on it when I have time over or get stuck. It's actually pretty nice to alternate between two different stories that have different settings and has helped a bit in avoiding writer's block.

Here are some differences between TSS and the TSS rewrite (most of the changes I made to the old rewrite no longer apply):

The rewrite will be told in second-person point of view ("you" instead of "I"). The reason for this is that when I first started TSS I was really unused to the second-person POV, but after having spent years in the IF space it's now the other way around. It'll make writing much easier for for me, and I hope it won't feel too jarring for people who are used to the first person POV.

The Shadowman and Jealene (now "J") will both be genderselectable just like the main cast. The Shadowman will be genderselectable later on, though - it might sound strange but I think it makes sense when you have more context. J plays a bigger role than they did in the original and their personality is a bit different in this version.

Some side characters (such as most of the hideout) will be cut. This is because they felt really underdeveloped to me in the full game and didn't serve much of a purpose. Instead I'm focusing more on the main cast + a few key characters to ensure the story plot stays focused and you get more time to develop bonds of various kinds with the main cast instead.

The relationship system will look a bit different. Instead of bars showing a percentage of approval, I'll write a description of each character and what they think of you. The descriptions will shift when the character starts viewing you differently, whether that's due to rivalry, romance or friendship. My hope is that this will allow for a more nuanced relationship system/descriptions. I'll also adjust the options a bit to try and make choices more nuanced and am thinking of including the option of having ex. a heart next to a romantic choice for those who want to know for sure what they're getting into. The different responses (such as shy, flirty etc.) will stay but some of it will probably be reworked. Essentially what I want to do is allow for a wider range of MCs and how the characters respond to the MC.

The MC is going to have more agency in certain ways. I've included something plot-relevant to the main character that can potentially change the dynamic between them and the group a bit, but it all depends on how you play it.

The tone might be somewhat different. Not entirely, of course, but there are some parts of the old TSS where the characters sound a bit younger than they are supposed to be, where tension and seriousness has been sacrificed in favor of humor and where some of the interactions aren't the way I would prefer for them to be. I've gotten older since writing TSS (gasp) and my tastes have changed, as has my writing to some degree. In order to do a rewrite I'd have to write in a way that's most enjoyable for me and that I feel best fits the story I want to tell. That's not to say that there isn't going to be silliness etc., but I'm adjusting the tone somewhat and putting more time and effort into descriptions and the writing overall.

The narrative will be different, even though the overall story itself will mostly stay the same. I'm keeping a lot of elements and also aim to introduce new ones that I believe will strengthen the story and make it a more enjoyable game overall.

I think those are the main differences I can give away right now without spoiling anything. I'll make sure to post updates when I've got more to share! Once the demo for the rewrite is finished, I'll post it on the forums and link it in an intro post on here.

Thank you all for sticking by me throughout the years. I hope you'll find some comfort in returning to this world, as well as new things to ponder and excite you in this new upcoming version of the story <3

The Azuridia and Quaiel chibis are done by the amazing madebysalfi

#the shadow society #tss #interactive fiction #update #if #carawenfiction #cog #choice of games #hosted games

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nina-ya · 8 months ago

Note

Request since you want something nsfw: reader getting horny and interrupting Law while he’s working/studying, reader sucking his cock under the desk (out of view) when someone suddenly enters the room, Law having to control his breathing and pretend everything’s fine, then reader getting absolutely railed against the desk when the other person leaves the room. Happy writing! x

A/N: HI NONNIE!! thank you for being patient with me! I enjoyed this a little too much and made this much longer than I originally intended but here!! Pairing: Law x AFAB!reader CW: NSFW MINORS DNI, oral sex (male receiving), masturbation, would this be exhibitionism? ima say that for now! unprotected sex (wrap it up yall), law calls reader a slut like twice, creampie, rough sex • masterlist • ko-fi • discord server •

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You tried to hold back and wait for Law to wrap up his work. He told you it would only just be ‘a bit longer.’ That was 3 hours ago. You tried so desperately to wait, going through the motions of distracting yourself: flipping through a book, taking a shower, even just lying on Law’s bed, legs dangling off the side The longer Law sat at his desk though, jotting down notes and muttering under his breath, the more restless you became.

Impatience was soon overshadowed by desire and every glance at him, every time he brushed his fingers over his hair, every shift of his body sent heat pooling between your legs. The way he looked so focused, so intent on his work, only added fuel to the flame. And as the minutes dragged on, your frustration grew.

You bite your lip and glance over at him from where you sat, letting out a huff. He looked so serene, so unaffected, it was as if the idea of getting lost in you hadn’t even crossed his mind.

Enough was enough.

You got up and padded over to him. He didn’t notice you at first, too engrossed in whatever he was writing down. You were now behind him, hands reaching up and gently sliding over his shoulders, and in response he just stiffened slightly, barely acknowledging your presence.

“I said I’d be done soon,” he muttered, but that rasp in his voice told you that he wasn’t quite as unaffected by your presence as he seemed.

You leaned down, pressing into his back, and your fingers trailed down his chest, slowly. Your lips brushed the shell of his ear as you whispered, “Three hours is hardly ‘soon,’ Law.”

You could feel him tensing up below you, his body going stiff beneath your touch. But he still didn’t look up at you.

“Come on,” you murmur, “just take a break, you need one.” you pull his chair back, the legs dragging against the floor and you shift so now you’re in front of him. Law watched you, pen still gripped in his hand, and he called out your name in a warning tone.

You ignored the warning in his voice, sinking to your knees and shimmying slightly underneath the desk with a playful grin. You wanted to make him lose control, to force him out of that concentrated calm.

Your fingers made quick work of the button and zipper of his jeans, and before he could protest, you were freeing him from the confines of his pants. His cock was already hard, the weight of it heavy as you stroked him slowly, teasing him with feather-light touches that had him gripping the pen in his hand until his knuckles turned white.

“Stop that,” he growled, though it lacked any conviction. His body betrayed him, hips twitching slightly as you leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his tip.

“Make me,” you whisper, lips brushing the head before taking him into your mouth. Law hissed out, his head tipping back slightly as you swallowed him down. The tip of your mouth, the wet warmth of your tongue as you swirled around him– it was everything that he didn’t realize he needed. Law let out a sigh as he caved to your advances, dropping the pen in his head with a small thud as it hit the floor. ‘Well that didn’t last very long’ you thought to yourself as he gave in rather quickly. He leaned back into his chair, breath deepening as one inked hand snaked through your hair, guiding it up and down his length.

As you slurped and sucked on him, you can't help but let one of your own hands drift lower. The need between your legs is unbearable, the heat pooling in your core is screaming for attention. You part your thighs, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear, determined to relieve yourself of the building pressure.

The moment your fingers brush your swollen clit, a low moan vibrates in your throat, muffled by Law’s cock between your lips. The sensation sends waves of pleasure surging right to your core, and you grind your hips against your hand as you continue to bob your head, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock in slow, torturous circles.

Your lips glide over Law’s cock, taking him deeper with each movement, your cheeks hollowing as you suck, swirling your tongue around the sensitive tip. “Fuck,” he hisses out, hips beginning to roll in time with your movements, meeting your mouth halfway as you take him in. You hum softly in satisfaction, taking him deeper, your fingers continuing their lazy circle over your clit.

knock knock knock

Your entire body freezes in place, your mouth still wrapped around Law’s cock, and your heart leaping into your throat.

“Captain?” a voice calls out, startling you. Fuck it’s Shachi. And he's blissfully unaware of what's happening under this desk.

Shahi doesn’t even wait before opening the door and stepping inside. Law stiffens, his grip on your hair tightening reflexively as his breath hitches. You hold back the urge to yelp out at the sudden pain in your hair, but the grip loosens thankfully. You see his entire body tense beneath you, but when he speaks up, his voice remains calm. “What is it?”

“I needed to go over some reports with you, do you have a second?” Shachi asked, casually unbothered, as though you are not just a few feet away kneeling under this desk with a cock shoved down your throat.

Law’s jaw clenches, his gaze briefly flickering to you, eyes narrow as if daring you to move. But you can’t help yourself. A wicked idea flickers through your mind, and you slowly take him once more, the wet heat of your tongue sliding against his length.

Law sucks in a sharp breath, his hand trembling against your scalp as he struggles to keep his voice even. “Can it wait?” he mutters out rather quickly.

“Um, we need to get this sorted now-”

“Get on with it.” Law interrupts, praying that Shachi will wrap this up quickly.

“There’s been an issue with the supply inventory. I wanted to get your approval for–”

Your tongue flicks over his sensitive tip as you bob your head slowly, teasing him in a way that has him biting down on his lower lip to keep from groaning. His thighs tense, cock twitching in your mouth, but he somehow finds the strength to keep it together.

“Mm… just leave it on my desk,” Law says, voice heavy and more strained than usual. He leans forward slightly, trying to maintain that illusion of composure as you continue to torment him beneath the desk.

You hollow your cheeks, sucking him harder, determined to make him lose his cool. The satisfaction of knowing that you are pushing him to the edge while he tries to maintain a normal conversation makes your own arousal spike, and you grind your hips against your hand once more, holding back a moan of your own as you work him over.

Shachi is still talking, something about requisitions and updates, but Law’s mind is far from focused on his words. He lets out a shuddering breath as you take him deeper, the head of his cock brushing the back of your throat. The grip in your hair tightens as a means of warning you, but you ignore it, your lips and tongue moving in a rhythm that is aimed at driving him mad.

You glance up at him again, watching as his jaw clenches harder, his eyes squeeze shut for a moment as he fights that internal battle. His entire body is taut with the effort of holding back, but you can feel how close he is to losing control.

Law’s voice breaks just slightly as he interrupts Shachi mid-sentence. “Leave it,” he practically barks out, impatience dripping in his tone. “Now.”

There’s a pause, and you hear Shachi shift, clearly caught off guard by the abruptness. “Uh… sure thing.”

Your heart races as you hear the door shut with a ‘click’ and the second it closes, Law’s hand tightens in your hair, pulling your mouth off of him with a harsh tug. You whine out, the sound echoing in the sudden silence, and you can see his amber eyes darken, igniting with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. There’s something dangerously possessive in his gase as it locks onto yours, and before you can blink, he’s yanking you up from under the desk, forcing you to stand as the chair scrapes back violently.

“You little brat,” he hisses, spinning you around and slamming your chest against the desk, his body pressed tightly against your back. You barely have time to brace yourself as he tears your underwear down, his fingers sliding between your soaked folds, inked fingers being coated by your essence. “Thought you can tease me and get away with it?”

You whimper out in response, and you push your hips back against him, desperate for more. His fingers graze over your throbbing clit, ripping whimpers from you with every slight touch, before pulling you away, leaving you trembling with anticipation.

Law growls low in his throat, his chest pressed flush against your back as he leans over you. His breath is hot against your neck and you grip the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white. His fingers, still slick with your arousal, dig into your hips, guiding you into position. The tension between you two is nearly about to snap, and you can feel the heat radiating off of him as his cock throbs against your entrance, teasing you with shallow thrusts.

“Is this what you wanted?” he rasps, voice rough. His hand slides up your spine, fingers dancing along your back until they reach your neck. In one motion, he pushes your head down, pressing your cheek against the cold surface of the desk. “Answer me.”

You try to speak but all that escapes is a whimper, your body trembling beneath him as you strain against his hold. His grip tightens, fingers pressing into your neck as he holds you firmly in place.

“I asked you a question,” he hisses out, his hips grinding against your ass, pushing you harder against the desk. “Is this what you wanted, you little minx?”

“Yes,” you gasp, “Yes Law. I need you.”

The confession seemed to snap whatever thin thread of restraint he had left and he pushed his cock in, slamming until he was buried all the way inside. The moment that Law thrusts into you, the world narrows to that intoxicating sensation of him stretching you. Your body jerks forward with the force, the hard edge off the desk biting into your hips as your hole swallows every inch of him. The fullness is almost too much, too sudden, and a loud cry rips from your throat.

His hand keeps you firmly in place as you squirm beneath him, overwhelmed by the intensity of his thrusts, each one rougher than the last. You are completely at his mercy, and the thought of it only makes your body pulse with even more desire.

His other hand trails along your side, the touch deceptively soft as it makes its way to your waist, squeezing it with a bruising grip. He pulls you back onto him as he slams into you again and again, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room alongside your whimpers and mewls. You can barely think straight, barely holding onto reality as he fuck you deeper, harder, grinding his hips into yours with each thrust.

“Look at you,” Law growls, his voice thick with need as he looms over you. “So fucking desperate… couldn’t even wait. You wanted to get caught, didn’t you? That’s why you didn’t stop when we had some company, right?”

Heat flushes your face as the embarrassment of just how right he was and the thrill of it just hits you. You try to shake your head, try to deny it, but the truth still clings to the edges of your mind. You could never admit that the idea of almost getting caught only turned you on more.

Law’s chuckle is low and dark. “Didn’t care who was in the room, did you?” he continues, each thrust accentuating his words. “So fucking impatient… just had to have me. What would they have thought if you knew what a little slut you are?”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, the discomfort of the desk digging into your hips, the way your face is squished against the surface, the feeling of his cock dragging in and out of you, the overwhelming pleasure bubbling up inside of you, the sting of his words– all combining and sending your emotions into a state of disarray and gasping for air.

“I-I couldn’t wait,” you choke out, your voice a broken whimper. “I needed you, Law, I–”

“You needed me,” he mocks, punctuating his words with a particularly brutal thrust that rips a scream from your throat. “Yeah? You needed to risk getting caught with my cock in your mouth while someone was standing right there? You're fucking shameless.”

“I-I can’t,” you gasp, your voice breaking as the tears spill down your cheeks. The pleasure building inside of you is unbearable, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter until you feel like you are going to explode. “Law, please”

“You wanted this,” he responds, his voice rough and low as he keeps pounding into you. “Wanted me to fuck you like this, didn’t you?” The hand that was on your neck releases and threads through your hair, gripping and pulling your head back, earning a yelp from you. “You just had to get me riled up like that. Well, here you fucking are, and you’re gonna take it like the good little slut you are, right?”

Law shifts his hips and the head of his cock starts to hit that spot inside of you that makes your vision blur and makes you forget your name. Your cries of pleasure seem to heighten in pitch and your body starts to tremble more. You attempt to whimper out something along the lines of ‘right there!’ and ‘don’t stop’ hoping that Law can decipher your pleasure-induced babbling. And he does, continuing to snap his hips into you as you rapidly approach the edge.

It doesn't take long before you are thrown over the edge. You chant his name, your body convulsing as your orgasm takes over your entire body, every muscle in your body spasming and twitching as the pleasure crashes over you. Your walls clamp down on him, pulsing rapidly as he fucks you through your orgasm.

Law is not far behind, releasing the hand from your hair and planting it on the other side of your hips, his thrusts speeding up before he stills, panting heavily as his cock twitches inside of you, ropes of his warm seed filling you.

You both just stay there for a moment, chests heaving as you attempt to catch your breath. And then slowly, Law pulls you out, earning a whimper from you at the feeling of suddenly feeling empty. He grips your sides and lifts you up, turning you around and sitting you on the desk, now facing him. One of his hands slides up to cup your cheek, wiping away the tear streaks with the pad of his thumb. His touch is much more gentle now, juxtaposing the behavior just moments ago as he leans down and presses a soft kiss to the side of your face.

“You did so good,” he murmurs, his voice losing that sharp edge.

Before you can respond, Law captures your lips in a slow, deep kiss. It's so much different from the roughness from before.

“Thank you for making me take a break,” he mutters against your lips, his voice clearly having a teasing edge to it. And he leans in and kisses you again, the kiss this time being much slower as his hands roam your body, this time with softness and loving as if he is taking his time this time around to memorize the way your skin feels under his fingertips. Law’s lips trail from your mouth to your jawline, planting featherlight kisses against your skin, sending tingles down your spine.

You smile, and a soft chuckle escapes your lips as your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. “You needed it,” you whisper with a light touch of your own as your hands slide up his chest.

Law hums in agreement, pulling back and his eyes flicker down to your lips for a moment before capturing them in another slow, deep kiss. His hands, no longer urgent, caress your body with a newfound patience, his fingers gliding ofer your body as if he is savoring every touch. It’s clear now that this isn’t over– not for him, not yet. There is a different hunger in his kiss, one that screams of something far less rushed.

He pulls away slightly to murmur, “I want to take my time with you this time.” And he kisses you deeply once more as he coaxes you into a slow burning fire that reignites between you.

The night stretches ahead, filled with more touches, more kisses, more shared noises of pleasure as he takes his time, cherishing every second with you.

#nina writes~✦#trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece x reader #trafalgar law #law x reader #x reader #nina responds to~✦#anonymous

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sttoru · 2 years ago

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♯ 𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐊.

⟣ sypnosis. kento has been extremely busy lately, going on business trips and so forth. he decides to surprise you by coming back earlier than expected. that’s how you end up finding your lover on top of you, showering you in his affection at 3 in the morning.

⟣ tags. nanami kento x female reader. fluff, bit of angst, suggestive towards the end. reader gets called 'sweetheart, angel, dear' wc: 1.8k

⟣ note. okayokay finally an adition to my event heheh ive almost forgotten about it but then i saw this prompt & was like . ok nanami , i must write this rnnn no delaying anymore so here i am :3 its also very bad. i hate it sm LOL i hope u at least like it t_t

kento often asks himself why he had returned to the world he despised — the jujutsu society; his old high school. the sprawling curses everywhere are the main cause of his current misery.

he had been sent out on missions left and right, not catching a break in hopes of reducing any more civilian causalities than necessary. kento had even thought that maybe his previous 9-5 job wasn’t as bad as he had considered it.

overtime was every day for the sorcerer now. that wasn’t the worst thing - no - the fact that he was pratically living a long distant relationship with his beloved irritated him most.

a thought he had in his high school days reoccured in a moment of distress: ‘why not leave all those missions to gojo?’

you were still pretty understanding of his situation. kento appreciated that, though the guilt still ate away at him whenever he tried to sleep. an empty bed welcomed him each time he re-entered his hotel room — you saw the exact same scenery when returning home to your shared apartment.

both of you were adults; both knowing that life was unfair. the two of you being unable to see each other from time to time was a part of your life. kento and you still maintained a healthy relationship. that was all that really mattered in the end.

11:49PM. . . tonight wasn’t unlike any other night; you were preparing yourself to go to bed—changing into your pyjamas after showering, snuggling to a pillow under the covers and texting your lover one last message.

‘good luck on your mission as always! stay safe, i love you.’

you stare at your phone screen for a minute longer than intended. even if you tried to be mature about it — you longed for kento’s warmth and undivided attention. you want him with you, his strong arms holding you to his chest as you rest, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine in the best way possible.

you sigh defeatedly and put your phone down on your nightstand. just two days until you could see your partner again. you can hold onto that hope to keep you calm.

despite you trying to stay positive, you tossed and turned in your bed as you thought about kento’s safety. there was always a chance of him not coming home to you — always the possibility of that bed to be empty for the rest of your life.

all you could do was pray for his safety in your head whilst your eyes eventually closed from fatigue, your mind drifting off to a deep slumber.

03:14AM. . . kento opens the door he had wished to have opened way earlier. the door that lead to the place where his heart lays; the person who claimed his heart and soul for eternity. you.

he didn’t think he’d actually do it. kento had originally planned to finish his last job as soon as possible and then get home afterwards, but there seemed to be a change in routine.

the special grade sorcerer simply assigned the mission to ino — the person whom he could trust most to finish the job in one piece. as much as kento dislikes to put his juniors in possible risky situations, there are also situations where it’s fine to depend on them. besides, the mission could easily be done by a grade one sorcerer.

kento sighs. the familiar scent of your home was one he could recognise from miles away. one that could calm his nerves instantly. it was that same distinctive scent you carry; thus why your lover sometimes calls you his home.

‘i can’t wait to be home’ ‘i want to be home’ ‘i’m going home’ — all these sentences, which kento has uttered before in earlier conversations, weren’t referring to a place. rather to a person he held dear.

“oh, my sweetheart.” the blonde man whispers under his breath as his eyes catch the shape of your figure under the blankets. he quietly enters the master bedroom and closes the door behind him, not making a sound as to not interrupt your well-deserved sleep.

kento slowly undoes his dotted tie, along with the upper buttons of his blouse. he probably needs to go take a good shower before he could settle down with you — but that’d risk waking you up.

you look extremely angelic in his eyes. especially with your left cheek squished by the soft pillow your head rests on. you never once fail to convince him that you are indeed the woman of his dreams; the woman kento ever had and will have eyes for. it’s like you get more attractive to him as the days go on.

“mh,” your sudden and soft groan makes him realise just how disturbing his behaviour could be interpreted as. kento’s body was hovering over your sleeping one and he was just. . . staring at you with a soft smile. a smile which he didn’t even notice had permanently found its place on his weary face.

kento sits down on the edge of the mattress, callused hand gently tucking you in properly, putting the blanket over your shoulders to make sure you didn’t get cold. he can’t rest if you’re not comfortable— even if he himself was exhausted to the point his eyes were starting to feel heavy.

yet that exhaustion doesn’t last long. it never does when kento’s able to see you again after a tiring week of countless missions and other jobs. your presence alone grants him the energy to stay awake and take care of you. and himself. you’re the reason he keeps it going.

“i love you so much, my beautiful girl — my angel.”

kento sure was a romantic. even when you’re unaware and asleep.

he couldn’t help it; the feeling stirring inside of him. the feeling of adoration and love for you. you are simply resting, yet kento felt an urge to kiss you all over, show you the unending love he has for you. but. . that’d probably be disturbing your peace. you are sleeping after all. he

not that that would stop kento.

your eyes flutter open due to a sudden presence hovering over you. your entire face and neck area was feeling ticklish, like someone was placing tens of kisses all over the skin.

strands of blonde hair is the first thing showing up in your blurry vision. kento’s face follows afterwards as his head tilts back up, the warmth against your jawline disappearing along with it —

“ah, i’m sorry.” a low and almost guilty chuckle tumbles out of his sore throat. the visible confusion on your face makes him let out another, “shh, shh, it’s just me, sweetheart.”

your arms flew around kento’s torso the second the realisation dawns upon you. your heart went from a slow pace to one that caused your entire body to warm up immediately; the adorable reaction and increase in heart rate not going unnoticed by your lover.

you wordlessly hug him — almost still in shock by the sudden appearance. kento doesn’t fight off your tight embrace, instead, welcomes it with open arms. the delicate kisses on your skin continue, each being placed with precision whilst one of his hands keeps your head tilted a little — rough fingers being a contrast of the gentle grip they had on your jaw.

“i missed you lots,” kento murmurs, eyes closed as he basks in the warmth of your body, his lips refusing to let go of your neck, “i couldn’t wait anymore. i couldn’t be separated from you any longer or i’d lose it.”

his gruff voice sounded even deeper than it usually would. maybe due to the overuse of it during his missions. the lone thought makes you pout — the thought of kento working super hard just to provide for you both.

“i missed you more, love.” you mumble, bottom lip trembling a little as kento’s hug triggers a whole lot of emotions in you. his hugs were special, his muscular arms giving you a sense of comfort you couldn’t find anywhere. no one could hug you like he did, “you did well. you did so well.”

those were all the words kento needed. his lips come to halt right above your collarbone, his breath a bit heavy from how much he's holding himself back from doing more. one hand moves from your cheek to your waist, fingers toying with the fabric of your shirt.

“thank you, dear.” kento says. his words carrying a load of unending affection. your simple words of appreciation and encouragement makes him shiver in delight. this is what he longed for; this is what he did it all for.

it was clear. the answer to his question - of why he had returned to the jujutsu world, to become a teacher at his former high school - it was all for you. to be able to be with you, see you and hold you like this. to have someone like you appreciate all of his efforts.

“may i?” kento asks through a quiet whisper as he gently removes the blanket covering your figure, his eyes darting down towards your cleavage. he's asking for permission to cross that barrier — to cover you in the love you deserve.

you just stare at the blonde man above you for a second. you watch as he climbs onto the bed with you; the bed which was once empty and dull, now suddenly becoming your favourite place to be at. your fingertips graze against kento's sharp cheekbones. a habit you always did when you were appreciating his looks.

“go right ahead.” you answer with a confirming nod.

both of you were touch starved and had been deprived from each other's embrace for way too long. now was the perfect time to make up for all the time lost.

kento wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip past him. he smiles at you, a gentle and handsome smile, whilst a few of his blonde locks fall over his left eye — his hands already prying away the blanket covering your shape. it was time to show you just how much he has longed for you.

“hold on to me, sweetheart. i’m not stopping until you realise just how much i’ve missed all of you.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk x reader #jjk fluff #nanami x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #jjk fic #jjk fanfic

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naushtheaspiringauthor · 22 days ago

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Crawl home to you- Bob Reynolds x reader

Chapter one

Summary: Ever since you had met Bob inside the vault, your life had took a drastic turn, one there was no coming back from. Through helping him deal with his struggles, you were able to heal your own scars. However, untold truths, silent battles and reassuring lies start to break apart all you've built together.

Warnings: Mentions of sh, blood, scars. Light swearing. And of course, heartbreak.

A/N: So I had originally intended for this fic to be short and sweet with a slight hint of angst. But it got way longer and angsty than I thought so I've divided the whole thing into chapters. So I apologise in advance if the chapter endings seem abrupt because it wasn't written that way. Also this is my first Bob fic so there might be a lot of mistakes. Feedback is always appreciated!

Word count: 1,034

It had all started when you’d been conned by Valentina.

You’d been sent by her to put down John Walker who she claimed to be stealing files from OX and it had resulted in you, John, Yelena, and Ava finding out that the wretched woman had sent you all there to kill each other.

And of course, there was Bob.

Sweet, simple and incredibly awkward Bob.

The moment he’d appeared out of a box, you had a feeling to protect him, no matter what it cost you, to care for him more than anything or anyone you had ever cared for.

And that had never changed.

Even after you had saved New York from almost being swallowed in indefinite darkness alongside your new group and later on being declared as "The New Avengers", you’d look for Bob at every corner.

You resided at the Watchtower, formerly known as the Avengers tower, along with the rest of your team.

On most days when you weren’t working, everyone would find themselves something to get occupied in.

Sometimes they’d pick fights with each other over anything, other times they’d be hanging out watching a movie or going out somewhere.

But not Bob.

You’d always find him tucked away in some quiet corner, a book in his hands.

He did partake in the group activities but kept to himself mostly, unless of course Yelena or you would include him.

And without realising it, you'd began seeking him in every corner. You had started to find your comfort, your solace, in his presence.

With him, you were able to forget all your own struggles, your own pain, your own addiction.

Helping him heal, somehow made you feel like you were healing yourself.

You’d started your morning as usual, grumpy enough to stab someone until you had your coffee.

You sighed as you walked into the kitchen, dressed in your usual sweatpants and a t- shirt that hung loosely on your shoulders.

You reached out to the coffee machine to fill your mug, only to find it licked clean.

You looked around, shooting daggers at the entire team with merely a glare, “Okay, who drank all of the coffee again?” you asked.

“It was Alex-” Alexei darted out of the room just as Yelena pointed a finger at him.

You let out an annoyed grunt. “Seriously? Again?”.

“Just make some more” John spoke up, rather casually.

“Oh yeah” you raised an eyebrow. ‘Why dont you just fuck off?” you snapped.

“Jeeeeesus” he raised his hands in defense, backing away.

Before you turned to, grudgingly, make some more, your mug was gently pushed towards you on the counter.

You looked up to see Bob giving you a tight-lipped smile. “Here” he lifted his shoulders hesitantly.

“I saved up some for you”.

You picked up the mug, a surprised look on your face, and much to everyone's surprise, you smiled at him. “Thank you Bob”.

He seemed to relax at your words. “Y-yeah of course” he smiled, brushing away a few loose strands of his hair.

He then turned away, walking towards the couch cradling his own cup in his hands.

You shift your gaze away from him to see the rest of the group staring at you as if you’d walked in wearing a chicken costume.

“What?’ you asked, puzzled by their reaction.

Yelena just shook her in dismay, but you caught a glimpse of her chuckling.

The tower was quiet, except for the sound of the music playing through your headphones.

Half of the group; Bucky, John and Ava had gone out on a mission.

Aexei had gone out with Yelena, something about him declaring it to be a ��daddy daughter day’ to which Yelena had simply pressed her lips and nodded in agreement.

It wasn’t long until you could feel the growling of your stomach when you decided to venture out to the kitchen, in hopes of finding something edible.

After failing to find anything, you decided to cook something, despite being a terrible cook.

And sure enough, ten minutes into the task, you managed to burn your hand.

“Shit!” you exclaimed, as the pan dropped from your hand with a loud thud.

You shook your hand vigorously, an angry red blooming at the side already.

“What happened!?” you heard a voice behind you, loud yet calm.

You pulled your headphones down to your neck as you turned around.

And there he was.

Standing with a wide-eyed gaze in a grey sweatshirt, was Bob.

“Oh Bob” you said, equally surprised by the sight of him.

“Hi,” you gave a small wave with your unburnt hand, having completely forgotten about the pain.

“Your hand," he registered, moving closer to you.

“Oh this”, you turned your hand sideways, examining it briefly.

“Turns out cooking is not exactly my forte.” you shrugged.

“But don’t worry” you shook your hand. “It’s not a major injury or anything, I'll just rub some ice on it”.

“N- no no” he said. “It can get worse that way".

He brushed a few strands of his hair back. “I’ll get the ointment hold on”.

And before you could say anything else, he rushed out.

He was back in a few seconds, a white tube in one hand.

He shifted closer to you. “Let me see,” he said, his voice low, patient.

He met your gaze.

You brought your hand out in front of him.

Slowly, he placed his hand below yours, picking it up gently to examine it.

He then took some of the ointment on his finger, gently applying it to the burn.

“It’s- it’s not really a big deal, Bob” you spoke, breaking the silence. “I've handled worse” you gave a slight chuckle.

He met your gaze, “Doesn’t mean you have to,” he said, his voice like a gentle autumn breeze, tugging at the edges of your coat.

He then shifted his focus back to his work, a small crease forming between his brows as he focused.

You gazed at him, unable to comprehend the moment.

You weren’t used to any of this, being cared for, being handled gently,but he did it anyway.

And you let him

#bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x y/n #bob reynolds x you

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777sturn · 6 months ago

Text

𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭 𝐮𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞 | 𝐜hris 𝐬turniolo . . .

(⊹ֹ 𝐢𝐧 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 ) ──── ⟢

❛ you and chris always compete in car races. on and off the tracks you two always clashed heads because of jealousy and envy. the wins would go back and forth between you two and he had enough of it, he wanted the win. so, he finds a way to make you lose. ❜

˖ ࣪⊹ pairing. racer!chris x fem!reader

⊹₊ ⋆ warning(s). smut, mature language, fingering (f receiving), boob play, angst, unprotected rough sex, p in v, degrading (a little)

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ jules’ message. this has been marinating in my drafts since the summer and it was originally supposed to be a matt one shot BUT chris got his license sooo… here it is! also i barely know anything about cars, only the one suki drives in 2f2f so PLEASE bare with me. anywho, STAY FREAKY

it was pretty late at night as you were at the race track. you were currently infront of your hot pink race car, double-checking the engine for the race that was taking place tomorrow. the pink embellishment and the white details perfectly fit your aesthetic. you hum to yourself as you take out the dipstick to check the oil.

suddenly, your peaceful aura was soon interrupted with the familiar revving from none other than chris sturniolo— your enemy on and off the track. you let out a groan and watched as his dark blue porsche pull up beside your car. you could practically see that stupid smirk he always wore through his tinted windows.

you threw your matching pink car towel over your shoulder before crossing your arms and eyeing him down as he stepped out his car. as soon as you see his camo pants, you immediately roll your eyes.

“quit poutin’,” he mumbles in a raspy tone, “save it for tomorrow.”

“i’m gonna be smiling tomorrow, actually.” you correct him, turning back to face your engine. he let’s out a scoff as he steps closer to you and your vehicle.

“you gotta let me win, ma.” he whispers, leaning against the open hood of your car as he watched you inspect the engine, “i just know that there’s gonna be hot chicks in the stands and i wanna show off that bad boy,” he hums, nodding towards the direction of his car.

you give him a look and shake your head, “and i know there’s gonna be the sexiest guys on the planet in the stands too. and my car isn’t the only thing i wanna show off.”

chris rolls his eyes at your snarky comment before his eyes roamed down your body— all the way from your white tube top to your denim skirt that hugged your curves perfectly before dangerously stopping right below your ass. he clicks his tongue before nodding, “aight” he mumbles before moving off your car to stand behind you. “your oil is low.” he hums, reaching over to grab the dipstick from your hand.

“no it’s not.” you mumble, “i literally got it changed last week.”

chris just shrugs and takes the towel off your shoulder— his fingers slightly lingering on your bare skin for a little bit longer than he intended to. he gently dabs the stick on the towel to check the crevices, “it’s low.” he repeats, putting the dipstick back into it’s place, “looks like you’re gonna lose, princess.” he taunts as he swung the towel back on your shoulder before his hands found their way to your waist.

“i’ll be fine.” you huff, as you look up at him, “and i will win.”

“mhm.” he hums nonchalantly, “your car won’t turn on now.” he tests, the stupid smirk returning to his lips.

“says who?” you scoff, rolling your eyes.

“me,” he answers, mocking your exact tone. chris then steps away from you before swinging open the driver’s door. he was now met with a baby pink leather interior that coordinated with the design on the exterior of your car, “it looks like a fucking toddler threw up in here.” he mumbles as he slides into the driver’s seat.

you cross your arms as you stand in front of the door, “don’t drive my car.” you mutter.

“i can’t.” he reminds, pressing the button that was supposed to start your car, but nothing happened, “your battery or engine is dead and the oil is low.” he points out, scoffing.

“are you deadass?” you groan in annoyance.

chris nods and smirks as he motions his fingers towards him, gesturing you to come closer to take a look at the bright pink warning symbols yourself. subconsciously, your hand was now planted on his thigh to support yourself so you could see the warning symbols.

he chuckles lowly as his left hand traveled to your ass, gently smacking it, “see. you can’t even compete, baby.”

“i’ll find a way.” you say with determination.

“i won’t let you,” he mumbles, pulling you into his lap fully. you were now face to face as you straddled him, “so fuckin’ stubborn—just give up, ma.”

you could feel chris harden beneath you as you adjust yourself, his cock slightly brushing against your now wet panties, “i’m not gonna be the loser for this race, chris.” you say, your voice slightly shaky.

he groaned in annoyance as he threw his head against the pink headrest. both of his hands trailed up and down your thighs, occasionally his fingers teasing the sexy lace of your underwear. your eyes dart to his adams apple, bobbing ever -so-slightly as his fingers inched closer to your core.

he delicately brushed his ring and middle finger against your clothed clit, “let me win, baby.” he whispers once more, as he meets your wetness seeping through, “damn. is this what it takes?” he scoffs, teasing you some more. a soft whimper escapes your glossed lips in response.

“stay quiet f’me,” he mutters, “let me figure that out myself, yeah?” he finally slipped both of his fingers into your panties, humming in approval as he feels the soft skin of your pussy. he pushed one finger at a time into your wet folds in a dangerously slow manner.

“fuck…” you breathe out, leaning your back against the steering wheel— the pink embellishment of the honda logo pressed into your back, creating an indent through your top. another moan came out as you felt him curl his fingers inside you before pumping in a deliberate and sensual motion, “you’re so fuckin’…” you trail off, completely melting in his arms.

“so fuckin’ what?” chris teases, the pace of his pumping began to quicken , “so fuckin’ right? ‘cause yeah, i am.” he mumbles, dipping his head into the crook of your neck to leave hot and open mouthed kisses on your cold skin.

chris was feeding into your soft moans and whimpers, biting and sucking on your neck in response to the noises. his other hand slipped under your tube top to meet your bare chest. he hummed against your neck, the vibrations sending a shiver down your spine before roughly grazing his thumb on your hardened nipple.

“please chris…” you whine, as his forefinger and thumb rolled and pinched the sensitive skin of your breast. your head was thrown back as you bucked your hips against his slender fingers before subconsciously grinding on them— basically pleading for more, “i’m gonna cum.”

“holy shit.” he scoffs at your desperation and the arousal that coated his fingers. he then slowly removedhis fingers from inside you and brought them into his own mouth, “christ. you taste like a fucking loser.” he shakes his head, pinching your nipple once more.

“shut the fuck… up.” you say breathlessly, before beginning to roll your hips against his hard and throbbing cock.

“geez ma,” he groans, “i didn’t expect for you to basically be begging for my dick.” he then unzips his camo pants and pulled down his boxers— his rockhard dick sprung out.

you didn’t hesistate one bit, you slipped off your panties with the help of chris as your freshly done nails dug into chris’ back, “so desperate, it’s pathetic.” he mumbles as he began to fuck you while you sat on his lap, “you’re gonna take it raw, baby.” he groaned.

you gasp as you felt his length slip through your wet and already sore folds. you bounced up and down on his cock, needily while the grip on his disheveled hair tightened, “you’re gonna let me win now huh?” chris moaned, his hands squeezing your ass in response to your hands tugging at his hair.

“fine—” you whine, “i don’t care anymore… just please. fuck…”

he throws his head back once more, a tired smirk played at his lips, “that’s what i thought. i’m winning that shit fair and swear, baby.”

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