#“source of my bruises” she says

[maranull]

Lae'zel, pls. I'm trying to be negative here.

Why do you have the best confession I've seen so far and also why did you literally kill me right after.

Ma'am??

[fushitoru]

chapter 8: the lake a bridgerton au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, SUGGESTIVE, making out, touching bare skin pre-marriage (the scandal), eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, description of injury, concussion, blood, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ both you and gojo discover contradictory feelings lodged deep in your heart, and a confrontation (with an unexpected ally) leads to a rather....wet conclusion. (4.6k)

a/n additional warning that this chapter is not beta read. this may seem like a short chapter but it has TEAAAA (if you didnt already guess from the summary). i pushed myself to finish this for the peeps who finished finals this week so it may be a bit messy. anywho see u down below <3

prev. the rebound | next. the embers

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Dearest gentle reader,

This Author finds herself most intrigued by the unfolding events of the Inos' recent ball. It appears that Her Majesty has not yet abandoned her faith in the diamond she so carefully selected. Will her confidence prove to be misplaced? Only time shall reveal the truth. Yet one cannot deny that fortune seems to shine—dare this Author say, sparkle—upon Miss Itadori of late.

Last evening, she graced the ballroom with a strikingly altered appearance, one that left tongues wagging and gazes lingering. Most notable, however, was the company she kept. Duke Nanami himself was seen at her side, engaged in conversation that appeared both earnest and uncommonly animated. A rare sight indeed, for His Grace has shown little interest in the charms of other young ladies this season. Could this be the beginning of something extraordinary? This Author will watch closely.

And who could forget the Gojo house party, where the drama rivaled even the most lurid novels of the circulating library? Whispers abound of a certain Lord Naoya Zen’in, who, it seems, departed the event looking rather... bruised, both in pride and in visage. What transpired to cause such a spectacle? Alas, my sources have yet to provide all the particulars, but one can only assume that tempers flared—and perhaps fists followed.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Satoru wipes his knuckles on a spare handkerchief, marring it with streaks of crimson. After the blood coating his hand is cleaned off, it reveals light bruises. 

He always abhorred such physical entanglements. Let other men soil their reputations in drunken brawls or duels over imagined slights; Satoru prided himself on wit and charm, a tongue sharp enough to parry any insult.

However, for the first time, it seemed that the blasé duke-to-be Lord Satoru Gojo, ever so apathetic to others and their struggles, was not so blasé anymore. What affected him was contradictory; after all, he had made a big decision to avoid being affected by the woman herself. So why was he so…inconsistent? Perhaps it is this unpredictability, capriciousness the reason he has to distance himself from any others who may be in harm’s way—the way forged by Satoru himself. There is no space for inconstancy, irresponsibility, whimsicality, or contradiction in his life, especially not with his duties and the weight held over his shoulders. 

But he allows himself this, one last time. Your expression lingered in his mind—the way your lips parted in shock, the stiff set of your shoulders as you brushed past Naoya’s lecherous words without deigning to respond. He had seen the moment your composure faltered, a crack in the armor you wore so effortlessly. The crack only he was supposed to cause.

It was intolerable.

As soon as pale pink ribbons trail out of the room, he moves toward Naoya, completely ignoring the lady who was talking to him and her trailing protests. When he’s right in front of the other man, he gives him a curt nod. “Naoya.”

The other man’s eyes—which were before no doubt prowling on other unsuspecting ladies—flit to him in surprise. “Lord Gojo, what a pleasant surprise. I daresay—”

“Meet me in the courtyard,” Satoru interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Naoya’s brows shot up, but he recovered quickly, a sly grin curling his lips. “A private word? How intriguing. Lead the way, my lord.”

Satoru didn’t wait to see if he followed. His stride was steady, his purpose unwavering.

The cool air of the courtyard carried the faint strains of music from the ballroom, the chatter of guests dimmed by the stone walls. Satoru turned to face Naoya, his stance deceptively relaxed, one hand resting on the pommel of his cane.

“Now, my lord,” Naoya drawled, his smirk widening. “To what do I owe this rather dramatic summons?”

The reply came not in words but in the swift arc of Satoru’s fist, connecting solidly with Naoya’s jaw. The sharp crack of the blow shattered the stillness, and Naoya stumbled, clutching his face as shock registered in his eyes.

“What in blazes—”

“Hold your tongue,” Satoru bit out, seizing Naoya by the lapels of his coat and slamming him back against the cold, unyielding wall. His tone was calm, his voice low, but it carried a menace that silenced all protests. “You will not speak of her in that way again. Do you understand me?”

Naoya grimaced, his defiant eyes narrowing despite the pain. “Ah,” he sneered, a breathless rasp laced with derision, “this is about Miss Itadori, isn’t it? Playing the chivalrous hero, are we, Lord Gojo? Or is it your own wounded ego driving this display?”

The next punch silenced him mid-taunt, burying deep in his abdomen. Naoya doubled over with a strangled gasp, his knees threatening to buckle, but Satoru held him upright, his grip vice-like.

“Speak her name again,” Satoru hissed, leaning close, his voice cold enough to chill even the night air, “and I swear you’ll find yourself in far worse condition.”

The tension between them crackled like a storm. For a fleeting moment, Naoya’s lips twitched into the ghost of a sneer, but his words died unspoken, arrogance muted by the sheer force of Satoru’s fury. Satisfied, Satoru released him with a sharp shove, watching dispassionately as Naoya crumpled against the wall, gasping for breath.

“You are mad,” Naoya spat, wiping at the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “You’ll ruin yourself over this.”

“Perhaps,” Satoru replied evenly, smoothing the cuffs of his sleeves as though nothing had happened. “But I’ve never much cared for your opinion, Naoya.”

He turned on his heel, his steps measured, his expression impassive.

The sting in his knuckles was a small price to pay. Unfortunately it seemed that for you, it was a price he would pay again and again.

He had told himself the decision was rational. Logical. Your match had to cease because it had begun to unravel him. You were a distraction, one he could not afford. His life was designed for control, every action measured, every move calculated. A match with you, he had realized, would be unlike any other. It would mean more. It would demand more.

And yet, how could he feel this jealousy? This fierce protectiveness? It was contradictory, maddening even. His resolve to avoid entanglements of the heart warred against the memory of your laughter echoing through his mind. It was absurd, but he could not dismiss the sharp ache in his chest whenever you looked at another man, especially one so undeserving as Naoya Zen’in.

He had known from the start that you were different. No coy smiles or simpering obedience. No easy conquest to stroke his ego. Your instant rejection of him during your first meeting had been a blow to his pride and a revelation he had been too stubborn to acknowledge then.

Satoru was not a man who chased after women. He had no need to. And yet…

But even as he walked away, Satoru couldn’t help but feel the cracks in his own carefully constructed armor widening. What, indeed, was he doing?

You startle in your sleep, sitting up abruptly on your bed in the dark.

The season has taken a turn for the good, so far. With Whistledown singing your praises and the Queen not yet deciding to behead you, you were on the path of securing great prospects, whether it be with Duke Nanami or someone else.

“But you’re missing something, aren’t you?”

The voice is a low murmur, brushing the shell of your ear like the ghost of a touch. Your heart leaps to your throat as you twist toward the sound, your eyes darting across the dimly illuminated room. The corners of the chamber remain steeped in shadow, the moonlight doing little to ease your apprehension.

“Who’s there?” you whisper, clutching the sheets tighter, your knuckles whitening around the fabric.

The silence stretches, thick and oppressive, before a figure emerges from the shadow near the mantle. He moves with a predator’s grace, his steps silent against the floorboards. Even before he fully steps into the moonlight, you know who it is.

Gojo.

“You look startled, my lady,” he says, his voice carrying an infuriatingly casual lilt, though his gaze fixes on you with unnerving precision.

“This is a dream,” you murmur, your voice trembling despite your effort to remain calm. “You are not real.”

“And yet,” he replies. “here I am. Curious, isn’t it?”

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat refusing to budge. He’s closer now, standing at the foot of your bed, his pale hair catching the silvery light like a halo—an angel or a devil, you can’t decide. “What do you want, Lord Gojo?” you demand, your voice sharper than you feel.

His eyes sweep over you, lingering for a moment too long before meeting your gaze again. “To commend you, of course,” he says. “You’ve been doing well—dancing with dukes, charming the Queen. The season’s darling.”

His words cut, though you can’t say why. “Why does that matter to you?” you snap, sitting straighter, as though defiance could shield you from the heat simmering in his gaze.

“It doesn’t,” he replies smoothly, though the corner of his mouth quirks into a smirk that betrays him.

“Then why are you here?”

His answer doesn’t come in words. Instead, he steps closer, his boots brushing the edge of your rug. Slowly, deliberately, he reaches out, his gloved hand catching a strand of hair that’s fallen loose. He rolls it between his fingers, as though testing its silkiness, before letting it slip away. “Because I can’t seem to stay away,” he murmurs. His voice is low, meant only for you, and it sends a shiver through your body.

You scoff, though the sound catches in your throat. “You’re insufferable.”

His chuckle is soft, a deep rumble that seems to linger in the air. “And yet, you don’t look away.”

Your fists clench around the sheets, anger flaring in your chest—anger at him, at yourself, at the fact that he’s right. Before you can stop yourself, you throw the covers aside and rise to your feet. 

He doesn’t step back. Instead, he stands still, a study in casual defiance, though his gaze flickers with something you can’t name as you move closer. His eyes lazily drag up and down your frame, which you notice is only covered in a flimsy, almost translucent nightgown.

“If this is a dream,” you say, your voice trembling with fury and something unspoken, “then it doesn’t matter what I do, does it?”

His smirk falters, replaced by a glimmer of uncertainty that only fans the reckless fire inside you. “Perhaps not,” he murmurs, though the tension in his voice betrays him.

Your hands shake as you reach out, your fingers curling into the lapels of his coat. His eyes follow the movement, then stare back at you, into your eyes. For a brief moment, his breath hitches, and his hands twitch at his sides, as though warring with the instinct to touch you. But the flicker of surprise in his eyes tells you he didn’t expect this.

With a sharp tug, you pull him closer, your lips meeting his in a collision of unspoken longing, yearning, and pining. The kiss is unsteady at first, as if both of you are testing the waters, but it quickly deepens, becoming a clash of fire and desperation. His hands find your waist, his grip firm but not demanding, as if he’s holding on to something precious.

You press closer, letting the reckless freedom the dream gave you sweep you away. His lips part against yours, and the kiss turns slower, more deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment, savoring you, devouring you. But then, his hands shift, moving from your waist with a slow, tantalizing seductiveness. They skim over your hips, his touch deliberate, before trailing down to the curve of your thighs. His fingers brush over the soft fabric of your nightgown, the heat of his touch searing through the barrier like it isn’t there.

Your breath hitches as he lingers, his thumb tracing a path along the sensitive skin just above your knee. The sensation is electric, and yet it feels like forbidden ground—an intimacy you’ve never dared to imagine, even in your most audacious thoughts.

It’s then that the dream begins to unravel.

His form flickers, as though caught in the haze of a mirage, the sharp lines of his figure softening. The room darkens, the corners of your vision blurring as though the world is folding in on itself.

“No,” you whisper, the word barely audible over the sound of your own pounding heart.

He looks at you one last time, his eyes filled with an intensity that feels as real as your racing pulse. And then he’s gone, the dream dissolving into nothingness, leaving you gasping and clutching the sheets. When you wake, the echo of his touch lingers, the heat of his hands on your thighs an ache you can’t explain. You press trembling fingers to your lips, your breath catching as though the kiss was still happening.

But no matter how much you try, you can’t shake the memory of his hands, of the way he’d touched you like he belonged there. Like he had always belonged there.

You choose to blame the irregular slumber you have gotten this past fortnight as the reason why you are being so discourteous. For Duke Nanami’s words drift your mind, never truly being registered, as you both had strolled, promenading hand in hand. 

It is not merely His Grace who suffers from your inattentiveness. Any suitor who dares to approach is met with the same distracted gaze, your thoughts elsewhere. Whether it is the lingering remnants of that unbidden dream—one you’ve tried and failed to forget—or the fleeting moments where you think you spot Lord Gojo across the green only to realize it is a figment of your imagination, your mind is a battlefield.

A few awkward conversations—where you are not truly present—pass and go, until you sit by the lakeside of Surrey Park, deciding to take a break from the conversations that awaited you if you were to stroll towards your family’s pavilion.

But not now, for here, nature offers solace. The gentle ripple of water, the soft rustling of leaves, the occasional bird song—all soothe the cacophony in your head.

You settle onto a bench, your gown fanning around you, and allow yourself to breathe. But even as you close your eyes and tilt your head toward the sun, the peace does not come. Your thoughts betray you, circling back to him—his infuriating smirk, his piercing gaze, the way his voice seemed to linger in the air long after he was gone. The dream was completely unbidden, unexpected. You had only started to move on and start this season anew. It seemed as your consciousness was working against you in an effort to bring fictional desires to life. 

You knew clearly that Gojo was infuriating, and had colored your name. So why must your mind actively go against what was clearly a certitude?

Before you could ponder on your thoughts for much longer, you heard her.

“You do seem terribly at ease for someone of your…reputation.”

The voice startles you, cutting through your reverie like a blade. Your eyes snap open, and there stands Lady Mei Mei, her expression a mask of genteel venom. You sigh inwardly, and bring on your best smile, albeit artificial. “Lady Mei Mei,” you greet, striving for composure. “To what do I owe this very unexpected…interruption?”

“Interruption?” she echoes, feigning offense. “How quaint. I merely wished to congratulate you on your newfound popularity. Though, I must say, the…boldness of your wardrobe choices does make one wonder.” Her gaze drags over your form, disdain dripping from every word. “Are you seeking a husband, my dear, or something far less respectable?”

Your fingers curl into the fabric of your skirt, but you maintain your poise. “Boldness, Lady Mei Mei, is often mistaken for confidence by those unfamiliar with either.”

Her lips twitch, but the venom remains. “Confidence, or desperation? It is difficult to tell with one so eager to flaunt herself before the ton. Tell me, do you find it tiring? Whoring yourself out for attention?”

The word lands like a slap, sharp and stinging, and you feel the surge of heat rise to your cheeks. Slowly, deliberately, you rise to your feet, smoothing the folds of your gown as you stand. Your chin tilts upward, a shield of composure against the venom Mei Mei has hurled your way. You desperately fight the urge to slap her into nonsense, but there are eyes, no matter how hidden from public view you may think yourself to be.

“I find it far less tiring than wielding envy as one’s primary weapon,” you reply, your voice cool yet cutting, every syllable sharpened to a blade. “But then, I would not expect you to understand.”

Mei Mei’s lips twist into something that might have been a smile, had it not been dripping with malice. Her eyes narrow, the sunlight catching the cold glint of her stare. She shifts closer, the deliberate grace of her steps at odds with the tension crackling in the air. For a moment, you think she might lash out—a slap, a shove, something physical to match her words.

But before the storm can break, a voice, smooth and deceptively warm, cuts through the charged silence.

“Lady Mei Mei.”

Your breath hitches, and you whip your head around to see him. Lord Gojo strides toward you both, his movements as fluid and effortless as a ripple across the lake’s surface.

For a moment, your mind stutters, unable to reconcile the sight before you. He’s here. Not lingering at the edges of the crowd, not offering a polite nod of acknowledgment before disappearing into the fringes of Surrey Park. No, he’s walking toward you with purpose, the light catching in his silver hair, his focus unerringly fixed on the scene unfolding before him.

The man who had, for days, seemed to find every excuse to avoid you (and you him), whose gaze had flicked past you as though you were nothing more than a fixture of the lawn—he was now approaching with a startling intensity, his presence impossible to ignore.

His expression is inscrutable, but the faint furrow of his brow betrays something darker beneath the veneer of his charm. The tension in his jaw, the faint set of his shoulders—it all speaks of an intent that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Lord Gojo,” you whisper under your breath, your voice barely audible over the blood rushing in your ears. What is he doing here? And why, when he looks at you, does it feel as though the air has shifted?

Lady Mei Mei recovers first, her voice cutting through your disarray like a blade. “Lord Gojo,” she purrs, her saccharine tone a stark contrast to the venom she had wielded moments earlier. “What a surprise to see you here.”

But you can’t take your eyes off him. You’re too stunned, too disoriented by his sudden appearance and the sheer force of his presence. Why must he appear now? 

His gaze flicks briefly to Mei Mei, his lips curving into a polite smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, before his attention returns to you. And when it does, it’s as though the world narrows to the space between you.

“Not half as surprising as overhearing this delightful conversation,” he says, his tone light, almost lazy, but there’s an edge to it—a sharpness that wasn’t there before. His eyes meet yours again, and this time, the intensity in them is impossible to ignore. Your breath holds itself in, your confusion and shock colliding with something you can’t quite name. There’s no teasing quip, no playful smirk to soften his words. Just the weight of his gaze, pressing down on you as though he’s searching for something you don’t understand. Then, he returns it to Mei Mei. “I was unaware you had taken to dispensing moral judgments, my lady. Though I suppose one must occupy their time somehow.”

The barb lands, and Mei Mei’s smile falters. Her spine stiffens, her fingers twitching at her side, but Gojo doesn’t stop. He steps closer, his boots crunching against the gravel, and the shift in his demeanor is subtle but unmistakable.

“I would suggest, for the sake of civility,” he says, his voice softening to something far more dangerous, “that you refrain from such remarks in the future.”

The crowd, drawn by the commotion, murmurs from a distance. You feel their gazes prickle against your skin, their curiosity thickening the already-tense air. Mei Mei’s cheeks flush a pale pink, and her hands clench at her sides, the effort to maintain her composure palpable.

“You dare—” she begins, but Gojo cuts her off, his voice a degree colder now.

“I dare a great many things, my lady. Do not test the limits of my patience.”

The words hang heavy in the air, silencing the murmurs of the crowd. Mei Mei’s breath quickens, and though her lips curl into a sneer, the fire in her eyes dims. After a moment, she dips her head again, but this time it’s no longer polite. It’s forced, a concession.

“Very well, my lord,” she says, her voice tight. “I can see when my presence is no longer welcome.”

Lady Mei Mei walked past you to exit the scene, clearly disgraced after Lord Gojo had surprisingly butted in to your defense. Her turn was sharp, and her skirts flared. Then, she did something you hadn’t expected. After all, you were nonplussed from Gojo’s appearance in of itself that you did not have much awareness of your physical environment. Foremost of all, you were furious. How dare he waltz into the scene, aiming at playing hero and gentleman after all he has done to you this season? The anger consumed you, leaving you ignorant to Lady Mei Mei's schemes.

The movement came quickly—a flick of her hand, subtle yet purposeful, as though she intended to brush away an inconvenience. Only, her target was not the hem of her gown or an errant lock of hair. It was you. That is, that was the intention of the action. However, fortuitously enough for you, Lord Gojo had noticed it.

With a sharp tug, his hand closed around your wrist, pulling you aside just as Lady Mei Mei's push landed—on him.

The splash was enormous.

For a moment, the world stood still, the lake swallowing the ripples as though it too were stunned by what had just transpired. Around you, gasps echoed, punctuated by the soft clink of champagne glasses dropped in surprise. All eyes turned toward the water, toward the spot where Gojo had disappeared.

Your pulse pounded erratically, caught between the shock of it all and the mortifying realization that everyone was watching. Watching and waiting.

And then, like something out of a scandalous painting that no young lady of good breeding ought to admit having seen, Gojo emerged.

The water clung to him as though reluctant to let go, his white shirt turned sheer and pasted to his torso, revealing every lean muscle and curve beneath. Droplets trailed from the tips of his silver hair, tracing maddening paths down the sharp edges of his jaw before disappearing beneath the soaked fabric. His black necktie clung damply to his throat, accentuating the hollows there, and when his eyes met yours—gleaming with mischief and something darker—your breath hitched.

It was obscene. 

The crowd seemed to agree, though their response was far less scandalized than you might have expected. The ladies weren’t laughing; no, their gazes were riveted, their fans fluttering in a feeble attempt to hide their obvious fascination. Their admiration was palpable, their whispers laden with awe.

Flustered, you took a few steps back to give him space and to not drench yourself (a/n lmaooo you’re drenched already bestie), but you mentally noted to yourself to make his pectorals bigger in your dreams (not that you would continue to have such salacious dreams, of course. It was the mind creating desires you never had, obviously.) It was apparent that you were still very distracted, for you did not notice the two pairs of footsteps rushing towards your direction, towards Gojo.

“What happened?” Duke Nanami looked at Gojo’s very…wet state, concerned and alarmed. “What did you get yourself into this time, Satoru?”

Gojo, who was still wiping water from his hair and grinning like a fool, gave him an exaggerated look of innocence. He ran a hand through his damp, platinum hair, the gesture almost too casual for someone in his drenched state. As he did so, the hem of his shirt inched upward, revealing a tantalizing sliver of bare skin, a sliver that led downward to a trail of white hair disappearing beneath his waistband—

“Kento,” Gojo laughed heartily, as if there were nothing amiss. “You worry too much! A little water never hurt anyone.”

Lord Geto, on the other hand, had been trailing behind Nanami. At the sight of Gojo, he started laughing, snickering mischievously at the sight.  He had a knowing look on his face, as if he were fully aware of the scene he was witnessing—Gojo’s accidental plunge into the lake being just another moment of unintentional chaos.

“Oh, Satoru, you're impossible.” Geto stepped closer, shaking his head in mock disbelief, but his smile was far too amused to be truly accusatory or reproachful. "Did you get knocked into the lake by your own... charm?" His voice dripped with sarcasm as he glanced at the crowd of ladies now eyeing Gojo as though he were some mythical creature freshly emerged from the depths.

Nanami sighed, his brow furrowing as he crossed his arms in that ever-earnest manner that seemed to constantly play contrast to Gojo’s reckless energy. “This is exactly why you need a keeper at all times, Satoru.”

Gojo, still basking in the odd mix of amusement and the lingering attention of the nearby ladies, merely shrugged. “I’m fine, Kento. Just a little... refreshment is all.”

“By the looks of it,” Geto continued with a raised brow, “I’m more concerned about you than you are of yourself.” He gestured with a lazy wave, motioning toward the way the water had soaked through Gojo’s shirt, revealing a lot more than was likely intended. “And, I mean, look at that—those ladies aren’t gazing at you for your intellect.” (a/n LMAO ate him up)

Before Gojo could lob a retort, Nanami interjected with his trademark no-nonsense tone. “Enough of this,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re soaked to the bone. Let’s get you inside before you catch a chill—or create an even bigger scene.”

Gojo lingered for a moment, casting a leisurely glance around the gathering. The ladies, previously locked in their own conversations, now shamelessly ogled him, their fans fluttering uselessly against the rising heat in their cheeks. Their gazes trailed after him as he started to walk away, and you swore you caught more than one wistful sigh among the crowd.

And yet, even as he moved farther from the lake and closer to the house, his steps deliberate and unhurried, he suddenly stopped. Slowly, his head turned, and his piercing blue gaze found yours with unnerving accuracy, as if he’d felt your bewildered stare all along.

His smile appeared—lazy, confident, and maddeningly seductive. The corner of his mouth tilted up just enough to make your stomach flip, and his eyes... Oh, his eyes. They gleamed like a predator’s, sharp and teasing, and yet impossibly inviting.

The world seemed to tilt, the air around you thickening. Your chest tightened with the realization: that smile wasn’t for the crowd, nor for the fawning ladies he left in his wake.

It was for you.

Your cheeks burned, your thoughts a chaotic mess as he turned back and sauntered away, water still dripping from his hair and shirt. The ladies continued to gawk openly, but you remained rooted to the spot, your heart pounding erratically.

Oh, that bastard.

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a/n so....erm this was definitely a CHAPTER.....BUT AH POOKIES ITS HERE i got so excited bc i got the idea to write his lake fall so i finished this chapter. it's a bit messy, like i said, but i hope you liked it <333

I WANT TO SUCK GOJOS DICK BADLYYY i think this chapter was posted so fast after the last bc im on my period and im horny so hence the lake scene was born like i rawdogged this shit in five hours

ANYWYAS THERES PUSH AND PULL YEARNING PINING...so much contradiction hmmmmmm

miss itadori malfunctioning when gojo got out of the water (like a complete SLUT)

anyways i hope some of you WHORESS that simped for bridgerton!geto will be coming anew to simp for our main MAN. this debauchery i approve of. i fear all anons, especially zaynesbathrobe anon and anon in my walls, will be having a field day with this one

thank you for readinggg! please comment and reblog to let me know ur thots :3 (esp reblog, a lot of people have been binging bridgerton!gojo recently and spam liking. tumblr daddy might lock me up and shadowban me/mark my account, so reblogs would be appreciated <3)

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[starsintheskyandtheeye]

Phantom Lane

Danny Phantom and Lois Lane are an under utilized combo.

One of Lane's sources in a story she was following comes to her with a tip that LexCorp has found a new, and steady source of kyrptonite. Well there's nothing else for her to do but to go the source, one Amity Park- smackdab in the middle of nowheresville.

"No Clark you have your own story and I don't need my partner with me 24/7. Go work on your mysterious expose on the lead levels in underprivileged metropolis neighborhoods."

Only when she finally gets there, after a very uncomfortable flight, in an actual plane for once, she's not a fan. She finds a very confusing situation.

LexCorp employees seem to be disguising themselves by dressing in white and pretending to be government employees, already a story. But they are using this "disguise" to abduct what look like ghosts?

"No Perry I'm not saying ghosts are real, what do you take me for, Clark? No, I'm saying that Superman is an alien so it's not such a reach that these beings are as well. And well, if they are ghosts, then I'm going to be the one to break the story that ghosts are REAL"

So she's going around interviewing the "concerned citizens, once a terrified town now a collection of people just trying to go about their day in this strange new normal." It makes a good line but really that is the vibe she gets. There's ghostly updates along with the weather (and a Fenton? driving update??) but most everyone seems to be fine with working around the occasional ghostly drama.

Her pizza is delivered in a bowl.

Her main sources end up being very convenient for her, at least in terms of location. It's important to be unbiased so she finds sources willing to talk to her with opinions across the spectrum. Including, two doctors Fenton - negative, one Danny Fenton (son of the doctors and without a named credit to protect privacy) - positive, one English teacher - neutral. Danny Fenton is also able to point her towards one Valerie Gray (no comment) who is able to get her in contact with the most commonly seen "ghost" in the town.

"Your name is Phantom correct? Is that how you would prefer to be addressed? A little on the nose considering your alleged ghostly nature, no?"

"So your claim is that Kryptonite is a byproduct of ectoplasm, something that makes sense when you believe in ghosts, which apparently I do now. Although I will need independent verification of course.

"But you're saying that when ectoplasm crystalizes it becomes what is commonly known as kryptonite, something that is famously toxic to Kryptonians. How exactly did these "Guys In White" come to learn and harvest this dangerous material. And less important but confusing to me personally, how can a material that has been proven to be sourced from astroids be supernatural in origin?

"Right, death of a planet imprinting on ectoplasm, no makes total sense."

She leaves Amity Park with enough material to write three separate articles, four bruised ribs from a particularly violent escape from alphabetically challenged weirdos, four new sources to draw upon for said articles, two new superhero contacts, and a new found respect for rectangular shapes.

She is going to get some scientists from Star Labs down here to get a tertiary verification and then she is going to write the biggest article since the introduction of Superman.

And Clark can be jealous since he may have gotten the Superman Saves Metropolis from Raging Wildfires story but she's going to take down a pseudo-government agency, announce the existence of ghosts, AND open up extraterrestrial relations all with one article.

Beat that sweetheart

[lovelivision]

BAD ROMANCE.ᐟ

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: gojo satoru/reader

𝐖𝐂: 9.4k

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: your love life is in a tragic state, all your dates go poorly and just when you think you found a nice guy you could like, that ends poorly too. good thing you have your best friend gojo to look out for you !

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+ only, smut, f!reader, she/her pronouns used, cheating (not done by reader or gojo), dirty talk, cunnilingus, fingering, spitting, praise, p in v sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, big dick!gojo, tease/mean!gojo (he likes embarrassing reader), jealous!gojo, gojo is down BAD, use of pet names, that's all !! (i think :3)

Checking the time again, you sigh, it’s bordering on an hour since you first sat down to wait for your date. The thought that you had been stood up entered your mind maybe half an hour ago but now it’s practically been cemented.

Maybe you should just cut your losses and leave but this is a nice place, it’d be a shame to waste the reservation. Hope that your date is going to miraculously show up has left you though. Opening your texts, you think of who to message, the idea to message Gojo briefly crossing your mind before you decide he is the worst possible person to tell about this.

Instead, you message Shoko, asking if she’s free and telling her of your failed date. It takes her a few minutes to reply and when she does, instead of a straightforward response, you receive a cryptic and ambiguous saluting emoji. Deciding to take that as confirmation of her presence, you begin waiting… again.

You think you’ve reached your waiting quota of the year, no more waiting on people. Why do people never seem to value your time? While lamenting to yourself silently, you don’t notice the arrival of someone incredibly familiar, someone incredibly exasperating.

“I’m hurt you know.”

The words startle you and as you look up to find the source of them, you’re confronted with Gojo standing beside you. Pouting like he’s feeling extremely slighted by you for some indiscernible reason.

You almost sputter at him, his presence completely unexpected, “What are you doing here?”

He ignores your question, continuing with his faux pain, “My best friend gets stood up and instead of messaging me… she messages Shoko? That stings.”

Sighing off his dramatics, you ask again, “What are you doing here, Gojo?”

“What else would I be here for?” He smiles big at you, moving to sit in the chair opposite you, flopping down and making himself comfortable, “I’m here to be your date!”

Propping your head up on your hand, you grumble at him, “How did you even know I was stood up?”

“I was with Shoko when you messaged her,” he shrugs easily.

You squint at him, “Why are you here and not her?”

“Because it is my duty as your best friend to be there for you.”

So stubborn about the weirdest things, you’ve known each other forever and sure, maybe he is your best friend, but this is something that has bruised your ego a bit. It’s silly, but for some reason… you don’t really want for Gojo to see you like this.

Sulking, you huff, “It’s not a big deal, I just didn’t wanna waste the reservation.”

“Don’t lie, you dressed up all cute and the dude couldn’t even be bothered to show up?” He frowns like he’ll get angry if he thinks about it for too long, “It’s a big deal.”

“You’re more upset about it then I am,” you play at indifference and while you don’t really care about your failed date, you are thinking really hard about how he said you dressed cute.

“That’s just ‘cause you’re always settling for less than what you deserve,” he grows a little more irritated, like his observation annoys him more than it annoys you.

Defending yourself with a grumble, “That’s not true.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he smiles in a manner that exudes disbelief. Because it does, Gojo has witnessed you settle for less nearly every single day of your lives and every time he has to grit his teeth and cope.

Crossing your arms, you snark at him, “Don’t patronise me, Gojo.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he still has that smile plastered on his face.

You glare at him from across the table but sit in silence, not really having anything else to say to him right now. Annoyed at yourself for losing the back and forth between the two of you for not the first time and definitely not the last.

Gojo, however, is not capable of sitting in silence for too long and so, he whines at you, “Anyways, I thought I was always your first call when things went wrong.”

Looking away from him, you scratch at the back of your neck awkwardly, “You are… for other things.”

Catching onto your meaning, he asks, “So, you never call me when things go wrong on dates?”

“…Correct.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not really something I thought would matter to you this much.” The truth is, you’ve been on much worse dates, dates where they actually show up but prove themselves to be some of the worst people. You always call Shoko though… that or you just brush it off.

Telling Gojo about your dating life feels weird, it’s not like he tells you about his.

His mouth downturns at your remark, “Anything that involves you matters to me.”

“It’s not like you tell me about your dating life,” you counter, starting to feel somewhat badly.

“I would, if I had one,” he leans back into his chair more, “I’m not currently dating though.”

Sheepishly, you say, “Oh…well…I am.”

“I know that now,” his eyes focus on you, “Just how many dates have you gone on recently?”

“Recently?” he nods at you, “Uhm… a few every couple of weeks, not heaps but… frequently enough that getting stood up isn’t the worst thing to happen to me lately.” You laugh slightly at a memory, “You know, on one of them, the guy actually got back with his ex during our date, like he–”

You cut yourself off when you realise Gojo isn’t experiencing the same amount of enjoyment at the recounting of your date a few weeks ago. “Why is this bugging you?”

“It’s not,” his tone is certain but the expression he’s wearing is anything but. Clearly annoyed by something.

Challenging his logic, you ask, “Do you want me to tell you about my dating life?”

He thinks on it for a second, “No.”

Tilting your head at him, “See? That’s what I thought–”

“–But I want you to call me when things go badly,” his gaze even on you, unwavering.

“You’re annoying,” you huff out a breath.

His face brightens up again, “And yet I’m still your best friend.”

You can only roll your eyes at him because he’s right, he’s completely annoying and also completely your best friend.

★

After that failed date that turned into you having dinner with Gojo, you decided you would listen to him and call him whenever a date goes south. He seemed actually bothered by the fact you weren’t relying on him more, so you decided that if something does go wrong, you’d tell him about it.

However, your dating life has been going pretty swimmingly the past couple weeks. You’ve actually found someone you wouldn’t mind being with, having gone on a few dates with him now. You’ve pretty much been exclusively seeing him, he’s taken you out for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Previous dates barely made it through one meal, but this guy managed to appeal to you enough to take you out multiple times.

It’s your fault that you got your hopes up, thinking that maybe he was different but as you sit on the couch in his apartment, his assumed girlfriend yelling at him, you can see he’s just like everyone else in the dating scene these days. It’s that or you just have really bad luck when it comes to your romantic life.

For the third time, you try to leave but he holds you back, “Wait no, please don’t go, this is just a misunderstanding!”

You shrug him off you, his touch making you feel disgusting.

Going to say something in reply, but his girlfriend speaks first, “So now you’re cheating on me and trying to keep her here?”

He sputters, like he forgot she was here for a moment, “No! Babe, I’m not cheating on you!”

Awkwardly, you scratch at the back of your neck, “Listen, I’m going to be so honest, I think you’re a bad person and any interest I had in you is gone. I’d just really like to leave now.”

He’s wearing an annoyed look on his face, “How do you even expect to get home? I drove you here.”

She scoffs at him from by the door, foot tapping impatiently, “Now you’re offering her a ride home? Are you fucking serious right now?”

Walking to the front door, you shuffle around his girlfriend, “I’m just gonna… slide right past you.” Pausing after opening the door and turning back to address her, “Uhm… Just in case he tries lying to you… we went on multiple dates over the past couple weeks.” Standing awkwardly for an extra moment as her face twists in realisation, “Bye!” You rush out the door, speed walking to the elevator.

The screaming and yelling gets louder from their apartment, able to hear them until you finally get in the elevator and start heading down to the ground floor. In the lobby, you pull out your phone and sigh dejectedly, scrolling for Gojo’s contact, you need a ride home.

He picks up pretty quickly, “Hello?”

You get straight to the point, not feeling particularly great right about now, “…I need a ride home.”

“Well, good evening to you too,” he replies, voice full of mirth, “You know. people normally exchange pleasantries over the phone before immediately asking for things, I’ve been told – by you actually – that just asking for things straight up can be read as rude, so–”

“–Satoru.”

The use of his name has him going quiet, stopping his tangent instead to ask, “Where are you?”

You’re tired, your mood travelling through the phone as you answer, “Some apartment, I’ll text you the address…”

“You okay?” He checks.

You can’t help the pause before your reply, “…Yeah.”

His concern for you growing at your seeming uncertainty, “You gonna tell me what happened?”

It’s a little embarrassing, you think, but yeah, you’ll tell him about it, “Later… I just wanna go home now.”

“Alright, I’ll be there soon.” He hangs up before you get to thank him.

You text him the address and then head out the front of the building, waiting for him to get you. While you’re waiting, you find yourself wondering if that girl will stay with him, you hope she doesn’t, she deserves better than him.

When Gojo pulls up, you silently slip into the passenger seat, you’re expecting him to immediately drive away but he turns and looks at you. His eyes examining you carefully, scrutinising you.

Turning your head to the side, “What?”

“Just making sure you’re okay.” His hands reach out and for a second you think he’s going to touch you, but he pulls on the seatbelt and clicks it into place for you.

You mumble out at him, dismissive, “I’m fine.”

He hums at you, in that way that tells you he doesn’t believe you even a little bit but he’s letting it go for now. Instead focusing on getting you home.

Back at your apartment, Gojo follows you all the way inside, you thought maybe he would just drop you home and leave you alone, but he’s followed you into your living room. You don’t know if you have the energy for him right now, feeling so drained. Probably feeling this way because you’re incapable of finding a decent guy to date.

Couch looking so inviting, you flop down onto it face first, mumbling out, “Gojo, will you just be my boyfriend?”

He seems taken aback by your sudden ask, choking on his own spit, coughing out a confused, “What?”

Sighing, you cryptically answer, “I don’t think I’m built for the dating scene.”

When he finishes hacking up a lung, he taps your legs, to which you hold them up so he can sit down. His hand tugging them back down once he’s sat, “What happened, sweetheart?”

Your voice is still muffled by the couch cushions, “Been seeing a guy for a couple weeks now–”

“–The same one?” Gojo cuts you off.

Humming out a, “Yes and–”

Again, he cuts you off, “–That’s pretty serious…”

I know but­–”

“–Why didn’t you tell me about him?” His tone growing slightly alarmed by the apparent seriousness of your dating life.

Becoming somewhat annoyed, you push yourself out of the cushions and sit up to face him, your legs still resting in his lap, “You said you didn’t wanna hear about my dating life.” You point an accusatory finger at him.

“Yeah, but casually dating and actively seeing someone is different–” He’s not really sure if he’s making a fair point or not but sticking to it like he is.

“–Does it matter?” You’re looking at him incredulously, not sure if there is a difference.

He’s steadfast in his opinion, “Of course it matters.”

“I don’t think it should, especially since–”

“–If you’re seeing the same guy multiple times that means you were actually interested in him­–” He’s annoyed at himself for not realising you were seeing the same guy, for not asking questions, not realising how serious you were getting about one guy. So caught up in this one fact that he’s lost sight of his original purpose of being here.

“–Can you stop cutting me off!” You raise your voice at him, getting sick of how much he’s been interrupting you, “I’ve been trying to tell you that he had a girlfriend the whole time,” you purse your lips and look away from him, feeling embarrassed, “That’s why I asked you to come get me.”

“Oh…” He feels bad now.

“…Yeah, she showed up while I was there, and it was really uncomfortable, and I didn’t exactly feel safe.” You sigh, slumping, “And now I just feel really bad about dating.”

Completely serious when he suggests, “Maybe you should stop.”

“Stop dating?”

Consistent in his confirmation, “Yes.”

Meeting his gaze again, “How else am I going to meet someone?”

He rolls his eyes at your question, irritated for reasons unknown to you, “Why do you need to date someone now anyways?”

You don’t really see his point, what does he mean ‘why?’… why else do people date? “Maybe I’m lonely, maybe I seek companionship, maybe I’m like every other normal person?”

“You have me though,” you’d think he was joking if he weren’t so straight faced.

Unsure how to go about answering when it seems pretty straight forward to you, “Gojo… that’s not the same thing, we’re friends, we don’t look at each other that way.”

“Says you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I’d date you in a heartbeat,” he folds his arms over his chest, “In fact, you’re the only person I want to date.”

You can’t tell if he’s teasing or not, “Get real, that’s not what I meant.”

His head tilts at you, “What did you mean then?”

“I’m talking about romantic and sexual attraction,” you’re avoiding his gaze again.

So casual in how he bluntly asks, “You think I’m not sexually attracted to you?”

His question catches you off guard slightly, “It’s not just about sexual attraction, Gojo,” you shake your head, “if that were the case, I’d just be having one night stands all the time, I want a relationship with someone…”

He nods his head like he suddenly understands, “Ah, so you think I’m not romantically interested in you?”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

Disbelieving when you look at him, “Are you serious right now? We’re friends.”

“Yeah, we are friends, but I also happen to be romantically and sexually attracted to you.”

How do you even respond to a confession like that? He’s not even flustered, completely nonchalant in how he’s just told you that he’s interested in you. “I don’t think–”

“–Are you going to tell me you’re not interested in me? Even a little bit?”

“We’re friends.”

“Is that the only thing stopping you?” He doesn’t wait for your answer, “Because if it is, then it’s a little arbitrary, no?”

The beginning of a frown settles on your features, “What are you trying to get me to say? That I’d date you if we weren’t friends, that I’d fuck you?”

He smiles at you, “Sure, but if you would if we weren’t friends, I’m saying you should even though we are.”

Frown deepening, “You’re being serious?”

“I’m being so serious,” he leans in slightly, hand moving to your face, thumb smoothing over the crease between your brows.

Looking at his lips before catching yourself and turning your head to the side, away from his touch, away from his enticing lips.

He sighs at your reaction, “You know, I’ve been interested in you from the beginning, and maybe I’m an idiot for not saying anything but watching you seriously try dating someone else might just kill me.”

You had no idea he liked you, you’ve liked him at different points in your life too, but he always seemed so out of reach from you, and you never wanted to ruin the friendship, so you forced yourself to move on. It feels a little unfair that you’re finding out now he’s liked you the whole time, “What are you asking of me?”

“I’m asking you to give me a chance,” his hand gently guides your face to look at him again, “I’m asking you to seriously try dating me.”

You’re trying to make a decision, trying to figure out how to answer him, if you should even give him a chance but the way he’s looking at you, how his gaze flicks between your eyes and your lips is distracting you.

Brows pulling up, voice quieter than before, “Gojo, you need to stop looking at me like that if you want an answer.”

“Like what?” He plays dumb.

“Like you really wanna kiss me,” you murmur back.

“Can’t help it…” he leans in a little bit more, “Maybe if you let me kiss you, I’ll stop.”

“Satoru,” you warn.

“Hmm?” His eyes meet yours for a moment, trying to see what you want.

He’s making you dizzy, “I can’t make a choice when you’re this close.”

Humming at you, “Why not?”

“Can’t think,” you blurt it out before really thinking about how it will come across.

He’s smiling smugly, “Then don’t.”

You don’t know who leans in first, all you know is his lips are on yours and they’re soft. Kissing you gently, trying to learn how you like to be kissed. Growing more insistent the longer you let him kiss you, the years of his need bleeding into it.

One of his hands traveling down your body, resting on your hip, the other cradling your face. He’s leaning into you more, pushing your body down into the couch, him following behind it, never parting from your lips very long.

Hand now holding himself above you, kiss growing urgent, tongue licking into your mouth, meeting yours in a way that makes your body tingle. If you thought his proximity was making you dizzy before than his kiss might have you actually passing out. Skin growing hot at how his hand on your face angles you, how he deepens the kiss effortlessly.

If Gojo were more aware of himself, of the precarious position he’s put himself in, he might be a little bit more careful with how feverish his kisses are and how needy he’s getting but when he’s finally getting to kiss you after years of not being able to, he can’t really control himself. The little control he does have, slipping when you moan into his mouth, his own moan shared in the kiss.

It's you who parts the kiss, it had to be because he certainly wasn’t going to be able to do it. If he had his way, he’d have his mouth on you until he died. In the back of his mind, he knew that kissing you would be good, but he didn’t think he’d get so lost in it. Somewhat embarrassed at himself for how aroused he’s gotten over your lips on his.

Your huffed breaths are intermingled with how close you both are to each other, Gojo hovering over you, speaking into your mouth, “Have you made a decision yet?”

You’re having trouble thinking still, especially with how his lips brush ever so slightly against yours, “I…uhmm…”

When he realises how dazed you are, two things happen. One; his ego grows about ten times bigger and two; he pulls back from you, still close enough that if you tugged on him, you could kiss him again but enough to hopefully give you room to think.

“Come on, don’t keep a guy waiting,” he’s taunting you lightly, taking joy in how hazy your eyes are as you look up at him.

“Okay,” you nod.

“Hmm? Okay what?”

Taking another moment to clear your brain fog, you answer again, “Okay, I will seriously try dating you.”

“Can’t date anyone else while you do,” he conditions.

“Okay,” agreeing easily.

He adds, “Have to seriously think about me being your boyfriend.”

Again, agreeing, “Okay.”

“Have to keep kissing me right now,” smile growing on his features.

“Ok–” frowning at him when you realise, “–Hey.”

“You don’t want to?” His hand tilts your head up by your chin, looking down into your eyes, “Because you look like you want to.”

Pouting at him, “Don’t be cruel.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” his smile evil as he continues to look down at you.

Leveling him with an even stare, you state, “I don’t sleep with guys on the first date.”

“Got a dirty mind, huh? All I asked for was a kiss.”

You glare at him and then try to avoid his gaze, voice smaller than before, “You don’t kiss like that’s all you want.”

His smile is crooked as he asks, “And how do I kiss?”

Feeling your skin flare at his taunting question, at how he leans in again, his mouth right over yours, “Dizzyingly.”

He breathes out an amused laugh before he’s slotting his mouth back over yours, how you described his kiss is accurate. He kisses you in such a way that you can’t think straight even if you really want to, which is why it’s probably a bad idea to keep letting him kiss you if you don’t want to sleep with him before you even get a first date.

Abruptly parting your mouth from his, gasping out, “Wait,” taking a second to catch your breath. Gojo groans softly at the loss of your lips, his forehead resting on yours waiting for you to speak.

“What’s wrong?” He asks when you don’t continue.

“You need to stop kissing me.”

“Oh?” He hums at you in thought, his lips now trailing down the side of your face, only to rest right by your ear, “And why’s that?”

His voice has goose bumps raising on your skin, “If you keep kissing me like that…” your volume gets quieter as you mumble out, “…I’ll wanna have sex with you.”

He has the fucking audacity to laugh at you, “That worked up by a few kisses, huh?” Taunting you like he isn’t the hardest he’s ever been, cock twitching at your confession.

“Shuddup.”

His words are dripping with delight, “At least we know you’re sexually attracted to me.”

He licks lightly at your ear, and you feel like you almost jump out of your skin, gasping at it. Hands reaching out to push back on his chest, “You’re a mean man, Gojo.”

“At this point…” He looks you over, unmoved by your hands, “…I think it would be meaner to deprive yourself.”

“We are not sleeping together for the first time on my couch before we even go on a date,” you’re trying to stay steadfast but he’s making it hard when he keeps looking at you like that.

“So… you’re saying I should take you to the bedroom?” When you look at him in exasperation, he smiles softly, “I’m just kidding, we won’t do anything you don’t want to, but I will point out – for the last time – that you look an awful lot like you want to.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to… I just feel like if you’re gonna make me seriously consider you then I should date you properly too,” you avoid his gaze, feeling unusually sincere.

Abruptly, he states, “It wouldn’t be our first date though.”

“What?”

He’s a little distant when he answers, having trouble concentrating on the conversation when you’re pouting your lips at him like you are, “I count a couple weeks ago as our first date.”

“When I was stood up?” You scoff, “That does not count.”

“Why not?”

“Because it wasn’t even planned.”

“No but we ate dinner together and you were dressed awful cute, I count it as a date,” smirk present on his face as he continues to hover over you.

Ignoring his compliment, you continue to try and reason, “We were still just friends then though.”

“So, we aren’t ‘just friends’ now?” He’s being a smart ass, he knows what you mean but he’s not going to let up on this, taking it as a small victory in making you think of him as more than just a friend.

You return earnestly, “I don’t wanna count it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it wasn’t meant to be you on that date…” before he can get hurt over those words, you clarify, “…don’t get me wrong, I had fun and I’m glad you showed up, but it wasn’t planned to be you… when we go on our first date… I want it to be meant for you.” You’re unsure if you verbalised yourself in a way that makes sense, feeling much more nervous all of a sudden.

He’s looking at you so intently and you’re worried you’ve upset him somehow, “I know you said I need to stop kissing you, but that’s what I want more than anything right now.” He leans in closer, pausing just shy of your lips.

His words make your heart stutter, throwing caution to the wind as you close the distance between the two of you again, kissing him fully. Letting his mouth consume your ability to think critically, all too happy to fall into him.

Your control of the situation is slipping more and more away from you and so is the ability to care, not minding at all how you’re becoming more and more okay with how hot your body is starting to feel.

Hands reaching up and fisting the material of his shirt, pulling him down into you, his hips colliding with yours. Almost entirely instinctually – and somewhat purposefully – your legs wrap around his lower half. One of his hands reaches for your thigh, gripping the fattest part of it harshly.

You both moan into the kiss and he parts his mouth from yours, voice straining when he speaks, “Sweetheart, if you really don’t want to do anything more than this then you need to tell me to get off you right now.”

Looking at him through your lashes, you play coy, “But I like having you on top of me.”

A shiver runs down his spine, “You’re evil,” he grunts, fighting the urge to grind down into you.

He’s been pining after you for years and it feels like torture to be this close to you, pelvis pressed up against yours, having you so pliant and needy under him. He can feel his sanity slipping from him the longer you stay like this, and your words make it harder for him to pull away.

“Satoru–” when you say his name his hips jut into yours, making you gasp against him.

He hisses an apology through his teeth, “Sorry – fuck – sorry, what’s up?”

Deciding to be forward, “Take me to my room?”

Trying to hide the excitement from his face, he checks with you, “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you give a small nod, feeling shy.

You really do want to though, more than anything. Only initially so hesitant because this doesn’t feel like the right way to do things but then again, your whole relationship with Gojo is a little less than conventional at times.

When he determines that you’re sure of yourself, he’s off you in the blink of an eye. Quick in his movements as he pulls you up along with him. Before you can even really register that you’re off the couch, you’re thrown over his shoulder as he walks hurriedly to your room.

“Someone’s eager,” you laugh at how ridiculous he’s being.

The chuckle he returns is humourless, “You have no fucking idea.”

You’re dropped down onto your bed unceremoniously, bouncing slightly at the force of it. Your arms reach out behind you to support yourself, palms splayed against your bedspread. Gojo is already tugging his shirt off and over his head, thrown and lost to some corner of your room.

“Gojo, breathe.”

“Don’t need to breathe,” he smiles large at you, “Do need your pants off though.”

Listening to him, you shimmy your pants down your legs, mumbling to him about how bossy he is.

“You know… I’m hearing a lot of complaining but I am also seeing a whole lot of direction following,” he teases.

You grumble at him, “If you’re going to be like this the whole time then I’m changing my mind.

“Don’t lie to yourself, sweetheart. You’re not fooling anyone, especially not with how you’re rubbing your thighs together.” His large hands grip your thighs, “Feeling horny?”

You don’t really want to answer him honestly but denying it feels like a trap, like he’d do something to prove you wrong and the last thing you want is for him to torture you. You’re already so pitifully slick from kissing him.

Fighting with your embarrassment, you give him your best pleading face, “Mhm, really horny.”

The smugness drops from his face, hands suddenly tugging you down the bed as he drops to his knees. Mouth leaving kisses from your knees to your inner thighs, your breath catching in your lungs. Not expecting him to be so forward, though you don’t know what you were expecting if not that.

“Gojo, you don’t have to–”

“I want to,” his eyes flick to yours, “Plus, if you wanna take me, you’re gonna need the prep,” smile growing at how your eyes grow wider.

Disbelief clear in your expression, accusing, “You’re full of it.”

He’s not worried about your scepticism, “You’ll find out for yourself in a bit.” He shrugs easily, “Now, can I put my tongue on your pretty pussy, or do you have more to say?”

He asks but his attention is already completely on your covered cunt, a single finger moving under the elastic of the waist band just to snap it back against you. A small noise of shock leaving you, “Ah! Do what you want…”

Oh, he looks so excited by your words, “You mean it?”

You’ll be honest and admit you weren’t really paying attention to what you were saying, brain hazy with how close he is to your core, skin pricking at how you can feel his hot breath against you. Feeling so unusually exposed and sensitive and you can’t tell if you’re that worked up or if he just has that effect on you.

“Mhm,” you’re nodding your head at him, giving him a green light, for what, you’re not entirely sure, all you know is that you want him to do something – anything.

“These are some really cute panties…kinda bothers me,” he’s still playing with the edges of them, annoyed when remembering you were with another guy tonight. Were you going to sleep with him tonight?

Pulling yourself up onto your elbows, you question, “What?”

Eyes flicking towards yours, “I’m a bit of a jealous guy.”

“I know this,” he always has been quick to get worked up over things regarding you, though it makes a little more sense after learning he’s liked you for so long.

He smiles at you, but his eyes are humourless, “Of course you do,” he fists at the material of your panties, “But the idea of another guy getting so close to seeing you in these… has me feeling really annoyed.”

The sound of fabric tearing fills your ears, he’s just ripped your panties off you completely. There is no salvaging them, completely useless as he throws them over his shoulder.

“Hey! those were my good pair!” They were one of the nicer pairs you own.

“Who cares about that?” His tone is dismissive, hands spreading your legs obscenely, eyes greedily looking at your uncovered pussy, “Your cunt is much cuter.”

God, you feel like you might pass out, face suddenly extremely hot, “Don’t be crude.”

“Hmm? …but I think you like it though…” his thumb swipes through your folds and you gasp at him, “Got so much wetter when I said it.”

He’s quick to begin rubbing circles into your clit, thumb giving even pressure. The stimulation has your arms shaking, threatening to give out from under you. Biting your lip to stop yourself from moaning, feeling embarrassed at how intently he’s shamelessly staring at your cunt.

Continuing to speculate, he says, “That or you like being praised…” he smirks evilly, “You like being praised, sweetheart? Being told how good you’re being for me?”

Your heart leaps in your chest, brows upturning, trying to hide your outward reaction to his words, “Hah– No…”

“Such a bad liar,” eyeing your face, “Wearing a really great expression right now though.”

Fighting the urge to grind down, you deny, “Not lying.”

He ignores you, “Could be both though,” he’s continuing to ponder on what you react most to, “Which is it, sweetheart? You like how crude I am, or do you like the praise?”

You don’t plan on answering him, eyes closing harshly against his intense gaze, feeling way too exposed. His touch leaves you and you open your eyes in alarm, trying to see what he’s doing. You see his smile before he’s leaning in and licking up the length of your pussy, eyes locked on yours the whole time.

Surprised moans slip from you, arms almost giving out completely, head rolling back. His arms wrap around your legs to hold you steady, face pushing closer into you, tongue flicking at your clit before pressing into your pussy hole.

He’s relishing in your sounds, in how wet you are, how you taste and smell, almost forgetting why he did this in the first place. Pulling away from you with a lewd smack of his lips, smiling big at the whine you let out from the loss of him.

Huffing slightly as he says, “Asked a question, not licking your pussy again until you answer it.”

“I don’t know,” your head lolls forward, eyes wet.

Head moving to the side to nip lightly at your thigh, “Shall we find out then?”

You jolt at the sensation, face twisting in confusion at him.

“You don’t gotta do anything, sweetie, just stay like this,” his hands push back on your thighs though, opening you up to him even more. “Been doing so good for me, sound so pretty,” he coos at you.

Brows furrowing at his words, heart skipping beats at his sudden praise, feeling fuzzy all over.

He hums in thought, “So fucking wet for me, dripping everywhere, creamy fucking pussy.”

You twitch at the switch, wanting to crawl away from him.

“I think I’ve just realised something,” he glances up at you, “Got such nice reactions to both things I said, do you know how much wetter you got, cunt twitching and drooling for me.”

You try pulling from him, but his hold is firm, “Gojo!” You warn.

He might be enjoying this too much but learning about what gets you going is way too enticing, especially when he doesn’t have to do much to have you looking so pathetic. “Trying to run away from me,” he tsks, “But you’re fucking dripping, so reactive, so sweet.” His eyes are glazing over, working himself up.

“‘Toru!” You call for him again, you feel like you’re on fire, beyond embarrassed.

He groans at the nickname, not hearing it from you in so long, you used to always call him that. He liked it a little too much, cock leaking for you. He feels as wrecked as he looks when he looks up at you, “I think you like both,” is his conclusion.

Reaching up, he grabs at your hand and pulls it down to your cunt, his fingers guiding your own through your slick. You gasp at it, not expecting for yourself to be so soaked. Biting at your lower lip when he moves your fingers over your clit, teasing you.

Dazed when he asks, “Ever been this wet, pretty?”

You shake your head, “No… I didn’t know I…”

Fingers moving yours to your entrance, “Poor thing, didn’t know how slutty her pussy was.” Feeling the way your cunt clenches at his words, his face bright with it, “Fucking great though, in love with it,” and again, your brows raising in realisation, “Yeah… you know now, don’t you?”

“You’re making me feel embarrassed,” you pout, head dizzy.

“No, I’m making you feel so fucking horny, not my fault that you like being embarrassed and praised at the same time,” he pulls your fingers away from your core, moving them to his mouth, sucking them clean.

You remove your fingers from him, coming to rest back in the bed, feeling breathless as you look down at him. “What do you want from me?”

“Want you to admit it, want you tell me how much you like when I talk to you,” his hand tickles up the skin of your inner thigh.

“…Like it,” you mumble out.

Humming in thought, “Hmm, not good enough, don’t think I believe you.”

Repeating, louder, “I like it.”

Tilting his head at you, “You like what?”

“I like when you talk to me,” you say with more force, brows furrowed.

He pretends to be unsure of your answer, “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” You try again, but as his expression remains unchanging, you add, “I like when you talk to me, I like how hot and fuzzy your words make me feel, I like just the sound of your voice, makes me want to squirm. Love it even! Is that what you wanted to hear?” You huff.

“Holy fuck, yes,” if he weren’t already on his knees, he would’ve fallen to them again.

You let out a squeal at the way his mouth is already back on you, tongue pushing into your hole insistently. Fervent in his actions, clearly worked up by your words. If he were on the bed, he’d be shamelessly grinding his hips down into it, cock so fucking hard it’s aching. Pulsing so pitifully for you and if he weren’t so completely distracted by how you taste he’d throw caution to the wind and fuck into you right now.

“Gojo! Oh–” His name comes out all broken, ruined and shaky from how he laps at your cunt, drinking down all your slick.

Your elbows officially give out and you’re flopping back onto the mattress, fingers digging into the bed. Struggling to hold in all the little noises he’s pulling from you, hips trying to desperately rut into his pretty face with no luck, locked in place by his strong hold.

Gasping out at him, “M–more. Gojo – hah – more, please.”

Grunting against you, vibrations running up your spine, wanting desperately to kick your legs against the stimulation but unable to. He’s worked you up so much, so fucking desperate for release that his touch is making you crazy.

A finger presses at your hole, slipping inside easily, both his finger and tongue fucking into you. Another finger added, opening you up, scissoring them, tongue sneaking deeper inside your cunt.

He feels drunk, head heavy and brain foggy, tongue fucking you deeply. Delighting in the sounds of your sloppy pussy trying to suck him in deeper, he’s losing his mind. Tongue leaving you only for him to spit onto your cunt, thumb rubbing it into your clit, third finger added to the first two. Determined to have you ready for his cock.

“Need you to cum,” he sounds wrecked even to himself, “Before I do in my own pants – ffffuck –” Can’t help the way he curses at how you tighten around him at his words, “Must’ve been telling the truth about liking my voice, huh?” He teases, laughing breathlessly at how you react to him again.

Pressing out a simple, “S–so mean,” in response.

“You fucking like it,” eyes watching how your back arches off the mattress, “Love it even,” he reminds.

A series of moans leave you unabashedly at how he crooks his fingers just right, consistently hitting the one spot, thighs twitching at it. Stomach pulling tight and toes curling, head moving from side to side, so fucking close now.

“That’s it, sweetie,” he encourages, “Doing so good, just let go for me.”

You’re cumming suddenly, the abruptness of it shocking, like your body skipped the rest of the build up at Gojo’s words. If it didn’t feel good how he was fucking you through it, how his thumb kept rubbing at your clit, you’d feel beyond embarrassed at how you came just because he asked you to.

It’s not lost on him how quick you were to finish after he spoke, his ego big before and now fucking massive. Absolutely thrilled by how you continue to prove your responsiveness to him, if he were ever worried about you not being attracted to him, he can’t possibly remember why. Not when you’re squirming under him, tears threatening to slip from your waterline.

“Such a good direction follower,” he mocks, repeating his earlier sentiments.

His fingers keep stroking at you until your body goes limp, only jerking every now and again with your come down. Pulling them from you and parting them, looking at the way your cum connects his fingers together with white strings.

“Look at that,” his voice dripping with glee, “I was right… got such a creamy pussy,” he hums, shoving his fingers into his mouth.

He wipes his spit covered fingers on your thighs before standing, tugging off his pants and boxers before crawling up the mattress, leaning over you. Fingers skimming at your sides, pulling your shirt along with it, “Can I take this off, pretty?”

Eyes bleary when they meet his, giving a small nod, “Mhm.”

“You okay to keep going?” He checks, leaning in closer to you.

His concern makes you unreasonably happy, feeling genuinely cared for, “Yeah.”

“You sure–”

Cutting him off, “–Yes.”

Shock present on his face before smiling endearingly at you, completely smitten with you and has been for a long time now. It all feels a little surreal to him, being able to hold you, be intimate with you. Leaning in more, pressing soft kisses all over your face.

Showering you in affection as his hands continue to pull your shirt up. Only parting to pull it from you fully, thrown to some corner of your room, joining the rest of your clothes. Shuffling back so he can look at all of you, hands delicately tracing over you, like he’s memorising how you feel under his palms.

“You’re so soft,” he mumbles, hands smoothing over you. He drops onto you, face pressing between your tits, breathing in your scent.

Confused as your voice calls for him gently, “‘Toru?”

“Fuck,” he nips at your skin first and then moves to get back on his knees, “Alright, spread those pretty legs for me, sweetheart.”

Feeling placid from the intensity of your orgasm, you immediately listen to him and open your legs, moving them to the outside of his. Gojo feels like his heart grows in size at how quick you are to listen to him, so docile you don’t even talk back to him.

Your head cocks to the side at him, confused by his stare, “What?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head at you, “You’re just really cute.”

He grabs your face, sandwiching your cheeks between his fingers, his lips leaving behind a big and sloppy kiss on yours before focusing back on your cunt. Grasping his cock and groaning at the pressure, squeezing himself to alleviate some of the need crawling desperately up his spine.

You can’t help but stare, he wasn’t full of it, he really is that big. Long and thick and looking so painfully hard, dripping precum so messily down the length of himself, dribbling down onto the bed sheets.

“It’s rude to stare,” he hisses, hand now stroking himself, clearly not even a little bit put off by your shameless staring. If anything, completely aroused by it.

Looking up into his eyes as you apologise, “‘M sorry.”

“Hah,” he huffs in amusement, “So polite all of a sudden, orgasm that good, pretty?”

“Yeah,” you nod, staring at him straight on, aiming to work him up more.

It works, “Fuck– alright,” his hips stutter into his hand and he stops fisting his cock, “‘Bout to give you an even better one,” guiding his dick to your core.

Swiping the head of himself through your folds, letting it collect the slick leaking from you. Teasing you like this for a bit, moving himself up and down before dipping into your hole, only to pull away again.

You whine at him over it, “Please.”

Smile large as he coos, “Don’t worry, pretty. I’ll take care of you.”

Keeping his word, he slowly presses the tip of his dick into you, hissing at the stretch, worried he didn’t give you enough prep. You bite your lip as you begin to take him in, fisting the sheets below, looking up at Gojo. His brows are upturned, and his jaw clenched, focusing so hard on being slow and careful. He pauses when you clench and flinch around him.

“I can take it,” gaze determined as you try to assure him, “You can keep going.”

“Oh, sweetie,” his hand grips at your inner thigh, squishing it under his hold, “I appreciate that,” he smiles, “I do… but you’re gonna want to pace yourself.”

You pout up at him, sulking, wanting to be full and not appreciating his probably – definitely – sound advice.

“Hah, don’t pout,” his thumb moves to your clit, “You’ll take it, know you will,” rubbing circles into it, “Cause I’m gonna make sure of it, but you gotta pace yourself.”

Under his touch, you relax again, and he pushes his hips forward, starting the slow process of opening you up on his cock. His control astounding himself right now, wanting nothing more than to fuck into you completely, feeling your pussy swallow him whole.

He’s not quite half-way yet and already pressing up against the most delicious spots inside you, with that and his consistent pressure on your clit, you’re suddenly so fucking close to cumming like this.

Reaching out to him, your hand lightly slaps at him, trying to warn, “I’m gonna – hah –”

Gojo realises when you clench down on him what you’re trying to say, the small noises you make getting louder, he almost blows his load the second he realises. Ripping himself from you suddenly, you cry out at the loss, cumming around nothing, gasping into your hand.

“Why? Why?” you’re almost incoherent as you ask him.

“I’m so fucking sorry, sweetheart,” he keeps his thumb on your clit, trying to make up for the loss of his cock, “Would’ve cum if I hadn’t pulled out, wanna at least fuck you before I do.”

You glare at him, trying to convey how slighted you feel but he only seems to find it endearing, smiling at you over it. “I’ll make it up to you, don’t worry.”

Wasting no time, he fucks back into you, to where he was before he pulled out. Giving shallow thrusts as he keeps pressing forwards, breath stuttering at the small way he’s getting the friction he’s desperate for.

“Such a greedy cunt,” he murmurs, dick slipping deeper, “So quick to cum for me, sucking me in.”

“Gojo–” you whine at him, his words back to embarrassing you.

His voice cracks at how you refer to him, “–No, no, nono, what happened to ‘Toru?” Fucking deeper, so close to being balls deep.

“‘Toru, you’re–” cutting yourself off with a moan, he thrust the rest of the way in when you called to him, “–so deep.”

“Don’t I fucking know it,” he chuckles breathlessly, moving to press his body up against yours, craving the contact.

He’s pressed up against you completely, warm and strong, your legs loop around his waist and he slips in deeper. He groans at it, holding himself back, wanting you to adjust to all of him first. He nuzzles into your neck, leaving kisses and love bites against the sensitive skin there, relishing in the way your pussy jumps around him over such a small act.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you liked me or something,” he jokes, referencing how sensitive you are to him.

Without thinking, you admit, “I have – mmph – I’ve liked you mm–multiple times ah– at different points in – hah – our lives.”

His head snaps back as he twitches inside you, “Seriously?” When you nod, he grinds down into you, “Fuck– had me so stressed, liked you all this time and you’re telling me I could’ve had this pretty, little pussy so much sooner?”

You’re feeling a bit dazed, two orgasms deep and stretched so obscenely around him, cunt making wet noises just from the small way he’s grinding into you.

“When,” his words are hurried, when you look at him like he’s just said something in a different language, he asks again, “When have you liked me?”

“I don’t remember that, too many – hnn – different times,” you shake your head, you don’t even know if you could recount all the times you had feelings for him resurface even if you weren’t split open on his big dick.

He moans, starting to move his hips in shallow thrusts, “Enough that you – mmph – can’t remember specifics,” he groans, “Feels like a sick joke, been pining after you our – hah – whole lives.”

His mouth is on yours, kissing you deeply, sucking your tongue into his mouth, licking at you. The kiss so dizzying, you’re barely able to catch up to him before he’s talking again, “The most recent time– can you – hah – remember the most recent time you liked me?”

He’s desperate to know, wanting to know how small or big of a window he had missed. Failing to realise it doesn’t really matter all that much right now.

“Not – hah – not that long ago,” you’re almost panting now, wanting for him to move with more urgency but he’s still only thrusting into you shallowly.

“When, sweetie, tell me when, please,” his forehead pressed to yours, eyes imploring.

Struggling slightly as you press out, “B– before I started – hah – going on all those dates,” you’re trying really hard to think, “Beginning of the – hng – year?”

Smiling at you, big, happy, “Not that long ago, just gonna make you like me again.”

He’s a little annoyed that you went on so many dates right after having liked him, not completely lost on him that the two are probably connected and feeling frustrated that he hadn’t just told you about his feelings ages ago.

“Gonna charm the fuck outta you, take you to nice places, shower you in compliments, tell you how cute you are,” he’s rambling now, about your theoretical future dates, “Remind you every day how much I like you, how perfect you are, gonna make you like me again.”

“I’d like it if you moved, ‘Toru, please,” you beg, tears in the corners of your eyes from being teased.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he quips, kissing your cheek before complying.

Finally starting a pace that has you going crazy but in a different way, fast and deep, weighted thrusts that make you struggle to maintain focus. Pulling out almost completely before fucking back into you, hammering his hips into yours, lewd squelching filling the room at it.

Your whimpered moans have Gojo’s skin pricking, so turned on he feels insane, like you might kill him, “Got such a great pussy, fucking soaking wet, taking me so well, could die like this and not complain, fuck–”

Clawing at him now, at his forearms, his biceps, shoulders, back, anywhere you can reach, desperately scrabbling for purchase. “Gojo–”

“–No, I don’t know who that is,” he ignores your cry of his name.

Trying again, “‘Toru, want– I want–”

You’re not even entirely sure what you want or are asking for, but Gojo seems to know immediately. His hips moving faster, pelvis slapping into your clit every time he meets yours, cock hitting against your cervix in a way that hurts so fucking good.

Eyes rolling back in your skull with the pleasure, fat tears running down your face at it. Sex has never felt like this, is it meant to feel like this? Have you been doing it wrong? Or maybe he’s just insanely good at it, or maybe you just like him more than you were aware of.

“Feels– feels good, I–”

“Again? Fucking perfect, so perfect for me,” he sounds so excited, “Want it, want you to cum on me, cum all over my cock, fucking coat me in it.” It’s almost like he’s begging you for it.

Luckily for him, you really do like his voice, love how he talks to you and at his borderline begging, you’re cumming all over him. Cunt clenching down on him, sobbing out pitiful moans of his name as you cum. It’s coating him, just like how he asked for, creamy white ring at the base of his cock.

“Fuuck, that’s it, such a good girl,” your cunt jumps around his cock, and he laughs, “Oh? You liked that, should’ve called you a good girl sooner.”

Too dazed to fight him on his teasing, corners of your vision blurry and ears ringing, twitching pathetically under him. He doesn’t stop his thrusts, fucking into you harsher, more shallow, getting close to finishing himself.

Orgasm on the tip of his tongue, the thing that sends him over the edge is how you look up at him. Eyes fucked out and cheeks tear stained, whining out a small, “‘Toru, want it, please.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” his words are choked out, almost whining himself, balls heavy with how badly he wants to cum.

Thrusts faltering as he fucks into you the last few times, suddenly slamming his pelvis to yours, releasing all his cum inside you, painting your walls a pretty shade of white. Hips grinding into you as he finishes.

Fucked out whimpers of your name leaving him as he presses his head into the side of your neck. Biting down onto you, shocking you slightly, the pain unexpected, he lathes over it with his tongue.

He slumps down onto you, his weight too much, your hands push at him, “Too heavy.”

He hums out at you noncommittally but gets up, carefully slipping himself from you, not shy in how he stares at your pussy. At the way his cum gushes from it, the urge to fuck it all back inside you strong. He withholds though, seeing you’re clearly beyond fucked out. Next time, he promises himself.

Gone from you but not for too long, only leaving long enough to clean himself up and bring stuff back to clean you up. Wiping softly at your legs, cleaning you of his spend, “You look cute dripping with my cum,” he singsongs.

“Lewd,” you accuse, too tired to think of something more to say.

“Yeah…” he gets into bed by you, “But I’m certain you like that.”

You snuggle into his side, letting him cuddle you, “Not sleeping with you again until at least the third date.”

“I bet…” he looks down at you, lips hovering over yours, “…You’ll sleep with me after each of them.”

You go to scoff at him and deny it, but he kisses you, deep and imploring. Effectively shutting you up and as you let him kiss you how he likes, you realise, he might be right.

𝐀/𝐍: this got away from me, like it so often does, it was only meant to be a couple k of only smut but i am not normal so it turned into this! i hope you enjoyed <3 thank you for reading!

[⚠︎] — 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: do not reupload / repost / translate / plagiarise my works © all works are the intellectual property of lovelivision

[miserycanary]

TELL ME THAT WE'LL BE JUST FINE ᡣ𐭩 previous ⤶ ⤷ next

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & fem!reader

synopsis: the aftermath (inspired by T.S Afterglow)

tags: light angst (no comfort/comfort? who knows)

The door creaks open, the cheeriness that you usually carry to greet Ghost by the entrance of your shared home nowhere in sight. The whole place was eerily quiet with his footsteps the only source of life. “My love..?” he calls out, peeking in the kitchen where you’d usually be sitting with a laptop in front of you, the food forgotten and burning. It’s usually unsalvageable and you guys would just agree on ordering take-out while he soothes and assures you that you don’t have to cook for him. 

His long legs quickly take him to the bathroom, hoping he’d see you washing up and offering him to shower along with you. The water would run high as you let him wash you up while chatting about your day, then you'd do the same to him and he complains about the “useless recruits”; the vice versa. Yet, there was no silhouette of you there. With a sigh, he closes the door and approaches the final room.

There, Ghost sees you laying down with your legs huddled close to your chest. He noticed the little hiccups— an indication that you’ve been crying— and that broke his heart. When he watched your figure walk away from him, he knew he fucked up and that he hurt you. Ghost calls for you once again with a gentle voice, trying to coax you. “Y/N..? Baby..?” He approaches the bed. The mattress dips as he sits behind you and placed a heavy hand on the shoulder he saw was developing a bruise. Just the sight of the darkening blemish almost made him throw up. He did this. He did this to you, his darling flower. 

After his skin made contact with yours, you flinched and distanced yourself like you’re afraid he’d hurt you again. The way you looked at him was so.. foreign and unusual. Like he was an animal that’s going to attack any minute. He stilled at your reaction, betrayed at how could you even think of him like that. Ghost stayed silent and so did you, only staring at the wall in contemplation. Finally, the silence was cracked by something much worse. At that moment, Ghost would rather endure a century of you ignoring him than to accept the words that came out of your mouth. 

“I’m leaving. I talked to one of my friends and she’s letting me stay with her,” you mumbled. The pain shooting through Ghost’s heart was unlike any other. It felt like he lost his heart— because he did. “What..? No, no. Let’s talk, baby,” he begs of you, clasping both your hands with his and peppers it with kisses, yet you only pull away. His lungs seem to not take in any air. Everything you say was inaudible to him. The only thing running through his mind was he was losing you. That he was losing the only thing that made life worth living— worth surviving each day because he knows he’ll always have you to come home to, with a smile so warm and a hug so comforting.

“No! I’m not letting you leave,” he cuts you off. The firmness in his voice sent shivers down your spine but you stood your ground. “Ghost,” you start. 

| ‘Don’t call me that. I’m Simon. I’m your Si. Why would you call me Ghost?’ 

“I’m tired of this, okay? I’m tired of you trying to act like everything will pass and that it could be fixed by just burying it under the mushy lovey stuff. I’m tired of never getting an apology from you because you cannot communicate.”

| ‘I know that. I know I’m not the best at talking but don’t leave me. I’ll do anything. Please’

Ghost stays silent because he knows everything you said was true, while you desperately look at his eyes. The hope that he’d finally muster the courage to talk and ask you to stay was slowly being forgotten. Was this all you’re worth to him? Were you not worth being asked to stay? Won’t he at least try? 

“I’m leaving and that’s final.” 

| ‘Please don’t let me go, Si. Please tell me you want me to stay and that you’re sorry. That you’d do better. Please just say anything. I’m going to stay with you if you just tell me to. Don’t let this be our end. Fight for me… fight for us’

“Okay,” he whispers, getting up and leaving you alone in the bedroom you usually would say carry the love you guys bloomed for 9 years with the walls painted with your memories and milestones with him. Now it serves as the grave of what you guys were— of what you and Simon had.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: part 2 is here!! I hope it passed people’s expectations.

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

⟢ taglist: @fictionallifestuff

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

[sreidisms]

Early seasons Reid and with BAU!reader whom just has a HUGE crush on her and Gideon has to spell it out to Spencer? I just love season 1/2 Reid. Him in glasses just makes me swoon ❤️

THIS IS SO CUTE, like it's so probable too. I didn't understand if you meant that Gideon had to spell out that Spencer likes the reader or that the reader likes Spencer, so I went with the former. If you wanted the latter, tell me and I'll write it!

An Oblivious Genius

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer has feelings for you but is too oblivious to realise - Gideon helps him.

Genre: subtle fluff

Word Count: 862

Warnings: none

A/N: the way I ended this leaves it open to a part two, so please comment if you'd like one!

“I think you have feelings for her.”

“Huh?”

Gideon didn’t lift his gaze from the newspaper in his hands, the wrinkles on his forehead peeking from behind the inked folio. “I said, you may have feelings for her, Reid.”

Spencer never turned to anyone for help, because why would he? He knew more than anyone else when it came to most things - well, except socially. And emotionally. And anything having to do with you.

The only person that wouldn’t bruise his ego was Gideon - his mentor, his guidance. He held more of a God-like presence than a fatherly one for Reid; his advice and experience were almost holy, a dogma which Spencer believed and followed without questioning.

So when his number one source of truth told him he had a crush on you, it was a shock.

“I don’t think that’s the case-”

“Reid.”

Spencer stopped his attempted rambling as Gideon’s eyes made an appearance from behind the lowered paper.

“Just repeat what you were telling me at the start of the conversation,” the older man sighed.

Spencer shifted on his legs, picking at the rolled up sleeve that was settled by his elbow.

“I know she’s my closest friend, the person I feel most comfortable with, although she’s been working here for less time than everyone else. It’s probably because she doesn’t interrupt me and listens when I talk.” He paused for a second, the corner of his mouth lifting into a subtle smile. “I like that.”

“What else?” urged Gideon, setting his newspaper on the desk in front of him.

“I get really excited to see her. Well, I enjoy seeing Derek and Elle too, but I get this weird feeling at the pit of my stomach when I see her.” He pressed his palm to his sternum, showing the origin of the sensation.

“That’s because she means more to you.”

“Yes, but surely not in the way you’re implying. It could be heart burn; do you know that twenty percent of Americans suffer from a gastroesophageal reflux at least once a week-”

“You’re telling me you happen to experience heart burn each time she enters the room?”

Gideon raised an eyebrow, making the younger agent feel dumb for such an improbable conclusion.

“Okay … okay maybe not, the two variables cannot be fully independent of each other if they occur simultaneously every time.”

It was surprising to Gideon that such an intelligent and well-rounded person could be so oblivious to something as romantic feelings. He pressed his thumb and index finger into his eyes, rubbing them slowly and dragging his fingers down his cheeks, buying himself some time to think.

“I think an obvious question is, do you think she’s pretty?” he asked and waved his hand to the side.

Spencer bit his lower lip. He thought you were the most gorgeous person he had ever laid eyes on if he had to be entirely honest; but he couldn’t admit that, not out loud at least.

“I do.”

“That’s it?”

“What do you want me to say, Gideon? That I think that she’s breath-taking and there’s not a thing about her I don’t like?” He said it with a certain anger, one that was buried somewhere deep inside him, a result of the pent up emotions and anxieties in his chest.

“Is that the truth?” You’d think that with his profiling experience, he would have learnt to mask the way he was suppressing the fluttery feelings and adoration he had for you.

Gideon sighed before speaking again: “What are the signs that one is supressing emotions?”

“Struggling to identify and express feelings or appearing emotionally distant, unexpected mood swings, and avoidance of specific topics, people, or situations.”

“And doesn’t that seem to mirror what you’re going through?”

Spencer thought about it. He was definitely finding it challenging to pin point his emotions, he couldn’t really understand what he felt for you; he didn’t really have mood swings, but had just lashed out at his mentor over a comment; and he certainly avoided the topic of liking you or the teasing of such from his workmates.

“Shit, I like her.”

Gideon chuckled at his out-of-character swearing. “First off, watch your language. Secondly, I’m glad you’ve come round.” He laid back in his chair once more, lifting up the paper to continue his reading.

The young genius didn’t know what to do with this newfound information. He liked you. More than liked you, really. He was fascinated by your mere existence, your kindness, your humour, and most definitely your looks. How hadn’t he realised this sooner?

“What do I do now?” he mumbled, taking off his glasses to wipe them on his button-up shirt.

“You tell her you like her.”

Spencer near snapped his glasses in half with the way the pads of his fingers pressed firmly in shock.

“You want me to do what?”

“Reid, it’s not a secret that she has a soft spot for you.”

The boy sputtered, jaw opening and closing like a door on rusted hinges. “I- I can’t do that!”

The newspaper rustled as Gideon flipped the page. “One of you will eventually.”

God I need him, he's such a cutie

[happysparklingshadows]

𝙱𝚐3 𝙻𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚎𝚜 ✿ 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚙 𝙶𝚊𝚖𝚎

Note: I love you all for your support for my Bg3 headcannons and I want to let everyone know my requests are open (also open for TLOU and Yellowjackets)!! Also, comment if you would like to be added to the bg3 taglist! I love you all!

Lae’zel

-She finds it ridiculous when the two of you stumble into a pleasure house.

-She hates outward displays of desperation for sex or yearning outside of the person you are trying to lay with. She was a steel face as your party looked around the rows of items. She is not interested in any of them.

-behind her back, you couldn’t get anything without a sharp look sent your way. There are more critical things to do instead of istiks desperate need for a flesh bond.

-You are scared to tell her you had bought a strap-on. It wasn’t anything crazy, but it was just something that had tickled the back of your head. So, you saved it for the right moment for you to introduce something new to your sex life with your overly serious githyanki lover.

-After a hard day of fighting, covered in sweat, blood, and dirt. She came to you. Her eyes are sharply intense as she looks over your form. She says, “I want to lick every inch of your skin of your scent. Tell me, do you tease me on purpose or just to make my hunger for you to grow?”

-You smile and play coy, knowing now that it does rile up Lae’zel, and say, “I am guessing I am not bathing tonight?”

-“No.” Lae’zel says as she holds her arms across her chest. She stares you down and doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t have to.

-So, you slip away and grab your bag whenever everyone is asleep. When you reach her, she gives you a stern look of confusion and dislike at you doing something unexpected.

-You sit down beside the bag and pull it out. You explain to Lae’zel that it is just for sex and that it is only needed to have sex differently.

-“Am I not pleasurable enough for you, then?” She asks in a defensive tone of venom, and you just smile and look up to her from your spot.

-“No, the opposite. I wanted to know how it would feel if you had a penis.”

-“But I don’t.” ????

-You chuckle as you look up to her, “Have you never wondered what it would be like if you could be inside me? Like, claim me differently, my champion?”

-The comment of claiming clicked in her mind. She insisted she would be wearing it and using it on you.

-You help her put it on when she gets frustrated with the straps.

-Lae’zel doesn’t even let up for a moment after hearing the whimper out of your mouth when she entered you. It was like something primal clicked in her head. She was going to claim your body and soul.

-Lae’zel licks your neck and chest with a soft growl, her hips slapping into yours without mercy. She hums low, moans in her breath as she thrusts into you. Your hands tangled into her hair and small braids, your breasts push against her lips as your back aches.

-Lae’zel becomes obsessed with the sounds out of your mouth. She holds your head down as she looks over your face intensely when you cum. She nearly cums against the strap when your name comes out in a shuttered breath.

-Lae’zel fucks you with the strap that night until the night sky crawled its way out of the sky. She groans at the fact she has to stop fucking you. She smells herself and you all in the air.

-Lae’zel will steal the strap and keep it with her. She may or may not smell it when she wants to smell you when you aren’t near.

-Lae’zel will not be using the strap often, but she will use it when she wants to have a little more dominance over you. To show you that she was the source of every bruise and ache in your body.

-Her strap would be flesh-colored, or she would have never had it near her body. What do you mean that she can have a glittery purple strap???

-She is a Mean Dom who praises your good behavior. She is always razor-focused, always on top of everything in her life, and ready for battle at a moment's notice. She has no problem correcting you or making you understand the consequences of subordinates. Expect to have a few marks on your way out.

Karlach

-The second she enters the pleasure house with the party, she wanders off on her own. Searching, wondering, fantasizing. She doesn’t want to get too pent up, so she leaves a little earlier than you do, not noticing you seeing her eye the strap on with blush on her cheeks.

-A devilish thought came to mind, and you got the one she was eyeing. It was a larger one that made you blush at the thought of it being stuffed inside you.

-But, because Karlach and you can’t have sex until her next upgrade and a miracle, the strap is long forgotten in your crest.

-Once Karlach got her upgrade, IT. WAS. POUND. CITY!

-You and Karlach fucked in your tent, on the tent, by the campfire, by the campfire with your friends around you (very difficult to be quiet), in the river, in ruins, in the forest. There wasn’t a moment that went by that Karlach’s hands were not trying to touch you.

-One night, while eating dinner at the party, you remembered what you had bought a few weeks earlier. You stay quiet as a blush comes over your face at the memory.

-When everyone retired to their tents, you entered your shared tent to find her humming away to a love song and sharpening her axe.

-“Hey, soldier, I have been waiting for you all day.” She puts down her axe with a great smile to look at you. She notices the way you coyly stand. She leans back on the tent wall with a slight smirk growing, “What brings you around?”

-You melt to her face immediately and crawl closer to her with a devilish smile, “I missed you today. I wanted to give you something.” You say as you crawl in between Karlach’s legs. Inches away from their lips.

-“Oh yeah, baby, what’s that?” Karlach asks, clearly lusting after you again, and watches you intently.

-You run a finger up her stomach and to her heart. It burned like a cup of hot water, and you let your eyes worship the woman you love. “You remember when we went to that pleasure house?”

-Karlach’s breath hitches when she feels you touch her. She only says shakily, “Yeah?”

-“Well, I noticed what you were eyeing and bought it. I was wondering if you wanted to use it on me?” With your eyes meeting her, you asked her, and your hand planted itself on her strong shoulder.

-The same shoulder you hold on her for dear life as she fucks you standing up with the strap. She trusts you with the growls she uses in battle. She ferally fucks you as you cling onto her with yelping moans.

-Karlach looks down to see the black strap disappear into you like a magic trick. She had a big, goofy smile on her face.

-Karlach has you screaming, writhing, and desperate. You become lust drunk quickly, even have a moment where you just stare at her in reverence in the way she fucks you to bliss.

-Karlach didn’t know her strength most of the time with you and didn’t mean to manhandle you when she did. You never complained, though. You liked the feeling of her effortlessly lifting you up and down with her biceps under your thighs, or the way her hand completely covered your throat if she held you there, or when she grabbed your chin firmly to kiss you.

-“Gods, I fucking love you- I am never letting you go! Fuck baby, look at me like that.”

-Karlach cums the moment you start to shake when your climax approaches. She shivers and ruts the strap into you like she was trying to push cum out of it.

-You are a writhing mess for her as you are placed on the floor, your toes still curling even after they have left your body. It was a delicious feeling. You bite your lip as she stares down at you, still standing and panting. The strap still in the air.

-“Did I do alright?” She asked. She wiped the sweat from her brow.

-You look up at her towering form and massive fake cock staring you down and say, “Karlach, you are a fucking amazing. Please- Please, will you fuck me again?”

-And she did.

-That was the night Karlach discovered she was the STRAP GOD.

-Karlach would get a big black strap if she had any day in what she wanted. She wanted something that seemed to fit her body, which happened to be big.

Shadowheart

-Shadowheart blushes when she comes inside the pleasure house with you and sees all the items for sale.

-She looks on with wonder and excitement at items for pain that caused pleasure. Nipple clamps, bondage rope of satin and silk, or wands made for shocking a person with a command word. It was all interesting to her, although she kept calm as she walked beside you.

-You look at her, and she meets your eyes silently. Your eyes point to a strap-on and back at her. You secretly speak to her about your wants.

-Shadowheart blushes and looks back at you. You can tell she says yes back to you. She loved this new secret language you two have created to speak intimately in public.

-You sneakily buy the strap-on without Lae’zel or Astarian noticing, keeping this secret for her. Which she dramatically approves of.

-You two act as though nothing has happened, and it is an ordinary day, an average day of adventuring through your quest. Shadowheart watched your behind all day, wondering what taking you from the back would be like. It excited her and made her happy.

-The day ended with conversation and planning the next move, where you will go tomorrow, and who to kill. You finally come over to her tent.

-Shadowheart smiles and asks, “I have been waiting for you this evening. Do I have you to myself now?”

-You didn’t even say anything else before you kissed her lips. You softly push the two of you into your shared tent and want to use this now. The anticipation was killing you.

-The two of you make out on the sheets of the ground passionately, but you two fail to stop kissing each other when you move to open your bag.

-Shadowheart surprisingly wants to use it on you first as she takes it from your hands and puts it on herself. She looks down at you as she puts herself together, “I want to have you. First, I want to see your face twist for me,” she says as she slowly lowers to kiss you again.

-She flipped you around out of nowhere. As she grabbed onto your hips, she kissed the back of your neck. She rubs herself against you as she gently enters you from behind.

-She watched in fascination at the way your ass jiggled and bounced with her thrusts, she liked the way your thighs slapped against hers, and she could just watch it all. Watching your wetness spread on your cheeks and thighs as she fucks you passionately.

-When you have cummed on the fake cock, she kisses your neck and begs for you to do the same. She takes it off, helps you put it on yourself, and lays it down for you to be on top of her. You passionately kiss her and fuck her back as her soft moans filled the tent.

-You take turns with the strap; sometimes it’s her using it, or you are using it on her. It was a reoccurring character in your sheets, and it becomes beloved very quickly upon both of your first climaxes with it together.

-Shadowheart would get a purple glittery strap if she had any day in it because it was simply pretty and did its job while being pretty.

Minthara

-Minthara doesn’t react much to the pleasure house or the inside items. She glanced over the items with a carefree attitude that made your heart beat fast in your chest for some reason. She surprises you by asking the employee to let her see this item beyond the display case, and she, without shame, “(Y/n), come here.” She softly orders in front of your party. You blush softly as you do as she commands, and she asks to see the different sizes and colors.

-Minthara Baenre was raised to be a proud Matron of Menzoberranzan and has the qualities similar to nobility of Faerûn, She was bold with her sexuality and desires. She actuallly gets a kick out of embarrassing you in a manner like this, to her it was amusing how people without status acts towards sex.

-She asks you for the size you would like and smirks as she asks for one a size bigger. She picked a deep red strap with satin ropes and added it to her bag like it was nothing at all. You leave the interaction and shop with heat pooling in between your thighs.

-Minthara doesn’t waste time with her new item. She waits for that night. It doesn’t matter what happened or what needs to be discussed with the party members, and you need to gag on her cock.

-Minthara waits in your shared tent and has it proudly on herself, adjusting the straps as you walk in.

-she has you on your knees in obedience and has her hands running through your hair as she thrusts into your mouth to see how it looks.

-Minthara says, “Such a good lover, so obedient with those eyes looking at me, just like that.” As she bucks her hips into your open mouth.

-Minthara has you propped in her lap in a death grip on your hips, thrusting up into you with the strap. Minthara had her eyes fixated on your face, watching it twist in helpless pleasure to her manhandling.

-Minthara kisses and sucks on your breasts as she listens to you writhe. She wanted to be covered in you, wanted to be stained in you, forever scarred by your love and lust.

-Minthara is the queen of overstimulated and mocking pouts, “I know, Ust-nor, I know. You got a little more to give me. I want it.”

-Minthara has you cum on the strap a total of four times before she feels settled and ready to let you off her strap. But she would steal one more after seeing your spent face as you lazily lay on the pillows of your bedroll

-Minthara happily cuddles you after. She loves you intensely and lays her head on your chest. She pets your body tenderly as she whispers to you about how well you did, how powerful she feels after, and how the two of you will dominate the under dark hand in hand.

-There is no surprise that Minthara is a brutal mean dom without mercy. She likes to be in power and be actively

[moonstruckme]

hey maee! your version of remus is such a comfort- i metaphorically kick my feet and squeal every time it’s hurt/comfort lol. i have a weird(?) request so no pressure at all but could you maybe write one for doctor remus with a reader who easily spirals over health? like a tiny bruise appears on her arm and she’s genuinely scared it’s cancer kind of freaked out. and he just sits her down and explains whatever is going on in very simple words, because it’s obviously a regular source of anxiety?

Thank you for your request sweetheart!

cw: health anxiety

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 462 words

Your worry grows like a tumor as you scroll on your phone. Pigment, size, sensitivity, it’s all there. You twist your neck around, peering at the spot on the back of your arm. 

“What is it?” Remus asks from the other side of the couch. 

You turn back around, giving him an apologetic look. “I have this weird spot on my arm. Can you look?” 

“No, you’ll have to make an appointment.” If you weren’t already skilled at detecting your boyfriend’s deadpan sort of teasing, his little smile would give him away. He sets down his book and beckons you closer. 

“Joking,” he confirms once you’re near enough, kissing you softly on the shoulder. “Where is it?” 

“Here.” You show him, turning your back to him and trying to point. 

Remus hums, taking your arm gently in his grasp. “When did this show up?” 

“I’m not sure. I didn’t notice it until just a minute ago.”

He presses down lightly. “Does it hurt?” 

“Mhm,” you hum anxiously. “I read that skin cancer spots can hurt like that, and it’s sort of discolored and big too. Do you think that’s what it is?” 

For a moment, Remus is quiet. “No, sweetheart,” he says, “I’m fairly sure it’s not cancerous.” 

Relief and skepticism war in your gut. “Really? Why?”

Your boyfriend’s other hand coasts up your opposite arm, moving across your shoulder to settle on your chest. Heavy and grounding. “I think it’s a bruise,” he says calmly. 

“A bruise?” You turn your head to look at it again. Your neck is starting to ache from the strain. 

“That’s what it looks like. You probably only got it yesterday. It’s relatively small, did you back into any corners or anything like that?”

“No, I don’t…” 

“Think back.” 

You do. And when it comes to you, you want to hide your face in your hands. “Oh.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I hit it on the corner of a drawer yesterday.” Your anxiety starts to abate, embarrassment taking its place. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be.” Remus lifts your arm a bit, slouching to touch his lips to the spot. “You only jumped to conclusions a bit. Are you still worried about it?” 

“No.” You scoot backwards until you’re propped against his chest. “Not now that I remember where it came from.” 

He hums, rubbing his hand over your clavicle soothingly. “I know you get anxious, honey. You’ve been doing better at managing it lately, though. I’m proud of you.” He presses a kiss to the back of your head. “Do you want a distraction for a little while?” 

You consider it, settling in against him. “Tell me what your book is about?” 

“Oh, that’s an hour-long distraction at the least,” he jokes. “How much do you know about Appalachia?” 

[eyebagshawty]

Hello! May I request Lae’zel, Karlach, and whoever else you want to write being washed by the reader. I find the idea of bathing and taking care of someone to be really sweet.

Headcanons + Blurbs for Being Taken Care of/Washed by Tav

A/N: Hello! Sorry for just getting around to requests and other things now, the end of the semester got pretty crazy (at least I passed everything !) and now I’m finally able to focus and get out of this rut. Thank you for your patience and I hope you like it!

Characters: Lae’zel, Karlach, Shadowheart, Wyll, Gale, Astarion, Halsin

Part 2

Lae’zel

• When you first offer to wash up with Lae’zel she’s mostly confused and kind of annoyed - there’s already a tadpole in her head, and that’s enough lack of privacy.

• “Chk. At my crèche these things are normal. However, you istiks insist on attaching emotional meaning to such things… no.”

• However the more she thinks about it… you two have shared a bed more than once. She respects you more than the others; when she tells you to speak she also makes sure you know she will listen. She supposes that maybe connection wouldn’t be so bad with you of all people.

• She just walks up to your tent, grabs your hand, and says “Fine.”

You meet her at the waterfront and- is she nervous? Her gaze wavers between you and the night sky, feet firmly planted into the ground and arms across her armored chest. You get most of your armor off, but that last clasp just has to give you trouble. “Lae’zel, could you help me out with this?” It’s silent for a tension filled moment, and you’re about to ask again.

“Chk.” She walks over and with ease undoes the clasp. She’s back to feet firmly planted and arms crossed, only looking at the sky. You unfurl your hair from its practical braid and keep your eyes on her. “I wish I could show you the Tears.” Your eyes widen when you think about the first night she invited you to her bunk, how hard getting used to this unusual plane must be for her. You place your hand on her shoulder and she tenses, but relaxes after she’s brought back to the moment.

“I wish I could see them.” You whisper to her. You ‘help’ her out of her armor (she’s just letting you at this point, she could’ve been out of it in 30 seconds flat) and you both hiss as you enter the cold water. After a soft and asking touch, she allows you to undo her hair and wash it. You gather her hair gently into your hands and have her lean back to the water. As she does, you can see that she clearly hasn’t been this vulnerable in maybe ever. You give a soothing stroke to her scalp and she hums. As you lather the looted soap into her hair and scratch your nails lightly, you hear her sniffle.

“Lae’zel… are you alright?” You stop your ministrations but keep a hand cupped at the back of her neck.

“My-my queen is false. I will never ascend. Tsk’va, I’m an enemy to my kin. I don’t want to be on this plane anymore… I miss the astral. I must fight but I do not know how to keep going.” She quickly wipes her tears and looks at you. “Speak, source of my bruises. I will always listen.”

With her hair looking clean, you slowly move the bar between her shoulder blades and move it in soothing circles. You kiss her temple. “My love, this situation is quite a mess. Tadpoles in our heads, endless injuries, and I cannot imagine what this world must be like for someone who has never been in it. We will get through this. I’m here. I’m yours.” With that she shows an inkling of a smile as she stares into the water in thought. You continue to bathe her with soft kisses in between every swipe of soap along with words of reassurance. You are hers, the source of her bruises.

Karlach

•Once Karlach is able to touch people again, she is ecstatic to wash up with you. She’s barely been able to keep her hands off of you since, so when you offer she squeals.

• “Of fucking course soldier! Who knows, we might even be able to turn that river into a hot spring.” Her eyebrows waggle and your face goes beet red.

• When you meet her she definitely cannonballs into the water and complains when it’s shallow

• “Aw hells, that’s gonna be a kink to work out in the morning.”

• You guys don’t bathe for a good 15 minutes, she’s just kissing you and rubbing your sides and it’s so SWEET

She breaks away from the kiss and wades further into the water. You grab the soap from the grass and follow after, settling your arms around her neck and wrapping your legs around her waist. Her fingers come up to pinch your nose and she flops backwards into the water, leaving both of you sopping wet when she comes back up. “Gods Karlach you’re gonna kill me,” you sputter as you cough out the bit of water that got in your mouth. She pats your back and lets out a full bellied laugh.

“That’s right soldier get it all out,” she grins. You shoot her a playful glare. When your collective giggles finally die down, you bring the bar of soap up to her hair and begin lathering and spreading it with your fingers. Her eyes close with a serene smile. You make sure to get the area around her horns, and she kisses your cheeks as you take care of them. “You know… after Gortash. After… Avernus. Nobody has taken care of me like this in so long. So fucking long.” She sighs as you bring the bar to her neck and chest, taking away the near pints of blood the party had spilled earlier.

“I’ll make sure it never is that way again. I love you, and no matter what happens you deserve to be free from all of this.” You meet her gaze as the bar moves to her shoulders, and you see fear.

“Tav… my heart.” She lets out a choked sob and a tear streams down her cheek that you immediately wipe away. “I finally have you after so godsdamn long, and I don’t want to lose what’s most important. Not again. I’m just so scared.” She breaks down into tears and her skin heats up warmly under your skin. You crush her into your chest and she buries her face into your neck, where you rub soothing circles into her scalp along with kisses.

“You won’t lose me. Whether it be in Baldurs Gate or Avernus, I’ll be here.” She lifts her head and you kiss her nose, where a little flame sparks and then snuffs out. She lets out a soft chuckle as her mood cools. “I promise to you we’re gonna kill that pathetic little fucker and anyone who helped him.” Her lips meet yours and you kiss back with eager passion. As you pull away you go back to soothingly rubbing the bar across the planes of her back.

“Wait- didn’t you grab this soap off a dead guy?! GROSS soldier!”

Shadowheart

•She immediately says no

•Not because she doesn’t trust you, she just can’t swim and finds it a bit embarrassing for her powerful presence

•After you finally convince her it’ll only be where she can stand, she agrees.

• “A bottle of wine, my lover, and a nice grassy beach? It’ll do,” she gives a sarcastic but playful smile.

•You two get plastered on Chultan Fireswill before you hop in

After one last swig from the bottle Shadowheart takes your hand and leads you into the water. You stop at around three feet deep and get to your knees. Her braid whips around her shoulder as she serenely begins to scrub away blood with the soap bar. “I love this silver color so much. It illuminates you as some would say,” you utter softly, and she chuckles. She slowly takes her hair out of the braid’s confines and your jaw drops at how long and pretty it is as it flows down her back. You look pointedly to the bar of soap. “May I?”

She squints at you in playful suspicion then smiles. “You may.” You lather the soap into her hair and she lays her head back into your chest as you scratch lovingly at her scalp. She brings her hand up to your cheek behind her and whispers, “The moon looks beautiful tonight.” As soon as the words leave her lips the wound in her hand opens. She hisses and sits back up. As she looks back to you, her gaze looks broken. “After everything I’ve been through with the dark lady, I don’t think this will ever go away.”

You inch your hand closer to hers, placing your pinkies over each other. “It’s horrible… what she did to you.” She grins bitterly but moves to interlace your fingers, rubbing the back of your hand with her thumb.

“I just wish I could remember any of that horrible stuff. I want to be angry. But mostly I’m only numb. She was… she was everything to me. And although it is horrible yes, it’s all so new. Being away from her.”

She nods in confirmation as you move the bar of soap to her chest, the motions soothing her and making her eyes soften as she watches you. “I understand,” you whisper as you lean up to kiss the shell of her pointed ear. That’s all that needs to be said, Shadowheart thinks to herself. You’ve become more than her greatest companion in her eyes, she trusts you’ll be there through thick and thin. “We’ll just have to make new memories,” you smile, and as you finish rubbing the soap across her body you throw it back to the grass, pulling her into a loving kiss as she wraps her arms around your neck.

Wyll

•When you offer to wash up with Wyll a MASSIVE blush runs across his cheeks

• “Are you sure? ImsurethehornsfreakyououtandtheresbumpsinotherstrangeplacesIdontwantyou-“ he basically starts talking at a mile a minute about how it might be awkward for you

• “Wyll honey, I can just meet you there while you’re already in if that’s more comfortable for you” and you give him a sweet smile and his face goes red AGAIN

By the time you get to the waterfront, you see Wyll propped against a rock, the water resting at waist level with his arms propping him up. You throw him a shy smile. He has a sly grin and nods your way, beckoning you towards him. You twirl your finger and mouth, “Turn around!” He lets out a silent chuckle and turns his head towards the mountains beyond the lake.

You slide out of your evening clothes and grab the soap bar laying on top of your towel. As you wade further into the water you let out a shriek — it wasn’t winter right? Wyll turns around and laughs at the sight; you’re rubbing your arms with chattering teeth. “It is quite frigid tonight, huh? I think I’ve got a cantrip in me for a special someone.”

You look around, bemused, as to how spells could possibly help you out here. Wyll shoots a fireball into the depths of the water, your skin instantly warming up. However, it doesn’t last long as the lake cools back down to freezing. You swim at the speed of light over to Wyll and wrap your arms around his neck. “Sorry, I just need something. By the nine hells you think a blizzard would be rolling through,” you laugh. When you’ve warmed up enough, you take the bar of soap and gingerly begin to wash and lather his hair and horns, kissing the scars across his face.

Wyll looks down at you, surprise slathered across his face as you finish up with his head and move to his broad shoulders, kissing everything infernal you can find. “Tav…you like this?” He brings up a hand to your cheek as you continue your ministrations. You cup water in your hands and gently rinse away the soap on his chest.

“Of course I do, Mizora could make you look fully cambion and I would still have the strongest of feelings for you. You’ll always be my dashing, strong, Blade of Frontiers,” you peck his neck with each last word, and he laughs, kissing your forehead with a soft cherishing smile.

Gale

• When you offer to Gale, he gives you the most devious look you’ve ever seen

• He hasn’t been around others for so long till now, much less bathing with anyone, and he’s grown pretty strong feelings for you so he love love loves this idea

• “My dear Tav I would love to! You know how I enjoy your body after a battle, all the sweat covering your skin and the flush of your cheeks”

• He’s not your quietest companion so everybody does hear this and everybody does let out an exasperated groan

• Your face flushes even further than when you asked him and you squeak out an okay and run to your tent

When you meet up with Gale at the waterfront, his tunic is already off, showing his surprisingly wonderful muscles. He kisses you upon greeting, and helps you out of your evening clothes with a soft caress here and there on every part of your body. You grab your soap and lead him into the water, the water being just warm enough for your plans.

He gathers you into his lap, his cheeks a light red as he grins up at you. You lather the soap and scrub it into his hair, listening to his groans and praises as you work. You kiss his cheeks as you move to his chest, and he finally opens his eyes again, looking up at you with those big round puppy eyes.

“This is surprisingly wonderful. I remember doing things like this for her, running water through her hair and lathering the finest oils onto her skin, but she never once did anything for me.” You stop your work, looking up to his eyes with an expression of shock and sadness. His eyes bore just as strongly into yours, and his thumbs rub circles into your hips.

“Gale… you are worthy of being loved. What she did to you wasn’t right — it never was, even from the beginning if I’m getting my facts straight. She isolated and took from you. I never want you to feel like that with me.” You kiss his cheeks and his hairline, and his lips follow yours, chasing to press them together.

They finally do, and his kiss is filled with eager passion, pouring every thought he’s had about you into you. When you pull away he lets out a soft whine, bringing his hand to your neck. “I’m in love with you, darling. And I know and trust that you feel the same, any need of the tadpole be damned.” You smile and begin to continue rubbing the soap into his stomach, but he stops you. He brings his lips to yours once more, and he rolls you over onto your back in the water, letting you prove how loved he is.

Astarion

• His eyes go soft and round when you ask him

• “Really?? Little old me??” Even after the graveyard and all your reassurances, he’s still moving towards actual coupley things

• “You’ve never wanted a luxurious meal and bath together my love?” You take his hand stroke his fingers with care

• If he could blush he would, but he just sputters with the goblet of wine he has

• He collects himself back into charming mode, “Well then, I thought you’d never ask. Come find me when you’re ready.” He kisses your cheeks and literally just walks off into the woods, leaving you standing at the entrance to your shared tent looking absolutely befuddled

When you find him at the hot spring the camp had discovered last night, he’s already in the water with his eyes closed angling his head towards the night sky. His ears twitch as he hears you begin to take off your evening clothes, and his eyes open to look at you with a rakish smile. “Why hello, my treasure. The water feels amazing.” You smile, grab your soap and head in. Immediately you groan with relief, the hot water soothing the aches from your nasty fight with some undead earlier.

Astarion moves closer to you, taking the most warmth he can get. You bring your arms around his neck and just stay there for a minute. He hugs you back, burying his face into the crook in your shoulder. You fingers lightly stroke against his raised scars in a loving motion, and after his breath hitches he melts into your touch, practically purring as you lavish him with affection. When you pull away his loss of heat is devastating. However, he calms down when you begin to wash his hair, scratching at his scalp and running the hot water over his curls.

“I don’t think I’ve ever let anyone touch my hair like this,” he mumbles. You kiss his cheek and move the bar to his chest and shoulders, working out any aches and pains he might have.

“Well, now you have me my love,” you whisper, kissing the tip of his ear.

“I just can’t believe that after everything you want to stay. The sky is beautiful tonight, but it is all I will ever know once this mindflayer business is said and done with.” His words are bitter, almost as if he is angry with himself.

“It is all we will know my love. And I’m actually quite the night owl. As much as I love our ragtag group, I’m quite introverted around most of society. Everything is fine,” you kiss his bite marks, the hollows of his cheeks, and finally his lips. He kisses you back fervently, pouring care he was never able to show for anyone else previously. You pull away and finish gently washing the rest of his body in silence. As you prop your neck to the side for him, he looks at you with an expression akin to great offense.

“Darling! I thought you knew me well enough to know the bath is never over after only soap.” He waves his hand over to the small crate of oils he’d brought to the spring. “Now, I’m feeling lavender tonight. How about you my love?”

You give him a beaming smile, wading out of the spring to retrieve it. “Sounds wonderful, my heart.”

Halsin

• You don’t even really have to ask him, he’s just joined you most of the time to protect you

• He doesn’t like you venturing out in to the woods by yourself, because Silvanus help him a lot of people are after you guys

• “Of course my heart — Scratch is licking at his paw a bit so I need to inspect that, but I will join you in just a couple of minutes.”

• With an encouraging woof from Scratch, you caress his shoulder and go to collect your things

You’ve stuffed all the stuff needed for the bath into two large bags, your arms making you crouch downward with the weight. As Halsin walks to meet you he sees this, chuckles, and wild shapes into his bear form. He takes the bag handles into his mouth and nudges your leg with his snout. You pet his head and hop onto his back, him letting you ride on it as you both make your way to the water.

On arrival, you hop off and he drops the items into the grass. As his bear form is used most in combat, you grab out a bottle of soap you’d nicked off of that crazy dog handler in Rivington. You drizzle it all over his fur and gather some of the river water into a bucket. You begin scrubbing the soap into his fur, and he lets out cute little groans and growls. When you finish you dump the bucket of water onto him, and he lets out a noise of surprise. He turns back into regular Halsin, his hair soaked down against his head with playful exasperation.

“My heart, you did not need to release the full power of a waterfall onto me I assure you.” You laugh and beckon him into the water. He wades in and smothers you with kisses.

“Halsin please! I need to breathe!” You giggle, pushing at his chest. He finally settles down, pulling you into his lap.

“Thank you for helping me with the shadow curse. Thaniel he… he needed us. He needed you.” He settles into a somber smile, nuzzling his nose against your temple.

You trace your fingers across his chest, leaving kisses that follow. “I knew the lands needed our help, and I’m glad he’s free from the curse. All we have left is this elder brain, and we can go back to the grove and live in peace.”

He tilts your chin up with his hand, and looks tenderly into your eyes. “I would be blessed by Silvanus to spend my thousands of years with you.” He crashes his lips into yours, one of many you’ll share over the passage of time.

[prozacpussyprincess]

Blushing, Crushing, and Totally F*cked! Part III

Summary: Reader finally gets totally f*cked! Final Part!!!

Part I: https://www.tumblr.com/piperlivingdeliberately/731031070307401728/blushing-crushing-and-totally-fcked?source=share

Part II: https://www.tumblr.com/piperlivingdeliberately/731124314601062400/blushing-crushing-and-totally-fcked-part-ii?source=share

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI! Awkward, giggly, wholesome sex because they’re both cute little losers, fingering (r! receiving), tit play (both receiving), oral (r! receiving), scissoring, top!hazel, swearing, mostly just cute fluffy first time sex!

“Fuck,” was all you could think to say to your reflection in the mirror as you stared at the deep purple hickey on your neck. “Fuck,” you repeated, remembering that you had to be at school in less than forty minutes. “FUCK!” you shouted once more, realizing that all of your friends would also be at school, and being the nosy freaks they are, they would not be stopped until they knew who had marked you up. 

Hazel. Oh, God, Hazel. Every time you touched the bruise, you swore you could still feel the ghost of her lips and teeth against your sensitive skin. You had fallen asleep so quickly the night before, exhausted from just a short makeout session. When you woke up, you had an internal debate about whether or not it had all been a dream. It was too good to be true, right? 

The purple that Hazel had painted on your neck said “wrong”. 

… 

Relief flooded you when you realized that Hazel was the first of your friends to arrive to Mr. G’s class. Her perky smile greeted you as you sat beside her. 

“Hi,” she said awkwardly, the greeting a bit late considering that she had already been staring at you for twenty seconds. 

“Hi,” you returned. Nervous laughter floated between the two of you. 

“So, I was thinking that you could come over tonight after school,” Hazel began, words stumbling out faster than she could properly form them. “I know it’s short notice so it’s cool if you want to go home first and get your stuff. Or it’s totally cool if you don’t want to come anymore! I would totally understand and not care–” 

“Hazel,” you cut her off. “I would be happy to come over tonight. I’ll need to run back to my house to get ready, but I’ll text you when I’m on my way. ” 

“Oh,” she exhaled, eyeing her own hands in her lap. “Great. Perfect.” 

With Hazel’s eyes on her lap, you finally looked away from her. Of course, just your luck, you were met with the wide-eyed stares of Josie and PJ standing above you. 

“Hey, guys,” you said flatly, waiting patiently for PJ’s flagrant comments to begin. 

“Hey to you two, as well,” Josie said formally. Her voice was almost squeaky, like a balloon trying not to let out too much air. 

“PJ, you’re awfully quiet this morning,” you prodded. It was true. You hadn’t even thought she would last a second seeing you and Hazel so blatantly ogling each other. 

“I have nothing to say this morning,” she retorted, jaw clenched in frustration or concentration, you weren’t sure. You flicked your eyes to Hazel, who had started to notice your friends’ obvious self-restraint. She held her ringed hand up to her mouth to hide her smile. 

“How strange,” Hazel joined in on the game. “It’s very, very rare that you have nothing to say, isn’t it PJ?” 

“I suppose,” PJ replied. 

“So you really have nothing on your mind?” you questioned her. “There’s really not a single thing that might be on the tip of your tongue?” You watched her eyes light up like a kid on Christmas when you moved your hair to the side, deliberately exposing your hickey. 

“Oh my fucking God!” PJ pointed at your neck. “I knew it! I fucking knew it! I told you, Josie!” 

Josie simply stared in silent admiration, allowing her best friend to make herself look like an idiot as she jumped up and down. “Yes, PJ. You did tell me. How could you ever have guessed?” Sarcasm coated her voice. 

“So, who’s the top?” PJ asked, and was thankfully cut off by the beginning of Mr. G’s lecture. 

You were nearly able to focus entirely on class until you felt Hazel’s breath as she whispered softly against your ear. “Did I give you that?” She jutted her chin out at your bruise. You almost laughed before you realized that she was genuinely asking. You simply nodded at her, unable to contain your smile when she flushed from her forehead to her neck. 

A sudden flash of bravery came over you as you watched her blush, so you leaned into her. “I wouldn’t want anyone else in the world to give me that.” She shivered at the whisper, eyes locked on yours from the moment you had said it to the moment the bell rang. You blew her a kiss–a painfully chaste gesture compared to your previous actions–and bounded out of the room as if nothing had happened. Hazel was dumbfounded and couldn’t stop staring at the door until PJ clapped her on the shoulder. 

“Good luck with that, champ,” she taunted, prompting Hazel to finally get up from her seat. “Tell us where you put the next hickey after tonight!” Hazel’s middle finger waved goodbye to PJ, because she couldn’t be bothered to think about doing anything else with her hands that didn’t involve you. 

… 

Despite her one-track mind earlier in the day, Hazel could do nothing with her hands but hold them awkwardly behind her back as she welcomed you into her home that night. 

“Hi, Haze,” you started, sensing her nerves. “Cute jammies,” you complimented the baggy blue and black flannel pajamas she wore. You framed it like a joke, but you were just trying to distract yourself from how sexy she looked in the black sports bra that scarcely covered her top half. 

“Shut up,” she laughed, clearly not sensing your thoughts. “You, on the other hand, actually do look cute.” She grew a bit bolder and placed her hand on the small of your back, fiddling with the hem of your bunny-print PJ pants. 

“Why are you acting so surprised that I look cute?” you feigned offense, clutching your hand to your chest. “Is it so shocking that I could look good?” 

“What?” Hazel nearly fell over her own feet. “You always look cute! You are quite literally the cutest, most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I would never–” 

You cut off her rambling with a deep kiss. You hadn’t planned on making your move so early in the evening, but something about those compliments hit a deep spot inside you. “I was just kidding, Haze,” you whispered against her mouth, punctuating the sentence with another quick press to her lips. 

“I like it when you call me that,” she whispered back, pulling away to move a stray piece of hair out of your face. She began turning her head in all directions, taking in the foyer as if she hadn’t seen it thousands of times. “Holy shit. We didn’t even make it past the entryway.” You erupted into laughter, grasping her arms as you caught your breath. She took the opportunity to grab one of your hands and wordlessly led you to her room. 

Hazel closed the door behind her, turning around to see you facing her expectantly. She didn’t waste a second before grabbing your face and kissing you again, so impatient for you. Realizing she should have at least brought you to the bed first, she giggled as she gently pushed you in the right direction. She laid you down softly against her pillows before climbing on top of you. 

Every second that she stared into your eyes, you felt the butterflies in your stomach multiply. You pulled her in by the collar of her shirt, disappointed when she only offered you a short, closed-mouth kiss. Her deep blue eyes bore into yours once again, grinning almost mischievously before she dove into your neck. 

You moaned as her tongue flicked out against the hickey she had already created, whining when she created a friend for it on the other side of your neck. She trailed her kisses down lower until she reached the top of your camisole. 

“Can I?” she asked, breaths already growing heavy. You only nodded, not confident in your ability to speak properly at the moment. 

“Use your words for me,” Hazel said, her voice a low depth that you had never heard before. 

“Yes, Hazel,” you gasped. “Yes.” You were grateful that she didn’t taunt you for your desperation and instead just pulled your shirt down enough for her to kiss down to your nipple. She waved her tongue around the bud, circling it before taking it between her lips. The gentle sucking motions had you arching your back into her. She pressed her face into your cleavage as she made her way to your other tit. She played with the nipple that had just been in her mouth, pulling soft sounds from you as she rolled it between her fingers. 

“You sound so pretty, baby.” You moaned in response and began tugging your shirt over your head. Hazel jerked back in surprise. “Oh, getting impatient, huh?” she teased. You would have laughed, but you were too busy trying not to shrink under her penetrating gaze as she stared at your tits. It felt like minutes before she finally looked back at your eyes, asking, “Do you even know how fucking sexy you are?” Then you did laugh, covering your face with your hands. 

“Stop it.” You blushed behind the blanket of your palms. Your quiet giggles turned into a gasp when you felt Hazel pry your hands away from you. 

“I mean it.” You almost felt like she was scolding you. “You are so unbelievably perfect.” 

“Thank you.” You genuinely meant it, trying to convey your appreciation through your eyes. Feeling needy and nervous again, you distracted yourself by running your hands up and down her back. You eventually felt brave enough to begin pulling at her sports bra. She understood your silent command and removed it, her breasts hanging over your face tantalizingly. 

She must have finally understood how you felt in your earlier position, because she laughed shyly and fell into your shoulder so that you couldn’t stare. 

“Nope,” you said. “Come here, baby.” She climbed up your body further, red-faced and avoiding your gaze. She couldn’t help but look at you again after you took her left nipple into your mouth. 

“God,” she uttered in shock, rolling her hips into yours. You whimpered against her chest, urging her to gyrate even faster. “Fuck.” She pulled her tits away from your mouth, giggling at the pout that had formed on your face. “This okay?” she asked, her finger now playing with your waistband. Your pouty lip quickly transformed into a grin while you helped Hazel remove your shorts and panties. 

You felt yourself grow wetter with every kiss that Hazel placed on her journey down. When she finally reached the spot between your legs, she started planting kisses even lower, sucking into the plush flesh of your thighs. She looked up at you once more, silently confirming that she had your consent. 

“Please,” you whined, and she didn’t hesitate. 

Hazel licked a long, slow stripe from your slit to your clit, refusing to break eye contact as she watched you squirm. When she reached your most sensitive spot, she clamped her lips around it, flicking her tongue out to tease your clit. She reveled in your moans that grew louder with every lick. Every minute that passed, the coil in your stomach tightened more and more. You gasped out praises and shouts of her name when she began fucking you with her tongue. 

You almost dragged her back down by her hair when she emerged from between your thighs, grinning face covered in slick and spit. She hovered over you once more, but this time her finger danced around your entrance. 

“Let me know if it’s too much, okay?” she asked. 

“Mmhmm,” you sighed, pushing your hips downward to try to meet her in the middle. At the same time that she smashed her mouth against yours, she slipped one finger into your soaking pussy, gasping against your lips. 

“Fuck,” she groaned. “You’re so wet for me, baby.” She sat back a bit to watch her fingers as they disappeared inside of you. She was only released from the trance when you pulled her in by the back of her neck and forced your tongue into her mouth. 

The kiss was messy and sticky and tasted overwhelmingly of your own juices. You didn’t care about being reserved or self-conscious about your kissing skills when Hazel’s fingers were so perfectly curling into that spongy spot that made your back arch. You moved your hands from her hair to scratch red streaks down her back with her nails, only stopping when her guttural moan made you realize something. 

She had been grinding against the mattress searching for her own pleasure this whole time. 

“Hazel,” you called to her between kisses. She pressed her forehead to yours and waited for your request. “I want you.” 

“You already have me, beautiful.” She kissed your cheek softly. “I’m all yours.” 

“I want you on me, Haze.” Your pleads finally made sense to her and she began frantically undressing her lower half. She was completely naked on top of you in seconds. The skin-to-skin contact had you reeling for her. She hooked her right leg over your left, tentatively floating above you. Making sure she had your attention, she grabbed you by the chin, forcing you to meet her eyes as she sank herself onto you. 

You moaned in unison as she began grinding her wetness onto yours. You rose slightly, using her thigh to give you leverage to pull yourself against her. It took you a moment to find your rhythm with each other, but once you did, sounds of pleasure bounced around the room. 

That familiar feeling began to reach you again, and Hazel could tell from the way your moans transformed into whimpers and quiet whines of her name. 

“You’re doing so good, pretty girl,” she cooed as she stroked your breast. “So good for me.” 

“Holy– Haze, fuck!” You were so thankful that her mother was away, since you were shamelessly yelling at this point. “I’m so close, babe.” 

“You can do it, sweetheart,” she urged you on, speeding up her hips as she neared her own end. “Cum with me.” Not a minute passed before you were heeding Hazel’s gentle command, moans cut off by the waves of pleasure that coursed through you. Hazel brushed your hair out of your face, uttering praises and giving you a break before she continued to use your slick to ride out her own orgasm. The overstimulation didn’t last long, for Hazel had been close to finishing just from hearing you moan her name. 

Her hips stuttered on top of yours until she collapsed back onto the bed. Her body was folded in half, her legs outstretched awkwardly. 

“Comfy, Haze?” you joked, laughing as she shook her head and repositioned herself beside you. 

“Oh, my god.” She stared at the ceiling, then at you with wide eyes. “I just fucked you.” 

“That you did.” You giggled at her disbelief as you kissed her cheek. “And you did it very well.” 

The praise made her blush. She buried her glistening face in your neck, wrapping her arms around your still naked torso. 

“So,” she began, still hiding her face due to nerves. “Are you my girlfriend now?” 

“I better be after that,” you said. You laughed together for a minute before urging her to look at you. “I would love to be your girlfriend, Hazel Callahan.” 

And so you were. 

[julesinsummer]

I loved your fic about Theo getting upset because the readers' parents said they couldn't go to Italy for the summer. I was wondering if you could do something similar. The reader says she's not allowed to stay with him for the summer, but theo trys to convince readers mom to let them go to Italy, but he finds out that her parents said she could go. And Theo confronts the reader.

I don't know. I thought it could be a cute angst/fluff fic I've never requested before, but I love your writing, so I thought I'd give it a shot. Thanks:)

Little Lies (Theodore Nott x Reader)

angst&fluff, happy ending | requested!

"Theo, they said no, I really can't argue with that," y/n sighed as she closed the book she was reading.

Theo groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Let me talk to them, then," he tried, "they love me! They'll listen to me, won't they?"

Panic surged through y/n's body at the mention of Theo talking to her parents. "It'll just make them mad at me! It's just not happening, I'm sorry my love."

The truth lay beneath her panic-stricken words: she hadn't even asked her parents. Truth be told, they'd say yes immediately if she had asked. It was no secret that y/n's parents adored Theo and would do anything if it meant that the two would stay together long enough to breach the topic of marriage.

y/n hadn't mentioned going to Italy for the summer with Theodore for one simple reason: Theodore Nott Sr.

Nott Sr. was an imposing man with strict ideals and rules and little to no morality. He scared everyone that he came in contact with, especially his only son and heir's girlfriend. He was often controlling and angry, with yelling and cursing being his most used vocabulary. Theo loved to hate his father and hated to love him, but by way of only having a father his teenage life, he'd come to respect him for what he could do.

y/n was not so lucky. She was a stranger to the violence that unfolded in Nott Manor, to the hurt that a father could cause his only son. It was impossible to watch when Theo would appear perfectly groomed and poised, all the while hiding the bruises and scars that lay just below his collar. It broke y/n's heart to pieces, and she refused to house herself under that roof for an entire summer's break.

But she couldn't tell Theo that. Perfect, poised, handsome, loving Theo who only wanted her, his source of comfort, to be with him in a picturesque setting.

So instead, she lied. And as everyone says, lies cannot be kept forever.

y/n's parents had invited Theo for dinner the next night at their manor, reveling in the laughter that ensued from his witty jokes and ignoring his blatant hand on their daughter's thigh.

"I did want to ask you something, Mr. l/n," Theo said softly as dinner winded down. A sick feeling invaded y/n's stomach, with its only visible traces being the red color that latched itself onto her neck.

The older man nodded, "Anything, my boy. What is it?"

Theo shot Mr. l/n a smile, one that he'd learned almost exclusively from the business dealings of his father. "My father and I would be overjoyed if y/n could join us this summer at our home in Italy. It's in Rome, near the city center. He wanted me to extend the invitation to her. Would that be alright?"

Time seemed to slow to a grinding halt. y/n was sweating, her hands shaking as she clasped her glass and avoided the eyes of her parents.

"Of course, of course!" Mrs. l/n replied for her husband, grinning widely at Theo. "I'm sure she'd love to as well, wouldn't you dear? And that just means that we can have a child-free summer of our own!"

Theo's eyes dropped onto y/n with such sadness and frustration that it made her skin crawl. She saw the disappointment under his features, trying desperately to escape his gaze. She only managed a nod.

With a few more pleasantries, dinner concluded and y/n and Theo were free to escape to her bedroom. Once the door had closed, Theo scoffed loudly.

"What was that all about?" he asked angrily, his face turning a pinker hue than normal. He was angry, that much was clear.

"I... I'm sorry," y/n managed, dropping her head low. She fidgeted with the rings on her hand, half of which Theo had gifted her.

Theo scoffed again. "You're sorry? I didn't ask for an apology, I asked for an explanation! You told me they said no!"

y/n sighed loudly, dropping to sit on her bed with her head in her hands. "I never asked," she admitted softly.

"You never asked?" Theo had begun to yell, quickly casting a muffliato charm on the room. "y/n, I asked you about this months ago and you said they told you no! Why did you lie to me?"

"I had a good reason, Theo! Okay?" y/n shouted back, tears springing from her eyes. She and Theo never argued, but when they did, it was awful and hurtful.

"Oh good, I'd love to hear what a good fucking reason you have for making me look like an idiot with your parents! Or for lying straight to my face for months!" He was screaming now, fisting at his hair and coming closer to y/n.

She flinched a little at the action, staring up at Theo intensely. "You'll just get mad at me again if I tell you, so what's the point? I'll go, okay! I'll spend the whole summer with you and your asshole father and be uncomfortable for months!"

Theo paused at that, the room going deathly silent. "Uncomfortable? You're uncomfortable spending your summer with your boyfriend who has told you so many times that he wants to fucking marry you? What, are you going to be so uncomfortable at the thought of spending time with me that you'll tell me no?" His tone got angrier with every word.

"I'm not uncomfortable because of you, you asshole!" y/n shouted, standing up suddenly. She and Theo were close and the anger radiating off of them was palpable. "I'm uncomfortable because your dad is a fucking sadist and wants everyone around him to hurt! I don't want to watch you get beaten for existing for months, Teddy! I can't do that! And if you don't understand that or if you don't think it's a good reason to say no, then I don't know what planet you live on."

They were close, close enough to make one wrong move and end up completely engulfed with one another. Theo was the first to speak.

"And you couldn't have told me that in the first place instead of lying to my face, y/n/n?" he asked softly, his anger dissipating by the second. "You don't think you can talk to me about that?"

y/n let the tears fall freely down her cheeks. "You wouldn't have listened to me, just like you're not listening now! I'm sorry I lied to you, honey, I am. But you never listen when I tell you that I hate your father."

Theo stayed silent for a while, his eyes indicating that he was lost inside his own head. He finally moved after what seemed like an eternity, wiping the tears off of y/n's cheeks with a soft brush of his thumbs.

"I'm sorry, amore mio," he apologized softly, moving his hands to tangle in her hair. "I... I didn't think about it."

y/n sobbed a little, nuzzling into his touch. "You never do."

Theo nodded sadly, resting his forehead on hers. "You don't have to come," he mumbled, closing his eyes. "I should've thought of you first."

y/n shook her head slightly, sniffling. "I just don't want to see you hurt or getting hurt or anything but happy. He makes you miserable."

"I'll figure it out," Theo replied softly, kissing y/n's head. "I'll figure it out."

"He sucks, you know that?" y/n asked with a small, humorless laugh. "If he wasn't there, I'd go. If he wasn't involved, I'd go anywhere you asked me to."

Theo nodded, looking into her eyes. "I love you," he whispered, meeting their lips into a passionate, emotional kiss. "I'll figure it out, I promise. I'm sorry for yelling at you."

y/n pulled him into a tight embrace, resting her head on his shoulder. "It's okay. I shouldn't have lied to you."

"If I can convince him to not go... would you come?" Theo asked, hugging her tighter. "I can figure it out."

y/n nodded, pulling back just enough to see his face. He had that determined look that he sported on occasion, like when he played quidditch, or when he was working on an assignment. "I'd go anywhere with you and only you."

Theo nodded silently, kissing y/n again, this time as a promise. "It'll be done. And no more little lies."

"No more little lies," y/n agreed, pulling them both down on her bed.

-

i hope you liked it!! as always, requests are open!

[fatkish]

Heyy, i wanted to request a Eresermic im which Aizawa has a biological daughter, but she is being bullied and they noticed when she was already thinking in ending it all.

I understand if this is too dark, i just lived something similar and my parents blamed me, so some confort would be apreciared hahaha

Thankss, i love your writing 🩷

(Oh my gosh, this hits so close to home because this happened to me. My parents grew up in the era where if boys were mean to you it was because they like you. So when I begged them to do something about my bullies, they did nothing. Needless to say, my childlike innocence was the only reason why I’m alive. Although I may be doing better than I was back then, nothing can erase the trauma from the unintentional neglect from my parents. I hope you don’t mind, but I’ll be basing this somewhat off of my own experience and I’ll be putting it in the Pro Heroes x Inner Child Series)

Erasermic x Aizawa’s Bullied Daughter Reader

(TRIGGER WARNING: This story has mentions of bullying, harassment, allusions to suicide and suicidal thoughts, depression and other potentially triggering topics. Please be advised)

Since you basically have two dads, you refer to Hizashi as papa and Shouta as dad

Your quirk was called restraint. Basically if you called someone by their real, full name, you could temporarily restrain them as long as you focused on them

But just like your dad, you also had to be able to see your target

But unlike your classmates, you were a late bloomer. You developed your quirk at age 8, which led to you being bullied by your peers

You knew that your dad’s worked really hard and that their jobs were really stressful at times. So the last thing you wanted was to be another source of stress for them. Which is why you didn’t tell them about the bullying

You were 11 when you just couldn’t take it anymore. You tried to deal with the situation on your own, you tried to fight your bullies who even started making fun of your dad’s being a couple

You tried not to let anyone’s words affect you but after so many years, you started to believe them too. And you began to bully yourself

You would tell yourself that your dad’s already had enough stress on their plates and that you were just a burden on them. You had started to mentally and physically beat yourself up

The bullies had started to use their quirks on you, resulting in bruises which you would hide with makeup that your Aunt Nemuri had gotten you since you started to develop acne

Since your dads would get home late, you had plenty of time to get home and cover up any wounds

One day, you just had enough

You decided that you were better off dead. You decided that you would take your own life after you got home and would leave a note before leaving the house so your dads wouldn’t have to deal with the body

Unknown to you, Aizawa had gotten a call from one of your teachers who was concerned about you. She had seen you fighting and decided to give Aizawa a call since your grades and overall performance had declined significantly

Aizawa had informed Hizashi of the call and they decided to go home early and wait for you. They believed that you were going through puberty and the hormonal changes were effecting your performance and were the cause

Imagine their surprise when you get home, covered in bruises, a busted lip that was still bleeding and a completely dead look in your eyes

Seeing their precious baby in such a state they immediately started to worry and begged you to talk to them

They had prepared your favorite food for dinner and even got you your favorite dessert as a treat. Seeing how sweet they were, you broke down and confessed your pain and your plan

Hizashi was balling his eyes out and wrapped you in his arms while Aizawa had clenched fists with tears in his eyes.

Aizawa made the call to your school demanding a talk with the principal and the parents of your bullies. While Aizawa was setting that up, Hizashi had you sit on the couch while he tended to your wounds, disinfecting them, cleaning them and bandaging them

He told you that he loves you even though you’re not his biological kid, you’re HIS little listener, his favorite kid in the whole world. He then picked you up and smothered you in hugs and kisses

Aizawa came back into the room and brought the food

That night, you guys are on the couch as you snuggled together under a blanket and watch your favorite movie

The next day, Aizawa and Hizashi dropped you off at UA with Nemuri, while they had a talk with your teachers and bullies. They decided that homeschooling would be the best for you right now since they want to make sure you heal mentally, physically and emotionally from this before you go back

They had told Nedzu what happened and he agreed that for the meantime, until you were mentally stable again, the safest bet would be to have you do your homeschooling at UA where you’ll be surrounded by people who can help you and prevent you from doing anything detrimental to yourself

Needless to say, they love you and you are their whole world and you’re the reason why they fight to come home. You’re their motivation and the reason they fight to protect

(I hoped this helps you and that you guys enjoy this)

[lloydskywalkers]

drywall

went to go work on raising hell and ended up missing Skylor, so!! I will always have so many emotions about s8/9 and the aftermath of it, here's another gallon of them.

Two months after they’ve taken back the city and the street lights are finally starting to work again, Lloyd shows up at the restaurant an hour past closing time, sporting a spectacular bruise and enough blood across his gi to make the Ninjago City Blood Drive team’s day. 

“Hi, Sky.” Lloyd waltzes — or attempts to, it’s more of a stumbling collapse — right in as if nothing’s amiss in the slightest. “Sorry, I’m, uh. Was in the neighborhood and I wasn’ sure…where else t’ go.”

Skylor, still frozen over a stained tabletop with her dishtowel in hand, stares at him. 

All things considered, she should be fully prepared for something like this. It should practically be in her restaurant’s training manual, that at some point you’ll end up confronted with a bloody, half-dead ninja in your door. But given how slow the past few weeks have been, coupled with the sheer exhaustion of dealing with the lunch rush and the dinner rush and the late-night somewhat-inebriated people rush, her guard is apparently down enough to leave her reacting with a simple, useless, “Oh god.”

“Tha’s my grandfather,” Lloyd says. There’s blood at the corner of his mouth — coupled with the bruising, Skylor thinks (hopes) it’s simply from split skin or a bitten cheek, instead of crippling internal bleeding. 

Crippling internal bleeding is enough of a concern to finally spur her into action, dropping her towel and rushing over to help Lloyd finish stumbling through the door. She spares a moment of thanks, that there’s even a door at all — repairs in the city have been slow, since Harumi’s brief reign of terror, and the insurance provider is still holding out on her. 

But the door was a good thing to prioritize, she thinks, bolting it firmly behind them. 

“Sorry, again,” Lloyd murmurs. His jaw is working in the tight way it does when he’s biting back pain, his bottom lip bruised and bleeding. Skylor’s stomach twists. 

You’d think, after all she’s been through, she’d be more accustomed to seeing the people she cares about in pain. That she’d be desensitized enough, to fight back the aching nausea and the gnawing desire to look away. 

Or maybe she’s just a coward. That would track, she thinks. 

“Shush,” she says instead, maneuvering Lloyd further into one of the nicer booths, careful of the blood that’s…everywhere. “What did you do to yourself this time, huh?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Lloyd grumbles, his voice steadier now that he’s sitting down. Unfortunately, he’s only paler under the yellowy restaurant lights, and the blood looks about ten times worse. “I just…slipped. A bit.”

Slipped. Skylor could smack him, if he wasn’t already hurt. 

“Lemme see, then.” She bends down to where she can tug the folds of his gi back, trying to trace the blood to a source. She finally finds it — an ugly wound in his left shoulder, several long gashes across his forearm. A knife, maybe. Possibly a sword, but it looks close-up and quick. It’d need to have been quick, for whoever was wielding it to land this many hits. 

Or Lloyd would have to be sloppy. 

Lloyd gives a stifled, shuddery exhale, a dangerous preamble to tears. Skylor pauses, just for a moment, and deliberates. 

She’s got Nya’s number, carefully keyed into her phone ever since she and Kai started visiting the noodle house. There’s no doubt in her mind that she’d want to know about this — and there’s less doubt that Kai would want to know. if anything, she’s surprised he hasn’t burst through the restaurant doors already, summoned by whatever sixth sense he has that goes off when Lloyd’s in danger. 

But Skylor also knows there’s got to be a reason that Lloyd came here, despite his claims. Just as there’s probably a reason he didn’t call Kai or Nya, or any of the others. 

And perhaps she feels just a little proud, that Lloyd’s chosen her to come to. 

It’s quickly lost in the blood that coats her hands as she begins patching the wound in his shoulder, but the feeling’s there nonetheless. 

It’s a nice feeling, being relied on. Being trusted. 

“Who got you this bad?”

She speaks up mostly to break the quiet. Lloyd isn’t quite like Kai, who likes talking simply to fill a space, but she knows he isn’t fond of silence, either. It’s one of the things they share in common. 

“No one.” Lloyd sucks in a breath as she draws the bandage tight across his shoulder, wrapping it beneath his arm and back over. His eyes close briefly as she ties it off, forehead scrunching up, before he lets out another shuddery exhale. “Some guy, uh — guy on the way home, near the subway. I had answered a call earlier, and I guess — ow, hey—” 

“Sorry,” Skylor winces, as she finishes dumping antiseptic across the slashes on his arm. “It hurts less if you aren’t expecting it.”

“That’s a lie,” Lloyd says, pointedly. 

She shrugs. “So, random subway mugger?”

Lloyd looks away, his cheeks darkening. It’s a relief, to see any color in his face at all. “Sort of.”

He leaves it at that, lapsing back into silence. Skylor looks down, focusing on the butterfly stitches she’s placing across his arm. Were it anyone else, she’d have panicked for actual stitches, but Lloyd heals with an uncanny quickness. She remembers Nya complaining about it, back during the Resistance — how Lloyd threw a fit when his skin healed over the stitches, and they’d had to cut him open all over again. 

She’d probably throw a fit of her own, to be fair. 

“Well, if you see him,” she says, reaching for the roll of bandages. “Point him out. I could use a punching bag.”

Lloyd’s lips quirk, a ghost of a smile. 

“Thank you.”

It’s quiet enough she might’ve missed it, if they were any further apart. Skylor doesn’t miss the meaning, either. She simply shakes her head, wrapping another layer around his arm. 

“I’m just glad you came to someone,” she says. “Instead of half-assing it yourself.”

Lloyd’s fingers twitch. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Uh-huh.”

She can’t pretend she doesn’t understand. Her childhood is filled with fun little memories of patching herself together, hiding wounds from Clouse or her father in an attempt to convince them she was better than she was.

Not that the people Lloyd is hiding from are anything remotely like her father, of course, but there’s an overlap between people you fear and people you love, and trying to convince them you’re stronger than you are. 

“That should do it,” she nods to herself, surveying her work. She feels unusually proud of herself — Skylor’s never really stayed with a team long enough to have many chances to patch people up. It’s rarer that people are so open to her touching them, once they’ve learned what her power is. The ninja are an exceedingly kind exception, but it still makes her feel warm, being given this kind of trust. 

She glances up, eyeing her patient. Lloyd’s still pale, but it’s far better than the ashy color from earlier anymore. “Anywhere else?”

“No.” Lloyd stares at the strip of bandages across his arms, shoulders hunched over on himself.

“I have Nya on speed dial, you know—”

“Its just a few scrapes,” Lloyd rolls his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

Skylor sighs. “Lemme see.”

Lloyd grumbles, but he lets her grab his arm again, wincing as she dabs antiseptic over the smaller cuts. There’s nothing serious — just a few nicks and scratches, the kind you get from eating the ground mid-fight. He’s got one uglier scrape, but it’s about as nasty as a skinned knee, and easily eclipsed by the scar it bleeds through. 

Her fingers falter. She knows this scar — she was there when Kai struggled to patch the wound it once was, back on her father’s island. It’s an ugly, jagged scar, a testament to how Kai’s hands had shook as he’d tried to be gentle. 

In hindsight, it had been a terrible moment. Kai wasn’t sure if Lloyd had picked up the wound from the underground tunnels, Chen’s cultists, or his own brief slip into the madness of the staff. Lloyd wouldn’t say where it was from, even if either of them had been much for talking. And Skylor had been an awkward, purple-scaled fixture next to them, holding the medical kit while the others planned how to kill her father. 

And yet, it was the lightest she’d ever felt. 

Skylor bites her lip. 

She’s never told Lloyd, what exactly he’d meant to her. He likely has no idea, what he’d represented when she’d first met him. 

The son of one of Ninjago’s greatest villains — and people loved him. 

Kai loved him. 

If Lloyd could overcome the hurdle of his parentage and choose to live the way he wanted, if people could look past the dark stain of his legacy and love him anyways, then maybe—

He’d been hope, when she needed it most. And Kai had lived up to that hope, taking Skylor’s half-formed, frail dream and fueling it into a blaze.

Her eyes close, briefly, and she shivers. 

“Are you okay?”

Blinking her eyes back open, she comes face to face with Lloyd’s concerned expression. She shakes her head, looking away. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Embarrassment pulls at her. “Just a bit of…aftershocks. You know.”

Lloyd frowns, clearly not knowing. “Aftershocks,” he repeats. “From…”

His eyes go wide, only for his expression to immediately crumple. “Oh.”

Skylor waves her hands. “It’s not bad,” she reassures him. “I can barely feel him — his power — anymore. Just pins and needles in my hands sometimes, that’s all. Totally…totally normal.”

She hopes. Garmadon’s power had burned, in the way bitter cold feels against your skin, so a bit of numbness is pretty decent tradeoff, if she says so herself. 

Lloyd looks down, expression shadowed and hidden. Skylor could curse herself — she knows better, than to bring up—

“Here.” Lloyd’s suddenly holding his hand out, looking at her earnestly. It’s an almost childish expression of sincerity, one that makes him look much younger — a little more like the Lloyd she met on her father’s island, who beamed when his father ruffled his hair. 

Her chest aches fiercely, and Skylor holds out her hand before she can hesitate. Lloyd takes it carefully in his own, and she watches in fascination as the low shimmer of green engulfs her fingers. Lloyd’s power is as gentle as he is — nothing like the ravaging purple storm that was his father’s. 

“Oh,” she says. “That’s nice.”

Lloyd makes a humming noise. “I’ve been practicing. H-his power doesn’t get along with mine, that much. So it kinda…makes room. For whoever’s stronger, at the moment.”

Skylor fights back a shudder. Realistically, she knows she shouldn’t feel ashamed, that Garmadon overpowered her — he’s Garmadon. The reminder of how his power felt still stings, though. 

It’s a reassurance, that Lloyd’s power is stronger now. His element, if you can even call it that, is probably the one she’s the least familiar with — she’s never tried to copy Lloyd’s power. She isn’t entirely sure if she could, or if she should. Dipping into Garmadon’s power was dangerous enough. Skylor isn’t stupid enough to pretend she has the willpower to meddle with the power of the FSM’s family much more than that. 

“It feels like cheating, kinda,” she finally says. “That fighting fuels his power. How are you supposed to fight back?”

Lloyd shrugs, letting her hand go. “You don’t. You get really good at dodging.”

Skylor leans forward, propping her chin up in her palms. “That’s stupid.”

“Well,” Lloyd’s lips twitch, just the slightest bit. “That’s Garmadon, so.”

His expression immediately fractures, and Skylor can spot the battle in his eyes as he tries to grasp for composure. Her teeth worry at her lip.

She should really call Nya, now. Or try to track down Kai’s number. Or anyone else — it’s nearly two hours past closing, the kitchen’s still a mess, and Lloyd’s blood is all over her dishrags. Lloyd himself is hardly in better shape, the ghostly pale of his skin reminding her horribly of when she first saved them from the Sons of Garmadon, and Skylor is—

Not enough. 

She ought to know that, by now.

But the fact still stands, that Lloyd came to her. A part of her clings to that, and another selfish, awful part of her, the part that festered on her father’s island for so many years, the part that still flinches beneath the weight of her last name — well. 

Misery loves company, is probably the best way to put it. 

“I should…I should probably get going,” Lloyd says, uncertainly. He doesn’t make any move to get up, though, still small and weary where he’s hunched up in her booth. 

Skylor stares at him, and thinks of sitting for hours on the edge of her father’s island, staring at the sun on the water until her eyes ached. 

“Hey,” she says, a bit breathless, twisting her fingers together. “Wanna go skip rocks?”

Quite fairly, Lloyd stares at her like she’s lost her mind. 

They end up on the rickety end of one of Ninjago City’s abandoned docks anyways, a mismatched selection of somewhat flat rocks spilling out of a Chen’s to-go bag. Lloyd’s left arm is tied up in a mangled sort of sling they fashioned from Skylor’s old sweatshirt, leaving him to turn a rock over in his right hand awkwardly. 

“So, funny thing,” he says. “I don’t, uh. I’m not very good at this.”

“That’s okay,” Skylor says, sifting through the rocks they’ve gathered. “I’m not, either.”

“Yeah?” Lloyd sounds hopeful. “I mean, you at least know the trick to it, right?”

“I don’t,” she shrugs. “I’ve never…I’ve never skipped rocks before.”

Lloyd stares at her. 

“It’s not that weird,” she huffs, fighting back the urge to hide. “I mean, I never really had the chance, but I aways thought — I grew up near the ocean, and all these lakes, so I always thought it’d be fun to, y’know, skip rocks, since I didn’t really have…anyone else, to…”

The rest of the sentence is about to turn even more humiliating, so it’s a relief when Lloyd interrupts her. 

“I haven’t either.” 

He immediately flushes. “That’s why I’m not good at it.’Cause I’ve never actually skipped rocks.” 

“Oh.” Skylor looks at their bag, then back up at him. “Well, cool. We’ll both suck, then.”

“How hard can it be, anyways?” Lloyd says, sorting through their rocks. “You just find a flat one, right?”

“Yeah,” Skylor says. “Then you sort of just, frisbee it. I think.”

“Hm.”

“You haven’t thrown a frisbee either, have you.”

“Oh, like you have.”

Skylor presses her lips together, snorting. “Was wondering when your snark was gonna show back up.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do you not remember half the stuff that came out of your mouth, back at the tournament?”

“You would’ve been out of your mind too, if you had to herd the guys around then — also, bold words coming from you, ooh, how dare you call me a traitor, even though it’s totally dead-on—”

“That wasn’t even close to what I said, and also—” Skylor snatches a smooth rock before Lloyd can, hefting it up. “It’s not like I was gonna admit to you all I was a traitor. That defeats the whole purpose of betraying. Lying my way out of a corner was the smart choice.”

“You’d be surprised,” Lloyd mutters, as Skylor flings her rock across the water.

They both watch as it splashes sadly, sinking instantly like, well. A rock. 

“Okay,” Skylor cringes. “That was a warm-up.”

Several warm-ups later, neither of them have made any progress whatsoever, save to torment whatever fish are hanging out on this side of Ninjago City’s harbor with relentless rock barrages. 

“This is ridiculous,” Lloyd huffs, watching as his rock all but torpedoes into the water. “What’s wrong with us, that we can’t get one stupid rock to skip?”

“Maybe it’s in the wrist?” Skylor flexes her hand, angling it one way then another. She winds ups, throws the rock out, and — nope. 

“I think we’re getting worse,” Lloyd remarks as Skylor sputters, wiping the seawater that splashed up from her face. 

She can’t help but agree. They’re down to a few rocks left, and neither of them have made any progress, much less skipped a single rock. At some point, they give up altogether, seeing who can throw their rock out the furthest instead. 

“This one’s going…” Lloyd raises his arm, closing one eye and squinting as he angles higher. He finally pauses with his hand pointing upwards toward Ninjago City. “Right through that weird oval thing on Borg Tower.” 

“Don’t hit it too hard,” Skylor says. “They just got it back up last week.”

“I’m not hitting it, it’s going through it, weren’t you listening?”

“To you? Nah. I’ve heard you suck at public speaking.”

“Wow, after you forced me into the live broadcast and everything—”

As if to emphasize his distress, Lloyd takes a running start, hurling the rock forward. They watch as it arcs across the skyline, before plummeting somewhere in the harbor. 

“So close,” Skylor murmurs. 

Lloyd flops on the ground with a dull thump, legs sprawling in front of him as he leans back on his elbows. Skylor’s makeshift sling isn’t doing much at all anymore, though it looks like he doesn’t need it to.

That, or he’s hiding pain stupidly well. Which wouldn’t be surprising, if disappointing. 

“Defeated,” he mourns. “Overthrown by rocks.”

Skylor dusts gingerly at the ground before sitting next to him. “They sure got the best of us, this time.”

“Maybe it’s a learning curve,” he says. “That or we missed, like, the optimal rock-skipping development time.”

“Mmh. Maybe we need to recruit a teacher who actually had a decent childhood.”

“If you find someone, lemme know.”

They both laugh, breathless and hollow, because they’re not much else they can say, to that. 

Lloyd sits up suddenly, pulling his knees to his chest. His arms wrap tightly around them, eyes glued forward. Instead of asking, Skylor follows his gaze to the skyline of Ninjago City, the darkened scars left behind by Garmadon and Harumi painfully pronounced this late at night. 

It couldn’t have been longer than two weeks, could it? Their rule over the city?

It feels like years.

She can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for the others — can’t imagine what it was like, ending it. 

It pains her, but Skylor doesn’t remember much of Garmadon’s defeat. She’d thrown everything she had into controlling his power, and when it had snapped back on her, ravaging through her like a cloying poison, everything had gone dark and hazy. 

It kind of sucks, because she’d done all that just to miss the most important parts, but…it is what it is.

What she does remember, besides Nya’s steady voice and Dareth’s panicked yelling, is the blazing warmth that was Lloyd carrying her.

That and his painfully bony shoulder digging into her stomach. 

“I was trying not to get us crushed,” Lloyd mutters, cheeks turning pink. “Sorry my shoulder wasn’t up to cushion-y standards.”

“And I’m trying to say thank you,” Skylor sighs. “But seriously. Put something on those bones.”

“Meh meh meh,” Lloyd mocks. There’s a lack of his usual energy in the action, the dullness to his eyes only made worse by the bruise-like circles beneath them. But it’s still very Lloyd — a flash of the friend she knows. 

“I really do mean it,” she says. “Thank you. For carrying me out of there. For saving me.”

Lloyd stares at her with dark eyes. Not as dark as they were, back when he’d lost his power, but the glow is almost entirely absent.

“You shouldn’t—” he bites off, frustrated. He tosses the rock he’s holding, up and down. “It was never a question.”

He glances at her. “Besides,” and there’s the closest she’s seen to a real smile. “You saved us first.”

Not nearly soon enough, she thinks. 

She should’ve told him, should have asked — should have let him know how it felt to watch her father fall deeper into madness, told him what it felt like to lose hope — what it meant, to move on. 

To cut ties, before they strangled you. 

“How are you,” she says, as gently as she can. Then, because gentle doesn’t always get you through the walls they build— “For real. Not how people want to hear you’re doing, or the answer you think they want. How are you.” 

Lloyd stiffens. There’s a flicker of fear in his expression, his mouth moving on instinct. 

“I’m doing okay.”

Tremors lace through his hand where he holds the rock, shuddering fingers tracing over the rough surface. 

“Okay as I can be.” He looks down, the rock slipping from his fingers as his arms wrap around himself. “I know that isn’t the answer you want, but I don’t…”

He looks back up, the lights of Ninjago City misty in his eyes.  

“I don’t know what people want me to say,” he whispers. 

Skylor wishes he’d screamed it. Wishes he’d snap, wishes he’d find the anger where it simmers inside him and turn it outwards against the world, rather than violently projecting it inwards like a masochistic missile all the time. Anything at all, instead of this hollow brokenness. 

It reminds Skylor a bit too much of—

Well. 

“I know I — things are—” Lloyd swallows. He pauses, raising his hand to scrub at an already-bloodshot eye. “Everything happened so fast. It was like — like getting hit with a bus, then another bus, then she — put the bus in reverse and ran me back over, and I never really had the chance to…to…”

“To get back up?”

Lloyd nods. He picks absently at a bloodstained patch on the leg of his gi. “And I know that’s just a stupid metaphor, but getting back up is…it’s really—”

Lloyd’s pulling threads loose now, tugging hard enough that he’s likely to start unraveling holes in his gi. 

“Can I tell you something? Something that’s not…not so good.”

“Hey, you know me.” Skylor elbows him. “I’m an expert at not-good.”

Lloyd’s eyes are a little too knowing. “You’re really not.”

And she’d turn a mirror on him, if she could. “What is it, then?”

Lloyd looks away, one unusually-sharp tooth gnawing at his lip. 

“I know my dad — my dad I used to have — he loved me. I know he did.” Lloyd sounds, rather devastatingly, like he’s trying to convince himself. “But now that he’s…now that he’s like this, and after everything that happened, I almost wish — I almost—”

He cuts off, covering his face with his hands. “Never mind.”

Skylor stays still, her gaze fixed ahead on a dark spot in the city skyline. If it were her, she’d want—

Lloyd’s voice is a muffled whisper. “I wish he’d never loved me at all.”

Skylor lets out a long, shaky breath. 

Lloyd gives a dry, horrible kind of laugh. “That’s terrible, isn’t it? It’s so selfish, it’s — I’m a horrible person, for thinking that way. But it — it hurts now, to think that — that maybe, now that I’m different — and her — that even my dad—” 

“It hurts,” she murmurs. “To lose it. To think that it’s your fault.”

Lloyd brings his arms over his head, the bandages on his left arm a stark white in the dimness as he buries his face in his knees. Curling up, as if he can make himself small enough the world will finally forget he exists. 

Skylor’s…familiar. 

But then again, is she? 

She swallows. Her father was one thing, but if — if he came back now, after she’s worked so hard to move on — at the height of his madness, what would she do? 

She’s out of her depth, as she’s always been.

But there was a reason she answered the call so fervently, a reason she followed Lloyd without hesitation. Skylor doesn’t put much stock in the Green Ninja, doesn’t put much in any kind of prophecy. But she does care, very much, about Lloyd, and she thinks that’ll take her a bit farther.

“You know.” She looks down, running her finger over their last rock. “You were one of the first people that gave me any hope that I could change. That, uh, someone could love me.”

Lloyd startles, emerging just enough that she can see the green of an eye. “Huh? Me?”

She nods. “Back on my father’s island, during the tournament. I was convinced that…that after everything I’d done, with who I was, there wasn’t a chance I’d find someone who loved me.”

Lloyd frowns, lowering his arms so he can look at her fully. “But I didn’t — Kai was the one who reached out to you. He was the one that saw you. I didn’t…I didn’t really do anything.”

“Yeah. He did. But he reached out to you, first.”

Lloyd stares at her, eyes wide. Skylor smiles at him. “You were good. No matter how bad your family had been. And it…it had been okay, for you.” 

The mistiness returns to Lloyd’s eyes as he looks back to the skyline, his lip caught tightly between his teeth. 

“We’re doing okay, right?” Skylor pulls her own knees up to her chest. “You and me. I mean, we helped, a lot. We fought back for the city. You did a lot more than me, obviously, but—”

“Don’t say that,” Lloyd sounds pained. “Don’t compare it, like I’m — I do a lot more harm than good, sometimes.”

“You don’t say that,” Skylor snaps. 

Lloyd flinches. She bows her head, staring down at her feet. 

“We’re good,” she says, hating the way her voice wobbles. “We’re different.”

It’s occurring to her, how cold it is out here on the water. She hopes Lloyd doesn’t get home with a cold, on top of everything else. 

“We’re different,” Lloyd echoes.

“Yeah.” Skylor swallows. “That has to count for something, right?”

Lloyd makes a small noise, but it isn’t one of disagreement. There’s a rustling as he reaches for the bag, then holds out their final, sad rock. 

“Wanna give it the last try?” He gives her a crooked, half smile. “Make it count?”

Her fingers close over the rough surface, cold against the warmth of his hand. 

The brightness of the sun against water on her father’s island in her eyes, Skylor flings the rock as hard as she can, far enough that it’s swallowed entirely by the harbor darkness. 

If she tries, she can imagine it skipping, just once, across the freezing waters. 

She tells herself, it counts anyways.

[avastrasposts]

Bona Dea - part 3

Plot: Stumbling through a dark town, general Marcus Acacius encounters the festival of Bona Dea. But what at first seems like just a pleasurable way to spend the night leaves a greater impression on him than he counted on. Part One Part Two

General Marcus Acacius x female reader

Warnings: Blood and violence, a brief SA, explicit smut (not the SA). No use of y/n, the reader is pretty much a blank slate if you're a Roman noble lady in 2nd century Tuscany?

Word count: 9.5k

A/N: I'm back with part three of Bona Dea! If you haven't read parts One and Two, you probably should to understand the plot. There are a few points about Roman society, especially women's role in it. In a very archaic way, daughters remained under the lawful rule of their fathers even after they married. This meant that if a father found out his daughter was unfaithful to her husband, he was allowed to kill her. There are no historical sources of this happening, but the thought alone... A few notes on the Latin. I think most of it is pretty self-explanatory but just in case: Carrisme - dearest or sweetest Letica - a vehicle, a litter used for carrying people Caligae - sandals used by Roman soldiers, studded with metal on the sole. When walking on a hard surface, they make a clattering sound Puella - young girl Vita mea - my life

After Marcus had left you, sleeping in the bed of the room he’d brought you to, you’d slumbered for a little while before waking up and making your way back to the bedroom where Alba was still sleeping. The next morning, you asked for the letica to be brought forward, and you returned to your own villa with Alba without seeing Marcus again. There were no officers around the villa at all and Alba quietly wondered if they’d all returned to the camp outside the city walls to prepare for their march to Rome. She glanced at you as she said it, but you didn’t respond, just stepping into the letica and turning away from the empty courtyard. You were torn, wanting to see Marcus, but also sure how you’d keep your composure in front of him if he came to bid you a formal farewell. There was so much left unspoken between you, so many questions you wanted answers too, but you didn’t know if you could demand them from him. He seemed to care, but the difficulty of your situation was not easily navigated. Did he think it was worth the trouble? How much were you really worth to him? The thought burrowed itself into your brain as you travelled back home in silence. 

As predicted, your husband was in a foul mood, hungover and still recovering from the bad oysters. He was also displeased with how little attention the great general Acacius had given him. Called to his room, you found him still in bed, pale and clammy as the physician prepared a draught. 

“What did the general say last night after I left?” he demanded of you, “Did you find out if he has a wife or a sister you can befriend? We need to secure an invitation to his villa in Rome!” With an impatient hand he grabbed the proffered cup and waved away the physician. 

“He has no wife as far as I know, and no sister was mentioned,” you replied, waiting patiently with your hands folded in front of you at the foot of the bed. You could feel one of Marcus’ love marks on your wrist and you prayed it wasn’t showing a bruise. The ache between your legs was already a constant reminder of the two nights you’d spent with him. 

“Well, when are they leaving? We’ll invite the officers here as soon as possible, tomorrow night,” your husband took a sip of the draught and grimaced, his hand clasping his stomach as he winced, “Fuck those oysters, I’ll find out who sold them to Acacius and have them flogged.” 

“I heard mention that the army is marching to Rome today, husband,” you said, and with a dramatic groan your husband fell back against the pillows, waving you away without a glance. 

You happily left, there was an ache in your heart too, not just your body. Marcus was on his way to Rome and he’d left a big gaping wound behind. You didn’t know if you’d ever see him again, he hadn’t left a note or a message. His feelings, which had been so clear last night when he whispered them to you, in the stark light of day were harder to hold on to. Had he meant it all? Or was he just caught up in the moment, drunk on both wine and lust? And all you could do was hope that your husband would soon travel to Rome and take you with him. There was no way of getting a message to Marcus without arousing suspicion, and how would you even word such a note? There was no circumstance under which a married woman could communicate innocently with a man outside of her family, least of all a celebrated general. It all seemed hopeless. 

If his officers noticed that their general was quieter than usual as they rode out to the camp, they didn’t mention it. He rode at the front, flanked by the standard bearer, but apart from surveying the landscape around him, a die hard habit from years in enemy territory, he was silent, deep in thought. He’d made a promise, as much to himself as to her, to see her again, to not let that night be the last. But how he was to achieve that, he hadn’t been able to solve yet. 

Titus Cassian Aurelius has served under general Acacius for nearly three decades. They’d first met long before Marcus was the celebrated general he was today. They’d come up through the ranks together, but because of his low birth, Titus would never make general. It didn’t bother him, he served as Marcus’s right hand man and made sure his orders were followed in camp when Marcus left. Marcus was the military genius, Titus made sure day to day was working, keeping the soldiers and the camp in shape. Together they were an almost perfect Roman unit. And when Marcus dismounted his horse and handed the reins to the stable slave outside the general’s tent, Titus knew immediately something was bothering his old friend. 

“General Acacius, good to have you back. The men are ready to march,” he said, following Marcus into the tent. It was almost bare, stripped and waiting for the final marching order from the army’s general. 

Marcus grunted in reply and draped his heavy cloak over a chair in the corner, the only remaining piece of furniture. With a sigh he rubbed a hand over his face, contemplating how he’d breach the topic with his most trusted advisor. Matters of the heart was not usually something they discussed, the only women they’d met in the past two years were the whores who inevitably followed the army, and the discussion had been mainly about their lack of hygiene. 

Now Marcus turned to Titus with a furrowed brow and he, in turn, raised his in question. 

“Is something the matter, Marcus?” he asked. In private, they used their first names with each other, a sign of their long and deep friendship. Marcus often felt immense gratitude for Titus, the support it was to have someone he could trust with his life at all times, and now was no exception. There was no one else he could’ve brought this up with. 

“I fear I’ve got myself in trouble while camped in the town,” he said with a wry smile, “a woman, nonetheless.” 

“A woman?” Titus looked surprised, this was not what he’d expected of their general, and he took a step closer as Marcus began to pace the tent. 

“Yes, a woman, a very special woman,” he sighed, “she takes up a great deal of space in my head, and even more in my heart and I don’t know what to do.” 

“Who is she?” 

“The wife of a local business man, a foul man, base and ignoble, and he treats her badly,” Marcus answered, clenching his fists tightly as Titus looked concerned. 

“A married woman, brother?” 

“Yes, unfortunately. Although I didn’t know it when we first met, she wasn’t with her husband and she didn’t mention him. And after I met him, I understood why.” He rolled his eyes at Titus, “He’s an oaf. Last night we hosted a dinner for the local dignitaries and he was there with her. Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, as if Venus had stepped down among mortals, but he barely spoke a word to her all night and when he did, it was only to insult her intelligence,” Marcus made a face of distaste and shook his head, “He was like a leech, trying to attach himself to anyone with more power and influence than him, and yet he had the most captivating and intelligent woman sitting next to him all night, but he gave her nothing but sour looks.” 

“Last night only? How did she get you into trouble in just one night?” 

Marcus grimaced, it wasn’t his way to brag about sexual conquests and he cleared his throat in unease as Titus waited for an answer. 

“They have an unusual way of celebrating Bona Dea in this town,” he began, “the night before last, as I left the thermae, I found the town deserted, not even the lamps had been lit. Lost in the dark, I stumbled on to her villa and was pulled inside by a group of women celebrating the night...” Marcus gave a small chuckle at the memory, “You see, Titus, any man who’s found outside on that night is free game for the women, to do whatever they want with.” 

“Whatever they want?” Titus laughed in surprise as he caught on, “You mean, anything at all?” 

“I mean anything,” Marcus confirmed, “I passed a brothel and the leno told me a story of a man being made to fuck a goat!” 

“Gods…” Titus laughed, shuddering at the thought, “Please don’t tell me you were made to fuck any animal?” 

“Thankfully, no. Someone did float the idea around, but it was passed over out of concern for the goat.” 

Titus laughed as Marcus grinned, “It was an interesting experience though. They blindfolded me as soon as I came inside, told me the rules and stripped me naked.” 

Titus eyes nearly fell out of his sockets, “Please, go on, and tell me you got to fuck some of these women?” 

“I did, I don’t want to be crass about it, but it was certainly an experience.” 

“And the woman, Venus as a mortal? Did you…?” 

“Yes, it was her house and she was in charge, when the younger girls had fallen asleep, I spent the night with her,” Marcus sank down on the chair and ran his hand through his hair, “She had a presence that drew me to her, even when I was blindfolded, the way she took charge, ordering me to touch her…” Marcus trailed off, lost in thought and Titus drew a deep breath. 

“Gods, I wish I’d joined you in town, Marcus!” he chuckled, “You had an adventure most men would only dream about.” 

“And it didn’t do me much good. Now I can’t get her out of my head and I’m at a loss about what to do!” Marcus groaned, “I tried staying away, but when she came to the dinner last night, I was nearly struck dumb. And before I knew what I was doing, I took a great risk and sought her out as she went to relieve herself. I had to know if she felt even a fraction of what I felt after our night.”

“And did she?” Titus asked, looking at Marcus with concern, he’d never seen his friend so frustrated and lost over a woman before. In fact, he’d never seen him this lost before at all. Marcus' great strength as a commander was that he never lost his way, he always knew what was needed, even if the road to get there was difficult and hard. He was never without a plan and then two or three contingency plans, mapping the road to his victory and taking every possible pitfall into consideration. But now he seemed to flounder as he talked about a woman who’d so clearly captured his heart.

“She does, how I don’t know, but she does. She told me and then she showed me with her actions. By chance, or intervention of the gods, she had to stay the night at the villa we commandeered in town. We spent the night together again, and things were said that makes me believe she feels just as deeply for me as I do for her. But how can I be with her? She’s married!” 

Marcus slumped in the chair and sighed deeply, “We march to Rome today, and then she’ll be lost to me forever and I think I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.” 

Titus narrowed his eyes as Marcus rubbed a hand over his face, sighing deeply again. 

“Delay the march, I have an idea, brother,” Titus said after a few moments of silence, “You say this husband of hers is greedy and power hungry, let’s use that against him.” 

“Delay the march? We need to be in Rome in a few days, we’re expected by the emperors.” 

“I’ve planned for delays, we were due to arrive three days early if we leave today. We’ll just arrive two days early if we stay here another night, it won't make a difference.” 

Titus gave his old friend a bright smile, “Come on, I haven’t met this woman yet, but if she’s got the great Marcus Acacius on his knees, she must be truly special and that I can’t let you give up on.” 

When evening came, your husband was feeling better, but still remained in his private bedroom rather than come to the one he shared with you. Grateful for small pleasures, you still tossed and turned throughout the night. It had never been easy to be married to a man you didn’t love, but it had been convenient. As long as you could put up with his occasional visits and demands for his marital rights, you led a comfortable life and saw little of him. But now, with Marcus invading your every thought, it became impossible to feel content with the life you had. You could feel his hands on you whenever you moved, small bruises and marks littering your body from the two nights you’d spent with him, reminding you of him as the night dragged on. 

It was foolish, you didn’t know the man, not really. You’d seen him surrounded by his men and guests during one evening, spent two incredible nights in bed with him, but all that fueled your passion for him was lust. The way he made you feel when he put his mouth, his hands, on you, it drove all rational thought from your mind. Yet you felt yourself standing on the verge of throwing all you had away for him, for the opportunity to be close to him again. There was a deeper connection there, you felt certain of it. 

When morning came, you were heart broken and exhausted, picking at the food the household slaves put out. Your husband came through and nibbled on some dry bread before he called for the letica and headed out. A message had been delivered early and he was called away on business. 

Grateful to be alone, you withdrew to the gardens at the back of the villa, where the cool water of the fountain kept the air fresh. Alba hovered nearby, but she sensed your mood and stayed quiet, working diligently at her embroidery. You wandered around the garden, absentmindedly tending the late blooming flowers that still showed their colours in late December. The wilted heads were plucked off and tossed aside as your thoughts drifted to Marcus despite your best efforts to push him to the very back of your mind. Each snap of the dry stalks felt like another rejection of any hopes you had of seeing him again. 

“Domina, excuse me,” one of your servants had approached on soft feet and startled you with their deferential interruption, “General Acacius is here to see Master Lunaris but he has not yet returned so the general asked to see you instead.” 

“General Acacius?” you asked, managing at the very last moment to keep your tone neutral, “show him to the reception room, I’ll be right there.” 

The servant bowed and hurried off and you went in search of Alba. You needed her in the room with you, you could not let the servants see you alone in a room with a man, but Alba would be discreet. 

“Alba, come here, quickly!” you called to her when you spotted her on one of the low marble benches, “He’s here!” you hissed as you got close. Alba’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, she knew who you meant without needing to guess and she gasped. 

“He’s here? I thought the army left yesterday morning? Why has he come back?” 

“I don’t know, but he’s here and I need you in the room with me, and we need to make sure the servants don’t hear anything, come.” 

You smoothed your hands over your dress and then your hair. You were a tired mess after your sleepless night and with quick movements you pinched your cheeks to brighten your skin. As you stopped in the hall outside the reception room, Alba rearranged your dress and covered your hair. 

“I’ll tell the servants to leave, make sure no one comes in while he’s here,” you whispered to her and she gave you a quick nod. 

Marcus was standing in the middle of the room, studying the mosaic on one of the walls, his hands clasped behind his back. The dark fabric of his tunic strained across his wide shoulders underneath his armour, his sword belt hung low on his hip, he was dressed for travelling.

“General Acacius, what an honour to have you in our home,” you approached him with your head bowed and only glanced up when he turned to you. He bowed low in return and swept his cloak to the side. 

“I came to see your husband, but I hear he is away on business,” Marcus replied, “I have information for him, but I trust I can pass it on to you?” 

“Yes, of course, general,” you answered, hardly daring to meet his eyes as your mind reeled trying to figure out what information he might have for your husband. Marcus was fully in his official role, his voice commanding and curt, his hands still clasped behind his back as he stood straight, his eyes never wavering from you or betraying any emotion except a slight impatience at having to deal with the wife of the man he’d come to see. 

“Leave us,” you called to the two servants hovering at the edge of the room, “Alba, you stay, and pour us some wine.” 

The two household servants scurried out of the room and Alba served you both wine from the amphora that was always kept in the reception room for any visitor. You sat down on one of the sofas and Marcus sat down opposite. Alba placed the cups next to you and then retreated to the doorway of the room, close enough to see you, and stave off any accusations of being alone with a man, but far away enough for you to have a private conversation. 

“I apologise for turning up like this, without warning,” Marcus said, his voice suddenly softer, no longer bearing a stern edge as he leaned forward, his hand briefly landing on your leg, “I made up an excuse to keep the army camped here for another few days, I had to see you again.” 

“I couldn’t sleep at all last night, the very thought of you already being so far away from here…” you replied, your voice filled with emotion as you saw how warmly he smiled at you.

“You’ve truly cast a spell on me, carrisime,” he whispered, moving to sit next to you on the sofa, his hand falling to your waist, and you leaned into him, the pull of him irresistible. 

“You’re lucky my husband was called away on business, he almost never leaves the house before noon,” you mumbled as Marcus leaned his head closer, his strong nose brushing over your cheek. 

“Yes, the gods are smiling at me,” he mused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb caressing the soft skin as he captured your mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. You felt yourself melt into him, his warm hand on your waist, bringing you closer, his other hand, large and calloused on your cheek, holding you in place as he nudged your lips apart, letting his tongue find yours. With a sigh you opened your mouth and let him take as much as he wanted, all other thoughts disappearing from your mind. Marcus groaned softly into you, pulling you closer as his kiss grew more heated, his hand slipping to your hip and tugging at you to come up into his lap. 

“Marcus, not here,” you protested, putting your palms against his solid chest plate, feeling the ridges of Medusa’s hair under your fingers. 

“Your servant girl won’t say anything, will she?” he asked, glancing over at Alba who was standing in the doorway with her back to you both. 

“No, but someone else might come,” you said, shaking your head as he took your hand and stood up. 

“Come, let’s find a more secluded spot then,” he smiled, pulling you to your feet. 

“Marcus, we can’t, it’s too risky,” you replied, but he only smiled wider and made you follow him, a firm grip on your hand as he winked at Alba and checked that the coast was clear. He hurried down the hallway and quickly turned a corner. Following the familiar layout of almost all Roman villas, he led you towards the thermae, the warmer air enveloping you as he pushed the door open. 

“No one will come in here until your husband is home,” he chuckled, pulling you inside as he wrapped his arms around your waist, “only you and me, my domina.” 

“Marcus…” you protested weakly, but he grinned with an almost boyish charm, a mischievous look in his eyes as he continued to walk you into the room, stopping only when the back of your legs came up against one of the two slabs of marble used for massages. With a swift motion, he lifted you up onto the flat surface and made room for himself between your legs. 

“I needed to see you before I left, and I need to make sure you’ll come to Rome,” he mumbled, pressing wet kisses to your neck as his hands began to caress your thighs, sliding up under your stola, “Will you come to Rome once I’m back there?” 

“How, Marcus?” you asked with a breathless moan, tilting your head back to make room for him as he nipped and licked at your skin. This was too dangerous, too exposed even in the thermae, but Marcus’s hands were kneading at your hips, grabbing at your behind as he rolled his hips into yours. The evidence of his arousal was pressing into your core and you could feel your own arousal building, liquid heat beginning to fill your cunt, “I can’t go on my own, my husband would never allow it.” 

“Then I’ll invite him, make up some reason,” he replied, his calloused hand leaving your hip and sliding up along the inside of your thigh as he spread you open, “Now, tell me, will you let me feel you come on my cock one more time? Is she ready for me, domina?” 

He tugged your undergarment loose and locked eyes with you, watching your face as he softly caressed his fingers through your wet folds with a low growl. The sensation forced all other thoughts from your head, Marcus’s dark eyes, his steady gaze on you, and the tremors that rushed through your body when he brushed over the apex of your sex, it turned you liquid and you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him to your lips. 

After that, it was all just Marcus, filling your senses, taking over as you yielded to him; his soft curls under your hands, the hard edges of his armour pressed against your chest, his deep rumbling voice as he mumbled against your lips. You whined in protest when he removed his hand from your wet folds, but then the thick head of his cock breached your entrance, making you keen and and moan as he filled you up, snapping his hips and driving himself deep inside your cunt. 

“Domina…” he growled, his pliant lips claiming your mouth between gasps of air and mumbled words, “I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, the wine tastes like vinegar, ever since I met you…carrisime…I need you in Rome with me…” 

He was taking his time with you, his large hand warm across your back as he kept you where he needed you, his mouth never leaving yours for more than a few mumbled words as he slowly, meticulously, slid his cock in and out of your slick cunt, slowly building your orgasm with every thrust. 

A call from somewhere inside the villa made you snap your head up, turning towards the door, but Marcus’s hand found your jaw and he pulled you back to his mouth. 

“Stay with me, carrisime, let me feel you, so tight and wet for me, let me fuck you and fill you up just the way you like it.” 

He sped up a little, his hand sliding down between your legs and found your small pearl, swollen and aching for his attention. 

“Marcus,” you cried, gasping as he began circling his, sending white hot lightning bolts through your limbs, “Oh gods, Marcus…” 

You were being too loud, at the back of your mind you felt fear trickling down your spine, but Marcus edged you on, driving his thick cock through your heat, his fingers finding a rhythm that seemed to take your breath away as your head tipped back. 

“There it is, domina, such a tight little cunt for me, squeezing me so hard,” he growled, “let me hear how good I make you feel, let me fuck you like this every day for the rest of my life, make you mine, my domina.” 

His words made your mind buzz, his fingers, his cock making pleasure cloud your mind, taking over every sense. 

With a crash the door to the thermae burst open and you cried out with shock. Marcus drove himself into you again, growling loudly. In panic you scrambled to get away from him, pushing at his chest plate but it made no difference, he snapped his hips one more time, and turned his head to look at your husband.

“Wife!” Lunaris yelled from the doorway, his voice close to hysteria as you furiously pushed at Marcus, but it was like pushing a giant boulder, he wouldn’t budge. 

“Lunaris,” Marcus huffed, still looking at your husband, but his face was not the one of a man caught balls deep in another man’s wife. Instead he wore a face of triumphant satisfaction as he stilled his hips, “Come back a bit early from your business I see.” 

“Marcus,” you hissed, fear crawling up your throat, your voice breaking on the last syllable of his name. He didn’t look at you, but you felt his hand on your back begin to caress you gently, a small, calming motion with his warm hand, out of sight from Lunaris. 

Lunaris seemed to stumble into the room, and you saw Alba’s wide eyed face behind him, her mouth hanging open in shock. Lunaris was hissing, grabbing onto one of the pillars as if for support, as he glowered at Marcus, struggling to spit any words out.

Marcus gently squeezed your hip and finally pulled out, adjusting his armour, the pteruges falling back in place as he turned fully to Lunaris who still looked as if he was choking on his own tongue. Behind Marcus’s back you scrambled to adjust your stola and slide off the marble slab. You moved to leave, but his hand shot out, taking your arm and pulling you to his side. 

“You know who I am, Lunaris, and I want your wife. Divorce her, free her from this miserable marriage you’ve imprisoned her in. And if it’s her will, let her come to Rome with me.” 

Marcus's voice cut through the haze of the thermae, through Lunaris pathetic stuttering, his tone commanding and sharp. From the corner of your eye you could see his jaw tighten, his eyes simmering with barely contained contempt for your husband, who was still struggling to catch up to the events of the past minute. 

“Di-divorce her?” he sputtered out, finally finding his voice again, “I’ll have her killed, tell her father what she’s done and have her killed for the shame she’s brought upon his house! Whore!” 

The last word he yelled at you, spit flying from his mouth as he rushed forward, raising his hand to strike you, but Marcus caught his hand and shoved him away. 

“You will not touch her again,” he growled, glaring down at Lunaris, pulling himself up to his full height, “She is no longer yours to command. Divorce her and I will refrain from breaking every bone in your body.”  

The sight of the Roman general in full armour, eyes black with cold fury, seemed to pull Lunaris out of his outrage, stumbling over his feet and his back hitting the marble pillar again. 

“I have witnesses!” he yelled, “Alba, you saw it all! Guards!” Lunaris screamed the last word over his shoulder. 

You looked at Alba, her hand over mouth in shock as she met your eyes, and you shook your head, willing her to back away and not be pulled into this disaster. Your heart filled with fear when she instead stepped into the room and shook her head at Lunaris. 

“I saw nothing, I’ve only seen the domina speaking with the general, he came to the villa looking for you, dominus.” 

“Liar!” Lunaris screamed, launching himself at her just as four of the household guards rushed into the room. He pulled up short at the sight of them, and Alba scrambled out of his way, seeking shelter behind the guards. Lunaris snarled at her and turned to Marcus, pointing an accusing finger at him and opening his mouth to shout something, but Marcus beat him to it. 

“Lunaris!” he snapped, his voice commanding attention, “Think very carefully about my offer, and what I have the power to do,” his voice was a warning, as was his very rank, a general of Rome compared to a small-time business man in a provincial town, far from the power of the capital, “Consider the consequences before you make any decision.” 

Marcus gave your arm a quick squeeze of his hand before he let it go and stepped forward to Lunaris, dropping his voice to a low, dangerous register. 

“I will leave now, but I will come back for what is mine, and I warn you to not do any harm while I’m away.” 

He spun on his heel to face you, giving you a sharp bow, before he turned and strode to the door. The guards, seeing his armour and status, stepped to the side and let him leave unchallenged while Lunaris seethed, glaring at you. 

The thermae was silent while Marcus’s footsteps echoed away through the hallway and fear crept into your body at the look on Lunaris’ face. Marcus had warned him against hurting you, but you didn’t trust Lunaris, or your father. Your honour was tied to your father’s family honour, if Lunaris told your father about Marcus, he had the right to punish you, even put you to death. But he could also throw you from the family, remove your family name and doom you to a life of poverty or enslavement. You’d be worth nothing, even Marcus, with all his glory for Rome, wouldn’t be able to take you in if your father disowned you. 

“Leave us!” Lunaris finally snapped, dismissing the guards with a wave, “You too, you lying little bitch, I’ll deal with you later,” he snarled at Alba who threw you a terrified look before hurrying out of the room. 

You kept your eyes on your feet as the guards shuffled out and the door closed behind Alba. Lunaris was staring at their retreating backs before he rounded on you and grabbed your wrist, his fingers digging into your bones. You tried to pull away but he shoved you backwards, pushing you against the marble slab, still with a hard grip on your arm. 

“You fucking whore, I should’ve known, opening your legs for a general at the first chance. You and your father were always clambering for you to marry a powerful man. Your father practically threw you at me, for all the good it’s done me, no children, no business deals, just a frigid dry cunt,” he spat out, his putrid breath washing over you as he put himself in your face, the sharp marble edge digging into your back, “But now you’ve found a fucking general, that makes you wet, huh?” 

He shoved his hand down, trying to grab between your legs, and you squirmed out of his way. 

“I’ll tell Acacius!” you cried out, “If you touch me, I’ll tell him!”

“Oh, you think you have the protection of the mighty general now do you?” Lunaris snarled, “Think he’ll come running to save your virtue after you’ve let him fuck you like one of the camp whores?” He pushed his knee between your thighs, forcing you to part your legs and he grabbed your sex over the stola with a rough hand, “You’re just another warm cunt to pass his time with, he’ll forget about you once he’s back in his favourite whore house in Rome,” Lunaris grimaced in distaste and shoved you to the side, making you stumble before you caught yourself against the wall, “Pathetic woman, don’t you know he can have any woman in Rome, they’ll be throwing their youngest and most beautiful daughters at him when he returns. What’s he going to do with an old, withered up whore like you?” 

Lunaris was sneering at you as you backed up, pressing yourself against the damp mosaic wall, “I have half a mind to throw you out on the street right now,” he spat, “but he won’t get away that easily.” 

He looked at you for a few moments, you could see the cogs of his slow brain turning as he went over his options. You knew him well enough to know that Marcus’ threat had scared him, but you also knew he’d try to turn it against him somehow. You wished you could warn Marcus even though he must know Lunaris would try to get back at him.  

“Guards!” Lunaris suddenly yelled, his eyes still locked on you as the sound of clattering caligae could be heard out in the hallway. 

“Take the domina to her room and post a guard outside. She’s not allowed to leave under any circumstances.” 

Left in your room without Alba, the rest of the day and the night moved at a snail’s pace. You paced back and forth, trying to listen to the noises of the villa to decipher what was going on. Lunaris left, but when you tried to sneak from your room, the guard ordered you inside and made no secret of what measures Lunaris had told him to use. By the time you fell into an uneasy sleep, most of the night had already passed. 

The dreams that rushed in and out of your angstful mind were frightening, you tossed and twisted in your sheets as Marcus turned his back on you, time and time again as you ran after him. In your dreams he marched away from your husband’s villa without as much as a glance at you, Lunaris cackled as he shut the door behind your back. As you ran after Marcus, the army stretched out, an endless line of marching soldiers with impassive faces, filing past you as Marcus disappeared over the horizon. The soldiers kept marching through your dreams, a never ending clatter of caligae on the paving stones, and when you woke, heavy rain was falling outside, rattling the roof tiles. 

A servant had left you dinner the day before, and now they returned with breakfast. You forced yourself to eat a little and then slumped back onto your bed, waiting for whatever Lunaris would do next. You knew he was plotting and planning something and he didn’t disappoint, just before dinner he came to your room, a triumphant look on his face. 

“So, wife, it turns out your whoring might actually have done some good,” he gloated, practically prancing around your room as you stood by the bed, watching him with weary eyes, “First bit of good that cunt of yours has ever given me.” 

He grinned and rubbed his hands together, chuckling at his own joke as you winced at the way his facade had fallen. He’d never been a pleasant man, but out of fear of your father, he’d still treated you with respect, even when you didn’t give him any children. Not that you knew how his infrequent visits to your bedroom or his pitiful rubbing against you would ever produce a child. Too late for all of that now anyway. Now he was gloating, gleeful in your downfall and inwardly you cursed yourself for letting yourself give in to Marcus in such a public place. 

“I’ve been to see your ‘lover’,” he grinned even though the word came out with contempt, “told him he can puff himself up all he wants, when word gets out that he’s been fucking a married woman, no amount of glory on the battlefield will save him, the law’s the law and I’ll have half his property,” Lunaris smirked at you with a greedy look in his eyes, “I hear his villa in Rome is on the Palatine and the grandest one seen in a century.” 

“What did you do?” you asked with trepidation and Lunaris’s eyes shone with malice as he rubbed his hands. 

“He’s giving me his villa, and a hefty bag of gold as soon as he’s back in Rome, and in return, I won’t tell the Senate about him fucking a married woman and I won’t tell your father. I’ve given orders to pack up the house, we’re leaving tomorrow and the household will follow in a week.” 

You stared at Lunaris, the grin on his face flaunting his glee at what he’d blackmailed the mighty general into giving him. 

“Finally, some real status!” he crowed, “Might even try to get into the Senate with Acacius’ money, and I’ll need a new wife of course,” he smirked at you again, “something young and pretty with a wet cunt to give me sons.”

He chuckled and turned to leave the room, but changed his mind as he got to the door. 

“Do you know what the best thing about the whole deal is?” he asked, not waiting for an answer before he continued, “It’s that you won’t even get him, I’m keeping you!” Lunaris winked at you with a malicious glint in his eye, “I don’t tell the Senate, he gives me money and the villa, and I get to keep you. Because after all that, he doesn’t even want you.” 

You felt your throat close up, tightening when tears threatened to rise in your eyes as Lunaris cackled with delight, “Don’t worry, you’ll be taken care of, the new villa will need plenty of slaves.” 

And with that, Lunaris left the room, shutting the door tight. Through it you could hear his instructions to the guard to not let you leave. Frozen to the spot you squeezed your eyes shut, breathing hard through your nose as bile rose in your throat. The sharp burning jerked you into motion, with a gasp you fell to your knees and emptied the day's food into the pot, retching as it tore through your body. 

You had to stay in Lunaris’s household, Marcus had given you up, given in to your husband’s blackmail to preserve his own status and honour, and he’d given you up to protect himself without a thought at what you’d suffer for it. You’d staved off the tears for the past two days, but now they overwhelmed you, grief tore at your heart as you curled up on the bed, sobs shaking your frame at the unfairness of it all. 

You felt, and probably looked, like a husk of your former self as the carriage left the villa the next day. Your cosmetae had applied some colour to your cheeks and hollow eyes, but it couldn’t hide the reflection that looked back at you in the mirror. Eyes red rimmed from crying, your lips chapped and broken as you continued to chew on them, and most of all, the haunted look that made the slaves look away from you as you walked through the villa one final time. 

As you were still Lunaris’ wife, and no one knew what had happened between you and Marcus, you rode in Lunaris' carriage. You dug your fingernails into the palms of your hands as Lunaris continued to brag about how glorious his new life would be, the long road to Rome stretching before you. He would gloat and crow the whole way, you were sure of it. Alba sat in the seat across from you, her gaze mostly on her hands, but every now and then she’d throw a quick look at you. Her eyes were as worried as yours, but you didn’t know what fate awaited her when you got to Rome. Lunaris hadn’t said and you hadn’t had a chance to talk to her in private. 

It was a five day journey to Rome, and the wide, paved Roman road made travelling easy. The death of emperor Marcus Aurelius almost thirty years ago meant Pax Romana had ended and travel was more perilous now than before, but this close to the very heart of the empire, not much threatened those who travelled with armed guards. The clatter of the guards’ horses in front and behind the two carriages lulled you into a numb stupor as the winter bare landscape slipped past. 

On the third day you stared listlessly out through the small gap in the shutters of the carriage door, Lunaris had finally grown bored of taunting you and slipped into a slumber, his head lolling back and forth on his weedy shoulders. 

“Will General Acacius come for you when we get to Rome?” Alba whispered, glancing anxiously at Lunaris who slept lightly. 

“I don’t think we’ll ever see the general again,” you replied in a low voice without turning to look at her, “he’s given in to Lunaris’ blackmail to save his own skin.” 

“I can’t believe he’d do that, not when-”  

Her word was cut short by the loud thump of something striking the carriage door hard. You both looked up at the source of the sound and gasped as you saw a vicious looking arrowhead poking through just a mere handswidth from your head. 

“Bandits!” one of the guards roared, “form up, protect the carriages!”

Lunaris jerked awake and whipped his head around as if he could see through the carriage walls as the sounds of battle grew loud outside. You put your hands out for Alba and pulled her to your side, wrapping your arms around her as you sank down to the floor, covering both your heads with your hands. She was sobbing against you as metal hit metal and men screamed outside. It felt like it went on forever but in reality, it was over in a few minutes, someone cried out in agony and then their voice was suddenly silenced, replaced by only the sounds of footsteps outside. The door of the carriage was thrown open and a rough looking man, a vicious cut over his nose, looked in. Glancing over the three of you, he grabbed Lunaris and yanked him out. Lunaris yelled in fright, but he was helpless against the bandit who threw him onto the rough stones. 

A second man leaned in and grinned, his hand shooting out, snatching at your hair and dragging you out too. You cried out in pain and fear, tumbling through the carriage door, the rough hold on your hair making your scalp sting. The man didn’t throw you to the ground, instead he grabbed your arms and pinned them behind your back, holding you tight as you faced the rest of the bandits. There were only three, but your husband’s four guards lay dead on the road side. The two drivers had their hands over their heads, clearly not prepared to die in defending property that wasn’t their own. 

“You owe a debt to Asinius Magnus,” the first bandit told Lunaris who’d been forced to kneel on the road, his neck exposed with the bandit behind him, a long blade in his hand. “Consider it paid in full.” 

You turned your head, but you couldn’t shut out the gasp Lunaris let out as the blade sliced open his throat or the gargling of the blood rushing forth. His body made a dull thump as it fell to the ground. 

“Search both carriages, take what valuables you can find, but be quick!” the bandit’s leader called, “We leave the bodies.”

The one holding you yanked your arms, “What about the girls? Spoils of war?” 

“The older one is not to be touched,” his companion answered, “but take the other one if you want to keep your bed warm.” 

“No! Don’t touch her!” you protested, struggling against the man holding you as he began to wrestle you back towards the carriage. You could see Alba’s terrified face inside, you were determined to not let them take her.

“Run!” you yelled at her, kicking back at the man behind you, your foot miraculously connecting with his shin and he lost his balance. Alba jumped out of the carriage and ran, but the third bandit was right behind her. 

“Fucking bitch, get her!” the leader yelled as the one holding you grabbed your arm and pulled you around. His fist connected with your face and you saw stars as white hot pain shot through your head. Losing your footing, you sank to the ground, head spinning. You heard Alba cry out in fear and a voice yelled.

“Shoot!!” 

The thump of an arrow hitting its mark reached your ears, but you couldn’t lift your head to look for Alba, black dots were dancing in your vision. More voices yelled, some in fear, and again the sounds of battle erupted around you, but just as quickly died down. You could hear the clatter of rain against the roof tiles, dark clouds suddenly forming in your vision, and a warm quilt being pulled over you. The ground fell away beneath you, you were floating under your blanket, or maybe wrapped in it, as the rain clattered. 

“Carrisime, open your eyes,” the low voice demanded in a soft tone, “Come on, look at me now, wake up.” 

The voice was familiar and you could feel his hands gently patting your cheek, rousing your foggy mind.

“Vita mea, I’m here, you’re safe, just open your eyes.” 

With an herculean effort you peeled your eyes open and Marcus’ face floated into focus. 

“There you go, just look at me, carrisime,” he said, his hand stroking your cheek, “you’re safe now.” 

It took you a few more moments to realise that you weren’t floating and it wasn’t raining. Marcus was cradling you in his arms, his thick cloak wrapped around you, as the clatter of soldier’s caligae against the paving stones brought the events of the past few minutes flooding back. 

“Alba…” you croaked, trying to look for her, but Marcus tightened his arms around you.

“She’s unharmed, just a scrape on her knees when she fell over, she’s being taken care of,” he touched his fingertips gently to the part of your cheek that was throbbing, “Do you think you can ride in the carriage with me? I won’t let you out of my sight.” 

You nodded, still uncertain about what had actually happened, and Marcus gently put you on your feet, his arms keeping you steady. He gave sharp orders and the small company of soldiers were back in their saddles, as Marcus joined you and Alba in the carriage. What had happened to the body of your husband you didn’t know and you didn’t want to ask. 

Alba looked stunned and dazed, and you guessed you looked no better, but Marcus commandeered a cloak from one of his soldiers for her, and kept his own wrapped around you. When the carriage began to roll with a jerk, he tightened his hold on you and you gratefully leaned against him. Your body felt loose, your limbs all watery, and you gratefully accepted his warmth and solid frame to hold you up. He bent his head and placed a gentle kiss to the top of your head and you felt his hand slowly caress your arm. 

“What happened?” Alba asked, her voice low and uncertain as she looked from you to Marcus and back again. He regarded her for a moment before he glanced down at you. 

“What I tell you can go no further than this carriage,” he said, “If anyone finds out, all our lives are in danger, understood?” 

You nodded and so did Alba, her eyes wide. 

“I’m telling you because I don’t want to start our new lives with dishonesty, but no one else can know.” 

You nodded again and Marcus gave you a small smile, “At least I hope you want to start a new life with me, carrisime?” He touched your cheek gently, “I never had an opportunity to ask you properly, your husband was more devious than I thought.” 

“I do, Marcus,” your voice barely above a whisper, reaching up to place your hand over his as he smiled down at you, “I’ve never wanted anything else so much in life.” 

“How fortunate for me,” Marcus said with a tender voice, placing another kiss to the top of your head, “then I’ll tell you.” 

He drew a deep breath and looked over at Alba again, “I’m sorry you got pulled into this too, I never meant for you to be harmed. But Lunaris guessed that you knew too, and that made him vindictive. He came to see me, and threatened to have you both killed if I didn’t promise him the riches and status he craved. I was hoping he’d divorce you and let you leave his house, free to marry again, but he was determined to have more and ruin me in the process. Had I given in to him, he would’ve held the threat over me, all of us, for the rest of our lives.” 

“You had him killed,” you breathed out, the realisation dawning on you. Why else would Marcus and his soldiers show up just after the bandits had killed Lunaris. 

“Yes, and I’m sorry, but it was his life or yours, and he was worth nothing to me,” Marcus looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed in concern, “I had no choice, but I don’t know if you can forgive me.” 

“He told me you’d given me up, that you’d given in to his blackmail and that I was to stay with him because you didn’t want me,” you said, anger rising inside you as you remembered the malicious things Lunaris had told you, the lies he’d made you believe, “He told me he’d keep me as a slave in his new villa while he got a young, new wife. Pluto can have him!” you spat out, and you felt Marcus’s arms tighten around you. 

“Hush, carissime,” he said, “calm yourself, it’s behind us.” 

“You sent the bandits?” Alba asked, “They were going to…” she trailed off as tears rose in her eyes. Marcus leaned over and took her hand in his, squeezing it gently. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you’d be travelling too, please don’t cry, puella.” 

Alba dried her tears and nodded, wrapping her borrowed cloak tighter around herself and you leaned back against Marcus’s solid chest. He let go of Alba’s hand and cradled your cheek in his large palm, softly stroking his thumb over the swollen part. 

“Does it hurt, carissime?” he asked quietly and you nodded, “I’m sorry it happened, I told them to not touch you. I saw no other way out, I couldn’t kill him myself, I couldn’t let one of  my soldiers do it. So I hired the bandits to attack and kill Lunaris and any guards, I was hoping he’d travel without you. I feel like maybe I took too great a risk.”

“I was scared,” you whispered, “I thought they’d rape and kill us, or sell us,” you squeezed your eyes shut at the thought. 

“I’m sorry,” Marcus mumbled, pressing his lips to your forehead, “Forgive me, carrisime.” 

You nodded, “I do, even dying would’ve been a preferable fate to serving as a slave in Lunaris’ new household. You’ve saved my life, both our lives.”  

You both fell silent for a while, the rocking of the carriage lulling Alba to sleep, curled up under the cloak on the seat opposite. You stayed tucked under Marcus’s arm as he slowly caressed you, bending his head now and then to press a kiss to your head. 

After a few miles had been covered you stirred and looked up at him. 

“You let Lunaris catch us in the thermae, why?” 

“I know his type, he never would have agreed to divorce you, especially not for a man so much more powerful than him. So I needed to let him catch us in the act so that I could scare him, threaten him into giving you up,” Marcus shook his head as he seemed to think through the events of the past few days, “But I misjudged him, he really was stupid enough to think he could blackmail me. Even if I’d given in to his blackmail, did he think no one would ask any questions when I handed over my villa to him? Or when he tried to buy his way into the Senate? I’m sorry I had to have him killed, but I’m not sorry to see him gone,” Marcus shrugged and adjusted his arm around you, making you lean your head against his shoulder, “Sleep, carrisime, I’ve arranged for us to stay at an inn tonight, but we have many more miles to travel first.” 

Sleep didn’t come easy, even though you closed your eyes and tried to let the carriage’s rumbling motions lull you. You understood why Marcus had done what he’d done, his logic was solid. Kill Lunaris or lose you and everything in his life. And Lunaris was nothing to him, just an annoying, vindictive little man, it didn’t matter to Marcus if he died. But still you felt like you’d seen a new side of him, the ruthless Roman general, the man who had led armies to great victories because he was just that ruthless. 

You knew, rationally, that Marcus had killed many men, and had even more men killed. Both enemy soldiers and civilians, but also his own soldiers, as he sent them into battle. It was the nature of his profession. But now he’d done it to get his way, to get you, not as part of a war. He’d saved you, both from a boring marriage when he first turned up, and from Lunaris’ spiteful revenge on you after your infidelity. But your actions, both yours and Marcus’, had led to men dying. Your intense feelings for Marcus, the need you had to be near him, ultimately had cost the lives of your husband, stupid as he was for blackmailing a Roman general. But it had also cost the lives of four guards and three bandits. Eight men dead. All because you and Marcus wanted to be together. 

The thought reeled around your head. Eight new men with Pluto tonight because a Roman general had stumbled into your house on Bona Dea. Was this the will of the gods? Or would you be punished? A shiver ran through you, and Marcus bent down, brushing his lips over your cheek. 

“Vita mea, tell me your thoughts,” he mumbled. 

“I’m…grateful you saved me, and Alba,” you whispered, tilting your head back to meet his dark yes, “But I’m worried we’ve angered the gods through our actions. So many men killed because of you and me.”

“I would never presume to know the will of the gods,” he replied, keeping his voice low, “but I know Mars steers my hand in battle and he hasn’t failed me yet, not even today. But we’ll make sacrifices to the gods when we return to Rome, show them our gratitude for bringing us together and keeping you and Alba safe. I don’t believe Juno would want either of you trapped with that vicious man.” 

He bent his head low and tenderly kissed your lips, his warm hand cupping your cheek, “And I know Bona Dea guided my steps when she first led me to your villa, we will give special thanks to her too. Now sleep, amor, I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

Part 4 Tagging some lovely people who showered the first two parts with love: @gothcsz @missladym1981 @txlady37 @timelordfreya @bluesweaters15

@indiegirlunited @jessthebaker @likeficinthewnd @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @inept-the-magnificent

@angiewatson @wintersquirrel @sheepdogchick3 @asobeeee @harriedandharassed @cozylittlepigeon

@i-own-loki @pedrit0-pascalit0

[keerysfreckles]

falling in — steve harrington

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: when a burnt down mall sends y/n to steve

warnings: use of y/n and she/her pronouns, steve got his ass beat (who's surprised), s3 spoilers duh, pure fluff/comfort, blood and injuries mentioned, pretty detailed makeout session

a/n: for my wife @keerysbrowneyes ily

masterlist !

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱

y/n sat nervously at the edge of her couch in her small living room. she watched her small flickering tv at the other end of the room with nothing but worry.

helicopters roaring, a blazing fire and multiple reporters surround the loved starcourt mall. y/n's heart almost burst out of her chest when one reporter stated most people made it out safely.

steve harrington was the first person to flood her mind. the girl hasn't heard of him for the past three days, which only made her nerves skyrocket.

"sources say scoops ahoy workers were at the scene, with multiple young kids and parents. . ."

y/n was out the door, struggling to put on her other shoe while running to her car.

—

y/n didn't even let the car come to a complete stop before she was running past concerned townspeople, reporters and cops. she easily slid under the caution tape and fit in between two firetrucks, not bothering to listen to the cops and other authorities yelling for her to stop.

y/n looked from left to right. she first saw nancy and jonathan, and robin sitting in the back of one ambulance. will was with his mother, with el and mike besides them. lucas was comforting max. she looked at the last ambulance and saw steve.

as soon as their eyes met, time slowed. steve dropped the blanket from his shoulders and y/n's worn out converse hit the asphalt again.

steve stood from the ambulance, and for the first time tonight a smile broke out onto his face. he didn't care it was hurting his eye.

his arms are wide open once y/n reaches him. hers instantly wrap around his shoulders as he lifts her off the ground.

"you're okay," y/n lets the tears fall from her eyes, her voice is strained. "you're here, you're really okay."

steve kisses the side of her head before setting her back on the ground, however neither of them let go of each other.

"i thought i lost you," y/n admits.

steve chuckles, "you could never get rid of me that easily."

y/n leans back, her eyes roaming over the boy in front of her. she sees the large bruise surrounding his swollen eye, and the tiny cuts on his lips.

steve copies her actions, not believing the girl in his arms is really here. this feels too much like a dream that he didn't want to wake up from.

y/n puts her hand gently on steve's cheek just as a tear falls from his right eye. his voice is soft and broken, "can you take me home?"

y/n nods immediately, and carefully takes his hand in hers to lead them both to her car. they're stopped briefly by a cop, to which they explain y/n would be taking steve home.

they sit in the car for a moment, while an abba song plays quietly over the radio. y/n leans forward to turn it off. she didn't think steve was in the mood to dance to anything, let alone listen to a happy pop song.

"are you okay?" y/n knew it was a stupid question to ask, but she had to ask anyway.

steve only nods, as he wipes his cheeks as more tears fall. y/n simply gives him her hand. his rough hand holds onto it the whole drive back to y/n's small one bed-one bath house.

"wait, i thought you were taking me home," steve announces once he watches her turn down the wrong street.

"you really think i'd let you stay home alone after whatever you went through?"

steve shrugs.

"how hard did they hit you?" y/n lets out an airy laugh, which steve reciprocates.

y/n looks over to the passenger side after parking on the street in front of her dark red door.

"thank you," steve's voice fills the silence of the car.

the two walk out of the and in the housr wordlessly. they both leave their shoes in a pile by the front door, and steve follows y/n to her room. he sees she left the tv and lights on, guessing she left in a hurry.

"you take a shower okay? then if you want i can help with the other cuts."

steve gratefully accepts y/n's offer. he lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding once he sits on the edge of y/n's bed. she comes out of the bathroom after starting the shower, and making sure it wasn't too hot.

steve holds his arms open again, making y/n walk towards him. she stands between his thighs as he rests his head against her chest, hearing the pulse of her heartbeat. the girl leans down to place a kiss on his matted curls.

"i'll be here when you get out," y/n whispers into his hair.

as steve showers, he's careful when he reaches and cuts or bruises, and can't help but let more tears fall. by the end of it he couldn't tell if it was tears or water running down his face.

he's quick to dry off and doesn't mind the water falling back onto his face and neck from his wet hair.

he noticed his dried bloody work uniform was replaced by a pair of sweatpants, a tshirt and boxers. he smiled at the thought of y/n keeping a pair of his clothes here for him.

steve leaves the bathroom and is met with y/n coming back into her room with a small basket in her hands.

"hey," she smiles towards steve, "how are you feeling?"

"that was a must needed shower," he chuckles.

"what's that for?" he points to the wooven basket now placed on the bed.

"a couple things to help with your cuts."

after steve came over to y/n's house their junior year, with the aftermath of a fight with jonathan byers, the girl knew to keep a first aid kit just for steve.

y/n instructs for steve to lay on her bed. he gladly let a loud sigh leaves his lips once his back hits the mattress, making y/n chuckle.

she sits on the left side of steve, making her be in the middle of the bed. she easily leans over him to turn on the lamp placed on the night stand. steve can't help but blush at the close proximity.

"these are just wipes, to get any extra dried blood off," y/n starts walking him through the steps.

she's careful when wiping around the cuts on his lips, and is surprised he only winces once.

she moves to his hairline and bruise covering his eye. the swelling has gone down drastically, and she can now look at both of his beautiful brown eyes.

steve keeps his hands folded on his stomach while y/n takes care of him. she goes to the next step and takes peroxide and cotton balls to the cuts.

after the cotton meets his lips he grabs y/n's wrist. she mutters out many apologies, not meaning to hurt steve more.

"it's okay," he stops her rambling apologies, "just hurts way more than i thought it would."

y/n continues treating his wounds. every so often steve's eyes would float to her features. to her concerned eyes, crinkling at the corners. or to her hair that kept falling over her ear, to which she always put back, yet it never stayed.

y/n finally takes a warm towel, steve guessed was from the dryer, and she dabbed it over his lips and eye. she watched his shoulders relax as she held it over his eye.

"are you alright?" she felt like she asked the question a million times tonight.

steve nods, "never better."

another comfortable silence fills the room. steve now sits up, making y/n bring the towel to her lap. steve breaks the silence.

"did you always have that freckle?" his thumb traces the light freckle on her cheek. she blushes from the contact. before she answers, steve moves his hand to fix the strands of hair that have fallen in front of her ear. his hand goes back to holding her cheek.

y/n's eyes move between both of steve's brown ones.

"steve," y/n warns in a whisper as he starts moving closer to her.

"i want you y/n. thats the one thing i've never been more sure of tonight."

his soft words leave a tickling breath over y/n's lips.

y/n makes the move to lean forward. her right hand reaches to hold onto steve's bicep as her lips collide with his. the kiss only lasts for a few seconds before y/n pulls away. her cheeks are flushed as she sees steve's widened pupils.

steve simply pulls her back to him with the hand that was still on her cheek. he turns his head to deepen the kiss, and he can't help but smile against y/n's lips after feeling her hand move to his neck. she grips the damp hair, threading her fingers through it.

steve's left hand goes to y/n's lower back as he moves her to lay down. he's now hovering over her, with his thighs falling between hers.

the two pull away, both with blown pupils, flushed cheeks and swollen lips.

"do you want me to stay–"

"yes."

steve couldn't even finish his question before y/n answers quickly and pulls him down tp kiss him again, with much more hunger than before.

[horse-dylan]

Some lesser known facts about B.C Spree Killer Bryer Schmegelsky.

A lot of this information is difficult to find a source for as it originally came from a facebook group that has since been deleted. Bryer’s father once upon a time was very active and divulged some information about his son in these groups back in the day.

1. Bryer supposedly had Marfan’s Syndrome, and Dyspraxia as well as some learning disabilities. His father Alan once upon a time stated that Bryer had difficulty holding a pen because his dyspraxia was so severe. (I love my disabled king)

2. He had stretch marks on his stomach that he was insecure about (due to the Marfan’s),this led to his dad renting out a pool at the hotel he’d stay at when visiting Bryer so he wouldn’t be as insecure. This was until the hotel began raising rates for repeat customers.

3. When he was a child he was a fan of scooby doo.

4. He had a cat named KiKi when he was little.

5. Before Bryer and Kam set out on their road trip, Bryer had asked out Kam’s sister (no wonder he shot him lol) and was rejected, supposedly he had done it multiple times in the past and this time Kam’s sister told Kam about it and Kam told Bryer to stop. This supposedly upset him.

6. Interestingly enough, just like Eric Harris, Bryer had developed an identification with Nazi ideology and you can see this well enough in his online presence, having used multiple swastika’s as profile pictures (his pinterest, steam, etc. There is a reddit group for this case with these links r/KamAndBryer.

7. Also just like Harris, he had an interest in the military, according to his father he had wanted to join the Canadian military.

8. Supposedly he was diagnosed with suicidal depression at the age of 14 and his mother allegedly pulled him out of school for this reason, despite early reports of him having graduated, he did not.

9. I think this one’s fairly big. His father leaked his autopsy report. I will possibly post this at some point but you can find it fairly easy on your own.

10. Bryer and Kam would often go to Kam’s house to play airsoft together, as it was in the countryside.

11. Bryer’s teacher had encouraged that he see a occupational therapist before he start school to address some of his disabilites, and before dropping out of school was in special education. Some people who went to school with him attested in an old reddit comment that he had to have the computer read to him as he couldn’t do it himself, keep in mind this part is hearsay but it lines up with what everyone else has stated.

12. Bryer and Kam had gotten into a vehicle accident April 14th, 2018. According to Alan, it was a rollover due to reckless driving on Kam Mcleod’s part. Bryer sustained bruises, but supposedly Kam’s ear was torn and sustained head injuries. Kam had to be rescued from the truck with the Jaw’s of Life.

13. Supposedly (according to his father) his mother spent money on the tattoo found on his chest as a gift. Technically it’s a Kolovrat, but given his affection for nazi ideology…lets be honest with ourselves on what it's supposed to represent lol.

14. From my understanding Bryer’s grandfather died from the Red Cross tainted blood scandal, the Canadian government refused to compensate Bryer’s father for this loss, shaping a good amount of familial trauma.

15. ALLEGEDLY his mother was abusive, Bryer went to live with his dad in Victoria (without his mother’s consent), she called the police and they forcefully took him back to Port Alberni and subsequently kicked him out of her house, he then went on to live with his grandmother. I say ALLEGEDLY as she never spoke out about what happened or her side of the story (and honestly I don't blame her considering how malicious people can be). 

16. Bryer’s father reported abuse/neglect to the Ministry of Children in British Columbia, his case worker was his mother’s boyfriends brother in law, arguably a conflict of interest.

17. Some believe that the RCMP are actually the ones responsible for the boy's deaths rather than the conclusion that Kam shot Bryer before killing himself (including Bryer's dad on again off again, he seems to keep going back and forth between whether or not Kam murdered him unconsensually or if it was the RCMP). I personally don’t think that is true but welcome the skepticism as it keeps the case alive, after all, the RCMP deserves criticism for their lack of transparency that arguably led to Leonard Dyck’s death.

18. Bryer had a stutter, I actually managed to find this video back in 2020 and Alan confirmed that this voice is his. He speaks at these approximate times (His user is: Bryerbrown123). 5:13, 6:54, 7:10, 7:16, 7:29/7:31 (Mother of slur lol), 8:31, 8:43, 8:50 and 8:52, 8:57 (I may have missed some.) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tCOn_1kwE_s&t=322s&ab_channel=LeoGrandThio