#[azra masterlist] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

legendsofmyriad · 1 year ago

Text

Legends of Myriad: Arc One - Chapter 22: Making Headway

Chapter 21 | Chapter 23

Arc One Masterlist

-- -- -- -- --

Calloused palms outstretched, Azra influenced another fork of red magic into the writhing tempest. Crimson and ruby washed along the riled grey to lend comfort to the terrified souls inside. It’s all right, he soothed, detaching the remaining life force from the ashes. You can rest now.

He lost track of time and the number of spirits he helped on their way, but eventually, the shrieks and cries subsided. What had greeted him as a frenzied mass tempered beneath his power, departing the realm of the living with whispered gratitude and a final, relieved breath.

Boot soles crunched at the excess grit and sand on the patio behind him. Her presence ghosted up his nape to tickle at his cheeks. The alluring, sweet aroma of deadly Osimer blooms that followed in her wake captivated his senses, and stabilising his magic, he stole a quick glimpse. Delicate lilac flecks in her eyes shifted as she observed him.

“I brought you some water and something to eat,” Lilith said, carrying the covered plate and the filled bottle to the bench. “Professor Spark asked me to remind you not to overwork yourself.”

Azra pondered whether Bartholomew had requested she relay that message or if it was a ploy to disguise her own concern. Regardless, he grunted in acknowledgement and attempted to return to his work, but her proximity flustered him, the staggering emotions emanating from her provoking his concentration.

“The storm isn’t proving too difficult to fix,” he told her, low and distant, hoping to quell her uncertainty.

“I didn’t ask.”

“No, but I can feel it.” With a slight dip of his head, he inhaled deep and slow. “Or are you forgetting what my power permits me to see?”

Teeth gritted and fingers flexing, Lilith endeavoured to conceal her mounting agitation. “How could I forget,” she replied levelly, a biting undertone lacing her voice, “when that same power caused so much harm?”

Azra’s arms buckled under a rippling pang, but he managed to brace himself against the uncomfortable sensation. Within the depths of his wounded soul, he wanted to apologise, to mend the fractures between them and leave the war in the past. But the more he ruminated, the more he wondered whether it would be simpler if she held on to that animosity she harboured for him. Would it be fairer to let her get on with her life without him, never having to see his face and be haunted by the memories of the lives he plundered, the friendships and loved ones he callously ripped away? With him gone, she had the chance to start anew, free from the constant reminder of the heartache he had inflicted.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be staying long,” he assured her, continuing to hush the storm. “I’m going back to Solgarde as soon as this is done.”

“Rather presumptuous of you to think I’d worry,” Lilith shot before she could withhold the remark. Once it was out, there was no stopping the rest. “No, you’re perfectly capable of looking out for yourself. And only yourself. Altair keeps telling me you are remorseful, but you are just as cagey as ever. Or is that only with me?” Her chest rose and fell with her pounding breaths in a rhythmic dance of exertion as she expelled the discomfort from her body. “It doesn’t matter. At least I know once you have served your purpose, you will be leaving.”

Her words crashed into him like arrows, nesting in the devotion he housed for her and meshing into a spinous wreckage. Tainted and split, her own affection cracked even more. Little of the light remained.

That time is over, he reminded himself, imagining the faded imprint on her heart where her love had once flourished and bloomed year after year. His own flickered just as waning. Do not do this to yourself. Do not do this to her.

He bit the inside of his mouth until he almost tasted blood, fighting back the crushing desire to confess every shred of fondness he still nurtured for her. Footsteps fading, he allowed the solitude consume him.

It would be better this way. By isolating himself and his destructive gifts, he could decrease the likelihood of inflicting more pain. He would provide help wherever possible, but then he would vanish again. A ghost. A spectre.

Collapsing onto the bench, he cleared the residues of magic fizzling on his palms. With some reluctance, he decided to take a longer break than planned to allow the more persistent marks to melt before resuming his task. He knew he should have worn gloves, but he loathed the restraint of the taut fabric and clasps burrowing into his wrists.

He squirmed and manoeuvred until his back met the wall, and placed the plate that Lilith had brought him on his lap. A bowl of shrew berries, citrus pieces, and an assortment of oat clusters rested in the middle of the platter.

How many times had she silently delivered him food and water in the early hours, restless nights ravaged by work? How many yawns had she hidden to hold her warm body against his and ward off the unforgiving nighttime chill? Rarely had she instructed him to go to sleep or acknowledged the exhausted, bruised smudges under his eyes. Instead, she had loved him. Supported him in ways he didn’t deserve, and now… now all of that was lost.

He popped a cluster and a dripping section of yellow fruit into his mouth, wondering whether that was for the best. Let the past rest, he told himself. Let time seal the hurt. For you and for her.

Determined not to dwell on matters she couldn’t resolve, Lilith briskly made her way into the lab. Waves of heat from the working machinery engulfed her, washing away the stinging cold and soothing her bitter aches. She would have traded anything to be in the common room at The Citadel, cocooned in a fluffy blanket with a steaming hot tea in hand. Rain ricocheting off the windowpane until it was dampened by the insistent crackles beneath the engraved mantelpiece. Tiny gusts tunnelling down the chimney for attention and coaxing the flames. Peace. That was what she wanted. A quiet hush that melted her worries, a pocket of time where she was permitted to exist without expectations or obligation.

Yet she didn’t have the luxury of lingering in those comforting thoughts. The Core needed waking, Myriad teetered on a precipice, and the flickering fireplace and tempestuous nights would have to wait until the nine worlds were secure.

Clicking over tile and aged wood, she loosened the first few buttons on her jacket and fanned the heat from her face as the churning equipment became almost stifling.

“Ah, there you are!” Bartholomew said, excitement exuding from his features and his eyes shining with renewed enthusiasm. “Come, I have something to show you.”

Lilith followed him to the cluttered worktable, books and browning research papers haphazardly scattered and piled along the surface. Findings and ideas were already taking shape in the opened notepads resting on the corner of the wide desk.

“This may be a bit of a stretch, but I believe if it is conducted correctly, it has a high chance of success,” Professor Spark said as he shuffled the sheets and located the required textbook. “To wake The Core, we need to kick start the ecosystem.”

“Like plant trees and clear the atmosphere?” Lilith questioned.

“Not exactly.” He flipped the pages and tapped on a diagram that showcased the intricate connections between four distinct elements, arrows and cryptic symbols intertwining them. “A long time ago, The Core gave these blessings to four of the worlds of Myriad when they were in need. A magical bird was given to Delorem, pure temporal essence to Eternity, a unique water to Skuld, and a rare mineral to Prosperia. Nothing could taint them or mix with them, so they should still be in their original states.”

“Even the bird?”

“It does not breed as others of its kind do. Their numbers may dwindle, but they would never go extinct. Combined, these four elements have the ability to restore the land.”

As she contemplated the plan, she grazed her fingertips over the musty, crinkled maps, wandering around the stones and trinkets holding down their edges. It spread out to her like a promise, inviting her into a world of adventure and untold stories. And at that precise moment, vulnerable. The few things she had read about The Core since arriving at the lab were enough to indicate how severe the matter was. With little time to spare, they were racing to keep ahead of the ticking clock, and each passing hour amplified the threat of impending chaos.

“Two academy students are already in Eternity and Delorem, so I will contact them with the details,” Bartholomew explained. “While they are collecting the bird feather and the temporal essence, you and I can travel to Skuld and Prosperia.”

“Sounds like a good plan to me, professor,” she agreed.

“I shall call them now. Be prepared to leave once I return.” Lilith playfully saluted, her mischievous grin matching his own, and he bounded down the steps to the communication console.

“Off on another venture,” Altair commented quietly, relaxing against the low worktable. Despite the excitement in her aura, he noticed the wearied, thought-ridden pinch on the bridge of her nose. He didn’t need to question what occupied her mind. He knew the cause was outside fixing the storm as they spoke.

Without uttering a word, he brought her in for a supportive embrace. “It will be all right,” he promised. “You will grow around the wounds.”

“I thought keeping my distance would make it easier,” she admitted, “but it hasn’t. One second, I see him wanting to say something, and the next the icy wall descends, and it’s like we never knew each other at all. I haven’t exactly helped, I’m fully aware of that, but… I wish he would just say what he needs to.” She stepped back, inhaling the warm air to suppress the surge of emotions threatening to overflow.

“I shall talk to him while you are away,” Altair offered. “It would hardly be fair for me to speak my mind with you about the situation and not him. Who knows? Perhaps we can resolve this. Find a way for you both to be comfortable.”

“It would take a miracle, but if you’re up for the challenge, you may do as you wish,” Lilith said. “But right now, duty calls, and I had better not keep it waiting.”

Bartholomew adjusted the dial inch by inch, fine-tuning the frequency and flicking the switches beside it as he listened for a stable rhythm within the static hiss. Fluctuations in the communication lines disrupted the visual display, stubbornly persisting before an abrupt pop terminated the transmission for a fourth time. With a grumble, he planted his hands on his hips.

Stooping over the controls, he flipped through Oscar’s reports, skimming the vivid descriptions of various types of flora and occasional anecdotes about his travels. Weeks had passed since he last wrote, briefly describing an outskirt village he had come across and his eagerness to delve into his next research endeavour.

With a flick of his wrist, Professor Spark activated the holographic map, projecting a detailed model of the area Oscar had mentioned. “Swamp land,” he muttered to himself as he enhanced the image of the watery copse. “No atmospheric disturbances, no localised weather events, no magical traces.”

If Bartholomew hadn’t become accustomed to Lilith’s aura, he would not have realised she was standing right behind him until she spoke, her footsteps so light she may as well have been a mouse. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

“I cannot reach Oscar,” he answered. “He is currently on Lucarian charting vegetation growth for me, but my attempts to communicate are being blocked.”

“By him?”

“No. There seems to be some sort of disruption to the connection.”

“Is he okay?” Lilith questioned sharply, mind alight and poised for action. “Did he mention anything unusual or voice any concerns before you lost contact?”

In a composed gesture, Bartholomew turned from the map and shook his head. “At this stage, there is no need to panic. Since the gateways are still re-establishing themselves, signals can waver and take a while to settle. We should be able to talk to him soon.” She concealed her doubts behind a calm facade, but the slight crease by her eyes betrayed her apprehension. “Professor Bevan, perhaps you could monitor the Lucarian channels for me while Lilith and I are away?”

Altair hummed his agreement and huffed a memory-filled breath. “You wouldn’t believe the mishaps Citadel students can get into, yet they always manage to find their way back.”

“Not all of them,” Lilith said, two sets of bespectacled gazes resting on her.

Glimmers of remorse festered, and Altair lowered his chin. He supposed, when he dug through the thick layer of optimism he liked to approach situations with, that not every student returned. Some were left scarred, some wheeled home on clicker horses, tormented by what they had experienced. And some never made it. All those empty classroom chairs, all those spaces where they had once shone with energy and ambition. Curiosity had grown bored with them and abandoned them to wither. It wasn’t always glorious adventure they found, but a cruel reality that was not as merciful as fairy stories.

“I am certain that it is a signal issue,” Bartholomew assured them. “The tablet I gave him is active, and I have set up a memo for him. Once the link is back, he should receive it.”

“I will keep a close eye on the communications,” Altair promised. He glanced over to Lilith, offering her a reassuring look that smoothed away the furrow of worry.

Bartholomew patted the man’s shoulder in gratitude and made long-legged strides around the lab, gathering items from drawers and cabinets and stuffing them into his satchel. “All going to plan, our venture should not take up too much time. I know where to locate the mineral in Prosperia, and the folk on Skuld used to be rather friendly, so if that is still the case, I cannot see us encountering any problems in attaining the water.”

“Until logistics find a way of intervening,” Lilith pointed out. “Never assume something will run smoothly just because you expect it to. Theory and practice are two different beasts.”

“Spoken like a true warrior,” Bartholomew noted. “In any case, we should get going. I shall prepare the gateway.”

Lilith’s unblinking scrutiny dawdled on him until he was out of earshot, and she redirected her focus to Altair. “Contact me as soon as you receive any news from Oscar,” she said, “because if we do not hear from him by the time I return, I’ll find a way to Lucarian and bring him home myself. I refuse to let anybody make a habit of putting our students in danger, I don’t care who they think they are or what power they possess.”

“Of course, Commander Cleaver,” the professor of magic replied, sensing the combative instinct within her taking over. “You will be the first to know. And if we are dealing with a tricky situation, I have ways of getting a message to Sunbreak agents.” She offered him a grateful nod, and he reciprocated the expression, wordlessly expressing his support of her judgement; the pupils of the Citadel had endured enough, and despite Bartholomew’s intentions and his budding friendship, Altair would not allow innocents to be cast into the flames in order to test the severity of the inferno.

-- -- -- -- --

If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider reblogging. Reblogging helps to get work out there and seen.

#legends of myriad #legendsofmyriad #fantasy #fantasy writing #story series #writblr #writeblr #creative writing #fantasy story #writing #fantasy series #original fiction #original fic #original writing

3 notes · View notes

catdiarie · 1 month ago

Text

☥ ˖ִ ࣪ 🦇 memory wave.　⠀s. rogers & b. barnes . . .

( ♱ ) … the winter soldier is coming back to himself. what now? (tw for emetophobia, panic attacks, and general mental instability)

777 。。masterlist

“Maybe if I’d fucked you more and loved you less I could have left this battlefield wearing just bruises and teeth, but I’m sure that even the cavalry knows that there’s a crack in my heart and it’s been leaking your name ever since we stopped fighting this fight. What I’m trying to say is: you win. It’s all yours. I’m tired and I tried. I’m tired and I love you. I’m tired and I didn’t mean to.”

— Azra T.

—

“I don’t need a babysitter,” Bucky says lowly. His head is tilted down, away from Steve’s intense eyes, dark hair likely a tangled mess around his head. He hasn’t moved from the bed yet. Hasn’t looked up or shifted or switched positions. It doesn’t feel right to do so—the bed’s too soft and unfamiliar. He twists his fingers in the stretched hair tie around his wrist again, the elastic pulling further.

“I know,” Steve responds. “And I tried to argue it, but Tony won’t budge. You stay here with someone or not at all. And I thought if I couldn’t convince him of that, I could at least let you have this.”

This: a bedroom across the hall from Steve’s, with Steve as his babysitter/guard. The whole floor is Steve’s, his presence bleeding through the walls.

“You were always too stubborn for your own damn good,” Bucky mutters. His voice rasps in his throat, aching and rough from disuse. “Guess you finally met your match, huh?”

“I guess,” Steve responds. Bucky can almost feel Steve’s apprehension; he’s waiting for something Bucky doesn’t know how to give. His hair tie snaps, the elastic caught in the twisted fabric.

The silence drags, thick and heavy. Bucky can feel nothing but the weight of Steve’s stare and the bitter cold of the room. His skin itches uncomfortably, but the feeling doesn’t leave as he drags his nails over his forearm. It’s deeper than his skin, settled too far beneath the surface for outside touches to have any effect.

Steve is still staring—waiting, watching. Bucky’s skin starts to crawl.

“I’ll bring some food,” Steve says abruptly. Bucky swallows down an instinctual urge he can’t put a name to.

Steve turns sharply, and Bucky raises his head just enough to see Steve past the curtain of his hair. Steve pauses before he opens the door, hand on the handle. He shakes his head and tugs it open.

Steve is gone, and Bucky still can’t breathe.

An hour later when he returns, Bucky has moved to sitting on the floor across the room from the bed. Dusty footprints streak the floor between the two spaces. Bucky hears Steve sigh—something tired and sad.

“I brought soup, a sandwich, carrots, apples, chips, and chocolate,” Steve murmurs. He sets the tray beside Bucky on the floor and lowers himself down beside it.

For a long, heavy moment, Bucky waits. His fingers twitch against his knees—drawn to his chest; always protect the heart—but Steve doesn’t move.

“Aren’t you going to—” Bucky breaks off, swallowing nervously. He’s not sure what to say now. Anything he does say will probably prompt one of those mournful noises Steve lets out whenever he hears about Bucky and—and HYDRA.

“The food is yours, Buck,” Steve murmurs patiently. It’s streaked through with tinges of sadness he either can’t hide well or doesn’t try to hide. “You can eat it. Not poisoned, not altered in any way. Unless you count adding salt.”

It’s a weak attempt at humor—reaching out with clawed hands in hopes of grasping something strong enough to pull yourself up from the edge with. But it falls flat, and Bucky doesn’t smile. He doesn’t think Steve does either.

But Bucky does as Steve says, and pulls the tray closer to eat. The sandwich first—simple turkey and cheese, something Bucky devours within seconds. He sets aside half the chocolate bar and the chips (something in his head rings Steve Steve Steve) and begins gulping down hot mouthfuls of chicken and noodles.

When Bucky finishes all the food that he hadn’t set aside, he’s still a little hungry, but the gnawing ache is gone. He pushes the tray back towards Steve.

“For you,” he mutters roughly.

This, if nothing else, is familiar. Memories have been coming back in fragmented stops and starts, but Bucky remembers saving the best of his meals (when he got them free or away from home) for Steve. ‘Best’ sometimes meant sweets (relentlessly rare and always immediately devoured) and things like blueberries, which Steve loved, or meats and butters, because they got less of those when Steve needed them most. Thin, sickly Steve who Bucky gave the best of nearly everything to.

There’s a brief, hesitant silence before Steve says, “I’m not hungry.” His voice cracks slightly.

Too much thunders through Bucky’s head and he stumbles to his feet and lurches unsteadily out of the room and down the hall. He collapses at the foot of the toilet, heaving back up everything he just ate until his stomach is empty.

Sometime during the ordeal Steve knelt behind him, clumsily clutching Bucky’s hair in his hands, pulling it back. He’s not really touching Bucky’s skin, but Bucky can feel the burning heat of Steve with how close they are. He yanks away from it—away from the soft glide of Steve’s skin and the heat burned along his nape from the nearness of the touch.

He sees Steve’s lips purse before his vision flickers—again, not the first time—everything rapidly going from blurry to clear and back again. He doesn’t process the sweat stinging along his skin until Steve presses a cool, damp towel into his hands. Unsteadily, Bucky wipes at his mouth and his temples, hands wracked with tremors.

“Bucky.”

Bucky groans and tilts his head back against the wall. He’s nearly panting—breaths escaping too fast, tongue lolling like a dog’s. His eyes latch onto a crack in the wall paint, near where it meets the ceiling.

“Bucky.”

“Steve,” Bucky groans. “Steve, Steve, I can’t—”

“Shh, shh,” Steve shushes him. His worried face wobbles in Bucky’s sight. He always draws his eyebrows together, putting a crease between them. “Just breathe. You need to breathe, Buck.”

Bucky groans again, long and low. His skin feels tacky with sweat. Breathing is a hitching, broken affair. Time passes syrupy-slow, everything aching as Bucky regains his breath.

“That’s it, keep doing that,” Steve murmurs as Bucky draws in breaths slowly.

When he feels well enough to (read: like he won’t throw up again), Bucky hangs his head, hiding his face from Steve. He squeezes his eyes shut to ward off the pain of an impending headache. They always come in moments like this—his mind is a porcelain jar, and sharp memories from before crack the surface until light shines onto the inside, dust flying through the air.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky grates out, “about the food.”

“We have more,” Steve responds. Bucky winces at the softness of his tone. He’s just thrown up what Steve gave him and Steve should be angry. But since Bucky got here Steve hasn’t been responding to anything like Bucky anticipates he will. He responds like Steve and somehow that’s more terrifying than the familiarity of anger.

Bucky picks at a stray string along the seam of his pants. Steve is saying something; Bucky’s not listening. He tugs the string harder and a little hole opens up.

“Bucky,” Steve stresses.

“What?”

Steve gapes like a fish and Bucky is just able to see the expression through his hair.

“You just threw up and nearly had a panic attack and you’re fucking—” Steve groans and tugs at his hair. Bucky laughs. It’s broken and gutted and far from happy.

“You didn’t have to bring me here,” Bucky says. “You chose to do that. No one made you. And now—” Bucky gestures at himself “—you get to deal with the mess that comes with it.”

“You’re not a mess,” Steve says firmly. “You’re hurt and that’s not the same.”

Bucky shrugs and drags himself to his feet. He wobbles unsteadily for a moment before brushing past Steve and out of the bathroom, careful to not let their arms touch. A headache has started now. Pressure between his eyebrows, his temples, at the curve of his neck.

The hall lights are blinding. Bucky staggers into his room and slams the door shut in Steve’s face.

Throughout the entire night, Bucky doesn’t sleep. His body trembles with bone-deep cold and his mind paces like a restless wolf.

Steve never comes to the door.

—

The days melt into gusty winds and pounding rains. There’s nothing between him and the slams of thunder across the sky, nothing between insanity and the clutches of humanity curling at the edges of his mind. Nothing but a weak, easily shatterable barrier.

Bucky spends his days curled in a thin blanket on the floor. He stares at the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Empty spaces of nothing but dust.

He hears Steve in the apartment. Steve leaves plates of food outside his door. Sometimes Bucky eats it. Sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he throws up.

His room is warm. He always pulls a blanket tight around his body, especially across his shoulders and back. It feels like protection—a poor imitation of armor.

It storms that afternoon. Steve is home—Bucky heard him come in earlier. Bucky’s window doesn’t open, something about Tony believing him dumb enough to jump rather than face the Avengers/Steve, but he can see the dark clouds and pouring rain gathering over the city.

Bucky shudders violently as new memory slips into his head, jagged around the edges.

Before the war, Steve hated this weather. It always meant stuffy noses and, in the colder months, the possibilities of sickness heavy in his lungs. Bucky grew to hate it too, because he hated everything that hurt Steve.

Now that means he hates himself.

There’s a knock on Bucky’s door and he turns his unseeing gaze towards the white painted wood.

From behind the door, Steve says, “Uhm, this is—it’s dinner? Lunch? I don’t really know, sorry. If you’re hungry later, let me know and I can make something. Or—you can. Doesn’t have to be me. Anyways, I think it’ll be easier on your stomach, it’s supposed to be good for that.”

Bucky waits until he hears Steve’s footsteps disappear to crack open his door. It creaks wildly and Steve can surely hear it, but by now he knows it’s better to leave Bucky be. Easier for both of them.

He tugs the plate in—bowl of soup, slice of sourdough bread (a delicacy always too expensive for them during the war) with butter, cup of steaming tea.

He’s angry. He wants to hate it—dump the soup and tea down the toilet and throw the bread to the birds. Scream to Steve that everything is different and he’s different and that Steve needs to let go already. Steve doesn’t cook—that’s Bucky’s job. Nothing is right or the same and Bucky is angry.

Instead of any of that, he curls up in the corner of the room and hates himself as he downs spoonfuls of creamy leek soup.

It goes down easy, and his stomach settles.

He doesn’t throw it up.

—

Bucky takes a bath. Not for a while. Not in those first few tentative weeks at the start. But when he decides to take one, single-mindedly focused on this to stave off the twisting pains in his gut and chest, he realizes he doesn’t know how to work Steve’s fancy tub.

He asks Steve, in the end.

(Human connection is exhausting. Bucky rarely talks to Steve—takes it upon himself to stay away for the benefit of both of them—but when he approaches him about a food he’d like Steve to make more or something he hated, he comes back to his room with a pounding heart and layers of exhaustion.

All that matters is trying, Bucky used to tell Steve after another rejection from a nice-looking dame. Now he’s not so sure.)

Steve jumps on the bath idea like an overeager puppy. He has Bucky sit on the closed toilet lid while the water runs, so he can show everything he’s adding to the tub. Bucky just wanted hot water.

“This is bath oatmeal,” Steve murmurs as he pours it in. “And these are some bath salts.”

Bucky stays resolutely silent as Steve explains what each thing does. Steve looks so different, and Bucky still can’t get over it. He looks like he fits in his skin. Somewhere along the line, when Bucky wasn’t there, Steve shifted to fit the muscles and the height and the new weight. It’s disconcerting.

Somehow, though, he’s still Steve. Still doesn’t know when to stop fighting or stop running his mouth. Still hates rules and authority. Still doesn’t know how to be anything but true to his beliefs.

Sometimes Bucky thinks he hates Steve. Other times he thinks he really just hates himself.

Steve declares the bath ready with a grin. Bucky’s eyes trail after him as he walks out of the bathroom. The door closes and Bucky is alone again. Somehow, despite his purposeful self-seclusion, being left alone stings.

Bucky undresses slowly, pulling off his numerous layers with care for his aching shoulders. (A pain that, recently, is ever-present.) He ties his hair up with a rubber band from a jar on the counter, something Steve said about doing for relaxation before washing. When he sinks down into the hot, sweet-smelling water, it feels like coming home. Like when Bucky first walked onto Steve’s floor after Steve had unlocked the door. The brief, hesitant moment where he could pretend. Pretend that it was 1945 and they’d just won the war and were coming home to their small, shared apartment. Pretend that they’d eat supper together on the couch and curl up together in bed high on excitement and trading kisses—

Bucky jerks up with a violent gasp, clutching at the edges of the tub as water sloshes wildly onto the floor. A gasping half-sob is wrenched from his throat and he squeezes his eyes shut to ward off the tears as his chest heaves.

“Bucky? Bucky, are you alright?” Steve calls worriedly from somewhere deeper in the apartment. Bucky trembles, lips moving but unable to formulate a response. He opens his eyes, able to see only the bath’s faucet and the ripples splashing against the tub’s porcelain. Steve’s footsteps, rushed and panicked, move closer until he’s just outside the door. “Bucky, I’m gonna come in, okay?”

A piece of hair slips loose from his bun and hangs down, catching on his eyelashes. Another heaving breath catches in his chest and he coughs, eyes blurring with tears. The door creaks open and Bucky lifts his head enough to see Steve, still dressed in his ridiculous white shirt and jeans. Concern paints every crease on his face and Bucky tries to take another breath.

It breaks into a sob instead.

And then he’s crying, loud and heavy and ugly, and Steve is kneeling beside the tub and cursing it as he tries to pull Bucky close.

The bath is still hot. The air still smells like vanilla bath salt. The year is 2014 and the last time someone held him like this was the night before Bucky got shipped off to war, Steve’s rail-thin frame curled around his as if to shield him from the world, just for a little.

“I remember,” Bucky forces out, choking on the words. “I remember.”

Steve shushes him and holds him close, Bucky’s head tucked underneath his chin, skin dripping water across Steve’s shirt. They rock side to side, just a little, Steve humming under his breath. Bucky feels like a baby—raw and new and crying. Goosebumps have broken out all across his body at the contact, despite the heated water he’s still partially submerged in.

They sit there for a long time, until Bucky can breathe again, but not so long that the water has gone cool. When Steve finally pulls back, he gazes at Bucky softly, like there’s something to protect behind Bucky’s broken eyes and cracked soul.

“Let me get you a towel,” Steve says.

He brings one, white and fluffy, to the edge of the tub so Bucky can dry his face before it gets hung up on a hook. Steve goes to leave and Bucky, desperate and shaky, shoots a hand out to grab his wrist.

“Don’t—don’t leave,” Bucky stutters. His throat feels ripped raw. “Please.”

Steve smiles, and Bucky feels like he just crashed into the ocean.

That’s what Steve is, Bucky realizes. An ocean. Big and loud, doing whatever he wants whenever he wants with no care of the consequences while also being home to so many, a protector of those inside from the natural horrors of the human race.

Steve sits in the bathroom while Bucky washes his body, he lathers shampoo and conditioner in Bucky’s hair as a gentle massage when he asks. Steve pops the tub’s drain and bundles Bucky in the towel, helping him exit the tub and stand on newborn-doe legs.

Bucky sits, passive and quiet, on the edge of his bed, while Steve picks him out pants and a soft shirt to wear. He sits stock-still, scared to even breathe, as Steve runs a brush through his hair.

Everything is intimate and hushed—even his room feels small, lamp glowing golden on the nightstand.

Bucky closes his eyes and dreams that it’s 1945 and he and Steve are still young and in love.

—

It’s still raining outside and gusts of wind are Bucky’s new lullaby. He’s sleeping in his bed now. Fully clothed and with shoes on, because needing to run can occur any time, but in his bed nonetheless.

Sometimes he thinks about Steve. Or—seeing Steve, rather. About leaving his room for more than brief stints, enough to have a conversation or at least tell Steve good morning.

After his confusing, muddled bath from a week ago, Bucky isn’t sure if he can. He couldn’t leave his room for three days after that, confined to it with exhaustion and frustrated tears.

Mostly he thinks about Before. Flashes of memories, however brief, of him and Steve. Bucky learning to cook because Steve was always sick. Teaching Steve to ride a bike in their twenties because he never learned young. Ducking down for a private, chaste kiss from Steve before Bucky had to leave for work. Watching Steve draw and marveling at his luck to have him there.

Watching Steve get frustrated and scream and cry because Bucky was going out with another girl and of course Steve understood the want to be normal but Steve was halfway to dead anyways and Bucky was the only one who ever wanted him and couldn’t Bucky be okay with just him?

When Bucky falls asleep well into the night, he has violent nightmares about Steve. Steve dying, Steve dead—from asthma, pneumonia, his heart giving up. Nightmares of Steve and Bucky making love while Steve whispers into Bucky’s ear every terrible thing he’s ever done and why Steve can never love him.

But Steve brings him breakfast at 8 am on the dot the next morning and smiles softly when Bucky says good morning, so Bucky buries the dreams deep in his subconscious.

Bucky can hear the living room TV playing. Steve likes to do this—prop his feet up at the end of the day and relax watching a movie. Bucky usually falls asleep to it, letting the domestic background sounds relax him. Tonight, though, he has a plan.

His bedroom door creaks as he edges it open. He hears the TV pause.

“Bucky?” Steve calls out. “You need something?”

Bucky pads down the hallway and tries to remember to breathe. When he emerges into the living room, he’s greeted with the sight of Steve half-turned to look at him, arm across the back of the couch.

Bucky takes a deep breath. “Uhm. Can I watch? With you?”

Steve grins. Bucky’s heart pounds.

“Of course. There’s plenty of room.”

So Bucky sits at the opposite end of the couch to Steve with a blanket thrown over his lap. He tries to focus on the movie, really. But he ends up asleep halfway through, head tilted against the armrest.

It becomes a regular thing, the movies. Most of the time, Bucky is too exhausted to make it far through. Steve never seems to mind, always pleased just to have Bucky next to him.

—

They’re eating dinner at the kitchen island. Crispy, boneless chicken and carrots and sourdough and little cups of miso soup. It’s getting colder outside, fall melting into winter.

When they’ve finished eating and Steve is done washing their dishes, drying his hands on a checkered tea towel, Bucky asks before he can lose his nerve.

“Can I have a hug?” He nearly blurts it out. Steve pauses before dropping the towel on the counter. He rounds the island and smiles at Bucky—always smiling, like he’s happy just to look.

“Of course.”

His arms go around Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky leans into it, pressing their chests together with his arms around Steve’s middle and his head tucked beneath Steve’s chin. He lets out a shuddering sigh and trembles as he tries to relax in Steve’s hold. It’s awkward and uncomfortable and Bucky will die if Steve pulls away.

“I’ve got you,” Steve murmurs. His hand, big and hot, comes up to cradle the back of Bucky’s head. “I’ve got you.”

Bucky cried. He isn’t sure when it started or ended, only that when he stands before his mirror he has tear tracks streaked on his cheeks.

—

Bucky takes a lot of baths. Hot ones, where his always-cold feet and hands sting beneath the water. The steam turns his face pink and curls the hairs at his temples. Sometimes he lets Steve wash his hair. Steve’s hands are gentle—he’s always careful to keep the soap and water off Bucky’s face. His hands feel safe.

One night, Bucky almost falls asleep in the bath underneath Steve’s hands. The next night, Bucky falls asleep on Steve’s chest on the couch.

It feels like the ice is melting.

—

It’s snowing outside—light and fluffy flakes that will never stick to New York’s hot pavement. The heat is running in their apartment, and Bucky still bundles up in thick sweaters. Steve, sometimes, goes shirtless. He claims the apartment to be “the perfect temperature for it�� even as Bucky argues that it’s not even seventy degrees. It’s nice, though, as much as Bucky grumbles about it. Sometimes, on really good days. Bucky will pull off his top layers and snuggle up with Steve, shivers wracking his body as he gets used to the feeling of someone else’s skin pressed against his.

“Steve?” Bucky asks on one such night. The heat is blasting and it’s perfectly warm. Bucky is tucked up against Steve’s chest, both of them shirtless, Steve laid back against the armrest of the couch.

“Hm?” Steve’s eyes are closed and Bucky thinks he might be half-asleep. His hand starts stroking slowly up and down Bucky’s spine.

Bucky pauses, his lips parted. He swallows thickly and settles back down against Steve’s chest. Steve runs hot and Bucky cold—exact flips of their younger selves. Bucky likes to imagine they’re meant to be. Broken, shattered; Bucky a shell of his past self and Steve fuller than he’s ever been, yet they still fit together like they did as kids and teenagers and new adults.

“I forgot,” Bucky lies softly. Steve hums in understanding and everything is good.

—

The nightmares come back. Violent, twisting beasts that lurk along the edges of Bucky’s mind. A lot of them are flashes, things he can’t make out—

The bright lights of Coney Island. The smell of eggs and soft background chatter. Creaking floorboards. Rustling sheets, Steve’s soft laugh.

—and usually, they start out innocent. Bucky’s worst nightmares begin with his favorite memories.

Steve is drawing. He’s sitting at their small, lopsided desk underneath the window. He’s shirtless—just woke up. The early morning light streaming in halos around him, highlighting his wiry frame. Sloping light and shadows create soft and sharp edges—the gentle fall of his shoulders, the jut of his elbows—and Bucky thinks this must be how Steve experiences the entire world.

“You’re staring,” Steve accuses. He doesn’t even turn around. Bucky grins and props himself up on his bent arm, elbow sinking into the mattress of their creaky bed.

“Got a real nice view to stare at,” he replies. Steve groans and turns in the wooden chair. His fair skin is flushed from the top of his chest to the tips of his ears, putting his scattered freckles on display. As casually as he can manage, Bucky stretches out to put his own skin on display—completely naked, the thin sheets tangled around his hips—all lean muscle and long lines. Steve rolls his eyes at the display.

“Come on, doll,” Bucky goads. “Come back to bed. I miss you—you’re so far away.”

“Them dames know you talk like that?” Steve says, fumbling for an excuse.

“Don’t care about them right now.” Bucky tilts his head and smiles. “Come on, just one kiss?”

“It’s never just one,” Steve mutters, but he pushes his chair back and pads across the floor to the bed. He climbs onto it and Bucky pulls him down with an arm around his waist.

“Mm. Maybe stop lookin’ the way you do then,” Bucky returns. He presses their lips together, taking the opportunity of Steve’s lips parting to dip his tongue into Steve’s mouth.

Everything melts around him, becoming a flurry of sound and movement. When everything is clear again, Steve’s on his back in front of Bucky, completely naked with skin flushed and damp. Bucky leans down to kiss him again, letting his lips hit the edge of Steve’s mouth.

Steve takes them both in hand and Bucky exhales shakily against Steve’s cheek. He kisses Steve’s cheekbone, the hinge of his jaw, the spot below his ear.

“I hate you,” Steve whispers, lips brushing against the shell of Bucky’s ear. Bucky tenses, but doesn’t move. “You think I could ever love you? You’re fucking disgusting.” Steve spits the words out. Bucky tries to pull away but Steve holds him tight.

“Their blood is one your hands,” Steve hisses. “Every last one. Everyone you killed, everything you did—it can never be forgiven. You are a monster. You deserve nothing—”

Bucky jerks awake panting and gasping. His body is covered in a sheen layer of cold sweat. His hands tremble and slip as he yanks at the sheets tangled around him, desperately trying to get them off. A desperate pull has them ripping along a seam and Bucky nearly falling off the bed in his panic.

He’s down the hall before he realizes it. His chest heaves and his vision blurs as he knocks on Steve’s door—probably too hard, too loud.

Steve opens it, eyes wide and hair ruffled with an obvious urgency to his movements. He stops dead when he processes Bucky—breaths wheezing in his chest, legs trembling as they barely hold his weight—standing before him. Bucky stumbles forward until he collapses against Steve, whose arms come up to wrap tightly around his waist and shoulders.

“Shh, shh,” Steve whispers as Bucky’s breaths hitch and stutter. “You’re okay, you’re safe, it was just a dream.”

Bucky shudders. “You—it was you and you said…said that you hated me—”

“Oh, Buck,” Steve says, his voice cracking.

Steve moves them into his room and onto his bed. Bucky curls again his chest, shaking like a wet cat. He tucks his head beneath Steve’s chin and tries not to flinch when Steve’s hand starts stroking his back.

“Shh. I’ve got you.” Steve presses a gentle, barely-there kiss to Bucky’s temple. “Whatever I said in your dreams—it wasn’t real or true. Okay, Buck? None of it. I could never, ever hate you.”

Bucky grasps the front of Steve’s shirt in his shaky fingers. “You said I was a monster.”

“Never,” Steve swears instantly. “Bucky, you’re more human than anyone else I’ve ever met. Everything that happened—it was against your will. None of it was Bucky.”

Bucky sniffles as a few tears trail their way lazily down his face. “I don’t know if I’m worthy of you,” Bucky whispers.

“That’s not your decision to make,” Steve replies firmly. Bucky swallows past the lump in his throat and closes his eyes, trying to get through the frothing waves of emotion washing through him. Steve’s hand runs up and down his back, heavy and soothing, with enough pressure to keep Bucky in his body.

“I think I’m in love with you,” Bucky admits. His voice cracks horribly.

“Bucky…”

“No,” Bucky insists. “I am. Okay? I remember…I remember Brooklyn. Before the war. I remember you.”

Steve presses a lingering kiss to the top of Bucky’s head. The room is silent for a long, long time. There is nothing but the gentle winds outside and the rushes of their breaths in the air.

It’s a long time before Bucky realizes Steve is crying.

“I didn’t mean to—I’m sorry,” Bucky fumbles. “I can—”

Bucky starts to pull away, but Steve holds him tight in place.

“Don’t go,” Steve murmurs, his voice rough from crying. “It’s not your fault. I just didn’t think you remembered any of that stuff.”

“Oh,” Bucky says uncomfortably. “I remember a lot, I think. Mostly all the time I spent looking at you. Especially in those dance halls—I always wanted to teach you how. Guess I blew my chance, huh?”

It’s more than that. The real confession lies heavy beneath the surface, buried by a twisted past of seventy years they spent apart. More than a lost chance, it’s a cry of the ache of forgetting.

“I’d love to dance with you,” Steve replies softly. “You always shined. Were always the best dancer on the floor. Knew all the girls were infatuated with you; I certainly was.”

Bucky lets out a rush of breath in a gentle exhale that ruffles the collar of Steve’s shirt. “I didn’t—don’t—know if you still felt that way. Peggy…she made me think that you’d finally ‘became normal’ in the way I never could. Spent so many damn nights out with girls and I always came back home to you. Never could let go, even when you hated me because you thought you were just a way for me to get what I wanted when I couldn’t have a dame.”

“I love you,” Steve murmurs into Bucky’s hair. “I have for a very long time.”

He pulls back and tilts Bucky’s chin up, resting their foreheads together. Their noses brush, and Bucky feels the wet glide of tears.

“I love you,” Bucky repeats, words barely more than a whisper of breath. He tucks his head back beneath Steve’s chin. He hears Steve laugh softly and his hand comes up to wind through Bucky’s hair at his nape.

“I love you,” Bucky whispers again, just to make sure this is real.

“I love you,” Steve murmurs back as he pulls Bucky closer.

#indelible 𝜗𝜚 #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #stevebucky #captain america #the winter soldier #winter soldier #writing #writers on tumblr #fanfiction #fanfic #feveruary #feveruary 2025 #wintershield

23 notes · View notes

insomniamamma · 4 years ago

Text

Masterlist: Oh crap I guess I write fic now (and some original art)

Prospect:

Egret AU:

Greenhorn: Young!Ezra x F!reader

Fairy Tale of Puggart Bench: Young!Ezra X F!reader

Entangled: Young!Ezra x F!reader

Nightswimming: Young!Ezra x F!reader

Prickle:

Prickle: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

Brigand: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

Rain: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

Pigment: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

Where the Heart is: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

Clean Dirt: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

Ribbons and Wings: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

Screaming Mimis: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

Sacellum: Ezra xF! reader w/Cee

Safe: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

Found: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee **smut**

Night of Hunters: Ezra xF!reader w/Cee

Fancy: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

Indulgence: Ezra x F!reader

Christmas in the Ephrate: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

Seasonal: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

Ezra + Little Microfic: Ezra x F!reader

Glory: Ezra x f!reader

Liminal:

“Ferris Wheels Are For Old People”: Ezra x F!Reader w/Cee

Liminal: Ezra and Cee (no reader insert)

“Surf City Goodness”: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

Late Bloomers: Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

Tricks (Or How Bee Girl Got Seduced Into A Life of Crime): Ezra x F!reader w/Cee

Oneshots:

Euphemisms: Ezra x F!reader

To Have and to Hold: Ezra x Gn!Reader

Persistence: Ezra xF!Reader w/Cee

Remain Nameless: Ezra and Cee w/Gn!Reader

Collide: Ezra x Gn!Reader

Stuck: Ezra x f!reader

Ezra + Hopeful Microfic: Ezra and Cee

Tessellation: Ezra and Cee

Needles & Pins: Tattoo Artist!Ezra x f!reader w/cee

Threefold: Ezra x f!reader w/Cee

Gravity: Ezra x F!reader

Headcannons:

Soft!Ezra headcannons

The Mandalorian:

Blue Morning: Fennec Shand x f!Twi’lek reader

The Shallow: Din Djarin x F!reader

Snow Day: Din & Grogu

Dragon AU:

Dragon: Boba Fett x Gn!Reader

Small Stakes: Boba Fett x Gn!Reader

Bright Lights, Big City: Boba Fett x Gn!Reader

Atin’ika AU:

Stubborn: Din Djarin x Gn!reader

Hands: Din Djarin x Gn!reader w/Grogu

The Song of the Wrong Response: Din Djarin x Gn!reader

Triple Frontier:

About What We Want: Frankie Morales x f!pregnant!reader

Vanilla: Frankie Morales x f!reader **smut**

Pumpkin Guts: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Frisbees and Cherry Trees: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Over Easy: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Changes: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Maze (Changes AU): Frankie Morales x f!reader

The Triple Frontier Boys and Kittens

The Triple Frontier Boys and Spiders

House Comes With A Bird:

Ephemera: Nico (House Comes with a Bird) x f!reader.

Surrender: Nico (House Comes with a Bird) x f!reader

Nautical Twilight: Nico (House Comes with a Bird) x f!reader

Sometimes You Can’t Make It On Your Own: Nico (House Comes with a Bird) x f!reader

Nico NSFW Alphabet

Somnophilia with Nico

Crowdstrike: Nico (House Comes with a Bird) x f!reader

The Last of Us:

In The Light They Both Look The Same: Joel Miller x f!sexworker!reader

Spinner: Joel MIller X F!reader

Forever’s Gonna Start Tonight: Joel Miller x F!reader

Pussy Whipped: Joel Miller, Ellie Williams & Reader + Jones the cat

Year of Kisses:

Closing Time: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Glory: Ezra x f!reader (Prickle’verse AU)

The Shallow: Din Djarin x F!reader

Tessellation: Ezra and Cee

Threefold: Ezra x f!reader w/Cee

Gravity: Ezra x F!reader

We Came Along This Road: Frankie Morales x F!reader

Marcus Pike:

Closing Time: Marcus Pike x f!reader

The One That I Call Baby: Marcus Pike x f!reader

The Right Way To Fall: Marcus Pike x f!reader

Fan Art:

Fae King Ezra

Haunted Din

Naga Oberyn

Nico on the rooftop in a sunset made beautiful by smog

Selkie Cee

Original Art:

Art thing(webcomic IDK what the actual title is yet):

Panel 1 comms array

Panel 1 progress vid

Panel 2 control console (in progress)

J!TheMando:

J! as a Mandalorian:

used this Halloween photo as reference:

j!TheMando progress

j!TheMando progress 2

j!TheMando progress 3

j!TheMando progress 4

j!TheMando progress5

j!TheMando progress so far

Moodboards:

Rainer Maria Rilke

aesthetic game

queen of poisons

Azra Tabassum (Ezra vibes)

#masterlist #update #insomniamamma writes #ezra prospect x f! reader #ezra prospect x gn!reader #boba fett x gn!reader #original art #insomniamamma makes art #art thing

190 notes · View notes

omg-im-such-a-masochist · 4 years ago

Text

🌅SUNSET PT.2🌅

Prompt: Continuation of the Sunset drabble

Word Count: Ugh, long!

Pairings: Seth Rollins x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, angst, physical assault, cursing.

Tag: @marlananicole , @theworldofotps , @new-zealand-chic , @yungbludjazz360 , @drewmcintyrekoccsrocbwdgfan

Notes: Ok, I’m officially in love with Azra 😍! Continuing the saga: “Gaby is in her Seth Rollins’ phase” Here’s the second part of the Sunset drabble.This kind of wrote itself, so here you go...If you would like to know how this story begun, check out the first part on my Masterlist. Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊) You can check them out on my Masterlist. Okay,now let’s get to the fun part, shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

“Y/N? What are you doing out here in the rain?” Seth asked

“I-I didn’t know where to go”

“Hi, prince charming” Azra waves at him from his front porch where she stood with a now, 5 months old, Amal.

“Hello, princess” He smiled at her and asked me “What happened?”

“He’s a bastard, that’s what happened”

Seth’s eyebrows raise in surprise to hear me talk like that about my soon to be ex husband

“Let’s go inside”

......................................................................

It was now 11 p.m., way passed the kids bedtime so they ended up sleeping on Seth’s couch with his dog, Kevin by their side

“They’re out” He chuckle

“Yeah, it was a hectic day”

“Why don’t you go take a hot shower, take off your wet clothes and we’ll talk about what happened? In the meantime I’ll take them up to the guest room so they can sleep more comfortably” He asked and I nodded

......................................................................

Seth placed his own cleaned clothes on the countertop for me. A black t-shirt, boxers, grey sweatpants and a pair of white socks.

When I leave the bathroom he’s already waiting for me in the leaving room with two cups of hot chocolate for us.

“Thank you” I mumbled softly, sitting on the couch

He smirked “No problem, baby”

I decided to ignore the tingling his sweet words caused in my stomach and asked what has caught my attention since I entered his house

“Where’s your wife? I want to apologize to her for the inconvenience”

“I don’t know where she is” He shrugs

I give him a quizzical look

Seth laughed “She’s not my wife anymore. That’s why I don’t know where she is”

“Oh” I gasped in shock “I’m sorry to hear that”

“Nah, it’s ok. I did us both a favor. I love somebody else and so did she...who were we fooling but ourselves? The only difference is that she gets to be with the love of her life and I” He looked at me “Hope one day I’ll get to be with mine too” Seth gave me a weak smile before asking “So, what happened?”

“He cheated on me and she’s pregnant. But according to him, it meant nothing.” I scoff

“What? You’re kidding me?” He asks in disbelief

“To be honest I think I saw that coming...he changed, a lot! Especially with the kids...I guess it was just the calm before the storm”

“Do you know who that girl is and if she’s really pregnant?”

“No and I don’t care. The minute he slid his dick into someone else without even thinking about me or the kids or even the fact that he could bring some kind of STD home from whatever whore he’s fucking, I don’t care if she is or not pregnant. That’s his problem not mine!”

“That’s dangerous Y/N. Tomorrow morning we can go get you tested if you’d like”

“I already did, thank you” I smile in appreciation “I’m clean, thank God”

Seth sighed in relief “What are you gonna do now?”

I shrugged “I think I’ll go back to my parents house. I don’t really have a place to go so I figured that would be the best thing to do... But it’s just for a while, until I can get my life back together and then who knows?”

“Or you can stay here with me” He offers

I look at him in shock

“Seth, I-I really appreciate your gesture but I can’t accept it.”

“Why not?”

“Well, since I had Amal I’m unemployed, I wouldn’t be able to help you pay the bills plus there’s the kids and-“

“I didn’t say I wanted you here as a roommate to help me pay the bills, Y/N. I want you and the kids here as my guests! I don’t want you to worry about anything financially, I just want you to stay for as long as you need and once you figure everything out, you can leave if that’s your wish. Although I wish you won’t”

“Seth, are you sure? I don’t want us to be a burden for you”

“You could never be a burden to me, baby” He winks

......................................................................

It’s been 4 months now, since we moved in with Seth. Azra is helping me to separate the chopped bell peppers by color order, so we can get dinner started while Amal stares from the kitchen door on his little baby jumper.

I sing with Azra an old Arabic song when the front door opened, making Amal scream in joy to see Seth.

“Hey buddy, where is our girls, huh?” He asked him, placing his duffel bag on the floor and going to the bathroom to wash his hands.

Seth grabs Amal from the jumper and heads to the kitchen island.

“SETH” Azra screams, quickly jumping from the island to hug Seth’s legs

“Azra! We don’t jump from other people’s furniture, that’s not polite!” I reprimanded her

“Sorry, mommy” She said hugging his legs

“It’s ok, Y/N” Seth chuckled “Hi, princess. How are you?” He squats down to grab her up in his free arm

“Good, but I missed you” She mumbles with her tiny face buried on the crook of his neck

“Aww, I missed you too, sweetie. So, so much!” He kisses her forehead

“Did you really?” Azra hopefully asked, looking into his eyes “Daddy never said he missed me” She said, hurtful

My heart hurt in anger to hear such words filled with disappointment from my daughter’s mouth. I’m gonna kill Jonathan as soon as I get the chance!

“Don’t mind him, princess. The important thing is that I missed you. And I love you so, so much!” Seth bumped his nose with hers “I love you, Azra. And you, Amal” He looks at him, making Amal giggle joyfully “And I love, mommy” Seth winked at me

“Can I call you daddy?” She asked

“Azra!” I reprimand her once more

“Of course you can, baby!” Seth smiles, kissing her cheek

Azra claps her tiny hands in happiness and says “You see, Amal. Seth is our new daddy!” She caresses Amal’s short blond hair “You have to call him daddy from now on, ok?” She asked and Amal mumbled.

With a voice full of love, Seth asked

“So, what’s for dinner?”

......................................................................

After dinner, Seth puts the kids down for bed and reads them a bedtime story. Azra’s all time favorite: Aladdin.

In the middle of the story they’re fast asleep and he comes down to the living room. Sitting on the couch beside me.

“You didn’t had to do that, you know?”

“Do what?” He asked

“All those things you said to Azra! Mainly the daddy thing. That was unnecessary, Seth. I already have to kill Jonathan for hurting her like that, I don’t want to have to add you to the list as well” I spat

“Do you think I was lying about that?”

I gave him a cynical look

“So you think I let you and kids stay here with me just because I want to have the pleasure of kicking you out someday? Really, Y/N? I’m not Jonathan! You know me better than that”

I opened my mouth to say something when the doorbell rang.

Seth opened the door and the last person I was expecting to see, bursted in like the house was his.

“Where is she?”

“Hey, hey! Where do you think you’re going?” Seth stopped Jon “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I don’t recall saying you could come in, get the fuck out of my house” Seth shove him away

“I’ll only leave this house with my wife and kids! Do you think I’m dumb? Do you think that I don’t know she’s here?” Jon stepped closer to Seth “Do you think that I don’t know that you still have the hots for my wife? Give up, pal! She’s mine, I won. Now get the fuck out of my sight, so I can take my wife and kids home”

“That’s cute” Seth chuckled lightly “But not gonna happen. Get the fuck out before I kick your ass”

“Oh, you’re that committed to get that pussy, huh?” Jon laughs

“Don’t talk about her like that” Seth snarled

“She hasn’t fucked you yet, has she?” He stares at Seth for a few seconds “No, she hasn’t! That’s why you’re so desperate, right?” Jon leans forward “I gotta say though, if I were you, I would also be desperate. I mean, such a good pussy like Y/N has and to never be able to have it” Jon grinned “Would drive any man mad”

And then it happened.

Seth’s fist connected to Jon’s jaw and the most horrendous bar fight started. I ran to the front door to try to stop the fight.

“Seth, please! He’s not worth it”

“Hey doll” Jon bloody smiles “Missed me?” Jon moves his tongue in licking motions.

Seth growls punching him more vigorously on the floor

“SETH, DON’T!” I screamed

“DADDY” Azra yells, crying from the stairs and running towards the fight

“Azra, no!” I run to stop her

“Please, daddy. Stop!” She sobs

And to our surprise, she delicately places her small little hand on Seth’s arm

“Please, daddy! I don’t want you to go to that place where they keep bad men locked away” She begged

Seth quickly got up from the floor, scooping her up in his arms

“I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean to scare you” He whispered

“Please stay with me, daddy? Don’t leave me, please” She cries

“I’ll never leave you, baby. I’ll always be here with you. I love you, remember?”

“Daddy? What the fuck?” Jon tried to approach them but stopped as soon as he sees me grabbing the fire poker

“What are you doing, Y/N?” Jon asked, slightly scared

“Get the fuck out or I swear to God I’ll kill you right here!”

“Y/N, you’re not thinking straight, doll. He brainwashed you”

“You have five seconds to leave or the next thing laying around the floor is going to be your brains”

“Kitten, please. Just hear me out-“

“You’ve been warned, Jonathan. And you know I’m crazy enough to do it! One, two-“

“No, let’s talk about it” Jon shook his head

“Five” I whispered and fastly swung the fire poker up making Jon run out the door.

I close and lock the front door and ran upstairs to check on Amal, who was surprisingly still asleep.

I meet Seth and Azra on the kitchen. They are talking while Seth holds her in his arms and makes her some chamomile tea to calm her down.

“I don’t want him as my daddy anymore. He’s mean and scary! I want you as my daddy” She sobs

“And I am, sweetie! I’ll always be here to protect you, Amal and mommy from him or any other bad men. Ok?” He asked and she nodded

“I love you” Seth hugs her tightly, kissing her temple.

“I love you too, daddy” She answers, with her arms tightly closed around Seth’s neck

“Here, baby” He gives Azra her light blue Frozen bottle with the tea on it “Drink it, so you can go night-night”

......................................................................

“It took her a while but she’s sleeping now” Seth sighed “I’m sorry, Y/N. I-“

I interrupted him with a passionate kiss. Seth’s hands quickly locked around my waist, sitting me up on his en suite bathroom countertop.

“I love you” I whispered

Seth smiled “Say it again”

“I love you, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me! I love you, Seth”

He sighed in relief “I love you too, baby. Always have! Since the first day I laid eyes on you”

“Show me?” I ask

“All night long, baby” He chuckled, picking me up in his arms, taking us to his bed.

Where he kept his promise and showed me all night long why this was a choice I’ll never regret making it...

Please if you’re comfortable with it, let me know your thoughts on this? Feedbacks are always appreciated 🥰😘

#seth rollins fanfiction #seth rollins x reader #seth rollins #seth rollins one shot #seth rollins imagines #wwe x reader #wwe imagine #wwe one shot #wwe fanfiction

69 notes · View notes

coffee-and-geto · 7 months ago

Text

HAVE YOU SEEN MY PANTIES?

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

summary: in a lazy, hot summer afternoon, it’s your boyfriend’s turn to do the laundry. but why doesn’t he respond when you’re asking where’s your panties?

warnings: +18, smut, nsfw, gojo is your boyfriend, needy! gojo, cute! gojo, fluff, nipple play, panties sniffling, masturbation (m), oral (f!receiving), overstimulation, sex (p in v), also based on a @/yunonoai’s comic!

wc: 2,128

“Babe, can you do the laundry? I have a call.”

“Sure,” Satoru replies, standing up from the couch where he was lazily lying down, chilling out in front of some tiktoks.

He steps towards the bathroom, the laundry hamper waiting for him to be emptied and washed. With a resigning sigh, he looks down at the heap of dirty clothes. One of them overhangs them all: your favorite panties — the one he bought you last month.

The lace surrounds with finesse the satin fabric of your favorite color.

So how can he not be hard at the only sight that reminds him how long you both haven’t had sex?

Fuck.

His breathing becomes heavier, each inhaling being a trial to not pay attention to the prominent bulge swelling down his gray jogging pants. Of course, the memory of your whimpers will always be like music to his ears, the fwap sounds of his cock buried deep, so deep, inside of your wet pussy, and his balls, so much filled with his cum and tightening when he's about to climax, slapping against your ass at each pound into you.

He is grouching now, at the edge of whining in need of your full attention — but of course, you needed to have a call at this very moment.

His hand twitches to his crotch, palming his already hard erection through the soft fabric of his pants, electricing at quiet moans, Satoru’s beautiful face wincing in pleasure. He swallows thick, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and gives in. With messy movements, he lifts up his black shirt to grab the hem at his watering mouth and muffle his cute sounds between his clenched teeth and jaw. The fresh air blow at his hard abs, making him tensing his belly with scorching skin.

His big, calloused hand fiddles with his erection, so ready to free himself from the torturous sensation of your pretty panties, which he holds between his fingers and brings to his nose to inhale your scent, which makes him like a little puppy for you. Satoru utters a desperate whimper and finally buries his hand under his clothes to release his quivering cock.

It’s much bigger than usual, beads of precum glistening on the angry red tip, and veins sinuating the flesh. Of course, it’s perfect. That’s why it will never seem strange to anyone to see him stroke himself. He lazily fucks his tight fist, picturing your sweet pussy as he closes his eyes, beads of sweat leaking from his temples a flush spreads all over his cheeks.

His length girth throbs between his digits, coursing waves of lust through him as Satoru quickens the pace, as the same as his heartbeat. Saliva damps the fabric of his black shirt, and the idea of substituting the hem of his shirt with your panties carries out straight away, increasing his arousal until it’s twitching in a maddened way. With each stroke, the pre spreads along his shaft to allow it to be lubricated, at the point that if you all of a sudden show up in the bathroom, you both can skip the foreplay but damn!

“Toru? Did you see my panties?” Your voice echoes through another room.

But he doesn’t answer anyway.

“Fuck,” he grunts in a quiet whine, “miss you so much, babe.” His balls tighten, following the next moment — and it doesn’t take that much time he expected, because a few seconds after he twists his wrist in an upstroke movement — the exact way you’d do to him — he’s already cumming on the heap of laundry, dirtying them even more they already were, puddles of a viscous liquid, spreading out in droplets as the orgasmic peak subsides.

Panting heavily, he doesn’t hear you burst into the bathroom as you exclaim, “Satoru? You serious? Look at the state of the laundry now!”

With a swift gesture, he removes your panties from his mouth and turns his head suddenly towards you. He’s unable to justify himself and simply watches your disapproving pout ruffle your pretty lips. “Sorry babe, I'll clean it up.” He also notes how your mere presence makes him hard immediately despite having softened a moment earlier with the moment of “relief” he wished to provide for himself.

“Where are my panties?” you ask a second time as you rummage, eyebrows furrowed, through the basket of dirty laundry.

Satoru rubs the back of your neck nervously and hesitates to hide your underwear in his palm. “Uh... here,” he murmurs softly, slightly discomfited as you pinch the bridge of your nose in exasperation.

“You’re that much needy?”

Satoru looks down, a little boyish pout on his lips that breaks your heart. “Sorry...”

Your frown softens. “Oh, um— No, Toru, please don’t gimme that look,” you whisper, walking over to him, your hands instinctively cupping his cheeks to make him look down at you. “I’m sorry, my love. You need to tell me when you need me, okay?”

Satoru nods slowly, still guiltily pouting. “Can I have you? Please? Just one round, I swear I’ll be gentle,” he murmurs.

His request makes your lips curl up. “My boy does want me? You’re cute, almost begging like this.” You graze a kiss on his cheek. “Get on your knees.”

“Like that?” His knees make contact with the floor, his cock still outside his dangling jogging suit. He so fucking cute, listening to you so obediently.

“Good boy,” you coo, sliding pants down your thighs. Your black panties hug the swell of your hips, your intoxicating scent spreading toward Satoru’s nostrils.

He moves towards you using his knees to grip your hips and sniff your scent once more. The action makes you giggle so much that it makes you suck in a breath when he pulls down your underwear to kiss your groin. “Love you,” he whispers. “I want to taste you, please.”

“Satoru, just wait I—” But he cuts you off, darting out his tongue to lick a strip enough to feel your bundle of nerves. A moan escapes your lips, driving your breath as crazy as he’s doing with his skillful mouth.

“You’re dripping,” Satoru comments, kissing your lower lips swiftly before grabbing you by the thighs and lifting you up, dropping you off the washing machine. “Spread your legs,” he mumbled, all needy and flushed to eat you out.

And how long he hadn’t—

It’s like he’s drunk on you, ignoring your moans and whimpers as he rests his cheeks on your inner thigh to wrap his wrist around your thighs. His fingertips dig into the flesh of your thighs, trapping you firmly. “Keep ‘em spread, baby,” he purrs, lapping your soaked core and sensitive, puffy clit. “It tastes s’good, I’ve missed you.”

His dick twitches and throbs afterward, your sweet sounds re-hardening him and making him more swollen than he was even after the few rubs he did to relieve himself.

“Hmm, ah, Satoru, you—” you trail off, throwing back your head against the wall, your hands grabbing the washing machine’s edge until your knuckles turn white. “I’ll be close, I—” you babble, and the realization of how much not having sex with him for so long is turning you into a virgin-like. And also, the clenching feeling of your pussy, lips parting and closing around nothing hits you so hard.

You need to cum on his cock.

“Satoru, stop,” you gasp, your fingers snaking gently through his white lock and tugging them carefully.

He stops the moment after your whine reaches his ears — a sound ringing like music to his ear. “But… I haven’t made you come yet,” he murmurs, rubbing your clit slowly with his forefinger and middle finger. His cute pout is now begging you to give him grace.

“I want to cum on your dick,” you clarify, leaning in, your lips pressing down a gentle, loving kiss on this beautiful forehead of him.

“You sure? I haven’t stretched you beforehand.” He rises from his former crouching position and holds his sensitive length closer to your core.

“I don’t mind, I just want you right now,” you blow out, kissing his free hand.

Satoru blushes — and oh, how can anyone fall in love with this cute little face you want to madly shower with cuddles and kisses? “Can we put it in while I kiss you?” he requests, bringing his lips closer to yours.

You let out a little laugh, pressing a first kiss on his lips. “You’re so cute.”

But something makes your eyes drop lower, and you feel it. Satoru’s hand holds his shaft enough well to tap the tip and the length below on your core, teasing your squelching cunt.

“C’mon, don’t tease me, I want you n— Ah!” He shuts you down by crashing his lips on yours and sliding himself easily in you, stretching you impossibly wide. “S-Satoru, you’re bigger than usual,” you whimper.

Your hands grab his broad shoulder, nails sinking in his compressed black shirt, lips moving on their own to taste yourself on his wet lips. His tender tongue asks to enter you, and you allow him, soft strokes on each other’s tongue.

Satoru moans in the melting kiss, waiting for you to adjust, and starts gentle back and forth hips moves, hissing through his teeth by the sweet, delicious tightness of yours. “You feel so good,” he squeals between kisses. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You gasp, swallowing hard because of the different paces your brain can’t focus on — stolen kisses and perfect pounds into you. It’s so deep, so mastered, that it’s driving you mad and making you see stars.

Breaking the kiss, Satoru wraps his muscled arms around your back and encircles you flush against him, your heartbeat matching with his, and your fingernails slide down his back as you almost lose strength and balance every time his tip brushes against your cervix, etching red scratch marks for sure on his back as soon as he will remove his shirt.

With another buck before pulling out fully, he slides back in and manages to reach your deepest point, making your back arch and cry out. “Satoru, please, I’m so close,” you whine, wincing because of his hips rocking in you faster and harder.

The washing machine sways to the same rhythm, threatening to give way under your weight. Your heavy, ragged breaths fill the air in a kind of steam room. Blood beats at your ears, your gummy walls clenching around his long, big dick without ceasing and have mercy for you.

But as if that wasn’t enough, Satoru slides your top off with a swift movement of his hand to free one of your breasts and taste the nipple. He sucks hard, tongue pulling and swirling at the nub like no other. The action makes you roll your eyes, the overstimulation engulfing you like a wave would.

He then uses his head to tease your nipple with a gentle tug, his cerulean-blue eyes captivated by your curve. You squeal, your walls swallowing up his thrusts inside you, tightening more and more until he gives in and takes you back into his arms, but this time with a hand under your thigh to lift it up and enable him to reach an even more precise and deep angle, making you scream out his name.

“Baby, I’m gonna cum,” Satoru warns you, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, and his jaw tense from clenching. “Please, where—”

“Inside me, Satoru,” you whimper in the hollow of his neck, closing your eyes before the following ride crashes the two of you.

Pussy clenching around his length, you squirt on him with a small cry, and Satoru does likewise, twitching as he grunts and his hips jerk to reach your womb and fill you up with his cum.

Muscles trembling from the aftermath, you pant against him, as weak as after an intense workout. “I’ve missed you so much,” Satoru whispers in your ear, in the same state as you. His large, quaking hands stroke your hair, soothing you.

White strings escape from your full, swollen-lipped pussy, the sound of trickling filling the silence of the room.

“I promise I’ll do the laundry, but please, can we have cuddles?” Satoru demands, blinking down at you with puppy-dog eyes.

You rest your cheek on his shoulder and nod, a smile stretching your lips, as you reach out to stroke his cheek.

“Of course, my baby.”

DING DONG.

The ringing of the front door echoes in your ears and a memory pops into your head, slapping you in the face.

“Wasn’t Suguru supposed to come to borrow the washing machine here because his is broken?”

Satoru froze, flickering his eyes. “Huh?”

a/n: feelin to write something cute and smutty haha! i think writing things easy like this is unwinding me.

see how he’s so cute? 🥹 pls God give me one…

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @whathappenedtobees @drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t

9K notes · View notes

another-lost-mc · 2 years ago

Text

HEADCANONS masterlist

★ headcanons feature a gn!reader unless otherwise stated

➤ SFW Headcanons

When It's MC's Turn to Cook For the Demon Brothers

Dining With the Dateables

Snacks with Thirteen and Mephisto

Shopping For Beauty Supplies ↳ Lucifer, Mammon, Asmodeus, Beelzebub

When High-Achiever MC Struggles at RAD

When MC Misses Their Sibling ↳ Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Luke, Solomon

When MC Dies and is Reborn in the Celestial Realm

When MC Is Rich AF

When MC Feels Emotionally Numb

When MC Faints/Has a Panic Attack

When MC Makes The Dateables a Kiss Shirt

Going to the Movies

When Movies Make Them Cry

What They Wear To See Barbie

If The Demon Brothers Were Chubby Demons

Caring For MC's Descendants ↳ Demon Brothers | The Dateables

How the Little D's Act When MC Is Dating Someone ↳ Demon Brothers | Barbatos

Shadow-Walking with MC

When The Demon Brothers Hurt MC By Accident

When MC Is A Professional F1 Driver ↳ Demon Brothers | The Dateables + Mephistopheles

The Wild Side ↳ Demon Brothers + Karasu | The Dateables + Azra

When MC Is Scared of Snakes ↳ Leviathan, Barbatos, Mephistopheles

When It's MC's Birthday

Sharing a Birthday with MC

When MC Has a Reversible Mood Plushie

Sunday Routines ↳ Leviathan, Asmodeus, Barbatos, Solomon & Simeon, Mephistopheles

When MC Needs Surgery

The Worst Goodbye: When MC Disappears (Part I)

Welcome Home: When MC Returns (Part II)

➤ NSFW Headcanons

When MC Needs a Little TLC [ gn! + afab!Reader ]

When They Go Down on MC [ afab!Reader ] ↳ Demon Brothers | The Dateables

When MC Gives Them Head ↳ Lucifer, Leviathan, Satan, Beelzebub

When MC Helps Them With Their Heats [ afab!Reader ] ↳ Demon Brothers | Diavolo + Barbatos | Mephistopheles

When MC is Quiet in Bed

When MC Has a Creative Block ↳ Simeon x Reader x Solomon

When MC Steals Their Clothes ↳ Leviathan, Solomon

When MC Sends Them Audio Porn ↳ Demon Brothers | The Dateables + Side Characters

Would They Use a Love Potion on MC? ↳ Demon Brothers | The Dateables

Got Milk? Lactation Kink Headcanons ↳ Mammon | Levi, Asmo, Beel, Belphie | Solomon ↳ Lucifer, Satan, Diavolo & Barbatos, Simeon, Karasu

Their First Kiss with MC

When They Say "F*ck Lucifer"

When They Find Out MC Has a FWB ↳ Demon Brothers | The Dateables

When Solomon Is MC's FWB

Dating a Chubby!Reader ↳ Thirteen | Solomon | Karasu

Late Night Cravings (For MC) ↳ Leviathan, Belphegor

How They Mark MC

When MC is Shy in Bed

Going on a Road Trip with Driver!MC

When They Have a Size Kink ↳ Older Brothers

When MC's Lover Has Wings

Watching the Movie Se7en

Shower Thoughts: Their Bathing Habits

➤ Return to: Obey Me! Masterlist

#jes.admin #masterlist #obey me masterlist

570 notes · View notes

tasksweekly · 8 years ago

Photo

[TASK 033: TURKEY]

Shout out to anon for inspiring this task! There’s a masterlist below compiled of over 130+ Turkish faceclaims categorised by gender with their occupation and ethnicity denoted if there was a reliable source. If you want want an extra challenge use random.org to pick a random number! Of course everything listed below are just suggestions and you can pick whichever character or whichever project you desire.

Any questions can be sent here and all tutorials have been linked below the cut for ease of access! REMEMBER to tag your resources with #TASKSWEEKLY and we will reblog them onto the main! This task can be tagged with whatever you want but if you want us to see it please be sure that our tag is the first five tags!

THE TASK - scroll down for FC’s!

STEP 1: Decide on a FC you wish to create resources for! You can always do more than one but who are you starting with? There are links to masterlists you can use in order to find them and if you want help, just send us a message and we can pick one for you at random!

STEP 2: Pick what you want to create! You can obviously do more than one thing, but what do you want to start off with? Screencaps, RP icons, GIF packs, masterlists, PNG’s, fancasts, alternative FC’s - LITERALLY anything you desire!

STEP 3: Look back on tasks that we have created previously for tutorials on the thing you are creating unless you have whatever it is you are doing mastered - then of course feel free to just get on and do it. :)

STEP 4: Upload and tag with #TASKSWEEKLY! If you didn’t use your own screencaps/images make sure to credit where you got them from as we will not reblog packs which do not credit caps or original gifs from the original maker.

THINGS YOU CAN MAKE FOR THIS TASK - examples are linked!

Stumped for ideas? Maybe make a masterlist or graphic of your favourite Turkish faceclaims. A masterlist of names. Plot ideas or screencaps from a music video preformed by a Turkish artist. Masterlist of quotes and lyrics that can be used for starters, thread titles or tags. Guides on Turkish culture and customs.

Screencaps

RP icons [of all sizes]

Gif Pack [maybe gif icons if you wish]

PNG packs

Manips

Dash Icons

Character Aesthetics

PSD’s

XCF’s

Graphic Templates - can be chara header, promo, border or background PSD’s!

FC Masterlists - underused, with resources, without resources!

FC Help - could be related, family templates, alternatives.

Written Guides.

and whatever else you can think of / make!

MASTERLIST!

Note: If you’re using this masterlist for casting purposes please do further research before casting any of the following, it was difficult finding sources for most of these and don’t know if they’re ethnically or nationally Turkish. Many thanks.

Female:

Nebahat Çehre (72) Turkish - actress

Turkish (71) Turkish - actress, screenwriter & director.

Demet Akbağ (57) Turkish - actress

Aydan Şener (54) Turkish - actress

Hülya Avşar (54) Turkish / Kurdish - actress, pop folk singer, businesswoman, columnist, fashion designer, magazine editor, professional tennis player & former beauty pageant titleholder.

Zerrin Tekindor (52) Turkish - actress & painter.

Vahide Perçin (51) Rumelian Turkish - actress.

Vendela Kirsebom (50) Turkish, Norwegian - model actress.

Meltem Cumbul (47) Turkish - actress & TV personality.

Lisa Marie Varon (46) Puerto Rican / Turkish - professional wrestler.

Anna Silk (43) English, Turkish, Cypriot - actress.

Tina Kandelaki (41) Georgian, Greek/Pontic/Pontian Greek / Armenian, Turkish - journalist, public figure, TV presenter & producer.

Fadik Sevin Atasoy (41) Turkish - actress.

Songül Öden (40) Zaza - actress.

Nurgül Yeşilçay (40) Turkish - actress.

Ahu Türkpençe (40) Turkish - actress.

Ceyda Düvenci (39) Kırklareli / Thessaloniki - actress.

Maya Jupiter (38/39) Mexican / Turkish - rapper, songwriter & radio personality.

Özgü Namal (38) Turkish - actress, singer, songwriter, director & screenwriter.

Mine Tugay (38) Turkish - actress.

Selma Ergeç (38) Turkish-German - actress, beauty pageant titleholder, model, designer, philologist, psychologist & doctor.

Ayda Field (37) Turkish / possibly English - actress.

Çağla Kubat (37) Turkish - Turkish model, actress & windsurfer.

Zeynep Beşerler (37) Turkish - actress.

Burcu Kara (37) Turkish - actress.

Aslı Tandoğan (37) Turkish - actress & harpist.

Sibel Kekilli (36) Turkish - actress

Demet Evgar (36) Turkish - actress

Nehir Erdoğan (36) Turkish - actress

Nur Fettahoglu (36) Turkish - actress.

Cansu Dere (36) Turkish - actress, model & beauty pageant runner-up

Ayse Tezel (36) Turkish / Anglo-New Zealander - actress.

Sedef Avcı (35) Turkish - model & actress.

Deniz Çakır (35) Turkish - actress

Azra Akın (35) Turkish-Dutch - actress, dancer, model & beauty queen.

Tuba Büyüküstün (34) Crimea / Crete, Turkish nationality - actress.

Belçim Bilgin (34) Turkish - actress.

Didem Balçın (34) Turkish - actress.

Bergüzar Korel (34) Turkish - actress.

Erin Kaplan (33/34) Turkish, Dutch - model & television personality.

Meryem Uzerli (33) Turkish / German - actress & model.

Aylin Tezel (33) Turkish / German - actress.

Beren Saat (33) Turkish - actress.

Bade İşcil (33) Turkish - actress.

Naz Elmas (33) Turkish - actress.

Saadet Aksoy (33) Turkish, Egyptian, Greek - actress.

Pelin Karahan (32) Turkish - actress.

Birce Akalay (32) Turkish - actress.

Funda Onal (32) Turkish - model & dancer.

Berrak Tüzünataç (32) Turkish - actress.

Aslı Enver (32) Turkish - actress.

Seda Güven (32) Turkish - actress

Eda Özerkan (32) Turkish - actress.

Daphne Öz (31) Turkish, some Circassian / Italian, Irish, Cornish, Swedish, Swiss-German - auther & television host.

Alice Greczyn (31) French, Japanese, Polish, Chinese, Korean, German, Irish, Native American, Scotch, English, Greek, Hungarian, Turkish, Swedish and Czech - actress & model.

Hadise (31) Turkish - singer, dancer, songwriter & television personality.

Hande Doğandemir (31) Turkish - actress, TV host & sociologist.

Fahriye Evcen (30) Circassian, her paternal family are Turkish who immigrated from Kavala - actress.

Elçin Sangu (30) Circassian - actress & model.

Selen Soyder (30) Turkish - actress, activist, model & beauty pageant titleholder.

Ezgi Asaroğlu (29) Turkish - actress.

Merve Boluğur (29) Turkish - actress.

Ceyda Ateş (29) Turkish - actress.

Sinem Kobal (29) Turkish - actress.

Atiye (28) Turkish / Dutch - pop singer.

Xenia Deli (27) Moldovan / Turkish - model.

Leyla Lydia Tuğutlu (27) Turkish - actress.

Farah Zeynep Abdullah (26) Turkish - actress.

Hazal Kaya (26) Turkish - actress.

Serenay Sarıkaya (25) Turkish - actress and model.

Neslihan Atagül (24) Turkish - actress.

Gizem Karaca (24) Turkish - actress & model.

Lara Melda (23) Turkish / British - pianist.

Hande Erçel (23) Turkish - actress.

Melisa Şenolsun (20) Turkish - actress.

Sude Zulal Güler (?) Turkish - actress.

Male:

Halit Akçatepe (79) Turkish - actor.

Şener Şen (75) Turkish - actor.

Metin Akpınar (75) Turkish - actor & comedian.

Çetin Tekindor (71) Turkish - actor.

Kadir İnanır (67) Turkish - film actor & director.

Ferhan Şensoy (66) Turkish - playwright, actor and stage director.

Haluk Bilginer (62) Turkish - actor.

Altan Erkekli (62) Turkish - actor.

Erkan Can (58) Turkish - actor.

Ferzan Özpetek (58) Turkish - film director & screenwriter.

Serhat (52) Turkish - singer, producer & television presenter.

Fikret Kuşkan (51) Turkish - actor.

Yılmaz Erdoğan (49) Kurdish - filmmaker, actor & poet.

Erdal Beşikçioğl (47) Turkish - actor.

Halit Ergenç (46) Turkish - actor.

Nejat İşler (45) Turkish - actor.

Necati Şaşmaz (45) Turkish - actor.

Engin Günaydın (45) Turkish - actor & comedian.

Yiğit Özşener (44) Turkish - actor.

Burak Hakkı (44) Turkish - actor.

Cansel Elçin (43) Turkish - actor.

Cem Yılma (43) Turkish - comedian, actor, musician, filmmaker, scenarist & cartoonist,

Kenan İmirzalıoğlu (42) Turkish - actor and former model.

Mehmet Günsür (41) Turkish - model, actor and producer.

Haluk Piyes (41) Turkish-German - actor.

Hal Ozsan (40) Turkish-Cypriot - actor.

Okan Yalabık (38) Turkish - actor.

Murat Yıldırım (37) Kurdish / Arab, Turkish nationality - actor.

Engin Altan Düzyatan (37) Turkish - actor.

Mehmet Akif Alakurt (37) Turkish - actor & model.

Mert Fırat (36) Turkish - actor & screenwriter.

Engin Akyürek (35) Turkish - actor.

Buğra Gülsoy (35) Turkish - actor, architect, director, graphic designer & photographer.

Tolgahan Sayışman (35) Turkish - actor.

Kadir Doğulu (24) Turkish - actor.

Dennis Roady (33) German, possibly other / Turkish - internet personality.

Burak Özçivit (32) Turkish - actor and model.

Arda Turan (30) Turkish - footballer.

Barış Arduç (29) Albanian, Turkish nationality - actor.

Emre Turkmen (28) Turkish - musician.

Deniz Akdeniz (26) Turkish - actor.

Aras Bulut İynemli (26) Turkish - actor.

Çağatay Ulusoy (26) Bosniak / Bolgerian, Turkish nationality - actor.

Skandar Keynes (25) English / Lebanese, Persian, Turkish - actor.

Enes Kanter (24) Turkish - basketball player.

Ekin Koç (24) Turkish - actor.

Hakan Çalhanoglu (23) Turkish - footballer.

Emre Can (23) Turkish - footballer.

Sam Pottorff (21) Arabic, Turkish and White - vlogger.

Güven Kıraç (?) Turkish - actor.

Erdal Özyağcılar (?) Turkish - actor.

Alperen Duymaz (?) Turkish - actor.

Uğur Yücel (?) Turkish - actor, producer & director.

Trans:

N/A

Non-binary:

N/A

Use at your own discretion:

Taylor Marie Hill (20) Irish, Scottish, Turkish, and Native American - racism (x)

-C

#turkish faceclaims #turkish fc #fc masterlist #rph #fc help #task: 033 #task: turkey

37 notes · View notes

borntoreignrpg-blog · 8 years ago

Text

informe administrativo.

Antes de continuar con lo que hacías, echa un vistazo a nuestro resumen para mantenerte actualizado con respecto a todos los cambios ocurridos recientemente en el roleplay. ¡Sigue leyendo!

( RECUENTO )

→ Cantidad de personajes actuales: sesenta y seis (66). → Reservas vigentes: dos (2). → Cuentas pendientes: una (1). → Audiciones por aceptar: -.

↓ LINKS DE IMPORTANCIA ↓

MASTERLIST — USUARIOS — FACECLAIMS OCUPADOS — CUPOS OCUPADOS — LISTA DE HIATUS — AUDICIONES ACEPTADAS — RESERVAS —MOST WANTED — SIDEBLOGS — UNFOLLOWS.

( ÚLTIMAS INCORPORACIONES )

→ Asegúrate de seguir a:

Hanna Dagnýrdottír — Kwoun Jaewo — Aude de Maesschalck — Heathcliff Stavros — Katharina Eberhardt — América Asoáin.

( SALIDAS )

→ Deja de seguir a:

Quentin Ellingham — Akay Saglik — Zehra Saglik — Aleksanteri Joniken — Noora Søndergaard — Ingrid Reyers — Azra Levangie — Gabrijel Stjepanić — Fredrika Blomqvist — Angelika Steichen — Nayath Belgavi — Juliette Ellingham — Milena Cvetkova — Lorelei Bellamy — Donato Bianchi — Diorella Fairburn.

→ Rostros liberados:

Corey Fogelmanis — Max Ehrich — Felicity Jones — Zane Holtz — Liana Liberato — Emma Stone — Crystal Reed — Thomas Hayes — Ulrikke Falch — Leighton Meester — Zayn Malik — Emma Watson — Nina Dobrev — Emma Roberts — Colin Farrell.

→ Cupos liberados:

Inglaterra (CUPO 4) — Turquía (CUPO 2) — Turquía (CUPO 1) — Canadá (CUPO 2) — Croacia (CUPO 3) — Suecia (CUPO 2) — Luxemburgo (CUPO 2) — India (CUPO 3) — Inglaterra (CUPO 2) — Bulgaria (CUPO 2) — Irlanda (CUPO 3).

( EXTRA )

→ Todas las listas se encuentran ahora actualizadas. En caso de notar algún error en las mismas o el recuento, no duden en acercarse a nosotras. → En caso de desear volver al roleplay, si el cupo que utilizaban no se ha tomado, sólo deben pedir refollow junto con la nueva o vieja cuenta de su personaje. → Recuerden abrir el submit.

La administración de BTR agradece su atención. ¡Buenos noches!

#btr:recuento #btr:censos

1 note · View note

legendsofmyriad · 1 year ago

Text

Legends of Myriad: Arc One - Chapter 20: The Soul Mage

Chapter 19 | Chapter 21

Arc One Masterlist

-- -- -- -- --

“It is good to see you, Professor Quinn,” Bartholomew said, welcoming his newest guest with a firm handshake and a twinkle-eyed smile. “I hope your journey was not too uncomfortable.”

“Strange, but not troublesome,” Azra assured him.

“Your mentor had expressed great admiration for your skills.”

“I will do what I can to live up to that,” the soul mage promised, following his host deeper into the laboratory. He gaped at the vibrating equipment that sustained the professor’s work and the peculiar plants that crowded the garden at the far end. His eyes tracked the room’s magnificence up to the balconies, where he spotted the elegant flow of a long-backed coat and the harmonised aura of crimson and lavender. With a book in one hand and the other teasing the tip of her braid, Lilith wandered aimlessly above. She still concentrates the same, he thought.

Acutely aware of the attention aimed at her, she paused in her placid pacing and turned in his direction. In a gesture of surrender, he bent his head, a silent plea for some sign of clemency. When he rose again, the balcony lay bare, and Lilith disappeared up a winding staircase in a flutter of thin fabric and hurt. Though he was tempted to go after her, to talk to her before she stubbornly attempted to avoid him, Bartholomew’s assertive voice prompted him to focus on the more pressing matter of the storm.

Azra’s inner turmoil passed unnoticed by Bartholomew as he excitedly recounted the knowledge he had gained from researching past explorers of similar weather phenomena. “Am I right in assuming that you have been studying soul magic for some time now?” he questioned.

“Yes,” Azra said, distracting himself by an unusually large cluster of zedite. “Almost as soon as magic returned to Solgarde, I found myself drawn to the connection between the living soul and raw magic.”

“Ah, well, I would like to hear of your findings. Much has changed, and I am keen to learn about any fresh developments.”

“Altair kept copies of all of my published papers. I’m sure he’d be happy to share them.”

Bartholomew’s fascinated grin remained as he rose from the sheet-strewn surface of the desk he leaned on. “Before you begin your examination of the storm, would you like a tour?” he asked.

“I would appreciate that,” Azra answered. “While Professor Bevan provided me with some explanation as to what is going on outside, there are a few things that I need to clarify.”

“Of course. This way.”

Their voices fading, Altair ensured the double doors beside the compact botanical garden had swung shut before he trudged up the meandering staircases to the highest level. He slowed once at the top and approached the pensive woman as he would a boiling vial.

“A trio of professors,” Lilith grunted. “Just what I need.” She fought the compulsion to pick at the skin by her nails, clenching and unclenching her fists until the urge passed. Farina would only scold her for it if she saw the flakey mess. ‘A mage must take good care of their hands,’ her guardian always admonished when she noticed the dry blotches by her fingernails. ‘They are the bridge between you and magic.’

Altair relaxed his defensive expression. While in the past he may have reprimanded her for the snarky comment, he understood her current situation left her agitated. After the war, she had been resolute in her refusal to meet with Azra again, and although he was saddened by the rift between them, he respected her wishes. He tried to convince himself that this was different, the nine worlds relied on all of them working together, but the regret of breaking that promise to her still lingered.

“Why don’t you return to Solgarde for a little while?” he suggested, reminiscent of the fatherly manner he used to calm her when she tearfully admitted her doubts. “I am sure Farina would be delighted to see you and learn of your adventures.”

“I promised Bartholomew I’d help him wake The Core,” she sighed. “Until that is done and Myriad is safe gain, I must remain here.”

“Lilith.” Altair dithered by the railing, hoping that she might turn to him, but her violet gaze persisted in chasing the steady rotation of the holographic map below them, as though the twinkling golden glow would pacify her pain. “The purge is over. Azra wanted revenge, not to hurt anybody. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t consider the same if the opportunity arose.”

Lilith’s eyes blazed with a purple fire as she rounded on him and hissed a firm “no.” With a hard swallow, she straightened her posture. “I would rather spend an eternity in a nightmare than betray everybody I love. I’d never do what he did. He… he made a choice, he went against us, and… and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“One day you’re going to have to, otherwise it will consume you. Azra did what he did for his own reasons, and in the end, he realised the error of his ways and helped us win the war. He asked for forgiveness, he took full responsibility for his actions, and you cannot stand there and pretend you have lived a blameless life.”

Bristling under her skin, his words crawled and burst like firecrackers, barbed ashes sprinkling down to scorch her. He thought he had all the information, but he was missing crucial details she possessed. And as much as she wanted to correct him, to horrify him, she wouldn’t, if only to protect herself.

“People are dead because of him, people I loved,” she said.

“Azra used to be one of those people,” Altair replied, doleful and trying. “There was talk of union bells and-”

“Those rumours were nothing more than speculation,” Lilith asserted. “And this is not your choice to make. It isn’t up to you, or Farina, or the councillors, or anybody else for that matter what I do in this regard. If I wish to live the rest of my life hating that man, then I will.”

“Hate?” A sorrowful note crept into Altair’s voice. “Dearest, I may not have witnessed as many wonders as some, but I know more about matters of the heart than you realise. Hate and love are both born of passion and can be mistaken for one another. I have seen you hate before, and it did not look like this.”

His eyes fell to the criss-crossed floor as he took a step away from her. “But you are right, and I apologise for pushing the subject. I only want to speak with you about it because I see you are both in pain, and I wish to help you heal in any way I can.”

The fury waned. Stood before her, Altair’s distant demeanour appeared so meek and mild that a pang of regret mounted in her chest, not only for how she’d spoken to him, but for everything he had been forced to endure due to his association with her. Every time they met, she discerned the conflict within him as he tried to balance his loyalty to her and his former apprentice. It couldn’t have been easy to be someone who could fix complex machinery and equipment, but not the clash between the two people he cared about the most.

“I know,” she spoke measuredly, “but you must let it be. Some things just can’t be repaired, and it’s better to leave them alone than keep trying and make them worse.”

Altair expressed his understanding with a nod and a comforting smile that she gratefully returned. “Just promise to take care of yourself while you’re on your adventures,” he said earnestly. “Solgarde can be dangerous enough at times, but the worlds out there… stars above only know what awaits you.”

“As careful as I have always been,” she affirmed.

Altair’s bushy eyebrows arched. “You know,” he sighed, joining her by the balcony railing, “that is not as comforting as you think it is.”

* * *

The lab felt like a refuge as Bartholomew shut the door on the shrieking wind and ash flurries. He removed his gloves and goggles in one swift motion and threw them onto the shelf by the coat hooks.

“Azra is evaluating the storm,” he said, dusting the smoky specks from his waistcoat. “You have taught him well, Professor Bevan.”

“The credit is not solely mine,” Altair admitted. “He has nurtured his mind and been persistent in his education. Did I ever tell you how we met?”

Turning away, Lilith suppressed a roll of her eyes, knowing his golden student would have flushed to the tip of his nose if he were within earshot of the gushing praise. Azra had always loathed the spotlight that Altair’s proud speeches brought. In the past, she might have steered the conversation to protect him from unwanted attention, but instead she left the professors to their discussion and sidled over to the window, perching herself on the flat sill to watch the murky world outside.

Spirals of ash twisted in erratic oscillations as clumps rose and descended. She tried following one cluster, but it quickly clashed and split into several dizzying bundles. Those particles were once people. Withered and worn, their lives had become nothing more than specks in the weeping wind.

Azra’s magic pulsed within the swirling mass, edging out and up in deliberate, methodical shifts. Precise crimson forks injected life into the gritty cloud. If the war had taken a different turn, she may have been out there with him, trading sarcastic comments that left him smirking and blushing in a way only she knew how.

The mournful welling in her chest swarmed, and she pressed back against the glass, hunching over to control the unsteady bounce of her legs. She couldn’t keep doing this. She needed to stop dwelling on the past and pondering how matters may have turned out if certain decisions had never been made. He had chosen his path, and she had chosen hers. There was no going back now.

Deep in the recesses of her remorse, she wanted to forgive him, to return to the unity they had shared all those years ago. Try as she might to envision a life with him, the weight of his betrayal and the crushing heartache it left in its wake persisted. She still saw him stood with the enemy while her friends burned, while their home was hacked apart and families separated forever.

‘I have seen you truly hate before, and it did not look like this.’

It grated on her nerves that Altair was right. While she had vowed bloody vengeance against others she despised, she struggled to bring herself to think of Azra in that way. She didn’t know if she ever would, and the uncertainty gnawed at her.

“You seem rather deep in thought,” Altair observed as he seated himself at her side. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to pry again. Lesson learned.”

A smile crossed her face, and in response, the professor of magic grinned warmly. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to be so-”

“I take full responsibility for pushing,” he assured her, bearing his palms up in apology. “Sometimes my mouth runs away with my heart.” He squirmed on the hard and unforgiving wood beneath him, time-worn bumps digging into his thigh.

“Are you all right there?” Lilith asked. “Would you like me to fetch you a cushion?”

“No, thank you. I…” Altair huffed and ceased wriggling. “May I ask for your view on something?”

Intrigued, she shuffled to the edge of the broad windowsill and leaned toward the man who had guided her through her early adult years. He often sought her opinion, but this time his demeanour seemed different. More skittish than usual. “Go ahead.”

“I have been thinking about what I’d like to do once our situation with The Core has been resolved. Before and during the war, I had a purpose on Solgarde and I was honoured to use my skills for the betterment of our home. But now…”

Lilith’s attention fell to the professor’s wrinkled hands, wringing and trembling in his lap. “Something has changed?”

“It has.” The hologram of the nine worlds gradually rotating mesmerised Altair as he stared at the gentle spin, civilisations passing him by in a hopeful glimmer. “In the books here, I have studied what this planet looked like, how it used to function, and how vital it was to Myriad. I want to be a part of restoring it.”

“You want to stay here?”

“Not permanently, but for a good while. I think I could be of use, but with home still recovering from the war and our own people needing-”

“Stay,” Lilith told him, almost a whisper in the churning buzz of the room. “If this is where you wish to be, then you should stay. There’s nothing stopping you from helping Solgarde from here.” At the hum in agreement and the thoughtful tilt, she sensed the cogwheels in his mind turning, contemplating the future and his place in it. “You will be missed, but that’s inevitable.”

“It gladdens my heart to hear you say that,” Altair replied. “Wherever we both end up, you must promise to visit.”

“Oh, I’m not sure,” she said, feigning a dramatic sigh. “I shall be incredibly busy getting into all sorts of trouble.” She glanced at him with mischief dancing in her eyes, and he chuckled at her antics. “I’ll always make time for you. You know that.”

“I do,” he replied. While he remained steadfastly focused on the current task in hand, he couldn’t withhold his curiosity about what lay ahead. With the gateways opening up paths for all, he knew that Lilith’s journey would take her to places he could not follow, and he only hoped his prior care and nurture would prepare her for the adventure she would embark on.

Heralded by the screech of unnatural winds and trailing dirt, Azra hurried into the laboratory in a flurry of specks and cinders. With every slight movement, his crumpled shirt scattered pale grains that collected in the seams of his trousers and puddled around his shoes.

“That is quite the storm,” he said. “I didn’t realise living ash could cause such phenomena.”

“It is a rarity,” Bartholomew replied, hanging up his jacket with care. “Which is why we need your expertise.”

“I can’t be certain how long it will take until I begin working through it, but I’ll try my best to clear as much as I can,” Azra assured him as his host led him up the spiral staircase to the upper levels.

“You are more than welcome to stay here while you work,” Professor Spark offered. “Or if you prefer, you can travel to and from Solgarde should that prove easier. For now, I think it may be best for you to clean away the rest of the ash. It gets awfully itchy.” He gestured through a set of doors to the tranquil inner passageways. “Head straight down there and take a left at the end. There is a washroom on the far right.”

Azra thanked him and followed his directions, feeling the dust particles stubbornly clinging to his hair and ruffling the roots to dislodge them. Some caught beneath his nails and he grumbled as he picked them clean, peeling at the more stubborn flecks.

He was so preoccupied with the irritating grains he didn’t have time to stop before almost colliding with the dark-clothed figure rounding the corner. He stumbled in an unsteady retreat and striking violet stared up at him.

“Lili-” He coughed and righted himself, ceasing his fussing. “Commander Cleaver.”

“Professor Quinn,” Lilith said.

Azra’s wide eyes swept over her face and the curl of midnight hair that had slipped from her braided crown. There had been a time when he would have gently nestled it with the rest, but he sensed the hurt pouring from her soul, the raw ache he had caused and failed to remedy, and held back.

His bulky form blocked the faint sunlight dribbling through the window and plunged her into shadow, the raging elements outside roiling within the glowing wedge behind him. “It seems you brought most of the storm inside with you,” she commented, unclenching her jaw and curbing the compulsion to skim the ashes from his scrunched shirt.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he replied.

“But you can fix it?”

“With time.”

Lilith nodded and let her gaze roam the floorboards while Azra’s guilt roved, hunting for some trace of forgiveness. In that moment, she may have given it to him if he had asked, relented just to be free of the suffocating pain. Instead, he stepped aside to allow her to pass. Finally clear, the sunlight dripped further in until it swallowed her.

“I will let you get on,” he said into the quiet remorse festering between them. “I’m sure you have a lot to do.” For a tentative second, she hesitated, and he held his breath. Say something, he silently urged. Please. Disappointment gripped him as she walked by without so much as a hum in response.

As he started down the lengthy walkway, the sound of heels clicking grew distant and abruptly stopped. He strained his ears, waiting for her voice to call back. When he peeked around the corner, she momentarily faltered, on the verge of turning in the seconds before she straightened her posture and continued her purposeful strides.

When she returned to the central hub, the churn of the apparatus and muffled voices below provided her with a comforting distraction from her thoughts. Shoving the bothersome curl aside, she made her way down the twisting steps to the ground floor.

She arrived to an avid discussion and a jumble of books spread across the far desk, the two older professors engaging in an eager exchange of ideas and counterpoints. The hurried swap of theories reminded her of her early days at the Academy, corridors alive with academic debate and classrooms nurturing thriving minds. The first normal conversation she’d had with her friend, Nissa, had been like a blessing from the stars. Pastries, she recalled, wandering over to the screens monitoring Solgarde. She talked about her favourite pastries and how they were made.

A nostalgic smile graced her lips as the memories flowed. It hadn’t all been bad. She had had moments of joy, tiny and trivial to anyone else, but to her they extended merciful hands in those bleak hours. Their unwavering love reminded her that no matter what the future held, she had people who would be there to help her. And in the deepest recesses of her heart, nestled within the writhing shadows of deceit and hurt, she knew Azra was one of them.

-- -- -- -- --

If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider reblogging. Reblogging helps to get work out there and seen.

#legends of myriad #legendsofmyriad #fantasy #fantasy writing #story series #writblr #creative writing #fantasy story #writing #fantasy series #original fiction #original fic #original writing

1 note · View note

coffee-and-geto · 9 days ago

Text

BETWEEN FORMULAS, FLOWERS AND FEELINGS - SATORU GOJO

You are the imbalance in Satoru’s logical and rational reasoning.

pairing: nerd! gojo x student council president! reader

summary: being the student council president isn’t the easiest job in the world. It’s not like gojo — with his trademark glasses, his awkward smile hiding the most dangerous brain. because for him, he can resolve every problem, right? there is no formula that can escape his smart mind. not even you. so when he accepts to tutor you, could he really be sure feelings won’t become a new variable?

warnings: +18 MDNI, nsfw, smut, virgin! gojo, first time, oral (m! receiving), pinning, college AU, shojo vibes, quantum physics subject, slight angst, fluff, idiots in love, insecure! gojo, nerd gojo with glasses is hot, art by @/3-aem.

wc: 9,922

Ever since he was little, Satoru Gojo seemed to have been blessed with knowledge.

His very first Christmas toy — when he was finally old enough to have one — was a huge playset containing chemical transformation recipes to prepare by himself, using a handful of formulas and calculations.

When he turned ten, his parents gifted him a kit that allowed him to build his own electric train circuit, which he had to assemble using physics methods so that real electricity could power his trains — and sometimes even his cars.

By the time he reached middle school, scientific subjects like physics and chemistry became his second mother. Nothing escaped him. Formulas, molecular mechanisms, and chemical transformations held no secrets. This passion for complex methods shaped his logic.

For every problem, Satoru always found a solution. To him, the world was nothing but a set of solvable scientific probabilities, where nothing could slip through his grasp.

But growing up with barely controllable hormones… poor Satoru had experienced firsthand just how bitter that could taste, even at university.

The first time he asked a girl from his middle school to go out with him in his third year, Satoru never would have thought she’d laugh right in his face before calling him a useless nerd.

He didn’t let anything show. And yet, it was from that very day that Satoru’s glasses, his passion for science, and his own self-confidence betrayed him.

He decided to give up on feelings — classifying them as a deceitful, unscientific belief with a complete lack of logic, something better suited for grotesque purposes like the movies or romantic TV series that entertained uncultured people.

Satoru didn’t need emotions when logic always prevailed, never once disappointing him.

But upon entering university, he could never understand why — despite his silence and absolute discretion, buried in his studies — his cerulean blue eyes always seemed to find their way back to you.

You were the student council president of the school. Known for your upright mind, flawless organization, and a sense of justice so firm it sometimes bordered on harshness.

You had no time for anyone. You spent your days planning university events without wasting a single second — a notebook always pressed against your chest, and occasionally, a pair of glasses perched on your nose during intense activities like studying for exams or arranging event halls, which were regularly occupied by you and your staff.

What intrigued Satoru the most about you was your logic.

You planned everything, organized everything, all while maintaining grades nearly as excellent as his. You never wasted time hanging around with those ridiculous girls who would likely reject him if he ever dared to speak to them, and he had already admire witnessed you standing up for people like him — those trapped in their introversion and buried in their books — refusing to tolerate the injustice caused by the school’s most popular students.

A deep respect radiated from you.

Something Satoru refused to admit. Even though he knew you could short-circuit his brain in an instant.

Like that time when you had asked him for a pen at the library during your study session because he wasn’t far from your table. His face had turned crimson, and he could have sworn smoke was coming out of his ears. His mouth — so used to speaking with precision and efficiency — completely failed him in front of you.

The words got stuck in his throat, and the few sounds that miraculously managed to escape were nothing but incomprehensible stutters, earning him a confused frown from you.

In the end, he gave up on any attempt at conversation and simply handed you the best pen in his pencil case — his favorite. And he had almost silently prayed in his head that you would forget to return it so that you would keep it with you.

And he hated that.

This power you had over him — the way you made him nervous, shy, and desperate for you.

Just like in middle school.

Something he had sworn to leave behind.

~~~~

“NO, NO, AND NO!”

The event hall falls into a deathly silence as you shout your words with such force and vehemence that your fists crush the few sheets of paper still clutched between your tense fingers.

No one dares to move anymore — a part of the staff is busy moving boxes of decorations, two others are handing you papers to sign, some are hovering around you with questions, and others are amusing themselves by climbing ladders to place Christmas decorations — as if your scream alone has just pierced through the entire university.

With your jaw clenched, a vein pulsing at your temple, your cheeks flushed with anger, and your throat slightly irritated, you struggle to breathe as all attention shifts onto you.

“I said I haven’t decided on the organization of the Spring Formal yet, that nothing is supposed to be taken out, signed, or even requested until I’ve given the order, so what the fuck are you all doing here?!” you exclaim.

You push past the students in your way and snap your fingers at the two idiots fooling around with the decorations.

“You two — you’re fired.”

Then, you turn to the rest of the group handling the boxes. “If you don’t want to be fired too, hurry up and put that away!” Next, to the members waiting for you to sign papers. “Out!”

As the room empties in silence, filled with sulky and terrified faces at the thought of dealing with you, you take a deep breath before crouching down to the floor, burying your face between your knees, your arms trembling.

There isn’t much time left.

Director Yaga has given you a deadline to organize the Spring Formal, leaving you in charge of the theme, the venue, and the entertainment.

But, for the first time in your role, you are literally overwhelmed.

For the first time as well, no inspiration comes to you. The stress of classes, exams happening at the same time as the event date, your poor grades lately, and the pressure your team keeps adding on top of all that—at some point, you were bound to explode.

With all of this piling up, how are you supposed to manage?

That’s exactly what you asked yourself during your class that very afternoon, staring at your 40/100 in quantum physics.

With your heart sinking into your stomach, you hastily shove the paper into your bag, not caring in the slightest if it gets crumpled.

No one must see that the student council president allows herself to yell at her team while having such catastrophic grades. But your overloaded schedule no longer allows you to focus on your studies alone — how can you concentrate and stay organized when all you want to do is throw yourself out the window?

~~~~

“You need to register to require a tutor.”

“But I don’t need one.”

The male student raises an eyebrow. “So what are you doing here?”

You scoff. How dare he talk to you like that?

You’re in the library, one of the most soothing and stressful places in the world. You’ve had to find a way to get your grades up while you sort out your problem with Spring Formal, but in the meantime, you need to find a student who can tutor you without anyone knowing.

So what better way to find out than from the librarian’s assistant — who is also one of the Tutoring Center’s organizers?

“I need to know who’s the top student in quantum physics here,” you insist with a firmer tone.

Forgetting you’re at the entrance to the library, you purse your lips, a little embarrassed.

“We don’t have ‘top students’, prez,” he replies with a bitter smile — ah, so he knows who you are.

“So how do you help the students?” you ask with almost indignation.

He shrugs. “If you need help—”

“I do not,” you cut him off coldly, cheeks on fire as you adjust your bag over your shoulder. You sigh in annoyance at the student’s lack of efficiency.

“Then, how can I help you?” He gives you the most impertinent smile in the world, as if he’s just waiting for you to get the hell out.

You tuck a stray lock of your hair back behind your ear before rolling your eyes. “I need to talk to a top student in quantum physics, that’s all.”

The student looks at his fingernails as if they're the most important thing in the world and mimes huffing. “We don’t have any.” He looks up at you. “If you’re looking for one, there’s a nerd who’s the best in his class.”

Curiosity pricks the back of your neck, causing you to sit up straight. “Who?”

“Gojo, I think,” he said, frowning as if to remember his name. “Sato-thing, if I remember. Anyway, a nerd. You should know him, I guess.”

You shake your head, eyes almost squinting as you seek the memory of a Gojo name. But nothing comes to mind. So you shrug.

“What does he look like?”

“Albino. Blue eyes, nerd glasses, always dressed in a sweatshirt or shirt and he always has a book under his arm.”

“All right, thanks.”

Then you hurry out of the library and its oppressive walls, leaving the assistant to sigh with relief — as much as you do.

~~~~

“So, you are… Gojo Sato-thing?”

He has a little disappointed smile. “Satoru Gojo, prez.” With a nervous gesture, he places the strap of his shoulder bag back on his shoulder and adjusts his glasses, which slide down his nose.

You stare at him motionless for a few seconds, speechless at the all-too-perfect likeness of the Tutoring Center manager’s description. He’s got a book under his arm, a Digimon t-shirt over a dark blue plaid shirt and an innocent look on his face — he really wasn’t wrong.

You blink. “Um… yeah. Whatever.”

You check that no one in the corridor of the quantum physics wing has left any students lying around who might surprise you with him, then let out an exhausted exhale.

Faced with his 6'3, you owe it to yourself to raise your eyes and chin a little higher.

“I need your help. You're the best physics student in the class, right?”

He turns the toe of his shoe as a tic on the floor and nods imperceptibly.

“Perfect. I’ve got a little problem right now and—”

“Do you need me to do an assignment for you?” he says almost as if trying to divine your thoughts — is that hope you see in his eyes?

“No.” You knit your brows. “I’m having a problem with my grades and I’m swamped with my event responsibilities and I'm starting to get grades...” You chew the inside of your cheek to hide your pride before muttering, “...pretty bad. And I don’t feel like being given help publicly.”

In his confused expression, you add, “Otherwise it would be a real shame...”

From his height, Satoru’s shyness almost flies away in a gust. He’s got you there at last. In front of him. Talking about something. Like a dream come true — a reality where he no longer knows what his name is but whatever.

He even perceives a blushing creeping up your cheeks as you drift your gaze a little lower to your own shoes and your lips crumple into an adorably embarrassed and frustrated little pout.

Then of course he’ll help you.

He would give you more if he could, and he promises to himself he’ll do it.

“So you need me as your secret tutor?” he clarifies so softly.

You look up at him, clearing your throat. “Basically… yeah.”

“Fine. I can do that.” A small smile spreads across his pink lips and he digs his hands into his jeans, which are a little baggy for him.

You flicker your eyes, confusion animating your features. “Is that all?”

“Do you need anything else?” And you’d have sworn you saw hope still shining in his ocean-blue irises.

“What? No,” you retort incredulously. “But don’t you need something in return? Like, money or something?”

“...No,” he exhales, reducing his smile — though it still lingers. “I don’t mind helping you. Just give me your free hours so we can set a date. If that’s okay with you, of course,” he hastens to add, as if afraid of upsetting you.

Your lips part slightly. “O-Okay,” you finally say. “I’d like to do this as soon as possible.”

“How about today?” Satoru suggests, with a little more enthusiasm than he had anticipated himself. “Or even now, if you want.”

“Now?”

“Yeah,” he says with a happy nod.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit too earl—”

Barely ten minutes later, you find yourself sitting next to him once again in the library, which, for once, is not too crowded, pretending to have a casual conversation while, in reality, he is analyzing your failed test papers with an expert eye.

One elbow resting on the polished wooden table, one hand holding one of your sheets between his fingers, and the other with his index and thumb supporting his chin, Satoru lets his gaze travel line by line over your flawless handwriting—so much so that he forgets he’s supposed to be concentrating on helping you.

And not on the pretty way you write the letter ‘S,’ wondering how close he’d be to a cardiac arrest if he ever saw his name written by your hand.

When he finally manages to analyze the mistakes on your paper, Satoru straightens slightly in his seat, adjusting the collar of his unbuttoned shirt that suddenly seems to be strangling him with an invisible noose, despite his neck remaining completely free. His heart pounds at the speed of light — almost literally.

Calculations and formulas have always been child’s play for Satoru; his brain has always been wired for logic, rationality, and the addictive thrill of adrenaline coursing through his veins when he makes a new discovery, a new analysis that falls perfectly into place — like completing a puzzle and watching it come to life, or like a house of cards standing strong until the slightest imbalance brings it all crashing down.

You are the imbalance in Satoru’s logical and rational reasoning.

For Satoru, love is not a science. It’s just hormones that one must learn to control and not be fooled by.

And yet, even though he has devoted his body and soul to science, his heart will never cease to be yours — under your implacable and irrevocable hold.

Even with all the scientific weapons in the world, he will always be powerless before you.

With a flutter of snowy lashes, he returns to reality, setting his gaze on yours; persistent, waiting for him to say something, to give some kind of critique.

His mouth goes dry, heat rushes to his cheeks as he clears his throat, embarrassed.

“Well, uh... I guess we can start revisiting the notion of The Uncertainty Principle, if that’s okay with you.” He gives you a quick glance so unconfident that you restrain yourself from doing what you're thinking of: ripping off his adorable cheeks — adorable? Since when do you find nerds adorable?

“Okay,” you say, pulling a draft sheet closer.

As you move your chair closer to his to concentrate better thanks to the proximity, the effect is quite the opposite on poor Satoru. He nearly loses all composure when his trembling fingers close around his pencil.

“W-Well… Um, do you want me to give you a quick lesson on this again? You didn’t seem to grasp much of the concept.”

“If you can use simple words…” you mumble without much hope.

He swallows hard before explaining, “A rule in quantum physics says: you can’t know both the exact position and momentum of a particle at the same time. The more you know about one, the less you know about the other. Got it?”

You squint, uncertain, as you rest your chin in the hollow of your palm. “Mh-hmm…”

“So,” he draws two Delta symbols, each followed by an x and a p, then an equal sign, “this one represents the uncertainty in position while the other represents the uncertainty in momentum.” He leans slightly forward to clearly define the terms for you before breaking down the formula, trying not to sweat under the ghost of your breath caressing his hand because of how close you are.

“Okay. I don’t think I quite got all that.”

“It’s okay,” Satoru replies with a slight smile as he adjusts his glasses on his nose before returning to the sheet. “You confused uncertainty with actual errors in measurement, and you tried to calculate exact values for both position & momentum, which isn’t possible.” He draws an example of throwing a ball vs. tracking an electron. “You can’t pin down a quantum particle perfectly — it’s like me trying to figure out what you’re thinking all the time. Impossible, right?”

“...Right.”

“You don’t understand anything, right?” he sighs, a slight frown curling his lips.

“Honestly? Not a word,” you chuckle, a soft, honest melody that caresses his ears.

“Let’s make it more real for you, prez, then,” he snorts too, wiping away a big smile that deepens his dimples. “Imagine you’re running around campus planning this big Spring Formal thing. If I try to track exactly where you are at one moment, I have no clue where you’ll be the next second. But if I focus on how fast you’re moving between meetings, I can guess you’ll end up in the library… but I won’t know the exact second you get there. That’s basically the Uncertainty Principle — can’t have both at the same time.”

“Ohhhh, okay!” you say, a light illuminating your face. But a second later, your features drop. “But, wait… that doesn’t make sense. If we have better tools, we can just measure both, right?”

He chuckles softly. “Nope. Even if we had the best measuring tools in the universe, the universe itself won’t let us know both at the same time. It’s not a technology problem — it’s just how nature works.”

You groan, frustrated, and slump over your notes. “Physics is pain.”

He shakes his head, a lighter smile blooming on his lips. “You’ll get it, I promise. You just need time… and a good tutor.”

“You?” You snicker, but not meanly — just teasing him in this mood that feels so comfortable with him, something you never thought you’d experience. “You’re losing me more than I was before.”

You both sigh after a while, and he gives you a practice exercise, which you rush to complete so he can correct it.

For the first time in maybe weeks, or even months, you haven’t felt this light. Quantum physics has always been a difficult challenge to overcome, despite your habit of planning everything to avoid stress. But sometimes, doing everything alone has led you to not ask for help when you needed it the most.

So when someone reached out and showed you how relieving some of that weight could feel, the sensation sparked a desire in you — one that didn’t want this to end.

But you’re afraid it will make you dependent.

So it’s best not to get too attached, right?

~~~~

The following week, even though your understanding of quantum physics has somewhat improved, your stress refuses to do anything but skyrocket toward a full-blown anxiety attack.

Principal Yaga summoned you to his office because some students — the two you expelled last week — went to complain about your nervous and excessive behavior, claiming it warranted psychological support.

Outraged, you defended yourself by pointing out the inefficiency of your team, who fail to meet your needs without considering the mental load that comes with your responsibility as the student council president. And yet, that wasn’t enough to calm Yaga, who dismissed you with a stern reminder that if you don’t finalize the Spring Formal preparations soon, he won’t hesitate to replace you with a more competent organizer.

The mere thought — no, the haunting fear—of being replaced like a cheap supermarket doll plagues your nights with nightmares.

So, the obvious anxiety growing inside you bleeds into the most crucial moments — the moments when you’re supposed to stay focused instead of silently wallowing in your situation.

“Need help, prez?”

Ripped from your daze, you lift your gaze to the voice beside you, only now realizing that he’s been sitting next to you since the start of the lecture — completely unnoticed, completely ignored.

It’s Satoru, his laptop open in front of him, a small, friendly smile turned toward you—and only you. That tiny detail sends a strange, foreign wave through your stomach — not unpleasant, though.

“Oh, you’re here,” you mumble, turning your attention back to the professor.

“Since the very start, yes,” he replies, his voice softer now, tinged with a faint hint of disappointment as he twirls his pencil between his long, nimble fingers.

A silence settles between you, neither of you seeming inclined to break it.

In the lecture hall, only the sound of keyboards clicking and the amplified voice of the professor fill the large room. You try your best to follow along, scribbling notes as diligently as you can, but at this point, it feels like trying to form words by randomly pressing keys — you understand nothing.

“Need help?”

You slowly lift your head toward the familiar voice.

“You can explain it to me later, you know?” you mutter, careful not to let anyone else overhear your conversation — it could cost you.

“And we could save time by explaining it now.” His tone is soft, rational, kind, altruistic — every synonym that embodies maturity and gentle responsibility.

He’s made of sugar. Just for you.

You sigh, finally giving in with a nod, as Satoru flips his laptop into tablet mode to explain the purpose of the chapter — the name of which you’ve only just learned, despite an hour and a half of lecture on Wave-Particle Duality.

“So,” he says, writing the formula on his tablet with a stylus. “The general concept is quite easy. Quantum objects — like electrons — can act as both particles and waves, okay?”

You nod, leaning in closer to his shoulder to observe the definitions of the formula’s terms — a faint scent brushes against your senses. Clean laundry and a subtle drop of cologne. The scent imprints itself in your lungs pleasantly enough that you have to mentally slap yourself to keep from getting distracted from Satoru’s explanations.

He glances at you with those sharp blue eyes and raises an eyebrow. “You know what wavelength means?”

“It’s just for light, right?”

He snorts quietly. “Particles.”

“Oh.”

He holds back another laugh and continues his explanations.

Several minutes later, you find your eyes glued — no, entranced — by Satoru, this nerd with glasses that hide a brain far too brilliant for you. Maybe even for the entire university.

You notice it in everything he does — setting aside his physical appearance, which you’re starting to find cuter and cuter without even realizing it — every cell of his body breathes science, logic, the thirst for discovery. His brain analyzes every possibility, his fingers manipulate rationality, and his glasses help him weigh the pros and cons. His long, straight nose gives him an infallible instinct, a sixth sense that never fails, and his smile — his pretty, thin, pink lips—illuminate hypotheses with a dangerously innocent charm.

But he himself doesn’t even realize it.

“See? It’s like… imagine if you could be both a super serious president and a total mess at physics at the same time. Oh wait — that’s already happening,” he teases, a playful, cute smile blooming on his lips as he glances at you with sparkles in his eyes.

Oh, that damn smile.

And without meaning to, you join in his laughter, covering your mouth with your palm so as not to be heard as, for the first time in weeks, a weight is lifted from your shoulders. The little analogy that might have irritated you a few days ago seems silly to you. Why do it when he’s here?

The bell rings, announcing the end of class, and the hubbub of the students urges you to put your things away as much as possible before the teacher gives you more homework than you already have just to understand the lecture.

With your bag slung over your shoulder, you make your way towards the exit, at the end of the herd of students who have made you lose sight of Satoru. A little disappointment contracts your heart, but after all, why should he be waiting for you? There was no need. You’re not friends. Just two students who are nice to each other (well, mostly Satoru).

So as you walk out of the lecture hall, you almost come face to face with a 6’3. Your nose collides painfully with a hard, bumpy surface — wait, of abs?

Impossible.

A hand much larger than yours wraps around your elbow to steady you and meets your eyes down on your wincing face.

“Oops, sorry,” Satoru apologizes as his smile evaporates. “Are you okay? I just wanted to wait for you.”

Was it abs?

“No worries, I'm fine,” you assure with a smile as self-conscious as it is forced, one hand rubbing your sore nose. “That's sweet.” Then you look away to calm the blush that spreads like a puddle from your neck to your scalp and pray it's unseen.

“You sure?” he insists with a concerned frown.

“...Sure.”

Once your face has cooled, your eyes stare at the spot on his torso where your nose collided. That flat spot under the shirt that appears a little less to you now, seen up close. It's as if with every swell of his breath, you can see the beginnings of an abdominal bulge, but you shake your head to get this far-fetched idea out of your head.

Letting your hand fall back, you offer him a more confident smile and lead the way. “Shall we?”

With a slower nod, he follows you.

To bridge the silence between the two of you in the deserted corridors, you nudge him in the ribs and say, “You know, I still don’t get how you find physics fun.”

He feigns pain and smirks — does he only smile when he’s with you?

“I don’t find it fun, strictly speaking, but really very interesting. At least, enough to make me face my major.” He pauses to give you a teasing look. “And I still don’t get how you survive on four hours of sleep.”

“I am a vampire,” you grin stupidly, “I love working at night. I feel productive.”

“I see that. Your bags speak for you,” he chortles.

“For real?” you mouth, running your fingers over your dark circles as if to check his words when it makes more sense to look in the mirror rather than feel you up.

“Just joking,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze on the floor a second before looking up back at you. “But you seem very stressed lately, am I wrong?”

You don’t answer right away, reluctant to tell him about your doubts and what’s been bothering you for weeks. But you can. This is just two friends from the same quantum physics class strolling around campus at the end of a long day, isn’t it?

But maybe not close enough for him to be really interested in you? Maybe he’s just asking questions out of politeness and not out of any real concern for you. After all, you’re not really close.

“It's alright, just uni and student council stuff, as always,” you murmur with averted eyes. “We also need to plan our next tutoring session.”

“Yeah...” Satoru shoves his hands in his pockets and lets silence fill the gap between the two of you before resuming. “Maybe we could do it somewhere else this time, couldn’t we?” he offers without much hope in his voice.

You knit your brows. “What?”

“I mean... do you—uh, never mind.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Huh?”

He seems to chicken out and look away but you catch it before he could hide it — the tips of his ears are red.

“Nothing. Just... you’re really into this whole Spring Formal thing, huh?” he mumbles.

“Of course. I have a lot of work to do on it. But what were you asking me?” you insist with a softer tone and your hand wrapping around his arm — remarkably built, you note internally.

He finally twists his neck toward you to face you, lips pursed into a conflicted pout.

“You’re going to refuse.”

“You didn’t even try to ask,” you almost in a mid gasp and chuckle.

He runs a hand through his tousled snowy hair, then slips it around the back of his neck, rubbing it like a nervous tic. “I see that you’re stressed — even if you deny it. So would you accept to... maybe do work on our tutoring lessons in a better place?” He panics slightly under your unfathomable gaze, just waiting for the next part of his words. “I mean... I know a place where it could be less stressful and more relaxing because you deserve it... But of course,” he adds hastily, “it doesn’t commit you to anything and you don’t have to accept and we can totally carry on doing it at the library because really it’s just a stupid idea and I should just keep my mouth shut—”

“Satoru.”

His heart stops beating and he thinks his brain has short-circuited as he realizes it’s the first time you've said his first name in that tone.

Softly, reassuringly, and with obvious joy.

“Of course I’d like to work with you somewhere else. It means a lot to me that you thought of me like that,” you say softly as you stop in front of some stairs so you can look him straight in the eye. “I can give you my phone number and you’ll just have to send me the address, how’s that?”

Okay. His brain really has just short-circuited.

He doesn’t even remember how he managed to hand you his phone and record your number, wish you a good evening and return to his dormitory after being subjected to your beaming smile — of a particular radiance he’s never seen before on your face in all the time, however long, he’s spent gazing at you wherever you are — radiant even.

Lying on his bed, he stares at the ceiling. The silent night allows his thoughts to grow louder, as if several were trying to express themselves at once.

However, one image takes root in his eyelids when he closes them before sleeping.

You.

~~~~

“You shouldn’t have.”

“Do you really need to make this even more embarrassing?”

You shake your head. “It’s not fair.”

His features sag, and he lets out a tiny sigh. “Just please, accept it. I made it for you.”

At your feet lies a picnic blanket with red and white checkered patterns. On top of it are homemade sandwiches, cans of fruit juice, berries, cakes, and even a tub of ice cream resting inside a mini cooler. Satoru has even arranged the space to avoid a chaotic mess while working and has brought ultra-comfortable cushions to make the tutoring session as pleasant as possible.

He can’t do this.

Not with you, who arrived at the quiet, sparsely crowded city park, right under the most magnificent Japanese cherry blossom tree.

The cool breeze blows gently around you both, sweeping away a few strands of your hair that you’re forced to tuck behind your ears.

“Sit your ass down,” Satoru mumbles, looking away to hide an obvious embarrassment, though his hand pats the empty space he left just for you.

So, reluctantly, you sit cross-legged, grabbing a random sandwich — just so he won’t sulk — and try not to cry because it’s so ridiculously delicious. The berries couldn’t be fresher or juicier than any you’ve ever tasted, and not to mention the cakes he brought. The majority of the food is sweet — his sweet tooth showing up a little too obviously.

“Hope it tastes good,” he adds, his lips forming a slight pout.

“Never ate something that good,” you respond, mouth full of food. “You’re an angel.”

The word makes him freeze for a solid thirty seconds before he shakes his head and lets his gaze drift away — always avoiding — toward the nearby lake.

The ground is sprinkled with pale pink petals, blending into the vibrant green grass of this March afternoon. A few birds chirp in the distance, hardly anyone comes near your secluded spot, and the peaceful silence reigning over the park creates the perfect environment for getting work done.

Swallowing his own mochi, Satoru watches you take out your notes on the latest physics chapter, and instead of sitting across from you, he allows himself to settle beside you this time — without you pulling away.

He was hesitant from the start and may never be able to stop feeling nervous around you. No matter how often he’s around you or how much more familiar he grows with your presence, he can’t control those sudden spikes of nervousness that hit when he’s already comfortable — only for one small action or movement to give his poor little heart a crisis.

You hand him the exercises you worked on last night, and while he reviews them, you take out your planner and notepad — the ones you carry everywhere (even to bed and the bathroom)—to go over the organization of the upcoming Spring Formal.

An event that’s happening soon. An event with absolutely nothing planned yet.

You quietly jot down notes on possible themes, but after another glance at the endless, sprawling branches of the massive cherry tree, you sigh and toss your notepad aside onto the picnic blanket. No ideas in sight. You have no choice but to admit your incompetence. Your failure is inevitable.

“Here.” Satoru hands you back your corrected exercises, and you quickly scan through them.

Since the beginning of your sessions with him, you have to admit — you’ve improved.

This time, there are fewer scribbles and corrections from Satoru. Your formulas and applications are more precise, clearer, and better developed. All thanks to your hard work and Satoru’s expert guidance — the science genius himself.

There are still some non-negligible mistakes to fix, but at least the encouraging smile from your tutor warms your chest, silently telling you that you’re on the right track.

“This is really not bad,” he murmurs softly near your shoulder. “You’re seriously improving.”

“Thanks to my good tutor,” you reply, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

“What flattery. I don’t deserve this much.” Yet his so-called humility is betrayed by the deep red blush dusting his ears.

“Quite the opposite. I wish I could pay you back somehow.”

“You don’t need to. I told you it was my pleasure to help you.”

“And I feel bad about it,” you confess in a whisper.

“Don’t,” he insists — and dares to wrap his slightly trembling, warm hand over yours on the blanket.

Your heart flutters, like a butterfly trying to take flight, only to be tossed around by the wind.

“Thank you,” you whisper, with more honesty than you’ve ever given anyone.

“For being a good friend? Don’t worry, I’m glad to have you as well, honestly,” he murmurs back, punctuating his words with a light squeeze of your hand.

“And I—” he clears his throat, “...really appreciate you.”

Friends. Appreciate you.

“I appreciate you too. Really. I’m sorry if I mess up every move you try with me to help me,” you add with an apologetic smile. “Stress always ruins my life.”

“I told you that you couldn't deny it.” He raises his eyebrows and lift up an uncertain arm — seeing you not reacting has reassured him enough to pluck up the courage to pass it around you to console you. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

You let yourself go against him, burying half your face against him. “I’m in deep shit about organizing the Spring Formal. I haven’t prepared anything, I have no idea, and yet I’ve got plenty to do. Mr. Yaga warned me that he might replace me if I went on like this, and I feel like everything’s going to shit,” you say in a breath, a tiny barrier of vulnerability cracking.

His arm tightens in an attempt at comfort. He nods slowly, inhaling long breaths of fresh air before making a clicking sound with his tongue.

“Where’s your notepad?”

You hand it to him without protest, and he immediately grabs it and flips through it. Then, when he finds a blank page, he grabs a pen lying near the two of you and jots down a few sentences, the words of which you can only read when he hands you the notebook.

“An alignment of the planets?” You raise a curious, surprised eyebrow.

He nods with his chin and sketches a smile.

“It only happens in spring, practically. And there will be one before long.” He squeezes his arm around you again and chuckles. “A theme about planets might be nice, don’t you think?”

Lips parted, you gaze into the azure sky. Himself a little disarmed by your lack of reaction, he frowns without giving up his smile and softly pronounces your first name.

With zero control over your movements, there’s nothing to stop your lips from pressing tenderly against Satoru’s smooth, soft cheek — a firm but gentle kiss leaving an invisible, indelible trace on his radiant skin as you pull away to look into his eyes again.

“You're an angel,” you repeat a second time.

Well, the second time too, when Satoru’s heart, no longer knowing how to beat, simply stops beating.

~~~~

“Move them a little more to the right— Yes, that’s perfect.”

Your trusty notepad clutched against your chest, you admire the preparations unfolding in the venue for the upcoming Spring Formal, where the theme of planetary alignment is set to make this year’s university event truly unforgettable.

Finally, you’re no longer spending your time yelling at your team and barking orders fueled by the vibrant sparks of your stress. Instead, you’re giving clear instructions, each one accompanied by an encouraging smile for everyone.

“Maybe we could add midnight blue velvet curtains,” Satoru suggests, leaning over your shoulder, his chest brushing pleasantly against your back as he glances at the list of missing decoration orders. “We could stick fake stars on them, and it’ll draw more attention to the planets. What do you think?”

“I like the idea,” you giggle, despite the way your insides somersault when his warm breath grazes your ear, sending waves of goosebumps down your skin. You jot down a few notes as Satoru leans in even closer, gently resting his chin on your shoulder. “Not surprising, coming from the quantum physics genius of the entire university.”

Even though there’s nothing official between you — not if you ignore the feelings and trust that make Satoru more confident and relaxed in your presence — nor any concrete relationship, the warm intimacy settling between you two is anything but uncomfortable.

It’s like a mutual friendship, fully acknowledged by both of you, yet intertwined with threads of love left unspoken — often betrayed by moments of closeness like this one.

“You’re gonna make me blush again,” he admits with a light laugh, soft and delicate as a cherry blossom petal.

“Oh yeah?” You turn your head toward his — just enough for your faces to be so close that the tips of your noses brush. “Why?”

He sighs, fluttering his eyes closed for a brief moment before opening them again. “You know why…”

“I’m clueless when it comes to guessing thoughts, my hot nerd tutor,” you coo, a little grin spreading across your lips — those same lips he wanted to kiss until he couldn’t breathe anymore for the rest of his life.

“Maybe I could show you, then.” And gently, he places his hands around your waist, an easy, soothing smile on his face. “Is that okay if I do that?” After your nod, his smile grows even wider. “Also, could we do our next session at my place? I can’t stay at the library today because my mom is waiting for a package while she’s at work, so she asked me to take care of it.”

“Of course.” You take note of his suggestion while the rest of your team rushes to decorate the room and move boxes — some opened, some not. Then, you turn back to him, feeling the slight tremor of his hands against your body, the way the blood rushes alarmingly fast to his face, and how his eyes avoid yours.

“Blushing?” you giggle.

“You’re not embarrassed? I mean— It’s my place, not my dorm or the library, you know,” he mumbles.

You graze a kiss on his soft cheek and grin. “You’re freaking cute.”

“I’m not joking,” he whines lowly, a small, worried furrow forming between his brows.

“As am I.” You give his arm a little squeeze. “Everything’s gonna be alright. I don’t mind having you all alone in your house, though.”

And you burst into laughter when he chokes on his own saliva at your words — having never seen someone turn so red before.

~~~~

“I knew you liked physics, but not that much.”

Before coming to set foot in Satoru’s room for the first time, you expected to be dealing with a simple, uncluttered, organized room, and above all far more filled with bookcases overflowing with books rather than...

...the opposite.

Stepping into Satoru’s room feels like entering a nerdy galaxy of controlled chaos. His desk is cluttered with thick physics textbooks, some stacked neatly, others left open mid-read, pages filled with complex equations you can’t even begin to understand. Among them, a few manga volumes peek out, half-hidden like a guilty pleasure. Above, a whiteboard covered in messy formulas and doodles dominates the wall, the marker strokes chaotic but somehow full of purpose. His ceiling is scattered with glow-in-the-dark stars, forming actual constellations if you look closely, and a floating moon lamp sat on his nightstand, casting a soft glow over his unmade bed.

Everywhere you turn, there is something to mess with — a plasma ball that lit up at your touch, a Newton’s Cradle clicking rhythmically on his desk, even a weird futuristic clock displaying time in some incomprehensible format. His monitors hum with life, one running a sci-fi screensaver while another had what looks like a physics simulation he’d probably forgotten about.

And yet, despite the overwhelming nerd energy, it was… comfortable. Lived-in. A place where ideas sparked and theories came to life — exactly what you could imagine his space would be if you’d thought things through a bit more.

“Wow,” you murmur, entranced. “It’s… just beautiful. Like a museum.”

“Heh? You’re flattering me really too much,” he chuckles nervously, scratching his neck where his undercut is. “But I’m glad if you like it. I want you to feel home,” he adds softly.

“Home?” You turn to him with a slightly embarrassed and moved smile. “You’re my home, actually.”

Nothing you say makes sense. Your racing heart lets your mouth babble nonsense and scare Satoru away. You’re far too embarrassing—

“I feel the same for you.”

Like a needle piercing a balloon, your vital organ explodes in your chest.

The next second, your brain regains control and orders your legs to move towards him, until your torsos brush against each other and your breaths mingle, giving birth to a gentle flame that burns only to be consumed.

Satoru whispers your name. “Can I try something?” he mouths.

You nod imperceptibly, your gaze lost in his ocean eyes.

Tenderly and with the most delicate gentleness, he cups your cheeks, tilting your head so that your face faces directly forehead to his. So close, you have a detailed view of the number of his light eyelashes, the different shades of blue mingling in his irises, the pleasant warmth of his tepid breath against you.

Then, his lips brush yours first, as if testing your reaction. But when your fingers latch onto his light-brown V-neck sweater, he feels the pressure rise in his blood and slowly, but suddenly, crushes his lips against yours.

It’s not rushed — just a soft press of lips, tentative, almost careful. As if he's afraid of breaking something fragile. So to encourage him, you sigh softly in contentment, then tilt your head the slightest bit to fit better, closer... Your hands remain gently clasped to his sweater.

He seems to get your message, because the next thing you know, he’s relaxing, moving more slowly and comfortably against yours. The world outside that moment doesn’t exist. Just him, just this — his lips, softer than you expected, the careful way he kisses you, as if he is memorizing every second of it. Time stretches thin, and even when you finally pull apart, neither of you move far.

Slowly, you open your eyes, only to find him already looking at you. His gaze is different now — quieter, warmer, like he is seeing you in a way he never had before.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The silence is soft, not awkward, filled with a kind of understanding that doesn’t need words. And then, just barely above a whisper, Satoru exhales a quiet, shaky laugh.

“Oh.”

Just that — like he hasn’t expected this, like he’s still processing the fact that it happened at all. And maybe it’s the way he looks at you, stunned and a little breathless, or maybe it’s just the warmth still lingering between you, but you find yourself smiling, a tiny, barely-there curve of your lips.

“Yeah,” you murmur back, voice quieter and warmer than you intended.

Neither of you moved away. Not yet.

You lower your head, a hot flush creeping up your cheeks and neck, and that's when you also understand where his “oh” is coming from.

Oh.

While he turns away to hide his face in his hands and prays to be buried in a grave on the spot, you burst out laughing — a frank, non-judgmental laugh. Simply savoring this pleasant moment with him (albeit with one small problem).

“Just with a kiss? Satoru, I swear you’re the cutest!” you continue to laugh, half-folding with your arms hugging your belly.

“It’s not f-funny!” And the poor guy doesn’t even dare turn around as he adjusts his pants, which is where his “problem” lies.

Smiling, you move closer to him, your lips still prickling from the perfect kiss. One of your hands slips to his shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he mumbles, hiding his face again from your sight.

“It is,” you insist, wrapping your hand around his wrist to look at him. “I’m not judging you, I swear. It’s not like you can control that, is it?”

“I know, but— It’s so embarrassing. I feel like a poor virgin nerd that — well, It’s not like I am not but—”

You freeze, slowly losing your smile. “Wait… you’re a virgin?”

He nods, a little shameful pout creasing his lips.

“I—” you trail off. Taking a short breath, you lower yourself a little more to look at him as he covers his crotch with one hand. “I can help you with that, you know.”

His eyes widen, heart hammering in his rib cage. “W-What?”

An umpteenth laugh shakes your chest. “I mean, yeah. I don’t mind and I like you.” Then an idea pops into your head, like a lamp regaining its light. “Like, it would make up for the effort you put into helping me get good grades. What do you think?”

He straightens abruptly and gently but firmly pushes your hand away by the wrist. A serious look despite his embrace adds.

“No way. I already told you I don’t want anything in return.”

“But it’s just to please you,” you insist, flickering your eyes. “Don’t you want to know how it feels?” You take a few steps forward until you can wrap your arms around his perfect torso — the ideal balance of slim and muscular.

Your chin rests on his breastbone, a little imploring pout on your lips.

“C’mon, just an oral, I promise. I want to return the favor.”

He swallows hard, lips parted as if the words are stuck somewhere between embarrassment and want. His gaze flickers between your face and the floor, a mix of reluctance and curiosity in his eyes.

“But I—” His voice cracks slightly, a nervous laugh escaping him. “I don’t know what I’m doing…”

You smile, a quiet, knowing smile, and slide your fingers slowly down his arm, your touch lingering on his skin. “It’s okay,” you say, your breath barely above a whisper. “I’ll guide you.”

You can see him shiver at the words, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You take your time, moving in closer, making sure to leave no space between you. Your lips brush against his jaw, a delicate kiss that makes his entire body stiffen for a split second. He doesn’t pull away, though, and that’s enough to encourage you to go further.

“Just relax,” you tease, pulling back slightly to look up at him. “I promise I’m not going to bite.”

“I know, I just need to sit a bit,” he whispers, a wave of uncertainty in his eyes.

You pull away from him, feeling the palpable tension between the two of you. “Of course.” You take his hand in yours and guide him onto his bed. When he sits down on the mattress, you find yourself kneeling between his legs.

As your hands busily unzip his straight gray twill pants, you maintain eye contact. “Tell me if it’s too much or if you wanna stop, okay love?”

Love.

He nods gently, his elbows pressed into the softness of the mattress to get a view of your movements without him lying down completely. Lips trembling, Satoru feels obliged to bite them to calm himself as the heat almost suffocates him while all he has left is his boxer shorts hiding his growing erection under the thin fabric.

You can feel the air thickening between you, charged with the kind of quiet intensity that makes your pulse race. Your fingertips wrap around the waistband of his boxers and tug them down gently, letting the fabric rub against his length while he’s hissing.

“Sweetheart—”

“Relax, I’m just getting started,” you chuckle fondly.

When the underwear is pulled down, his erection springs free, slamming on his half-covered abdomen. The poor little thing, left alone, twitches painfully — dragging sounds like cute and innocent whimpers from Satoru — like it’s begging for your touch for a decade.

You curl your lips together, genuinely stunned by his size. 7 inches isn’t nothing.

“So you’re packing this from the start?”

“I— No…” He sighs, clenching his jaw as his eyes flutter closed. “Please, it’s already embarrassing.”

“But why? You’re beautiful, Satoru. And I’m not talking about your dick,” you snort. Your gentle, affectionate tone makes Satoru forget how to breathe and open his eyes again. “You’re beautiful on the inside too.”

“You’re only flattering—”

“I am not,” you state firmly, getting up from your knees to straddle his hips and cup his cheeks until they puff like mochi’s and he’s pouting.

Fucking adorable.

“Have you ever been into a relationship?” you whisper after pecking a kiss on the corner of his lips.

He shakes his head, stuttering a no.

“So can I call you mine? Because I’d be yours if I could,” you mutter next to his jaw where you peck another kiss that makes him shiver and grip your hips with his hands.

He opens his mouth to say something and hesitates. “A-Are you sure?” he asks, eyes filled with doubt. ‘I’m a nerd and—”

“And my type is nerd guys,” you cut him off before pulling him into a passionate kiss. He gasps, tightening his grip on your as his lips gently taste your and steal his breath away. “I love you, Satoru.”

“Love you more. Since the first time I laid my eyes on you,” he murmurs back between kisses, eyelids shut.

You slightly pull away, a smile springing to your lips. “Pinning on me for so long? Aw, sorry to have been blind for this long too, then.”

He resists the urge to take you in his arms and lets you back down onto your knees, this time with his oversensitive cock throbbing in your hands as you begin to stroke it up and down, base to tip with all the slowness you can manage so as not to make him cum too quickly.

Satoru’s hips jerk up instantly, his chest rising and lowering because of his stuttering breath.

“Your hands feel so good and soft,” he whispers, sliding his big hands up to your shoulders, which he gently massages to relax you too. What a gentleman. “So much better than mine…”

“Yeah? You like it?” Eager to please him for his first time, you place a kiss on his angry red tip, licking a little strop with the tip of your own tongue.

“Hgn— easy,” he pants, hands shaking slightly as they interrupt their massages on your shoulders when yours lead them on your head, tangled with your locks. “What are you—”

“You can use my hair, if you want.” And you punctuate your words by taking his length back between your hands and kiss the fat head. It twitches in response, stealing little giggles from your sweet lips. Beads of precum leak along his length, helping you to wet him enough to stroke him faster as you part your lips and slide them down the length of him.

Satoru’s breath hitches when you take him, sucking in slow, deep strokes as your hand grips the base of him. You pull back slightly, your lips sliding back up, and you hear him groan, a sound that makes you ache. You repeat the motion, taking him deeper, sucking harder as you run your tongue along the underside of his cock, feeling him twitch in your mouth before you pull back again.

“Feel good?” you ask sweetly.

“You’re perfect,” he breathes out — even whimpering in neediness, “thank you so much…” His hands tighten in your hair, pulling you even closer, but it’s not enough.

You don’t stop. Instead, you take him deeper, your lips tightening around him as you move faster, the sound of your mouth on his cock filling the room, drowning out everything else. Satoru’s breath grows shallow, irregular, his body starting to tense, his legs flexing as he tries to hold back.

But you can feel it. The way he is so close, the way his body is winding tighter with every flick of your tongue. His fingers pulled at your hair, unsure to guide you just how he wants because what you were doing is already something he’ll owe you all his entire life — he is desperate, needing his release.

“F-Fuck,” he stutters, fingers digging in your scalp deliciously for you pleasure. “I love you, but please, g’nna—”

“—cum? Yeah, do it, love,” you purr affectionately as you teasingly suck his sensitive tip until he’s whining and fighting for his hips to not thrust up and hurt you.

He is there — at the edge — his cock twitching in your mouth, and you know he can’t hold on much longer. With one last deep, slow pull, he cums, his hips jerking as he releases into your mouth with a long, desperate groan. You swallow every drop, sucking him clean, your hands gently massaging his thighs as he slowly comes down from the high.

Satoru’s breath is ragged, his body shuddering as he slowly opens his eyes. He looks at you like you’re some sort of angel from heaven, and you smile, wiping the corner of your mouth before standing up.

“Feel better?” you ask teasingly, your voice light despite the heat still pooling in your stomach.

He sighs deeply, rubbing his eyes before carefully sitting up and hugs you in a tight embrace. He blows kisses all over your face, murmuring thank yous and how much he loves you and you find yourself in awe.

“You’re welcome, it’s the least that I can do for you, after all.” You press a big, firm, and sincere kiss on his cheek, and cannot stop smiling.

~~~~

The main room is bathed in a deep blue, soft, ambient light, the atmosphere almost otherworldly. Stars shimmer faintly on the walls, and delicate, hanging lanterns cast a stunning cold glow, like constellations scattered across the ceiling. The whole room seems alive, breathing with energy, as guests drift through the space, their laughter and chatter blending into a gentle hum.

At the center of the hall are huge telescopes, available for anyone curious enough to observe tonight’s planet alignment. The most important event of the Spring Formal.

Around the perimeter, tables are set with shimmering candles, their flames flickering softly, casting shadows on the faces of the students who’ve come to admire the setup. The smell of roses and lavender lingers in the air, mixing with the faint scent of freshly baked treats at the snack table. It feels like a dream — a celebration of the night sky brought to life.

Satoru stands beside you, his hand lightly brushing against yours as you both take in the beauty of the room. His smile is small but warm, his gaze drifting from the decorations to the crowd. There’s an unspoken pride in the way he looks at you, knowing you had a hand in making all of this happen, bringing the theme of the planets to life with such care.

“This is... perfect,” he says, voice soft but full of admiration. His words are simple, but they carry weight. You feel a soft warmth settle in your chest at the sincerity in his tone.

A small smile blooms on your lips. “Yeah…” you agree, turning to face him fully, now a grin spreading across your face. “It really turned out great. Thanks to you.”

His cheeks tint pink at the praise, and he shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, but the pride in his eyes is unmistakable.

“You really made this all come together,” he says, voice full of admiration. “It’s amazing.”

For a moment, you simply smile at each other, a comfortable silence settling between you. The warmth of his gaze makes your heart flutter in your chest.

“Want to dance?” you ask, already knowing his answer, but wanting to ask all the same.

He hesitates for a moment, that same shy, unsure side of him creeping back, but the smile on his lips says everything.

“Yeah,” he says, his hand finding yours once again, this time with more confidence. “I’d love to.”

As you both step onto the dance floor, the lights change again, and for a moment, the two of you are surrounded by the glow of the stars and lanterns, your bodies moving to the soft music that fills the room. It’s not a fast, frantic dance — just slow and gentle, like you’re in your own little world. You feel the gentle sway of the music, and the weight of everything around you fades, leaving just the two of you in perfect harmony.

Maybe it’s the magic of the planets aligning, or maybe it’s just him — but either way, you think, you wouldn’t mind orbiting around Gojo Satoru a little longer.

a/n: there we go! I AM DRAINED BC OF SCHOOL AND COURSES GUIDANCE BC LAW IS SO HARDDDD!! hum hum, beside that, i hope you guys had a nice week and that you are all taking care of your little faces (if not i'm gonna do it for you). writing this felt like... refreshing? i mean, nerdjo is the little mochi i'm eating when i go to the supermarket lol. and gosh, he's so cute that i'm going crazy haha.

reblogs, comments, and likes are very appreciated as always <3

also, this is how i pictured this cutie pie:

tags: @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422 @drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t @wisheclairr @sanemistar @monokaix

4K notes · View notes