#and his hard years of work and failure and more work

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Calming the Emperor God

Geta x wife! reader

warning : hurt/comfort, kissing, cuddling, mention of murder and sickness

Summary : Rome seemed to turn on their rulers, what Caracalla compensated with more Colosseum fighting Geta had to face reality as much as he thought he was divine, he alone couldn't control everything. The demand of his head was only the beginning as the emperor sought advice and care in the arms of his wife.

info : A work for Geta I just wanted to give him a long hug, enjoy reading ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marriage, when you were a ruler of a empire, it was important to have a wife after your appointment, someone you loved or not, someone who could give you an heir.

He had even less regard for his father than his brother, a man driven by empathy and kindness as well as hope, a weak man whose only great deed was to father him and Caracalla with his mother, nothing else. That was the only reason for his damned father's last acts, a marriage.

A marriage three years ago, on his twentieth name day, he took her as his wife, a young lady of his own age from a noble house of the united kingdoms under Rome.

He hadn't thought much of her then, but when he looked at the sitautioon now, she was more than just his love, she was his shield, the judgement of the people and a light that all kinds of people looked up to so that the people wouldn't rise up in revolt.

She was a pillar at his side who could lead Rome, advise Caracalla and be there for him at the same time…the only thing that had not been created in all this time was an heir.

An inheritance that in theory the two emperors had in each other, but with each passing day Geta saw how bad things were for Caracalla, ,,The Holy Roman Empire will belong to the world, but three deaths would mean its end" he had said shortly after their wedding, at first still indifferent to her, even disgusted by her failure to conceive and paranoid that she would betray him.

But none of this mattered when he saw how gentle she was with his brother, how good she was at managing the senate and how understanding she was towards him every day.

,,My doubts were never about you, my husband, a marriage of the dead is beyond our influence and your circumstance worries me more than my own" she had admitted when she realised how bad things were for the emperors.

Who ruled a world empire, how easy she had had it, several siblings, no illnesses, her parents a long life and security, everything Geta and his brother didn't have.

Both had hardly received any training in warfare, politically she hardly knew what to do and they had no connection to the people.

From the moment they were born, they had already come too close to the sun and would never raise their wings again. She was a woman, a princess, aware of her role as a mother, but if she couldn't even be that, she would do anything to support her husband.

Taking her eyes from the marble floor that lay cold beneath her sandals, she looked back at her husband Geta presenting new proposals for the military, improvements and enhancements to a Senate that seemed barely interested.

They were strategies and proposals for which Geta had spent hours and nights in the library with her, he was trying so hard for his people, or at least for the world for now, the dream of a Rome that covered the world, it wasn't fair that the senate consisted only of fake snakes, but you couldn't kill them either.

No one is interested but us she thought and sat down again on Geta's throne when she heard a giggle next to her.

Caracalla was once again more than just bored by all this and began to play with his fingers, seeing that Geta gave her a quick glance and an unsaid ‘thank you darling’ seemed to come from his eyes, she rose to take care of Caracalla.

As much as the presence of both emperors was required, Caracalla was disturbed by the introduction of the laws the blond was probably about to rise herself, she put her hand on his shoulder, ,,We should leave Geta alone, how about a game?" she asked in a whisper and saw the grin widen. Already sending Caracalla forward.

She bowed to Geta who had paused in his speech, allowing everyone a brief moment to think, ,,I'm already longing for your liberating kiss of my sorrows" he murmured to her before placing a kiss on her cheek, a face with a ‘divine’ countenance looking back at her before she withdrew from the senate.

Once again, her god had to try to cope on his own, an event that occurred weekly and took its toll on him, for what was an emperor without preparation since childhood?

He was nothing.

Footsteps followed Caracalla, who was already pulling out his favourite figurines from a wicker basket, ,,The conquest of Rome with the crucifixions of the Christians!" he announced and she clapped as he told her everything in meticulous detail.

Not a game in the sense, but something amusing for him, especially when he could stab the little figures and she had to make the death noises that he always found extremely sweet, ,,Your memories are unfathomable and fascinating," she said and tapped him on the forehead.

He could hardly remember what was served for dinner yesterday, but he seemed to know such a battle going back hundreds of years completely by heart, it was the madness you couldn't control.

But that didn't matter because, apart from the battle, they played together with Dundus and in the afternoon she had to sing Caracalla a lullaby because otherwise he wouldn't go to bed, otherwise he would only cause more ‘problems’ like a small child.

One thing that hardly bothered her anymore she knew it would give Geta less to worry about and she had a few more hours of peace and quiet in which to organise her own things, ,,Sleep well little king" she whispered as she closed the door to his room and with a sigh made her way back to her own room.

Knowing that the meeting in the senate would take a long time she returned to her art of the gods, knowing that only they could help her and her family Appolo I pray to you for healing and beauty over my brother-in-law Caracalla and husband Geta she heard her own praying voice in front of her altar to Appolon the model for Geta.

In all the golden clothes he wore, even the make-up was dedicated to the god, but the gods seemed to have abandoned the brothers since the birth and not given her a blessing.

She spent the next few hours embroidering, writing and reading books, hoping to get advice from former emperors on how to cultivate fields to increase yields, which were getting lower and lower.

This was bad for the population of Rome, the army and the imperial family itself, who had to cope with all this without falling into the madness that Caracalla was making worse and worse.

The goblet of water next to her was refilled every now and then and the lamps and torches in her room were turned on by the servants when the sun had long since reached the horizon, she knew that the discussion in the Senate had to come to an end.

She was about to roll back the parchment and place it on the table when someone knocked on her door.

,,Yes?” she said, but instead of her beloved she only found a servant who bowed and replied, ,,Emperor Geta wishes to see you, he insists that you dine with him. His brother Emperor Caracalla has already been taken care of” the message read.

She sent the servant away with a wave of her hand and rose herself more hastily than she had intended and immediately headed for his chamber, which was only a corridor away.

So Caracalla is sleeping well it flashed through her mind casually as she realized that he had probably taken care of him as well. Geta was once again doing a lot more than he was supposed to, another reason why she loved him so much.

Stopping in front of the large double wooden door, the guards bowed before they opened the door for her and she was finally back with him, ,,Geta dearest I see you again,” she said happily and automatically went to the table where she had expected him to be for dinner but he wasn't there.

Turning around as she heard a sniffle she saw a golden curly head standing on the balcony, he was overlooking the city but ewa san his posture made her falter ,,Geta? Is everything alright?” she asked as she stepped out into the cool night and stood behind him, her fingers carefully resting against his back.

He was tense, trembling slightly but whether it was from the cold or the excitement she couldn't tell, ,,No one...none of these philistines listened, it led to nothing,” he finally said slowly as he turned to face her, the moon shining above him, the cold god watching over God's representation on earth.

The make-up on his face smudged, the golden light clothes wrinkled and not smooth and his blond hair completely disheveled. He did not have the madness of his brother, but as the sole ruler of an empire, such a burden lay heavily on him alone. ,,My husband, you know I couldn't be prouder, don't you?” she asked the superfluous question but knew he needed it.

The next moment he turned to her with a sigh and grasped her hands, she could see the watery eyes even in the faint moonlight, ,,The feelings are the same...but an emperor without his senate only with enemies and no support as it seems...is neither god nor man he is nothing” he finally spoke the truth and embraced her a little more strongly, slightly painfully and yet seeking help.

She understood him, understood him from the bottom of her heart, a pain, a helplessness she knew only too well.

Putting her hand on his cheek and looking at him for a moment, he entangled her in a kiss, she felt his hand at her side running over her hip, ,,Love you” she heard the murmured words as they broke away, as this wonderful fallen god looked at her so full of grace and love.

Her heart was bound with his as the brass rings made a soft muffled sound as their hands met again, the small smile on the god's lips as he looked at his love.

,,You are the most important thing to me and to Caracalla and I as your beloved swear to you that this will not be the end,” she assured him and saw the love that showed in the darkly painted eyes.

She saw him look away at Rome, the city behind him, his home and the empire that belonged to him, saw the nod, heard the intake of breath as he pulled her into another kiss. he may be destitute but he would never lose his family, his love, Geta knew that.

,,We'll show them together," he promised and led her next to him, leaving his hand linked with hers and seeming to promise her not only Rome, but the whole world, because together the imperial family of Rome would be able to do anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@potatoesenpaii , @thatnerdliv , @scorpiongirlsthings , @pxnx-kk

@the-a-word-2214 , @peakygirl1919 , @k-yurieee

[fangsandfeels]

>Ok but he doesn't. He thinks he does. He thinks he has Rook all pinned down. It's why he doesn't expect Rook to escape the Prison of Regret but Rook does. Solas is convinced that all of his manipulation to get Rook to drown in regret is enough to keep them trapped in that prison. In his pride, he doesn't expect Rook to escape. He once again doesn't expect Rook to see through his final betrayal about the veil. He also doesn't expect Rook to have enough cards by the end to stop him (which is conditional based on what you do in the game)

I don't think that Varric was thinking that far ahead when he was hiring Rook. Hiring someone who can make decisions during high-risk situations and face the outcome is logical - you know that this person has the resilience necessary and won't back away from a challenging task.

However, to hire them because they're unpredictable and can potentially outsmart or outwit Solas? I don't think they were aiming that high or planning that far ahead. They just needed reliable people to hopefully intercept Solas before he sets his plans in motion.

Also, it's not uncommon for Solas to underestimate people. He woke up and decided that the beings living after the Veil deserved to go extinct because he saw them as terminally disabled due to their disconnect from the Fade - and only later was he forced to acknowledge them as people, which didn't dissuade him from his goals, just made him feel bad about what he was going to do.

He had flawed opinions about dwarves, Qunari, humans - and he still has them, but recognizes the Inquisitor as "one of the good ones" on High Approval. So, his pride has always been his weakness and the reason for his hubris.

The Inquisitor would have gotten out of the Prison of Regret, just like many other determined and strong personalities Solas knew personally - because they made as many, if not even more hard decisions as Rook did, and they didn't let regret stop them.

>Cassandra also spent time in the Hunterhorn Mountains north of Orlais, where she worked to rebuild the Seekers. For a time, the new Seekers remained reclusive, showing no interest in worldly affairs and working to a purpose few outside their order could guess.

"For a time" doesn't necessarily mean "for entire 10 years". Also, Seekers seeming reclusive and working to a purpose few outside their order could guess makes sense in the context of the Trespasser - if Cassandra decided to use the Seekers to assist the Inquisitor with searching for Solas, she isn't going to tell everyone and their mother about it.

Nobody knows what exactly Seekers are working on because nobody needs to know. Cassandra did learn a lot, and she learned how to be subtle. At least, had she been included in the plot of the Veilguard, there wouldn't have been any disconnect between the epilogue and her actions.

As for her not showing up in Southern Thedas due to political reasons, it would have been understandable, especially if there was a particularly intense geopolitical situation (I'm elaborating on this in the final paragraphs below). However, since Solas could be anywhere because of the Eluvians, she still can help in the regions she can go to.

>With Corypheus gone there is a power vacuum. A cult of fanatics don't just say "oh well, guess we'll go home now." According to Tevinter Nights (which the franchise being a mixed-media franchise has it's own problems), while a lot distanced themselves from the Venatori there were still a good number of loyalists who remained active. This leads to Aelia trying to fill in that role. She does gain a decent amount of support for it. Even when she's "captured" she has enough sway to escape prison and cause problems. Why? Because the Venatori's ideology is appealing to a lot of people in Tevinter even if they don't directly associate with the cult. However, with her "failure" we have another power vacuum present - so why is it "lazy writing" to have the emergence of another powerful mage that speaks like Corypheus and offer power similarly to what he did fill that?

First of all, yes, telling the story of the game in bits of other media is a horrible practice. Not all people are going to read them - so, it should be explained in the game. Not just by codex entries, but by the characters. I had no clue who Aelia was and why she was bad news - and Neve's vague explanations didn't make it any clearer.

Second, without Corypheus the Venatori lost their competitive differentiation, so to speak- their ideology wasn't any different from the general ideology of Tevinter, just a tad more honest and aggressive.

Yes, Tevinter is obsessed with the idea of its supremacy. Yes, it believes it deserves to rule the world and is working towards this goal.

Venatori are just too loud and messy about it, especially without an ancient god/demigod backing them up. So, if the Venatori can't serve the Tevinter's cause meaningfully or at least fall in line, the Tevinter's power would have either dismantled them (either forcefully or by destroying them from inside), just so they would stop causing so much ruckus and getting unwanted attention.

Alternatively, Tevinter would have exploited their zeal and fanaticism (for instance, encouraging their unethical magic research or even agreeing to finance their search for magisters like Corypheus) because despite being absolutely despicable Tevinter isn't stupid and it knows an opportunity when it sees one.

What I mean to say is that the game tries to show that the Venatori are the main reason why Tevinter is corrupt and not getting any better instead of showcasing how deep the problem goes and how it's much more complicated than "defeating a group of bad guys with an evil name"

>The supremacist ideology of the Venatori embody everything you're saying here. The examples you're giving are all part of the supremacist mindset. Hedonistic and power-obsessed ruling class? Yep. "Slavery is bad" and "we should treat non-mages as people" Those two concepts are directly against the supremacists ideology. We also do get some notes from Dorian doing just that Veilguard. The Venatori isn't just one shade of ugly, it's the embodiment of everything wrong in Tevinter. It's the supremacist ideology given form.

Then why make such a focus on the Venatori if the entire Tevinter is built on the ideas of supremacy? Why?

By making the Venatori solo bad guys of Tevinter, the writers washed their hands off the entire corrupt system of Tevinter established in the previous games - see, guys, magisters aren't that bad and the entire Tevinter society doesn't need a wake-up call, it were the Venatori all along. The Venatori are bad, Tevinter nobles practice slavery just because they're misunderstood and confused, and I guess Danarius, Hadriana, and all the slavers from Tevinter you had met before were just the Venatori in trench coats.

The reason why Tevinter refused to acknowledge the Venatori in the Inquisition was because of their cultish obsession with Corypheus and unsubtle aggressiveness, which didn't look good for their long-term ambitions and plotting.

It would have made more sense if the Venatori either became an official ruling party by the events of Veilguard (no coup needed) because a) they didn't meet any resistance from Senate or the people of Tevinter, b) they brought proof of ancient magisters actually existing, which gave magisters a huge ego boost and added quasireligious delusions to the Tevinter's program, c) Par-Vollen officially started its invasion (like it was promised in the previous games) by attacking Antiva, giving Tevinter the opportunity to be more active and aggressive (infiltrating Antiva by offering it "protection" from the Qunari, reintegrating Kirkwall under the guise of defensive measures), preying on the neighbor's desperation and vulnerability to its influence.

But instead, they're shown as that malicious cult that is officially opposed and rejected as if Tevinter somehow had an issue with their philosophy.

>Varric is the one tasked with forming a small team. It's his responsibility to form that team and onboard people and vet them. With the way it's framed in "The Missing" Varric had full authority to bring on whoever. He didn't need approval. They kept in touch via Charter and sent correspondence to the Inquisitor but there wasn't any need for approval.

That's the problem, especially considering that the group was going against Solas with his immense abilities and his network of spies. Bringing on whoever is dangerous. There should be at least reporting to the Inquisitor about new recruits because otherwise Varric had been putting himself in a stab-me-in-the-back situation for Solas' spies all that time.

>Given Varric's line to Neve at the beginning, Varric is upfront with the information: "I also told you he was an ancient elven god." Whether the person believes them is dependent on the person. Rook has been tracking Solas with Varric for a year or so. I think by now they've witnessed enough to believe Varric's information.

Having the information doesn't mean being prepared to face Solas - a guy who has been manipulating and doing psychological warfare long before the the Veil. Also, Varric gives a very one-sided perspective on Solas because he only knows him as his former ally. The Inquisitor gets to know a lot more about Solas - after all, they're the one he rants to during his High Approval scene at the balcony, they're the one he subtly confirms his chosen course of action with, they're the one who sees him leave after the Orb is broken, and they're the one to meet him again in the Trespasser. Varric doesn't have this information, he didn't see that side of Solas, so whatever information he gives to Rook is incomplete. Rook doesn't know what they're dealing with. Moreover, Rook doesn't need to know that Solas is sentimental - Rook needs to know that Solas is very good at lying and deceiving people and that he is ruthless.

It all could have been addressed within prologue dialogues, but all we got was Rook asking "So, when we find this Solas...then what?" - which sounded as if Rook joined the group just yesterday. As a result, Rook sounds woefully unprepared.

>You think they wouldn't let that stop them. I think they're smart enough to not continue to play an active part if any information they get or send off is information Solas is spoon feeding them. If their continued involvement would cause more harm then good then yea, I think they would take a step back. I think they would hand off the reigns to others.

The problem is: who are these others? The entire "there is a real elven god walking around and he wants to destroy the Veil" story is very hard to explain to anyone who hadn't been around during the events of the Trespasser. Dismissive and derogatory attitude towards the elven culture aside, people don't respond to the "gods are among us" claims well without proof. It's not the Blight, which is super hard to ignore. It's something new - and it's so challenging to everyone's religious ideas that engaging new allies would have required some thoughtful wording and messaging.

There is a reason the guys who believed that Andraste reincarnated into a dragon were considered lunatics in the DA:O. To find others who can handle Solas (while knowing what he is and bracing themselves for a tough challenge) would take time and effort - meanwhile, both Leliana and Josephine have the burden of knowing the threat, knowing it's coming. I can't honestly imagine them sitting on their hands and hoping that the Inquisitor finds someone.

Now, there could have been a wonderful way to keep them busy and not as involved without making it look odd. For instance, if Par Vollen officially declared war and started invading Rivain and Antiva.

In that case, Josephine would be fully committed to doing whatever she can for her country, while Leliana's presence will be crucial for a) the morale and safety (if Divine), b) working against Ben-Hassrath and gathering intel (if Sister Nightingale).

>They do find new allies through their journey.

We don't see them in the game.

>They do find people who have ample knowledge of magic and ancient history.

We don't see them in the game.

>This idea also continues to play out in Veilguard. We find someone who has connections.

There is only Neve who is more of a investigative journalist/freedom fighter who never dealt with gods, ancient magic or anything like that. She herself admits that she is way over her head.

>We find someone who has ample knowledge of the fade since that's what Solas was directly trying to manipulate.

Aside from Emmrich, there is nobody else available - and Rook employs him after Varric is out of commission, leaving Rook desperate for help and clues because they have nothing. That's the issue: there are no tangible results after the 10 years of search. Rook starts from the ground zero - even though they aren't supposed to.

>I do not think it implicitly means what you've interpreted it to. I think that's how you interpreted that and I think that's a valid interpretation of it. Unfortunately that's not where they took it. That's also now how I interpreted it. I think a lot of the fandom interpreted this in different ways and that leads to disappointment if their interpretation wasn't correct. I think that's what's happening to you here. I don't think Bioware not catering to your interpretation means "they don't care." or anything like that. I think it's just that what you predicted or assumed based on the information provided ended up being incorrect. Other people predicted it correctly. If anything this just means that the marketing team could have done better at setting expectations and making sure everyone was on the same page.

From my point of view, there are things that are meant to be interpreted differently by players, and that are part of worldbuilding that isn't up for interpretation. For example, the Warden can be absolutely merciless and cruel in their decisions - and their motivations depend on the player's interpretation (trauma, anger due to oppression, refusal to be kind to the world that screwed them over, simple assholery). Similarly, the Warden can be heroic and selfless - why are they like that is still up to the player's interpretation. However, the end goal doesn't change: Kill the Archdemon. It doesn't matter how evil or how kind the Warden is as long as they get the job done. They become the Hero of Ferelden regardless.

All the threats created or hinted at were never up to interpretation. Blights are extremely dangerous. The Mage-Templar war caused massive destructive disruptions across the Andrastian regions, leaving mages and templars particularly vulnerable to exploitation. The death of the Divine led to hysteria and massive crisis of faith, while the Breach and the rise of Corypheus led to the emergence of the Venatori and red lyrium zombies. And the characters always responded accordingly to the threats -- either because of their rank and calling or due to them having exclusive understanding of the problem and needing to be in the loop.

The ending of Trespasser implied that Leliana and Cassandra were sticking around, working with Inquisitor and following the Inquisitor's decisions (and certainly taking note of how easily Solas infiltrated their networks). For them to just bow out without any explanation or reason isn't the problem of interpretation - the game didn't deliver its own buildup.

>But Bioware can't just make whatever they want. Bioware is owned by EA (not just published through them. OWNED by them). Bioware has to pay people to make the games. They need to get the funding and approval from EA to do so. This means that no matter how passionate the team is, there's only so much they can do and EA gets a huge say in what that is. EA who explicitly stated earlier AFTER BG3 released that they don't think single player story based games are worth investing in. WHICH IS INSANE TO ME. EA had them start developing the game one way. EA had them change development midway. EA had them remove all multiplayer pieces. EA cut funding to Bioware forcing them to make cuts in staff.

I admit, I don't know whether it was Bioware or EA who decided to completely dunk on the elves and their entire arc in the Veilguard, make a clown show out of Qunari, destroy Loghain as a character and erase nearly the entire Southern Thedas - and then naively hope for Dragon Age series to get the next game.

I don't know whether it was the Bioware's love ruined by the EA (which definitely played the part in it because I know how soulless and greedy management can fuck up the production) or Bioware writing it all out of spite and then releasing the artbook so people could pay $75 to see the content and the story that never happened and will never happen.

The outcome is the same: there is no reason for me to give them money. If Bioware can no longer make it's own creative choices, I will no longer buy its games because it means rewarding EA for its abhorrent practices.

There is no point in believing in Bioware anymore and support it because if this is where EA is taking it, I'd rather let my favorite series die and be put to rest than see them twisted into the parody of their former selves.

I understand your point, but IMHO, the problem of Veilguard isn't that it's not perfect - it has been actively hurt by the choices and management, which is why it's the pale shadow of what it was supposed to be.

Moreover, I don't even know what the writing team thinks because they either lump reasonable criticism together with elon musk fanboys whining, which is downright insulting or carefully pat themselves on the back for the job done. I understand that EA may have made them sign some kind of BS contract that doesn't allow them to speak ill of EA and its decisions for 100 years or so, but even refraining from comments would have sent the message.

Right now, both behaviors create an impression as it's the players fault for having expectations and wanting the proper final of their story, instead of just consuming the content.

And that's just sad.

Bioware writing team has a comfy, sheltered life and it shows

I'm sorry, but how come that the only people Inquisitor sent to look for Solas were Varric and Harding? How come that the only people recruited in 10 years of pursuing Solas were Neve and Rook? Do the writers understand that this is NOT how a serious effort looks like?

What about Leliana? Divine or not, she is still Sister Nightingale with an immense spywork. You'd think she won't mobilize everything she has to track Solas and his followers?

What about Josephine? What, she decided "nah, I'm done" and didn't use any of her diplomatic talents and connections to let the Inquisitor's agents have access, permissions or information they need?

What about Dorian? As a political figure, you'd think he will be the first Minrathous contact for the Inquisitor allies, the one arranging things and providing insights?

What about Cassandra and her Seekers? Isn't she interested in stopping another world-ending threat?

What about Sera and her sabotaging potential? If she organized the group of people for performing vigilante acts, people who are her eyes and ears, how come nobody from her group is helping with the effort?

I get it why Varric takes part in it - he knew Solas, the Inquisitor trusts him and his judgement, but for the game to imply that all the responsibility was lumped on Varric's shoulders is fucking disgraceful. I get it writers, Varric is popular character, and you would use him as bait to your heart's content, but the context you've created implies that Varric might have been the only one to take the threat seriously, while the Inquisitor and the rest were doing God knows what.

Varric should have been handing the Rook information on all the contacts they can recruit, all the useful agents, all the people to work with, not tell them to ask Neve because she might know someone because detective (Neve is a good character, but the fact that people who were supposed to spend 10 years chasing Solas look up to her for finding them contacts is appalling).

"Oh, but all these people were in the previous parts and we don't want to mention previous parts because muh new players" - well, you shot yourselves in the foot. Maybe, just maybe, you should have AT LEAST cared more about the choices made in DAI.

Congrats.

[cakerybakery]

Scene idea for that story where God is screwing with Lucifer. Lucifer is the only one to realize God sets up everyone for failure for his own amusement. God revives Adam with the belief that he’s married to Lucifer. His mind is constantly being rewritten to have him believe whatever tortures Lucifer.

-

Adam was all over him. Lucifer had tried to push Adam away but the look of hurt in his eyes broke Lucifer.

It wouldn’t hurt to let Adam cuddle.

He put a hard stop to the touching. Reminding Adam for the millionth time they weren’t married, it was a trick by god.

Adam’s hands felt good after so many years alone. It got harder and harder to say no. Especially since Adam had trouble understanding his no. His brain seemed to nearly constantly update Adam with new information and override the facts as he knew them.

Lucifer would tell him no and Adam would forget and start again.

Every ‘no’ hurt Adam anew.

Adam was warm. His hands large and firm. His eyes pleadingly sweet, shining innocently. “Lucifer,” dripped from his mouth like honey in his ears, “let’s have a baby.”

Over and over, Adam forgot that Lucifer just told him no.

It was wrong.

It was wrong.

Lucifer had to break Adam’s heart over and over because making love to Adam, a man who believed they were in love and married, was wrong.

Adam’s tongue licked up Lucifer’s neck and Lucifer whimpered. That had always been a weak spot for him.

“Lucifer, let’s have a baby.”

His legs shook. “No, Adam. This is a trick. Please remember.”

Then Adam’s eyes welled up with tears. “Why don’t you love me?” Adam’s heart shattered anew and the weight of the broken pieces were added onto the sins of Lucifer’s soul.

Adam brightened, his mind erased once more.

He licked Lucifer’s neck once more. His voice honey sweet, “Lucifer, let’s have a baby.”

Lucifer broke a little more each time. He couldn’t push Adam away but he couldn’t stop him either.

Adam cried and asked why he didn’t love him.

“Please, it’s a trick. The real you has to be in there. Please Adam.”

“Lucifer,”

No, not again. Lucifer couldn’t. Not again.

“Let’s have a baby.”

No, was on his tongue but Lucifer have to force it out.

Again.

“No.”

“Why don’t you love me?”

“Adam please. I do love you. Just not yet.”

He cried.

“Lucifer,”

No, please stop. He couldn’t stand anymore of the crying.

“Let’s have a baby.”

Lucifer’s eye’s were hot.

“No.”

“Why don’t you love me?”

He was going mad. This needed to end.

“Lucifer,”

No more. No more. Lucifer couldn’t hear it anymore.

“Let’s have a baby.”

He swallowed hard. The no was right there but his resolve crumbled. “…okay.”

Lucifer screamed at himself as Adam kissed him. As they stripped. As Lucifer prepared Adam.

Adam was tight, although his memory told Adam they’d had sex countless times, this was his first time with any man.

He insisted on riding Lucifer, and Lucifer had no more resistance in him

As Adam rode him, he looked beautiful in his happiness. Smiling and teasing, asking who Lucifer thought the baby would look like. Lucifer tried to smile, to not ruin this for Adam.

Suddenly Adam froze.

Those sweet eyes turned hard.

“What the fuck?” He looked horrified down as Lucifer. “You sick freak.” Adam start to get off him, only to realize it was far more than just Adam sitting naked atop of Lucifer. “You! - feel so good.” The sweet, memory altered, Adam was back.

Lucifer wanted to throw up. That had been the real Adam. God gave him back for just long enough for Lucifer to feel the full weight of what he’d allowed to happen.

Adam rode him hard. Even if Lucifer wanted to, he couldn’t stop himself from cumming.

Cuddled up beside him, Adam asked if Lucifer thought it had worked.

He was sure it had.

Lucifer was God’s favourite punching bag.

[maxdibert]

Hello!! I really like your blog ^^ Do you have any headcanons about Tobias Snape and his relationship with Severus?

Yes, I have quite a few headcanons, both about him and about their relationship. Here are some:

Severus was born in 1960, so Tobias must have experienced WWII in one way or another. I imagine him coming from a working-class family that suffered the consequences of the war when his father had to go to the front. Tobias was probably still a teenager, and if they were already poor, the absence of the family’s breadwinner made them even poorer, and he would have started working at a very young age, almost as a child.

The trauma of war and having to take charge of his family so young likely shaped his personality. From an early age, he acted like an adult and accumulated a lot of anger that he didn’t know how to process because 1) men in that era were ticking time bombs, as they weren’t allowed to show their emotions, and 2) if you weren’t violent, you didn’t survive. Period.

He worked in a factory and was quite frustrated with how little he earned and the fact that he was never promoted beyond being a laborer. He started frequenting pubs after work at a young age and began drinking very early as well.

He let out his anger by getting into drunken fights.

He met Eileen Prince when he was about 35, and she was 10 or 12 years younger. She looked like a well-to-do young lady, and he was quite smooth-talking, so it wasn’t hard for him to win her over.

Eileen seemed like one of those women who appeared fragile, and Tobias liked that. It reinforced the image of the macho breadwinner and family man typical of the time, which he liked to embody. It gave him confidence because, as a nobody, it was the only thing his ego could cling to.

He didn’t care that her family wanted nothing to do with their marriage; he saw it as a kind of triumph. He had won the girl, "conquered" her, and those posh idiots who seemed to be her parents could go to hell.

All of this changed when Severus was born and Eileen told him she was actually a witch. That was the beginning of his descent into hell because his fragile masculinity, rooted in patriarchal ideals of manhood, couldn’t handle the fact that his wife was more powerful than he was. That she had powers, that she could do anything with a wave of her wand. It stripped him of the head-of-household role he had built for himself. If his wife could do anything with just a whisper, and he couldn’t get beyond being a factory laborer, then what was left of him?

He began showing hostility every time Eileen displayed any kind of magic. Over time, she repressed herself more and more until she finally stopped using it altogether. Tobias became increasingly intimidating whenever she mentioned her powers, to the point of verbally abusing her when he came home drunk. Eventually, when Severus started showing signs of being a wizard, Tobias felt so alienated from his own family that this was when the physical violence began.

Eileen didn’t dare use magic because her family had rejected her, and Tobias was all she had left. She clung to her marriage and obeyed him in everything he said. But his frustration, lack of self-esteem, and constant personal failures only worsened his temper, and he always took it out on her. He would accuse her of thinking she was better than him because she was a witch, of mocking him behind his back with Severus, and he constantly reminded her that she would have nothing without him (classic abusive behavior, nothing new under the sun).

He was always deeply frustrated with Severus because, from a young age, Severus showed a strong interest in intellectual rather than physical pursuits: books, stories. It wasn’t just because he was interested in magic and Tobias felt intimidated by something he couldn’t access. It was also because Tobias had built his self-image as a strong man through his physicality—someone who had survived a war, endured a brutal post-war period, and worked with his hands from a young age. His son lacked all those traditionally masculine qualities. Instead, he was drawn to interests Tobias didn’t even understand because he had barely finished primary school. This frustrated him immensely, so he tried to force Severus to be a "real man" from the start. But when he got nowhere, he eventually took it out on the boy. He beat him with a belt whenever he saw Severus doing "sissy" things, showing interest in the magical world, or simply failing to embody the epitome of masculinity Tobias wanted in a worthy son.

As a child, Severus was deeply afraid of his father. This fear partly fueled his interest in the Dark Arts. He fantasized about using a curse on Tobias one day to make him suffer and pay for everything he had done. It’s no coincidence that Severus was ahead of his peers; it was a form of self-defense. He would secretly read old books from his mother or ask her questions when Tobias wasn’t home. But as Severus grew older, Eileen became more emotionally distant, eventually becoming almost a ghost in the house.

As a teenager, Severus felt nothing but disgust for his father. He despised being related to someone so pathetic and simple. He threw himself into his studies because, on some unconscious level, he believed that the more he learned, the more knowledge he acquired, the farther he would be from someone as illiterate and brutish as his father, who seemed almost animalistic to him. Ending up in a house full of upper-class people was a way for him to dissociate from his own origins, adopting mannerisms and striving to set himself apart.

This infuriated Tobias even more. To him, his son not only thought he was better because he was a wizard, but now he was also attending that boarding school full of "posh prissy idiots" and coming home as an effeminate weakling, trying to sound like some upper-crust Londoner. Tobias would grab him by the neck and slam him against the wall, yelling furiously, asking if a scrawny, weak runt like him seriously thought he was better than his own father. Deep down, Severus liked provoking this reaction because he knew he had hurt Tobias's ego.

Through his Slytherin peers, Severus came to understand that Muggles were like that—violent, unpleasant, always seeking to harm wizards. And in a way, Severus believed it, because his father was like that. His father was violent, uncivilized, while the pureblood wizards he met during those years were intellectual, highly knowledgeable, elegant, and well-mannered. They were eloquent, interesting people, full of curiosity and ambition. What Severus knew of Muggles was nothing but filth, violence, resentment, and hatred. It was his father shouting, the smell of alcohol from the pubs he always went to, the factory friends who staggered home with him late at night, always filthy and barely literate. Magic was extraordinary; Muggles were dusty streets, old, soot-covered houses that looked ready to collapse, beggars in the alleys, and families who couldn’t even afford proper clothes. What his housemates said about Muggles made sense because he had lived it.

By the time Severus was 16, he almost cursed his father during one summer holiday. Tobias had gone into a rage and assaulted Eileen and then him. But Severus held back; he didn’t want to risk expulsion or losing his wand. However, he was intimidating enough to make Tobias almost wet himself in fear. After that, Tobias restrained himself; he was no longer physically violent, only verbally abusive. They barely spoke when Severus came home for the holidays. Tobias barely spoke to Eileen either.

I don’t have a clear headcanon about how Tobias died. Many people speculate that Severus killed him. I don’t think so. I don’t believe he killed his father or had him killed. I think it’s more likely that Eileen died first, shortly before or after Severus finished school. She probably died because she had neglected herself so much that her health deteriorated beyond repair. I imagine Severus stopped going to Spinner's End, and Tobias, now completely alone, spiraled out of control. Maybe he stopped going to work and was fired, and he drank himself into oblivion. Perhaps he got into a fight and took a fatal blow, or he crashed a car while drunk. I don’t know. What I imagine is that he died after Eileen and under very sordid circumstances.

Severus didn’t even bother to collect his body from the morgue.

[catghoul31]

Best Present Ever

It's Wade's birthday, but he finds the one-year anniversary of meeting Logan far more important. Wolvie, however, isn't sure he needs to make a wish this time around...

(For @poolverine-week day 7: birthday!)

Content Warnings: exploration of worst!logan's past and the death and suffering that comes with it

Read it under the cut or on ao3!

Logan shot awake that morning, the blood of so, so many people still feeling fresh on his claws. It had been washed away years ago, but the memories still seemed to haunt him, no matter how many steps he took in this new world. Living still felt like a chore, and he still felt like a failure of a person no matter how many times Wade tried to convince him otherwise-

Wade. Wasn’t he in bed with me last night?

On mornings like this, his claws would normally wind up embedded inside of Wade. Logan was utterly distraught the first time it happened, but after months and months of sleeping together, he eventually grew numb to it with the knowledge that Wade had never gotten mad at him about it before, and for some reason, he never would. But there was none of his blood on his claws today, only shredded sheets and another pillow that needed to be replaced.

Where did he go?

—

In the back of his mind, Logan thought he knew a man named Wade once. Back before Weapon X, he probably would’ve fought alongside him in the secret forces, using his brutal nature for good just as Logan had been forced to do. There was a sort of peace in knowing someone as born for destruction as you were, so fucked over by fate that there was no way around your nature except through it.

At least he could control it. Fate seemed to have other plans for Wade, though- the head of Weapon X had somehow managed to find a way to rip that control away from him through forced mutation. When they saw each other once again, he couldn’t even speak, let alone think for himself. Logan’s claws had been the ones to end his misery after a long, horrible fight- at least, he hoped they had.

Those memories hadn’t been wiped- at least, not by Stryker. The only reason he remembered, in the wake of everything else, was that it marked the first time he’d heavily abused alcohol to drown out the memories of his muffled screams at his hands.

The first of many, many times to come.

—

“Wolvie!! Oh- good, you’re awake. You always sleep like a rock whenever I wake up before you- do you know how hard it is to get you off of me??”

Ah, there he was. Of course he hadn’t gone far, and neither had that mouth of his. Always having to talk about something… He’d take his droning on over his inner monologue any day, though. Ever since they’d finally stopped being emotionally constipated assholes and decided to get together, Logan kind of missed it when Wade wasn’t around. This world was too quiet and dull without him…

“Morning, Wade,” he responded, retracting his claws from the bed. Logan knew exactly what Wade was gonna ask based on that look in his eyes, so to prevent ruining his morning, he held a hand up and said, “I’m fine. Just… don’t worry about it.”

Unfortunately for Logan, this was Wade he was dealing with. “Too late for that. I will never not worry about you, babygirl- did you have another nightmare?? While I wasn’t around to hold you tenderly and tell you everything was okay… I have failed you, my dearest and one true love, and I am deeply sorry. How ever can I make this right by you?” he lamented as over-dramatically as possible, getting on his knees and everything.

Logan’s face scrunched up at Wade’s antics as he pretended to be annoyed- but fuck it all, he really couldn’t be. Those puppy eyes worked too well, and he hated it. Sure, he got nervous when Wade was gone for too long, but it wasn’t like he was some lost puppy when Wade was even just in a different room than he was for five minutes. He could handle himself.

“But you always miss me so much, don’t you~?”

“Stop reading my thoughts, Wade. Please.”

—

Logan was found by the professor not long after that. There, he’d discovered others just like him, with all sorts of different mutations- the X-Men. The family he’d found after he lost everything else. The defenders of mutantkind, the friends he could always rely on… that’s what he’d tried to believe, at least. Try as he might, Logan could never bring himself to feel comfortable around them… around anyone, really. 

Something deep within him had the sense that the greatest danger never came from those he expected, but from the people he thought he could trust- wanted, so badly, to trust. To love, and be loved in return, regardless of that love’s nature. Logan, though, never felt quite right around any of them. He never felt like he belonged- not even around… Scott. Jean. Kurt. 

(He hated those names now. Couldn’t fucking stand hearing them, in any context.)

Logan wasn’t a hero. At best, he was good muscle and an intimidating face to scare the bad guys with. Nobody had ever made him feel like he was anything more than that, try as they might. He’d had enough one night, when the cheap pot shots at his animalistic qualities were too much, scraping at his head when it was already sore from self-loathing and the few memories he’d retained of his past life…

They went on a mission that night. Logan went bar hopping instead.

He would never see them alive again.

–

“...Anyways!! Maybe these’ll help the horrors leave your head, peanut,” Wade chirped, holding a plate of… pancakes. Logan would know that smell anywhere- the agent of chaos he lived with always insisted on making them every other morning. 

Logam would be tired of them by now, if not for the infectious joy they always brought to their mornings. It was less about the food, and more about how much fun Wade always had making them… Fuck, it would’ve been nice if he woken up earlier. He could’ve helped out! Or maybe he’d just sit at the table, watching Wade hum a song he didn’t recognize, dance in place to the beat before he put some batter on the griddle. He’d ask for blueberries if prompted, mostly to hear another ramble about how chocolate chips were the only correct add-in-

“Hey! Earth to Wolvie?? These are only the special-est pancakes ever… c’mon, humor me here, will ya?” A light poke at his nose made Logan huff, snapping him out of his trance.

“Y-Yeah, sorry. I’m fine, just…” It always felt odd saying that when it… wasn’t entirely a lie anymore. “...Tired. I’ll get up soon, just… gimme a bit-”

“Ah-ah! Absolutely not, Logi-Bear!!” Wade set a hand on Logan’s shoulder, forcing him to sit still- he hadn’t even moved yet. “Today calls for only the most romantic things I could possibly treat my emotional support 2000s-era heartthrob to… and that means we’re having breakfast in bed. I don’t make the rules, babe!”

Immediately, the pancakes were set in Logan’s lap, complete with a fork and knife, and he had to move quickly to stop the plate from sliding around. “...Do you also think sticky sheets are romantic, bub?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them- mostly because of the way Wade’s face glowed with mirth upon hearing them.

“Of course I do! This bed’s gonna see a lot more sticky stuff tonight, though, and you know it…”

Logan hid his flushed face in his hands, cussing under his breath as Wade giggled uncontrollably. How immature was he…? The worst part was how right he was, of course. Taking a look at his pancakes… they seemed misshapen. No, not misshapen- it seemed like they were supposed to be shaped like his mask, with a few ‘snikt’ marks drawn into them with batter. They were even complete with blueberries, syrup, whipped cream, powdered sugar, and… a candle? Thank fuck it wasn’t lit yet!

“Well… we’re pulling all the stops today, aren’t we? I mean, thanks for the food, but- what’s all this about, babe?” As confused as he was, Logan couldn’t help but smile. Wade was always one for fun gifts and gestures, but this seemed like a lot, even for him.

When Wade pulled out a fucking lighter, Logan immediately flung the candle off of the pancakes. The sad look Wade gave him stung- but fuck if he was letting the house burn down over this!!

“…Happy anniversary? Damn, guess you didn’t want a wish after all…”

—

The mansion was burning down.

Logan was barely lucid as he staggered back to what was supposed to be his home. All at once, though, awareness flooded his mind again the moment he comprehended what he was looking at. His home was being destroyed right in front of him, and he instantly rushed over to try and help his comrades salvage what would be left.

As Logan got closer to the bonfire that was once his home, he heard shouting, chanting… cheering?? People were celebrating this vile display of hatred. Nothing he wasn’t used to. He’d just lop their heads off, and his family would-

…

They wouldn’t do anything.

Not with their bodies impaled in the middle of the crowd, paraded by masked individuals who were protected by a sea of people chanting, jeering, or screaming in outrage at the scene before them.

Many of those disgusted individuals… they’d left the mansion before this happened. 

But Logan didn’t care. Any shred of morality left his body in that moment, and his claws unsheathed so fast he thought he’d never be able to pull them back in again. 

It was a total bloodbath. Hundreds more people died that night- all of the perpetrators, sure, but not even those who were trying to fight against the X-Men’s killers were safe. Not even some of the very students he’d sworn to protect. In that moment, which went by in what felt like seconds to him, Logan had caused the greatest atrocity ever committed by mutantkind. No other mutant would ever be as notable as he was. 

How could they, if Logan was the only mutant the humans couldn’t kill?

—

“Oh, there’s lots of things I’ve got to wish for, bub. Burning this shitty apartment down ain’t one of them, though.”

Wade snorted at that comment, putting the lighter away safely and stepping closer to Logan. “Aw, c’mon, what’s a little arson between friends?” he asked, resting his head on Logan’s shoulder and shooting those puppy dog eyes at him, like a dog begging for a taste of water boiling on the stove. 

Logan laughed dryly at the thought. Wade was so ridiculous sometimes… did he still love his stupid ass? Of course he did. And he didn’t even feel stupid for it anymore, because honestly? He was being sweet this morning. Why kick the gift horse in the mouth? Or however Wade put it that one time… 

“I don’t want to celebrate our… anniversary? By becoming homeless, and I don’t think you want to, either.” Logan took a moment to think about what Wade meant by that. What was today an ‘anniversary’ of?? He had to glance back down at his pancakes to get the slightest idea of what that meant… and holy shit. “Has it really been that long since we’ve met each other?”

Wade, perking up instantly, nodded enthusiastically against him. “Of course I’d remember!! My phone started making those “1 year ago today” albums at 5 AM, and I- Logan, I almost cried. There’s so many cute pictures of us from back when you hated my guts…” 

Logan never hated him. He’d hated a lot of people in his time, but honestly, when his world came crumbling down, Logan lost the will to hate people, just as he’d lost the will to love, so he was just… mad at everyone, all the time. That was even true in that fucking car- he’d only called him all those nasty things because he was pissed. Mostly at himself, and- he still hadn’t fully forgiven himself for what he said. Or anything else, really. Forgiving Wade- hell, even choosing to love him- was way easier than that would ever be!

“…and OH MY GOD, the first picture I got of Dogpool!! Oh, Logan, you have to… are you even paying attention to me? Hey, don’t get all broody on me here, babycakes! This fic’s supposed to be fluffy, right? C’mon… hey-“ Wade guided Logan’s face to look at him, into that diseased-yet-kind soul of his.

“Eyes on me, now…” Logan’s nose scrunched up at the patronizing tone Wade took with him, but he obliged anyways. “Now. Look at this one,” The next picture on the album was Wade, after that “fight” of theirs, wrapped in seatbelts, covered in blood and making what looked like a kissy face at a passed-out Logan behind him, with the caption “noo don’t stab me you’re so sexy haha 😘.” “Doesn’t that make you feel better?”

Not really. But also… kinda. Yeah. “Maybe,” Logan shrugged, a slight smirk on his face. Even after a year, that was still the weirdest thing they’d done that Logan could accurately describe as “hot.” And they couldn’t ever recreate it!! No way for two people to have hot hate sex if they couldn’t even pretend to hate each other anymore…

Out of pure impulse, Logan moved his pancakes onto the nightstand, wrapped his arms around Wade, and rolled him over onto the bed with him. That squeak he always let out whenever Logan did this always made him laugh. Flustering Wade back was one of his favorite things in the world…

“If I’d known you were taking pictures, I would’ve grabbed that damn phone and taken some of my own that night,” Logan growled into his ear, grinning at how Wade shuddered in response.

“Mm… I don’t think you would’ve!” Wade whispered. “I think you would’ve been too busy f-wording me to focus on anything else, right?” he said, winking in… someone’s general direction- why’d he always do that? Some things about Wade were still completely lost on Logan…

“Well, you had time while you were trying to save the world, didn’t you?” he said, catching his album flipping to a selfie Wade took with Cassandra putting his fingers inside Logan’s face in the background- wait, what the fuck?

“Saving the world and saving you, peanut,” Wade corrected, a softer smile on his face now. “But… honestly, I think you might’ve saved me a bit more. I don’t know what I’d do if it wasn’t you I’d found…”

—

Logan deserved nothing. Not after what he did.

His fit of murderous rage had given the anti-mutes the ammo they needed to complete their genocide of every single mutant on the planet. They’d spent a while trying to kill him, but once Logan was the only mutant left alive, they figured it was punishment enough to let him live out the rest of his days in a world that hated him. 

And they were right. Logan was homeless and completely alone, obviously hated by the mutant killers, but especially loathed by everyone who’d fought against them, everyone who had lost a mutant loved one- especially at the Wolverine’s claws that night. Every single day, every moment he lived was a reminder of what he’d done, how he’d doomed his world.

He couldn’t bear to spend a second of his life sober. His alcoholism accelerated to a point where lethal levels of drinking barely affected him anymore, but it didn’t matter. It was better to relive his greatest crimes with a slightly foggy mind than to let the thoughts scream ceaselessly at him.

The obvious solution would be to let himself die, right? Just lie down in whatever shelter he could until his body finally starved to death… but Logan knew that would bring him peace. 

Something he would never have. Something he would never deserve.

Living was the only punishment fit for him.

—

Logan snorted, very much begging to differ. “At least you admit you saved me. I had nothing, Wade… Not until I met you.” Even after a year, Logan still meant those words. He no longer mourned the idea that there was nothing left for him in his old universe- at this point, it felt like a simple statement of fact. The memories of the events that ruined it still hurt, and he was far from healed… but Logan had no idea what he was thinking, wanting to go back after they’d defeated Cassandra. There wasn’t a life he could imagine living without Wade anymore…

As if he’d read his mind, Wade’s lips pressed against Logan’s in enthusiastic agreement. He returned the kiss softly, sighing in contentment. Much like the rest of him, Wade’s lips were scarred, textured with the physical manifestation of how much pain he’d suffered to get here. Every kiss he gave him reminded Logan how much pain Wade had experienced, and before, it’d felt like the tie that bound them. Now, though? After months of loving and being loved by Wade, thinking of their bond in terms of pain alone felt reductive. Maybe his existence in his old world was defined by how much he hurt… but not here. Not anymore.

When they parted, Wade leaned his forehead against him, staring at him with the softest eyes imaginable, a wordless declaration of love. Logan could only hope that the smile on his face conveyed the same sentiment.

Of course, the moment couldn’t last forever, and in true Wade fashion, he was the one to break it. “I think your pancakes are getting cold, sweetums… We can’t celebrate until you’ve had your breakfast!!” he insisted, dragging Logan up to sit again- as much as he stubbornly protested. He was very comfortable right there, why’d he have to ruin it? Over food?? He could always eat later.

But… sure. They could have pancakes. Logan had realized something very interesting about today, so… “You first,” Logan insisted, passing the fork to Wade, who seemed incredibly confused. 

“Nuh uh, Wolvie- it’s my turn to celebrate you right now!! Those were made specifically with you in mind-“

“Weren’t you having a party when you brought me home?”

It only took a few seconds for it to sink in. Logan watched with glee as Wade’s eyes widened, almost seeming devastated at the realization. He had to bite his tongue to keep from cackling when Wade yelled-

“I forgot my birthday again???”

[an-au-blog]

zoro and sanji draft I don't remember when I wrote this:

WARNING! This is "a bit" fucked up. - warning for suicide/suicide attempts, flirting as a very bad coping mechanism/aversion from serious topics.

modern zosan, where Sanji is still with his abusive family but they sometimes go to these luxurious long trips abroad and leave him behind because he would "just ruin the mood". He loves it when they do, because it's one of not many times that he feels like he could live free and go to the kitchen, be openly nice to the staff, feed the squirrels in the gardens etc. But as everything has its downside, when they come back, the abuse and mistreatment worsens for a week after their return. It's so bad that he starts getting panic attacks and starts getting suicidal thoughts when he sees his days as a "free man" are coming to an end. One time, it's so bad that he feels himself slipping. He calls a suicide hotline.

Zoro, a part-time kendo teacher and a broke man in the big city, has a few vandalism and petty theft charges under his name, mostly courtesy of his long years of friendship with Luffy. So most white-collared jobs don't want to hire him or treat him like a delinquent. So he starts a job at a suicide hotline center. He's always been told he was observant and could understand people quickly, plus he would help people. It's emotionally draining but it's honest work.

And then a guy calls.

He sounds hysterical and hard to understand, crying like it's the end of the world. When Zoro manages to calm him down, the man tells him his name is Sanji, but refuses to tell Zoro his address, saying his family would never forgive him if word comes out that the failure was embarrassing them like that.

Odd mindset... but okay.

But what shocked Zoro more, was when Sanji started flirting with him. It started with a compliment about his "deep and calming voice". It was an obvious excuse to make Zoro not ask more questions and for a bit, Zoro went along with it, not reciprocating but not shutting his down either. Keeping him on the line long enough to track down the signal. One could never be too cautious.

It was one of those rich neighborhoods where all the snobs lived. Zoro managed to make Sanji promise that he'd try holding on and if he felt like doing anything stupid to call again. And Sanji told him he didn't want to talk to other operators but him. It could have been a bad attempt at flirting, but Zoro wouldn't risk it. He asked his colleagues if the same phone or address calls again and he's in and available to redirect the call to him. He even gave his cell in case it was an emergency.

After a few months there was another call. This time Sanji was calling from the bathroom, he sounded drowsy. The operator had said Sanji was about to hang up because Zoro wasn't on shift, so they redirected the call in a desperate attempt. He was in the middle of a workout across town, but he immediately dropped everything.

Rushing to the place, Zoro tried his hardest to keep Sanji awake and on the line, that damned idiot never stopped flirting while Zoro was fighting to keep him awake. His lungs were aching and his legs struggled to keep up. He kept telling him "Just keep talking to me, Sanji, keep talking!" With all the urgency and desperation of his constricting lungs.

"Yeah, you like hearing me that much?" That idiot tried brushing it off again.

"Yes, love to hear it." Because it meant you're still alive. "Just keep talking, please!" He knew there was probably an ambulance on the way, but he needed to get there. Just in case... just...

[countess-of-edessa]

“are the girls going to help you make pierogis?” well no one else is fucking gonna are they? no one else in this house has functional fucking hands apparently

[reasonsforhope]

"The first modern attempt at transferring a uterus from one human to another occurred at the turn of the millennium. But surgeons had to remove the organ, which had become necrotic, 99 days later. The first successful transplant was performed in 2011 — but even then, the recipient wasn’t immediately able to get pregnant and deliver a baby. It took three more years for the first person in the world with a transplanted uterus to give birth. 

More than 70 such babies have been born globally in the decade since. “It’s a complete new world,” said Giuliano Testa, chief of abdominal transplant at Baylor University Medical Center.

Almost a third of those babies — 22 and counting — have been born in Dallas at Baylor. On Thursday, Testa and his team published a major cohort study in JAMA analyzing the results from the program’s first 20 patients. All women were of reproductive age and had no uterus (most having been born without one), but had at least one functioning ovary. Most of the uteri came from living donors, but two came from deceased donors.

Fourteen women had successful transplants, all of whom were able to have at least one baby.  

“That success rate is extraordinary, and I want that to get out there,” said Liza Johannesson, the medical director of uterus transplants at Baylor, who works with Testa and co-authored the study. “We want this to be an option for all women out there that need it.”

Six patients had transplant failures, all within two weeks of the procedure. Part of the problem may have been a learning curve: The study initially included only 10 patients, and five of the six with failed transplants were in that first group. These were “technical” failures, Testa said, involving aspects of the surgery such as how surgeons connected the organ’s blood vessels, what material was used for sutures, and selecting a uterus that would work well in a transplant. 

The team saw only one transplant fail in the second group of 10 people, the researchers said. All 20 transplants took place between September 2016 and August 2019.

Only one other cohort study has previously been published on uterus transplants, in 2022. A Swedish team, which included Johannesson before she moved to Baylor, performed seven successful transplants out of nine attempts. Six women, including the first transplant recipient to ever deliver a baby back in 2014, gave birth.

“It’s hard to extract data from that, because they were the first ones that did it,” Johannesson said. “This is the first time we can actually see the safety and efficacy of this procedure properly.”

So far, the signs are good: High success rates for transplants and live births, safe and healthy children so far, and early signs that immunosuppressants — typically given to transplant recipients so their bodies don’t reject the new organ — may not cause long-term harm, the researchers said. (The uterine transplants are removed after recipients no longer need them to deliver children.) And the Baylor team has figured out how to identify the right uterus for transfer: It should be from a donor who has had a baby before, is premenopausal, and, of course, who matches the blood type of the recipient, Testa said...

“They’ve really embraced the idea of practicing improvement as you go along, to understand how to make this safer or more effective. And that’s reflected in the results,” said Jessica Walter, an assistant professor of reproductive endocrinology and infertility at Northwestern University Feinberg School of Medicine, who co-authored an editorial on the research in JAMA...

Walter was a skeptic herself when she first learned about uterine transplants. The procedure seemed invasive and complicated. But she did her fellowship training at Penn Medicine, home to one of just four programs in the U.S. doing uterine transplants. 

“The firsts — the first time the patient received a transplant, the first time she got her period after the transplant, the positive pregnancy test,” Walter said. “Immersing myself in the science, the patients, the practitioners, and researchers — it really changed my opinion that this is science, and this is an innovation like anything else.” ...

Many transgender women are hopeful that uterine transplants might someday be available for them, but it’s likely a far-off possibility. Scientists need to rewind and do animal studies on how a uterus might fare in a different “hormonal milieu” before doing any clinical trials of the procedure with trans people, Wagner said.

Among cisgender women, more long-term research is still needed on the donors, recipients, and the children they have, experts said.

“We want other centers to start up,” Johannesson said. “Our main goal is to publish all of our data, as much as we can.”"

-via Stat, August 16, 2024

[criminalgays]

TW: this post talks extensively about my cat who has end stage kidney disease and my reaction to finding out. please be cautious and remember that your mental health is more important than a stranger’s cat. i left the pictures up top because he is still a cutie pie that everyone should see at least once

introducing my cat chewbacca, who decided last thursday night he wanted to stop eating. we brought him to the vet friday for bloodwork and found that his kidneys were, for lack of a better term, fucked. my boss (aka our primary care vet) sent him down to the emergency vet in our area for the weekend and we found out he’s got stage 4 kidney failure. he had no symptoms that anything was wrong prior to not eating last week.

the emergency vets gave him 8-9 months to live if his quality of life stays consistently good. they think he’s had ckd (chronic kidney disease) for most of his life and it has progressed slow enough that his body has learned to live with it until now.

he’s home from the emergency clinic now, and he’s coming with me to work tomorrow to recheck bloodwork and so his primary can do another exam and we can talk about specific renal diets and what we can do to support him until it’s time for us to let him go.

it’s a really weird feeling, as a VA, knowing that your cat is in kidney failure and knowing that there’s nothing you can do or could’ve done about it. we had NO reason to believe he was sick and it’s honestly a miracle that my mom even noticed he hadn’t eaten thursday night or Friday morning because we have 3 other cats.

i want to believe that we’re going to put him on a renal diet and kidney supplements and he’s going to be perfectly fine and live until he’s 15, but i know that it’s not going to work like that. for now we just have to keep him as happy and healthy as we possibly can and roll with the punches.

[peachinspiration]

dunmeshi mithruncore (every day I can’t get up to make myself eat at all or get up to use the bathroom or fall asleep or actually do more to help myself unless im told to or someone physically Makes me do it or I finally manage to do so for the first time very very late in the day cuz I forced myself to out of fear)

[hoshigray]

Heyyy. Can I request a college au. Reader is an average, socially awkward person but somehow managed to pulled the campus heartthrob, Geto (or gojo). And he's lowkey obsessed with her and try to be fucking her every chance he gets.

𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: why not both? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ idk, felt like doing a threesome for some reason lmao

⊹ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Geto + Gojo x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! college setting - sex in public places; gymnasium locker room + dining hall + college dorms - oral (m! + f! receiving) - face + throat-fucking - fingering (f! receiving) - clitoral play (swiping, grinding and licking/sucking) - face-sitting - threesome - double penetration; anal and vaginal - cowgirl dp position - anal fingering (f! receiving) - kissing/making out - protected sex (psa: warp it up or get tf up) - overstimulation - pet names (angel, baby, cutie, my love, pretty girl, princess, sweetie, sweetheart) - sato + sugu being whipped over you, hehe~ - slight humor - mention of tears and drool.

⊹ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.1k (pretty long for a req, lol)

“Oh, Y/n, it’s good to see you. Did you have a good weekend? Let’s walk each other to class; I was waiting for you.”

“Y/nnnn! This cold day is so much warmer now that you’re here. Let’s grab something to eat at the dining hall, okay?”

You thought college life couldn’t get any more difficult than it already is. Oh, how you were so wrong… 

Being on your own on campus was hard enough; states away from your family and having to rely on and take care of yourself while also striving for a better education. On top of this, making friends (outside of your roommates Shoko and Utahime) is such a social and excruciating chore as it’s challenging to put yourself out for people to notice you. Making small talk with your peers or talking/discussing group material in classes has your heart racing enough – not to mention trying to commit to clubs – making you feel a bit of a failure as a human being.

With that, you almost dwell on not trying at all. You’re utterly content with your inner circle with your roommates, waking up and heading to classes and back, eating college food, and sleeping after reading for a lecture. This routine of sticking to yourself was a notion you’ve grown to accept and find comfort in — no need to change it if it’s been doing you well this far.

That is until you meet them — Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru, the best friends of your roommate Shoko. 

Gojo is the star player of the school’s basketball team, a famous face among the class years, and the “disgustingly tactless, cutesy prince” of your year, as described by Utahime. By morning, he’s a dedicated student in his business administration major and history minor classes; by afternoon, he is his playful, social, and charismatic snow-haired soul, grabbing the attention of others and bringing life to those around him with his bright cadence. In addition, he’s a talented figure, capturing the hearts of many with his model work in fashion shows and playing fan-favorite roles in plays.

In contrast, Geto was a much more mellow star that pulled the hearts of students and professors alike. The raven-haired bioengineering major was a boy whose presence was easy not to notice yet quick to pull you in when making himself known. His tall, docile figure emitted an aura that accompanied the soothing tune of his voice, the perfect combination that made him trustworthy and obliging to the students around him and his lacrosse teammates. With the charming features of a heartthrob and the alluring speech of a leader, he’s someone many would turn to in search of a person to follow and praise.

Satoru and Suguru, two complete opposites – two best friends – who are, without a doubt, the twin stars of this school. However, there was one thing the two shared in common, something that made your heart skip and your mind race every time knowing this fact: the two were unmistakably and sickeningly in love with you!

How? You do not know. It all started when Shoko brought them over one night for dinner, and you saw them for a quick moment in the kitchen, quickly greeting them before rushing back into your room. Next thing you knew, you had begun to see and run into them every so often, which soon turned to at least once per day. And now, like a white bubbly puppy and a black, quietly affectionate cat, you could not shake them off you when and wherever you went.

Oh, it was something you were not used to, being sneaked up from behind by Gojo, who’d pull you in for a hug or lift you with every greeting in public (as if you weighed like nothing)! Especially in classes where Geto would surprise you with his calm voice and a warm hand on your shoulder to check if you were okay before claiming the chair next to you. And you couldn’t push them away — how could you when two of the most renowned faces on school grounds want to be around your presence!? Good Lord, it was all overwhelming, Shoko and Utahime having to step in to beat the boys into shape for making you uncomfortable.

And then there are those times when the two would butt heads with each other because of you! There have been a handful of times where if one had you to themselves, the other would bore glares to the former’s skull. Gojo would suck his teeth with his arm wrapped around your shoulder, white brows furrowed and ticked off blue eyes concealed by his dark circle shades. “Yo, Buddha with bangs, can you let go? Y/n promised to hang with me after their classes ended, and I’d be damned if you’d be third-wheeling.”

“That’s not happening, Satoru,” Geto’s hand grasps yours with more grip, royal purple eyes narrowed at his white-haired friend. “Y/n and I have a presentation to work on for tomorrow. Go lollygag somewhere else.”

Two positive bundles of life will immediately turn hostile when it comes to you, suffocating your very being as you’re stuck in the middle of them. It’s bad enough being with either of them has people notice and talk about you; it’s another thing when you’re being fought over like some small bunny between two snarling wolves. Oh God, why me!!??

But it wasn’t all bad. If anything, being fawned over by the two was a strange thing that has happened to you thus far, and not in a terrible way. Gojo has made you a lot more open and social than before, dragging you to parties he’s been invited to and to his crowded games (where he’s always sure to find you and blow a kiss). And spending time with Geto has sparked instances where you’re courageous enough to speak for yourself with a bit of a push from him, throwing in your inputs for class discussions or having him aid you in knowing your material when you two study together.

The two most popular guys in school who flatter and are obsequious over you. That in itself is enough to make your cheeks and ears dial in warmth, shielding your face in your pillows just thinking about them. You like them both, bound to be drawn in by the handsome boys and their pursuit of you.

However, their infatuation was something you’d find out goes beyond words and handholds. An obsession for you embroidered in their very minds…and bodies.

“…Mhahhh, Go—Mmmph! Gojooo…we shouldn’t be doing this…”

“Aww, c’mon, Y/n, you know I don’t like it when you call me by last name. It’s just the two of us here…Fuck, keep licking it like that…”

Sneaking into the basketball team’s locker room is one thing; sneaking in with the star player in the team with you between his legs on the bench and sucking his dick? Oh, that’s a can of worms you never thought you’d open in your entire life. 

Gojo brings his head back, banging on the locker behind him as the contact of your tongue on his pink tip sends shivers up to his shoulders. “Fuuuck, you feel so good, baby. Gonna make me cum again…” You peer up with lidded eyes as you suck his tip into your mouth, him humming at the warm sensation of your mouth swallowing his length whole. Your face is hot of embarrassment, being looked down on by him as you do such an indecent thing on him in a place of changing for men. 

This was his idea – bringing you to the gymnasium to watch him practice with his teammates for an upcoming game. Then, he pulls you aside once the guys want another fifteen-minute water break, bargaining into the men’s locker room and pulling you in for a hot kiss. Sucking on and nibbling on your lips and tongue has you mewl sweetly for him, distracted as he pulls his shorts and briefs down to expose the erection growing inside him. “Sorry, you just looked too cute watching me from the side,” he’d say with a hazy glint in his eyes shielded by his shades.

So here you are, sucking him off to the hilt, where your lips meet strands of his white pubes, making your boyfriend cum for the second time. Gojo brings a hand to your head for purchase, moaning as your hand massages his balls. “—Ahh, fuck…God, you’ve gotten so good at that, cutie. Can’t get enough of you...”

His words burn your ears, his aroused tone making your face even more hot to bear. Gosh, this was such a dangerous game; your nerves constantly on edge in hopes nobody would walk in.

However, your worries might have been what jinxed your fate because you two heard the door to the locker room open. You instantly move your mouth away from Gojo’s cock and stand to panic. But before you could, Gojo quickly grabbed you by the wrist and took you to one of the bathroom stalls. You sat on the toilet, bewildered at being dragged all over this fitness center. Then, Gojo brings his dick to your face again, and you give him the most shockingly confused expression as if he can’t hear the commotion of two people speaking where they used to be.

“Relax, no one’s coming here,” Liar, we almost got caught! He pushes the tip to your mouth, and you murmur on his length, filling your mouth and throat. “Let’s make this one quick, okay?”

You were too busy registering him place his hands on your head before he could slam himself to your mouth; the sudden thrust of his hips propelling his cock deep into the tight crevices of your throat makes you grip onto his shorts for dear life. The slap of his ruts fills your eardrums; you can’t tell how far or close the two guys who entered the locker room are. He’s making you focus on nothing but him — a selfish objection from a selfish man as he’s using you to relieve himself in the men’s locker room. God, this was such a bad situation, and yet your lower half couldn’t stop the throbs that have you shifting your thighs together. How embarrassing! 

“Hhnnn, fucking shit, your throat feels so good,”  he praises, his slender fingers massaging your scalp. Your tongue brushes the underside of his length in a way that has his pace go faster, and he has to keep his moans to a lower volume. “Shiiit, baby, I’m gonna cum…Take it all in…!”

You have no choice but to, forced to gulp down all of his load that he spills into your tight, warm throat. He still rocks his pelvis into you until every pump of his jizz is inside you. When your ears pick up the sound of the locker room door opening and closing with the dismissal of the two strangers, that’s when Gojo takes his long shaft out of your mouth, spit connecting from your tongue to his cockhead is wiped with haste. 

But then, Gojo pokes your cheek with his tip, a sign that he wants to go again. You throw quiet pleas, “N–No, Gojo! You have to get back to practice—“

“Shhh, those guys can survive a few games without me. And besides,” he gently slaps your cheek with his cock. How vulgar! “I’ll fuck your mouth til the end of the day if you don’t stop using my last name when it’s just the two of us here.” The playful grin on his lips doesn’t make that threat any better. “One more time, please?”

With hesitant eyes, you place kisses on his shaft while stroking him. “Only one more…okay, Satoru?”

He beams with the dimples of his cheeks. “Yes, pretty girl~.”

And it doesn’t stop there — because Geto is no better. 

“Aww, you two are so cute together~”

You squirm on the booth seat you’re sharing with your other boyfriend, you two sitting across from his friends — a senior couple he shares a lab with that invited him for dinner. Unsurprisingly, you were his plus one, knowing you’re not one for being around people you’re not familiar with. And yet here you are, caged by the wall and Geto’s frame to keep you in this conversation on the side of the busy dining hall.

Geto chuckles before brushing your cheek, "Aren’t we? But they’re the cutest thing to me.” He says as he places a swift kiss on your cheek; it’s an action that has your face grow in warmth — and the couple “awwing” at his affection.

The guy of the couple speaks to the dark, long-haired other. “I never knew you were one for relationships, Geto; you seem so busy with Bio and your clubs that you don’t seem to have time to lay low and be with someone.”

“Mmm, I thought so, too. That is until I met Y/n through a friend of mine,” you jerk at the silent touch of his pinkie grazing your thigh, noting it had sneaked under your skirt to graze its skin. Your eyes peek in his direction, finding that he remains eye contact with the guy he’s talking with. “And, you know, I got to know them here and there, shared some classes with them on the side. Now, I just can’t imagine them being out of my line of sight.”

The guy across laughs. “Sounds kinda obsessive!”

Geto shrugs with a chortle. “I guess it’s like that, I don’t know. I’m just really crazy about them; they’re my sweetheart after all.”

“That’s so sweet!” The girl senior across exclaims, turning to you to ask, “So, how long have you and Geto been a thing, Y/n?”

The question has you stumped for a bit as you weren’t ready to be thrown inquiries. And before you answer, you feel Geto’s hand rub on your thigh. “U-Umm, me—ahem—Geto and I have been a couple for quite a while now? My roommate was the one who introduced me to him—Mmmm!” You briskly flatten your lips at your squeak because the fingers inside your skirt pinch your skin. On command, you spread your legs for Geto to insert his hand inside your panties.

The girl asks more questions. “Oh? So, your roommate brought you two together. Did you know of them before?” 

“Well, not really…She and Geto—Ohh!” You bring your hand to your lips at the graze of Geto’s forefinger on your clit. You turn to him and are immediately locked into his violet gaze. He lifts a brow with an undisturbed smile, and you gulp. “I–I mean, Suguru and my roommate have been best friends since high school, so I kinda got…Nnmm,” you chew your lips when he bullies a digit between your folds to play and tease. “She was the one who introduced me to him…”

“Is that so? Hehe, it’s amazing how the world works, huh?” You listen, but your mind is too focused on Geto’s digits swiping and nestling across your wetness to have your body more excited about his touch. And it gets worse as he inserts his forefinger inside your vagina, causing you to jolt and suppress your mewl by leaning into his shoulder, gripping onto the sleeve of his turtleneck. “Here are two lovebirds all lovey-dovey with each other thanks to one friend bringing them together. It’s crazy imagining you two would’ve never met hadn’t that happened.”

Geto hums at that comment, “I agree; I have to thank Shoko for bringing this little angel to my arms.” He places a soft kiss on your forehead, completely nonchalant compared to the quickened pace of the digit scraping your insides. “Isn’t that right, my love?”

With trenched brows and a shaky breath, you try to reply to the awaiting couple. “Mhmm, yes, I’m so grateful that Suguru is in my life…He’s been such a help to me,” his forefinger goes slow, having you feel every dent and knuckle. “Hahhh, he’s so good to me, and I love him just as mu—Mmmph!!”

“Hmm? Are you okay, Y/n?” How can you tell the guy across from you that your boyfriend’s thumb just surprised your clit with a swipe?  You’d rather melt on this floor had you not buried your face into Geto’s shoulder. 

Speaking of who, he takes the initiative to answer for you. “I think they’re a little parched, must’ve been this lemonade I got for them. I’ll go get them some water—“

“Oh, no, no! I’ll go get the water; I was gonna get more of those garlic knots anyways.” The girl stops Geto from moving, sliding from the booth seat with her boyfriend’s hand to follow suit. “C’mon, let’s leave these lovebirds for a bit. We’ll be right back!”

And so they leave, thanking your lucky stars. Once their figures are nowhere to be seen within the sea of students, you probe the man with a trembling whimper. “Mmmph, Suguru, please, take it out before—Ahhh…! They come back…”

Luckily, he listens to your request with no argument, withdrawing his digit from your wet slick and underwear. And to your horror, he brings the finger to lick and suck and says with a dark look, “Just checking to see what I’ll be having later.”

It doesn’t matter wherever or whenever; Gojo and Geto will be sure that their love for you is expressed to you every chance they get. 

It doesn’t matter the day or hour, whether you are free from assignments, spending time with your roommates, or on your way out to study; those two will find a way to get to be with you. And, to be honest, it can be a bit overstimulating! 

When there are dates to the movies with Gojo, there’s private alone time with Geto on his bed as he eats you out. And when there are days when Geto holds hands with you and walks you to your classes, there are nights when Gojo will fuck you til his cock is warmed inside you in his slumber. It can go either way, the two competing for your affection and time when the other is out of sight. 

Again, sometimes it’s overwhelming for you, never knowing which of the two will have you all to themselves, nor knowing when you can have time to yourself! And it’s not like you haven’t tried putting your foot down to express your wish to be alone. But, albeit it can be utterly exhausting, you know those two love and cherish you so much that it drives them crazy. Hell, it’s driving you crazy just how much they can’t keep their hands off you! 

Especially now when they drag you to their shared dorm room, experiencing one of those days when the two wish to have you in the same presence. 

“Hahhh, damn, Y/n…you’re sucking me off so good,” Geto purrs with a whistle while lovingly patting your head. “So good for me, huh, sweetie?” 

The two stripped you off your clothes to be nude with them on the bed. Your naked frame straddles above Gojo, lying on his back with his face buried into your bare cunt for his mouth and tongue to please you orally. Meanwhile, you suck on Geto’s girth as he leans on the pillows and headboard. It’s his turn after sucking off Gojo (they settled this over rock-paper-scissors) and fingering you to warm you up first.

You whine of his member, Gojo’s tongue doing wonders on your delicate body. He licks on your clit just as you lap yours around Geto’s glans, and then he’ll suck your pearl right as you take in the tip with pursed cheeks. It’s such a mutual shared experience, with how Gojo’s hands wrap to your thighs to keep your chasm on his lips while you have Geto keen to your mouth and hands stroking him. 

“—Khhhh, Jesus Christ…Hohhh, right there, sweetie…” The raven-haired one coos as you kiss your way down to his balls to suck one as you continue to jerk him. “Heh, you doing good down there, Satoru?”

The snow-haired other removes his mouth from your folds, licking your essence that sticks to his lips like honey mixed with his saliva. “Hahaa, you have no idea. I could stay like this for hours,” his tongue licks your come to your clit tantalizingly slow, evoking you to almost choke on Geto’s girth. “Aww, look at you trying to move from me,” Gojo brings your hips back down to him for him to swirl around your labia, his grip on your thighs refusing to submit. “Don’t go anywhere, princess; I’m not finished until you cum on my face again.”

“Ohhh, shit, keep doing what you’re doing, Satoru,” Geto subtly bucks his hips, “I love the way they’re whining on my dick…”

With your puffy lips being busy in the front and your cunt being lapped and nibbled on from below, your senses are clouded by the two boys who seek nothing but your participation in experiencing pleasure. Your head gradually turns into mush with every rut to your throat and every lap around your clitoris. It’s to no surprise that your release seeps out of your body without preparation, crying on Geto’s length as your frame quivers in euphoric bliss. 

And if you think you couldn’t get swamped enough, think again. 

“—Nnngh, fuck, Y/n, you’re gripping on my dick like crazy…Hehe, is it because you can’t look me in the face? Damn, you’re such a cutie…”

Your face is nuzzled in the crook of Gojo’s neck as you’re straddling on top of him, your nude, sweaty bodies melted together to share heat. Your hips bounce up and down on his pelvis, where his rubber-covered length is scraping the walls of your vagina. His left curve grazes and jabs your sweet spots, and your body lies on top of Gojo, which brings more friction to your clitoris. 

“Hahhh, ahhnn—Ohhhh!” Your phrases have doubled down to that of whimpers of pleasure, thinking straight is impossible, and your mind is too deep in a haze to focus on anything outside of what’s happening. And it’s not like you can’t stop your hips from bouncing on his shaft — you’ve tried! But the moment your legs express so much as reluctance or fatigue, Gojo’s hands are right there on your ass to guide you back into the rhythm. So it’s expected when you climax on him once more, clamping onto him as you ride out another orgasmic wave. “Ahhaaa! Sa’toruuu, stooohhp—hic…! I’m ‘oo sens' tiveee!!” 

“You say that, but—hnnn! You’re rocking those hips of yours on your own, baby.” He chuckles at your slurred speech, placing kisses on your cheek as his hands massage your asscheeks. “Holy shit, you feel so unreal; wanna fuck you raw so bad with how tight you are.” 

“Don’t even think about it, Satoru,” you hear Geto’s voice from behind, the dent of the twin-size bed shifting with his added weight. “If I can’t go condom-less, you’re not getting any special treatment out of it either.”

“Psssh, yeah, yeah,” Gojo says with rolled azure eyes before he whispers to your ear. “Come on, angel, let’s get you prepped up.” The white-haired boy’s hands spread your butt, exposing his dick buried deep into your tight slit and your taint.  

Geto grins salaciously. “My, what a dirty sight for me, my love.” You chew your lips to his words, the heat in your ears causing them to ring. You then feel his fingers smothered in lube to meet your asshole, spiraling around it before inserting them one by one. Your holes instinctively contract, making Gojo hiss. “Relax, pretty girl,” he kisses your temple. “We’re gonna make you feel so good.”

You remind your figure to calm down, allowing Geto to play with your anus for it to accommodate the next foreign limb he’ll put inside. Gojo keeps kneading your butt, but he throws furtive thrusts up to your chasm to keep you on your toes. You gasp when Geto removes his digits suddenly, and now you bite your bottom lip at the contact of his cockhead touching your puckered entrance. “Stay calm for me, princess. Gonna go slow just for you…”

Breathing with your mouth is the only way you can function through his insertion; even after he properly lubed himself and the rubber, it never fails to amaze you how you’ve been able to take in his girthy dick times before. Every inch pushed inside you feels as if your breath is pulled away, feeling both your holes become occupied. And your head goes up at the snap of Geto’s pelvis smacking on your ass, mouth agape for drool to sneak down puffy lips. 

“Heh, there you are,” Gojo licks your spit before placing a kiss on your lips. “What a pretty face when you’re going dumb on our dicks, Y/n.”

You couldn’t even reply in modesty because Geto immediately goes pounding your ass with hunger. Your wails come out freely at the pacing of both boys propelling themselves into you. And it doesn’t help that your holes don’t stop contracting on their dicks as they push, the motion making you move your clit against Gojo and having your sore nerves active again. 

“Holy fuck,”Geto drills his cock into your taint, grinding his hips into you to make you whine aloud. He then bends to kiss your sweaty shoulder down to your spine. “You’re so tight, Y/n…like you’re gonna milk me dry.”

Words are exhilarated squeaks and shrills, your arms coming around Gojo’s neck and pressing your hot cheek on his. He snickers at how touchy you are, “Hey, baby,” he coaxes you through the onslaught of ruts that quicken in tempo. “God, you sound so fucking cute, angel…” 

“—Ahhahh…! Ohhh, guysss, pleaseee, slow d—Owwhhnn!!” You cry, eyes watering with the pokes and jabs on your velvety insides, the curve of Gojo scraping you in places you can’t reach, and Geto’s girth having your backside completely stretched for him. It’s all too much to focus on as your delicate bud is pressed on by your weight. “…Nhooo, God, I’m gonna—“

“Gonna cum, cutie?” You nod hurriedly, amusing Gojo for more chuckles. “Let’s cum together, yeah? Such a pretty girl…” And then, Gojo claims your lips for a steamy, passionate kiss, bringing a hand from your bottom to place behind your head to keep you on him. 

“—Hnngh!! Wait, sweetheart, don’t clamp onto me so sudden—Ohh, shit, shit, shiiit,” Black hair strands fall from Geto’s shoulders as he falters at your grip. “Gonna cum, too….Gahhh—“

Your crescendo is the first to appear, howling and mewling into Gojo’s lips while your trembling figure undergoes the shocks of the deep penetration on both ends. The fluttering sensations of your cunt and anus are what prompt the two men to spill their load into you simultaneously, groaning with pleasure from your body. Your head is undoubtedly dizzy, your brain spiraling with impulses as your frame jerks with every wave of your orgasm. 

After his climax is done, Geto slowly withdraws his cock from you. The condom filled with his essence. “Phew, that felt way too good.”

“For real, can’t get enough of this.” Gojo sighs while groping your asscheeks and kissing your forehead. “Ready for another round, baby? C’mon, let’s switch before Suguru gets all crybaby on us.” His sweet tone immediately flips to narrow his eyes at Geto for throwing his used, tied condom at Gojo's face for that comment. “Oh, you disgusting son of a bitch…”

“Shut up and switch, or else I’ll have you watch me pound Y/n for fifteen minutes.”

Being loved and obsessed by the two heartthrobs of the school is no easy work, which is evident when you can’t even get to nap by yourself after the sexual activities. With Gojo spooning Geto while he spoons you, there is no rest with these two; they might as well put collars around their necks and give you their leashes with how smitten they are to be around you.

Yet, at the same time, you don’t hate it — far from that. Because you know their feelings for you are genuine, you can see it in their sleeping faces as they’re probably thinking about you in your dreams as you observe. With a smile, you place kisses on their cheeks and silently leave the bed to use their shower. 

The warm water is just as welcoming and temperate as their love, keeping you safe and washing your anxiousness away. In your thoughts, you reflect on all the times you’ve grown because of them, and it goes to show that their involvement has done substantial help for you. And for that, you are forever grateful for them and will always reciprocate their feelings as you feel the same. 

“Hey, Y/n.”

Well, minus the immediate sense of apprehension that skyrockets once you hear Geto’s voice come behind you. You turn to see his naked self coming towards you to wrap his arms around your waist. “Suguru!? I–I thought you were sleep—“

“I was until you left my arms,” he says to your ear with his dulcet voice, his hands kneading the flesh of your wet hips. “Besides, saves us a lot of time if we share the shower, right?”

“Oh, Y/n~,” another voice enters the bathroom, and your dread plummets even further when Gojo opens the curtains with glee. “Don’t tell me you decided to shower without m—…Oh, you’re here, too.”

“Obviously,” Geto sucks his teeth at his roommate. “I live in this apartment and use this same shower, dumbass.”

Snowy eyebrows crease with irritation as Gojo enters the walk-in shower, sandwiching you between the two. “Well, don’t you think it’s rude for you to use the shower when our guest is using it first?”

“I could be asking you the same thing because who told you to come here?”

“Duh! I’m here to shower with my lover; are you stupid?”

“Are you? Don’t you see a boyfriend is trying to have some alone time with their partner?”

“Oh, eat horse shit.”

“Croak and die.”

You can only stand there and be mushed by the two tall boys arguing over you, unable to flee the scene as they both have their hands on you. Again, you don’t hate it at all. You love them just as much as they love and adore you. They may be the school favorites; however, you are the most precious thing they wish to engage with and want to keep to themselves.

…But would it kill them to give you some room once in a while!?

Jesus, how am I gonna survive with these two…

requests/thirsts are open hehe~ 🧸

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 – reblogs and comments are appreciated wholeheartedly ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @/benkeibear.

[gojonanami]

❝ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐈𝐍 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ! ❞

❝ PROF. GOJO SHOWS YOU JUST HOW THE LAWS OF ATTRACTION WORK !! ❞

✧ pairing: professor!gojo x f!reader (part one of the prof gojo series)

✧ summary: satoru gojo was only stuck at this weeklong conference to appease his new boss, so what happens when he finds you at the bar and can't stop thinking about just how attractive you are? and what happens when the conference is over?

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, hooking up at an academic conference, reader is a professor, fingering (f! receiving), oral (m! receiving), gojo getting very horny around you, so much flirting, amateur's take on physics, art by found on Pinterest (pls let me know if you know the og artist)

✧ wc: 10,878

“Come here often?”

If someone had asked Professor Satoru Gojo that a few months ago, he would have said—no he would have scoffed and asked if he looked like a professor who had to beg for funding — and he didn’t. But now, he swirled his drink, ice cubes clinking against the sides of the condensation-ridden glass — who knows?

His new department head might have his termination papers drawn from the moment he returns to the university from his very extended research trip — with no results to show for it. Normally he wouldn’t be worried — not with his renowned academic record, but he had extended this trip twice — and one of those on the university’s payroll.

And it wasn’t a cheap payroll.

To top it off, the new department head was doing a lecture here today at this conference hosted by his university, He had heard the new head was a real hard ass, a person who had straightened out the department while he had been away — garnering more grants, but also cutting funding to continual failures. And he and his research had been asked about.

Fuck. He downed his fruity mocktail, the sweet syrupy fruit juice doing little to soothe the bitter aftertaste of failure that lingered on his tongue.

He usually wouldn’t be so worried. He was Satoru Gojo — he had been the youngest in his field to achieve a Ph.D. in the field of Quantum Physics, a respected expert and renowned lecturer, and one of the scientists most likely to win a Nobel prize within the next few years or so. Or so his biography on LinkedIn said.

But that had gone up in smoke — his research on the potential curvature of quantum space-time as a method to slow or speed up time between two points of matter had been a complete failure.

One of his first major failures.

He sighs, and here he was feeling sorry for himself — alone. Or relatively so. His glass clinked against the sticky bar top of the tacky bar of the hotel they decided to hold this conference in — the rings from long-gone drinks lining up and down the relatively empty bar, other patrons having left for their rooms.

But not you.

He hadn’t met you before — not really. Although it was not as if he had made a habit of befriending people at any academic event, he knew if he had seen your face before, he wouldn’t have forgotten. He stole a glance as he sipped at his drink, eyes flickering over your form as you approached the bar.

Honestly, if he had, he wouldn’t forget someone like you.

He had seen you earlier during the conference, a particularly biting question asked during a keynote presentation that had wiped the obnoxious grin off the pretentious guy’s face, his reply then ripped to shreds in seconds with a smile on your lips.

And you had left so quickly he didn’t get to thank you for your daring rescue of his captive audience as he finally ended his victory lap with a scurry out the door. But maybe now, he could thank you with a drink — eyes flitting to those pretty lips that hid your sharp tongue — or something more.

You order your drink, sitting a stool away, the creak of the rusty seat catching his attention, as your eyes slide to his, “And another of whatever he was having,” Satoru tilts his head as you shrug, “looks like you could use it,”

He gapes at you in mock offense, “Eh? I’ll have you know I’m the most excited person here,” he replies as the bartender places both drinks in front of you, “who wouldn’t be excited to be in some hotel for this prestigious academic conference?”

“Almost every sane person?” and he chuckles, swirling his drink with his straw, “and the good news is that it’s only just begun. We still have the whole week to be bored to tears and have our brains turn to mush when pretending to be interesting to get funding from stingy donors,”

“I don’t need to pretend — I am interesting,” his lips curl, and you snort, downing your drink, before setting it down, ice rattling at the bottom.

“Well, I’ll say your face is more interesting with a smile on it,” you take money from your bag and pay off the tab with a tip.

You’re slipping from the stool with ease, stepping past his stool, nearly brushing against his back, as you make your way out of the bar, and it almost feels as if you're slipping from his fingers, “Is that a compliment?”

You pause, looking back over your shoulder, “You’ll know when I’m complimenting you,” and your smile is far better than his is, a heat settling over his cheeks at the sight of it, “see you around,”

And you’re gone, and he’s left dumbstruck, bitter taste in his mouth slowly beginning to fade — but he knows that the only way it would completely sink into sweetness is if he could have your name roll off his lips — maybe something even sweeter.

He paid for his drink with a tip, sliding off the stool himself, running a hand through his hair.

He could only hope you came here often now.

~~~

It was pathetic how often he had found himself frequenting this bar over the weekend. How frequent? The bartender had learned his name by memory the third time he showed up, his order already known and being prepared by the time he walked in.

So his drink was present — but you weren’t.

He hadn’t seen you around, but he had walked the floors of this conference and hadn’t seen even a glimpse of you. But why was he so desperate for a stranger that he met once? He wasn’t one for people — even from when he was a kid. People always saw him and his intellect as something they could take, they could use — an attraction that he only wished he could repel just as magnets did. He always had been shelved as a commodity in his field, but never trotted out for events because he never wanted to bother kissing up — he was better for a blunt word than mindless dribble.

Fuck him.

And now here he was — possibly at the end of his career and all he could concern himself with was this mystery woman he met at the hotel bar. Maybe because it was easier to think about — motion was the only thing he knew how to keep doing. Easier to keep in motion after a force acts on him than to keep still.

And you were a force.

“Y’know when I asked you if you come here often, I didn’t think I’d have come here to see you again,” the now familiar squeak and groan of the bar stool makes him want to bite his lip, “how long you’ve been here?”

He bites back his own grin, hoping not to look so desperate as he felt — was this a distraction from his own impending problems? Yes. But you were a welcome one.

“One drink, about fifteen minutes,” he replies, “I haven’t seen you around either — get stuck inside a conference room?” And you order your drink, “put it on my tab,” he tells the bartender, and the man nods wordlessly, but adds a raised eyebrow when you’re looking away.

“Something like that,” and you’re wiping the counter with napkins before leaning against it with your arm, “but more like I was always doing something—I’m not one to—“

“Stand still?” you raise an eyebrow, as the bartender sets your drink in front of you, “staying in motion is the only thing I know how to do, especially these days,”

“Staying in motion?” you repeat, and Satoru shakes his head.

“I’m the type to go from thing to thing — my best friend always joked that I was no better than the first law of motion—”

You snort, cracking a smile, “Being in motion is better than being at rest,” you sigh, swirling the liquid in your glass, toying with the straw stirrers in your drink, “it’s easy to get used to stay still once you are,”

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” and you’re sighing, downing the rest of your drink, as the ice clinks against the bottom of the empty glass.

“Ever have a failure that feels so deep it feels like there’s no going back? Not even a failure — just even a gap, and it feels as more time passes, the chasm widens before you and it becomes harder to see yourself making it to the other side,” you order another drink, turning to face him again, “soon you become more preoccupied with the abyss than thinking about how to make it across,”

“If you asked me a few weeks ago, I would have said no, but now,” he sighs, as he asks for a refill himself, “now I’m in that sinking ship with you,”

“Who said I was still there?” you reply and he’s gaping at you, before a laugh escapes your lips, “I got to shore, you will too,”

“And how do you know that?” And you only shrug, a smile on your lips that makes something in his heart stir that hasn’t in far too long.

“You don’t look like the type to drown,” and he tilts his head, “you look like the type who stubbornly figures out to swim, despite the odds,” and he snorts, as his drink is placed in front of him, “so maybe don’t give up so easily, after all the first time is the hardest,”

And he chuckles, “Personal experience?” You shrug, tracing the rim of your glass, “No, I always get what I really want the first time,” as you pause to catch his eye, a smile on your lips.

“And if you don’t?”

“Then I didn’t really want it,” you smile, as you get to your feet, “I have a dinner to get to, but I’ll leave you with this,” you wrote something down on the napkin you had gotten with your drink, folding it and handing it to him.

He takes it, but his eyes remain on you, “You’re always disappearing — want to keep me wanting, Professor?”

“You’d want me anyway,” and Satoru is turning in the stool to watch you walk off, a glimpse of a small smile on your lips, as he looks at the writing on the napkin.

—because he knows you’re right.

~~~

“You want me right, Professor?” you murmured in his ear, hot words said as your warm breath fanned across his skin, but your lips were more sinful than your words — pressing torturously chaste kisses along his jaw, your front pressed to your back, as your hands ghosted along his chest. One of your hands toyed with the top button of his shirt, while the other traced along his collarbone, “you followed me after all.”

And he did, Satoru had caught you by wrist, a graze that had your head flicking back, finding his blue, and your lips curled — and he just knew he was fucked.

He just didn’t know how well.

You had him sat on the couch, back to the armrest, biting back needy noises that he refused to let leave his lips, not yet at least, “Y’know I want you, sweetheart,” a small shiver crawling up his spine as your lips graze the soft skin of his ear, “I’m not exactly playing hard to get by coming up to your room, am I?”

And your hand drags lower, brushing against his growing bulge, a low groan in his chest, “Oh I’d say you’re fairly hard, Toru,” and your forefinger presses teasingly against his clothed slit, “so hard already, wonder what would happen if I got you in my mouth, flicked my tongue over the length, made you moan my name as your cock fucked my throat?” And fuck, maybe he was wrong — maybe your words were worse, his dick twitched against your touch, desperate as he felt for more of your touch, “where’s that mouth of yours now, Satoru?”

And you’re rounding him, guiding his legs so he’s sitting properly on the couch now, feet on the ground, but he certainly wasn’t clear-headed — not when you climbed into his lap. A grunt left his lips, a weight that’s a comfort rather than a burden, something he welcomes because he only needs you closer and closer until there’s no space left between you at all.

“My mouth is desperate to do something other than talk, baby,” and his fingers winding their way through your locks before resting against the nape of your neck, and the other trying to slide down the swell of your hip only for your hand to stop him, “but only if you’ll let me I guess,” his lips curl into a smirk, one that you drag your thumb down.

“I will,” your lips are barely a breath away from his own, noses bumping, as the anticipation grows thicker than honeyed molasses one that seems to consume every one of his thoughts at a snail's pace as he remains stuck on two things — you and your lips, “once I’m done teaching you my lesson,” and your lips brush.

“Sir?” The bill is slapped down in front of him, as he snaps back to reality, the sounds of bar stools thumping against the counter as they are mounted on top jars him, as he shakes himself free from his thoughts, “bar isn’t for sleeping, go to your room,” His cheeks burn.

Satoru pulls several bills out and leaves a generous tip, before sliding off his stool with a shake of his head, and a distinct ache between his thighs, that he quickly hides with his suit coat draped on his arm in front of him.

“Not anything you serve here.”

~~~

You’re like a daydream, Satoru realizes when he’s making his way to the hotel bar again. One that he’s using as a distraction — but a lovely daydream all the same. His conference days are spent waiting for a respite at the bar in the evenings — the only time he felt intellectually stimulated at a mechanically orchestrated event like this.

And one that he couldn’t get out of his head. The daydream he had was so vivid, he could swear it was reality if he hadn’t been so rudely awakened. And right when it was getting to—

Oh, what the fuck was he thinking? He shakes his head as if it would rid his head of his thoughts (it doesn’t).

He ran his fingers through his hair, what was it about you? You were gorgeous, sure, and brilliant enough to match him barb for barb, but you were just —- gravitational. He could feel him pulled in by your orbit and he found himself not resisting your force in the slightest — only hoping to accelerate.

Was this the phenomenon of quantum entanglement? He knew it was true for the tiniest of particles, the very same forces that pulled him close, he knew were pulling you close too — doomed in the same downward spiral without having to spare a glance. But did he?

He didn’t know the first thing about you — he only knew you were someone related to the field of physics — you had to be a professor, far too smart to be a generous donor. He only knew your first name, and you knew the same about him — and there was a part of him that preferred it that way. He had grown used to the attention given to him for simply his name — and he felt as if it was as if he had been placed on a pedestal that no one would dare to climb to speak, but instead only looked up. He almost chuckled at the thought of you ever doing that — but you were more the type to kick the pedestal out from under him, and force him to meet your gaze.

And he much preferred that — and you.

And now, he glances at the bar as it came into view, a double take almost warranted at the sight — was he dreaming again, even before his head had even attempted to hit the pillow? Or was it true that you were sitting at the bar nursing a drink alone? Pretty eyes glancing at the time on your phone and he bit back a smile, stepping towards you — eager remark about how long you’ve been waiting for him? Even though he wasn’t one to talk — as he had spent his whole day waiting for this.

Waiting for you, rather.

He stopped when another man approached you — Satoru paused, and he supposed he had to wait longer. Who was this now? You didn’t seem to know him, leaning away as he stood near you, not too close, but he seemed to be talking shyly, and yet his words never seemed to stop. Even though it seemed you wanted them to.

And when he caught a glimpse of the man’s face, he realized just who the man was.

Well, well — he knew just what to do to get rid of him — appear.

“Hey,” Satoru walked over, leaning on the bar, meeting the man’s gaze with a smile, before his eyes slid back to you, “make a new friend?” He orders his drink with the bartender as he slides his gaze back to the man lingering, whose face had grown both soured and pale all at once.

“Sort of, yes, this is—“

“I actually must go, please excuse me,” the man abruptly says, bowing politely to the two of you before shooting a glare at Satoru before heading off towards the elevators.

“Nice seeing you too, Gege!” Satoru called after him, smirking at the man’s flinch just before he turned the corner, “that guy hates me,” he orders his drink, taking a seat beside you, “don’t know why,”

“I can see that,” you chuckle, glancing back where the man had disappeared off to, “he’s some sort of author?”

Satoru nods, as the bartender places his drink in front of him, “He is — a mangaka fascinated by physics, he pestered me with questions, but he didn’t like when I did the same,”

You snort, only imagining what kinds of questions he had bothered the man with, “You freaked out the freak?”

“Well, he couldn’t match me,” you smirked, as he leaned against the counter, sipping his drink, your head tilting, “can you?”

“We’ll have to find out, won’t we?” you raise an eyebrow, as he grins, “think I’m doing a pretty good job so far,” and you shrug, a wry smile pulling at the corners of your lips as he pouts, “so cruel to treat the man that saved you from an uncomfortable conversation,” and he sighs dramatically, “maybe I’ll call Gege back down,”

You raise an eyebrow, “He wouldn’t come if you called,”

Satoru pauses, “He might if I promised to leave,”

“Is this your way of trying to get me to ask you to stay?” You were far too quick-witted for his own good.

“No this is my way of getting you to tell me that you want me to stay,” but lucky for him, he had the same biting tongue to match.

And you laugh, and he wants nothing more than to make you laugh again and again — a better achievement than any academic accolade that graced his walls, “Well I do owe you one,” you order another round.

“I think I earned more than a round of drinks,” and you raise an eyebrow, as you down the rest of your drink.

“And that is?”

~~~

“When you said we would be doing research, I assumed we would be doing research related to your speciality in physics, not—“

“This is important research,” Satoru led you through the streets, the stuffy halls of the conference growing more distant, “crucial to the furthering of our goals, our destinies,”

Satoru grinned, his smile somehow brighter than the sun itself, and even more obnoxious — but begrudgingly charming. He truly was a paradox incarnate — somehow bright but blinding, sweet but sharp, and enticing yet out of reach. Even more so in the casual white t-shirt and dark blue jeans he had opted for today, sunglasses perched on the tip of his nose as he looked at you over the rim with that irritatingly endearing grin.

And that grin must have been hypnotic because how else would he have convinced you to skip half a day of this week-long conference that you had been preparing for months to attend (that and you had grown tired of simply chugging your drink of choice between workshops and keynotes and skipping almost every meal except for some stale pastries offered at one of a dozen talks).

“And this crucial research is the best sweets shop in the area—“

You snort, as you eye the crowd of people in front of this particular shop, “Because that’s a question the physics community has been pondering — not dark matter or Baryon asymmetry—“

“Well, I know your specialty is astrophysics now,” and you roll your eyes, as his hand finds yours, fingers laced together, as he pulls you into the throng of people in front of the shop, “don’t wanna lose you there,”

“Is that your excuse to hold my hand?” You reply, lips nearly pressed to his ear with how loud it was.

He leans closer, his body pressed against your side, lips brushing your ear, “was I that obvious?” He grins, and pulls away as quickly as he had come, fingers parting yours as you both reach the front of the line. And why was it — your heart sinks ever so slightly at the absence of his warmth — that you mourned his touch as if you’d had it all your life instead of the first time?

“You coming, sweetheart?” and you snap from your thoughts, and follow up to the counter — brushing your thoughts aside as you occupied your head with the sweets in front of you — instead of the man obsessed with them beside you. You realize what he’s said and you’re not one for pet names, but the way it rolls off his tongue and sticks syrupy sweet in your head almost makes you like it

“Noooo, don’t!” You shield your strawberry dessert from his fork, as it prodded gently at the back of your palm, “you already ate so many desserts, why do you want mine?”

You had watched this grown man down half a dozen different cakes, pastries, and cookies — he was a walking advert for what not to do to contract diabetes. For as sharp as his tongue was, you watched him lick a bit of frosting from his lip, it probably tasted twice as sweet.

“Exactly because it’s yours,” he still tried but you caught his fork again with your own, “it’s so much sweeter when you steal it,”

“So we’re adding thievery to your list of crimes,” and he clutches at his chest in mock shock, “theft, harassment—“

He gapes at you, “Eh? When did I harass you?”

“Gege,” and he rolls his eyes.

“He loves me, he lives for me,”

“I think he wishes you would do the exact opposite,” and he pouts only to dart his hand out quick and steal a dollop of the airy frosting from the top of the cake on his form, he grins in victory, but you only lean forward, grabbing at his hand and lick it from his fork, “you’re right, it is sweeter, when you steal it,”

His eyes find yours and fuck, your heart nearly contused itself against your ribs, what was it about him that made you never want to look away? It was a game of chicken for you — stare until the other flinches, because then you could see them and they would never see you — and you had never lost—but he made you want to lose. But you also couldn’t bear to look away all the same.

“Suppose that was my first lesson for you, sweetheart,” and that sweetness seems to stick with you, the pet names growing on you.

“You do have a way of making me look at things at a different angle,” you admit, and you wonder why a man like this was so lost as he seemed — he was definitely seen, wherever he went, but never understood, “is that a talent of yours?”

“I tend to do my best with my back against the wall,” and you can’t help but imagine how he’d look with his back to a wall — it’s not a bad image.

Your lips curl, “I bet you do,” and you continue walking off, taking another bite of your cake, not noticing the way his eyes watched you — the same way you had.

~~~

“I can’t believe you don’t trust me to choose a place for dinner,” Satoru sighs, as the two of them are seated at the bar for dinner, the tables all full for the night, “I could have found us a place that would have given us an actual table,”

“For all I know, you would have somehow found a place that only serves dessert,” he scoffs, and the two of you order your drinks, as the waiter parts to bring your orders, “Don’t scoff at me, I know you probably know at least one place, if not ten,”

“I don’t know—” and you tilt your head, eyebrow raised, and he shrugs, a small smile pulling at his lips, “none of them are in the area, but there is a good ice cream place—”

You snort, not glancing up from perusing the menu, as the waiter brings over your drinks, and the two of you order — and to your surprise, he orders something savory and not sweet, “Surprised you didn’t ask for the dessert menu first,”

“Well, I do like to take my time, after all,” his lips curl into a small grin, as he lifts his glass to his pretty lips, “dessert is better when you’re patient,”

Oh? Oh.

“You don’t look like the type that’s used to waiting for what he wants,”

“You keep saying I look like this or that, screw that,” he leans back in his chair, “I can wait for the things I really want — and I always get what I want, sweetheart,”

You were toeing a line you shouldn’t be toeing — it was Schrodinger’s cat, and a box you shouldn’t look inside — because until you did, there was always a chance the cat was alive, and there was always a chance that this wouldn’t be a mistake — but once you opened it — there was no going back. But still — the words are pulled from your mouth as if you had no choice, the box tipping open of its own accord.

“And what is it that you—”

“Huh? Gojo?” your eyes snap over to a woman — a far too gorgeous woman, in a long black dress that floated down to her ankles, her black heels clicking against the wood of the floor of the restaurant, her silver hair in a tight high ponytail, bangs framing her face.

“Mei Mei,” his attention falls to her, and you’re left sitting, fully out of the loop and completely irritated, but you didn’t know why, “I didn’t know you were in town,”

“For good reason, then you might have a reason to avoid me,” Mei Mei smiles, “I saw Geto recently. He told me you were coming back soon from your sabbatical,” and you see a flicker of emotion cross his expression and disappear as quickly as it appeared, “and who’s this?”

You offer your hand and introduce yourself, “And are you a professor as well?”

“No, I’m a donor,” and you nod, “and what do you—” but then her friend is calling her back, her head turning.

“I should go back to my party, it was nice to meet you,” Mei Mei offers a smile before her gaze slithers its way back to Satoru, “I’m sure we’ll be speaking soon, Satoru. Let me know about that night out we had discussed.” Her fingers brush his shoulder, giving you a wry smile before slipping off.

And a sinking feeling settles over you — as he waves at her — a night out? Was this all this was? Another night out?

And your skin crawls as she walks off, Satoru turning back to look at you, your lips a thin line as you force your gaze back to his, “What were you saying again? And the waiter comes soon enough with your meals, placing them in front of them.

“Nothing,” your lips curl, perhaps this box was better left unopened, “nothing at all.”

~~~

“What’s wrong?” This was why Satoru didn’t care to get invested in others. When he couldn’t make heads or tails of himself — they expected him to make heads and tails of them. It was easier to write people off, put distance between him and them, than it was to draw close. He was used to too many being far too close, gawking as if he were an illustrious painting, unable to make out a single brushstroke much less who he was. But he never cared to explain or have anyone understand and he paid others the same courtesy.

Except you.

“I told you, nothing,” you sighed as you and Satoru made your way back to the hotel that was hosting the conference, “it’s just been a long day,”

And he could let this go, fall silent with a sharp remark that would only push you away, the same distance but eons further than you had ever been — a space-time curvature of his own making.

“You’re a terrible liar,” but he doesn’t.

“Well, my specialty isn’t lying I guess,” you snap, scrubbing a hand down your face, “sorry, I—“

“What do you think I lied about?” and you pause, as the two of you stand a few feet from the hotel, people filing in and out of the structure as bellmen and cars pull up to help them in and out of their cars, “about my brilliance? I know it can be hard to believe how someone can be so handsome and—“ you glare at him, and he sighs, “c’mon sweetheart, just tell me—“

“Who is Mei Mei to you?” your question surprises him, but seems to surprise you more, words falling from your lips without a first thought, much less a first, “I-I mean, uh—“

And he can’t help the grin that spreads over his lips — “I didn’t take you for the jealous type, sweetheart,” and your words failed you for once, “or maybe I should be calling you, Princess, because being jealous isn’t usually so sweet,”

“Satoru—“

“Except maybe when it’s you,” he takes a step forward, and fuck, you look so cute like this — your eyes unable to meet his with the usual defiance or smugness, teeth baring down on his bottom lip, “think you’d be sweet no matter what you do,”

“I’m not jealous—“

“Uh-huh,” he smirks, “Mei Mei is just an old friend and tycoon of business — and she tends to have a night out to discuss opportunities and investment into education for a mutual benefit—“

“She wants a tax break?” And he nods, but your brow furrows, “then what was with the shoulder touch?”

“The shoulder touch?” and you click your tongue.

“She touched your shoulder, intimately,” and he raises an eyebrow, “it was! It was like this,” your fingers gesture over his shoulder, your thumb barely grazing over his shoulder blade.

He tilts his head, “That’s what you consider intimate?”

“Yes! Like,” you step forward, and he refuses to let his breath catch, but your perfume floods his senses, fingers nearly twitching to touch you — but he can’t, yet that makes it all the more tempting. Your fingers ghost over his shoulder, featherlike almost, and heat floods his body as if it’s his first time being touched by another — and it wasn’t, but it was his first time being touched by you.

“Like this,” and your words warm his skin, and it would be so easy to touch you — give you a taste of intimacy, and show that the only touch he craved was your own.

“I think I missed it, could you show me again?” he can’t help but tease when it’s so easy to do when you’re like this, “aw, come on, Professor, isn’t this supposed to be a hands-on lesson?”

Your body is far too close, yet too far all the same — had you managed to create the very phenomenon he had failed to study?

Your eyes finally found his, a spark of want that was only another match struck for the kindling, and your fingers drifted to his cheek. And he couldn’t help but lean into your touch, flames licking at his skin, but it was a burn he wanted more of, one he wished could consume him.

He leaned closer—until a group of people passing by, rowdy and drunk, made you flinch apart. And the moment was broken, flames extinguished—“I should go,” you murmur, and he nods, both of you taking a step back, “but if you’re not too busy falling asleep at keynotes, come to room 188 at 11:00 AM — I’m on a panel,”

“And you want me to come ask all the hard questions?” A smile graces your pretty lips, one he wishes he could memorize and map with his fingers — because it’s your smile and he’s the one who made you smile like that.

“I expect nothing less,” you turn to go inside as he calls after you.

“Was that a compliment?” and you cast a gaze over your shoulder yet again.

“Like I said, if and when I compliment you, you won’t need to ask that, Professor,” and with a flash of your smile, you were gone, and he was left outside in the humid air of the summer and the distinct sounds of cicadas and faint laughter and chatter of people outside the hotel. His fingers brushed against his shoulder, the ghost of your lingering touch still haunting him in the best way.

The flames were out, but the spark was still there — and that’s all you both needed.

For now.

~~

Fuck, he was late — and this time not on purpose.

Usually there was nothing more Satoru would like than to be late for a moderated panel — it was an excuse to skip altogether, to get lunch, a treat, a drink — anything other than sit through another session of educators and researchers alike stroking their own egos. But this was different.

It was for you.

He tugged off his crooked and badly tied tie and stuffed it in his pocket, sprinting to the conference room where you said you would be doing the panel. He had to oversleep — but it really was your fault. He couldn’t get to sleep, not after last night. The scent of your perfume still clung to him tauntingly, the phantom of your touch still haunted him, and the sight of your smile etched onto his eyelids each time he closed them.

He was so fucking screwed.

He wasn’t the time for sentimental bullshit. No, the world had bullied that deep inside of him, softness only reserved for the few friends he had and his students. But you had ripped it all to the surface. And now he was stuck moving at the same pace you were — a quantum coupling without the couple.

He gets to the door and he bursts in, a dramatic entrance much too loud for a conference. The room fell pindrop silence as all eyes stared at him. But his eyes, flitting like comets, finding their landing with you, and he would burn up in your atmosphere all the same with the glare on your face.

“Sorry, got a little lost,” he offers a small smile, before taking his seat, his eyes unwavering from you.

The moderator clears his throat, turning his nose up at Satoru, “Well, let us continue,” he turns to you, “you were saying, Doctor?”

Oh, a doctor.

He leans back in his chair, how was it you got so much hotter? If that was possible somehow.

“I was explaining our current understanding of Hawking radiation, the theoretical thermal black-body radiation that releases out a black hole and its theorized to cause black hole evaporation,” and yet as you spoke, he felt himself grow hot, a slight flush settling over his cheeks — he was right when he guessed astrophysics was your specialty. And he should have known you would have been an expert while he was at it — how could you not be? Even now your lips and tongue formed sentences he could only dream of making, and he did dream of your lips before.

“There are many unknowns about quantum fields and electromagnetism, especially regarding black holes in particular — one of the counters to electromagnetism—” the other speakers go on to interject and bristle at one another, but Satoru barely hears any of it all — too preoccupied with you.

You were far too pretty for your own good — how was no one else completely distracted, shifting in his seat as he carefully adjusted himself — and turned on.

“And now we open it up to the audience,”

The first few questions are fielded by the others and then the one of the last questions is for you. A person stands from the audience, fiddling with the question card they had in their hand, “when you were speaking about electromagneticism, you said there are many mysteries still — there is a theory called the law of attraction,” there’s a few distinct murmurs and even a few chuckles, but even so Satoru still finds himself looking at you, “they say the energy you put out into the world is electromagnetic waves, and when that interacts with the quantum field, which helps you attract what you’re looking for, what do you think of this theory?”

And for the first time, your eyes find his, the corner of your lips tugging upwards, before your gaze settles back on the audience.

“I don’t think there’s anything in physics that can explain what brings something or someone into your life,” you lean back in your chair, “if it were that simple, I think a lot more physicists wouldn’t be married to their labs,” Satoru snorts, and you garner a few chuckles from the audience, “but although all that stuff about quantum fields and electromagnetic waves isn’t rooted in physics, I think there’s something to figuring out what you want and letting yourself have it,” and he found your eyes on him again, and he wondered if he could let himself have you — even if he felt like he didn’t quite deserve you.

And his phone buzzed in his pocket, he glanced at the name and groaned — why was Ijichi calling him now? He lets it go to voicemail, but then messages come through.

Four-Eyed Annoyance: please reply. I have some news for you about the department head.

He bites his lip, but hauls himself to his feet, slipping out right as the panel wraps up. He presses the callback button and grumbles as Ijichi picks up, “this better be good or I’ll slap the shit out of you when I get back—“

“Huh?” Ijichi cried, aghast, “you told me to call once I had news,” and Satoru groaned.

“Just spit it out,” he sighed, rubbing his head.

“The department head said they would like to see you attend the mixer for professors in the department — a chance to meet you more informally — it’s the day after you return,” and Satoru scrubbed a hand down his face, and a chance to grill him about his failed research, “I thought you should know so you could prepare—“

He spots you disappearing around the corner, and hes curses under his breath, “Ijichi, you’re in for a serious slap later,” and the man doesn’t have time to react before Satoru cuts the phone. Great, not only was his career definitely in jeopardy, without a buffer to bullshit, but now — he rounds the corner, following after you, but in the throngs of people he doesn’t see you — he had lost you.

He shoves his phone back in his pocket. Not that he really deserved you.

~~~

Satoru doesn’t see you for the rest of the day — he didn’t know how long he spent waiting for you at the bar, About how long it takes him for the bar to close his tab and the bartender to shoo him away, until he meanders back to his room. Were you upset? You had noticed he came in late and then he left before it was over—and now he hadn’t seen you. And he couldn’t even ask you because he hasn’t seen you and he doesn’t even have your number—

Because he was an idiot, who wanted to play coy, instead of being direct.

He strips off his shirt, undoing the buttons one by one, a heavy sigh caught in his throat, as he tosses the button down onto the desk chair nearby, knocking over his bag and spilling papers onto the floor.

Great. Was this supposed to be some grand metaphor for his life? He knelt down to collect them, maybe he should call Suguru and have him give him some philosophy bullshit to make him feel better. He picked up something scrunched underneath the papers, and it was a napkin — but not just a used one.

Well not exactly.

One free pass to take what you want.

He snorts at your scrawled handwriting — for how perfect he thought you were, your handwriting certainly wasn’t.

He continues to pick up the rest of the things scattered on the ground until he finds the cover sheet for his research. Messy doodles littered the sheet — ones he had messily scratched in frustration — including one of his own face breathing fire.

He presses his hand to his lips, how was he going to turn this into something remotely useable? The basis of research was that most of it never leads to great revelations or huge discoveries — it was a domino effect of building upon other research and one study tips it over. And research was also about framing — about seeing what was there and making something of it.

He was flipping through his research — and he pauses at a particular page that had the tables of his research, the one he had ruminated over for nights and days, but now — it seemed far less daunting.

You do have a way of making me look at things from a different angle.

Your words fill his ear, as if you were there whispering it to him — a different angle. He pulls his laptop out and gathers the papers in his hands before he pockets the napkin you had written on.

Maybe that’s just what he needed.

~~~

You had avoided him.

It was so fucking embarrassing. What were you? A rejected teenager hiding from her crush? And you down another drink at the bar, the alcohol burning down your throat as if it could erode away the words you had said during the panel.

But it couldn’t.

It shouldn’t have happened. The moment the night before, with his lips a breath away that hung like a promise in the air — if magnetism existed between two people, it was in that moment — because you never felt so drawn to someone, as if there were actual magnets between you both. But as much as magnets attract, they could also repel just as well.

And you supposed, as you swirled the bits of your drink with your ice melting at the bottom of the glass, that was what had inspired him to run after your little show. You hated being a fool — but you hated not taking a risk more — you drank the rest of the watered-down drink before setting the glass down — so you had made the right decision.

So, why did you still feel like shit? You hiccuped slightly, the buzz now settling into a haze over your head, clear thoughts lost in a slight fog.

It might be the alcohol.

But even so you ordered another drink, pushing the empty one forward, avoiding the bartender’s dubious gaze. What was it about this man?

You didn’t know the first thing about him — aside from the fact he was a professor, just as you were, and his first name was Satoru—and fuck, you didn’t even catch his last name. But you knew how his lips curled into a smile that was far too infectious, that he was flippant to a fault but he only used it to hide his vulnerabilities, and that for someone so intelligent and knew of his own abilities — he found his own failures and shortcomings unforgivable.

But you wanted to forgive all the same — even now.

Even after not seeing him, and avoiding this very bar like the plague for the last day and a half. But now, it was the last night of the conference, and you don’t know what possessed you to be here — but you did — it was him.

“Come here often?” your eyes don’t need to look up from the drink placed in front of you by the bartender to know who it is, “let me have what she’s having,”

You raise an eyebrow, “This isn’t the fruity mocktail you prefer,” and he slips into the stool beside you, his arm brushing your own, as the bartender heaves a sigh at the sight of you two, “think you can handle it?”

“Well even if I can’t, I have you to take care of me, don’t I?” and you snort, licking the salt rim of your glass, before washing it down with the drink, “c’mon sweetheart, I thought you were opening yourself up to me,” and you choke on it, a distinct heat settling over your cheeks and it wasn’t from the liquor.

You choose your words carefully, as you wipe your mouth with a napkin, “I did, but that was before someone ran out,” and you wish your words significantly less slurred.

He bites his lip, “would you believe that it was a life threatening emergency and only I, Satoru—“ and you cut him off with a glare, and he sighs, “I’m sorry, I got tied up on a call and by the time I had finished, you were gone,”

“And here I thought my little soliloquy scared you off,” you mutter, “but a phone call? Was it a life threatening emergency?” The bartender comes with two drinks for the both of you.

“Not exactly, it was about my research. Found out my department head wants to meet with me right when I get back,” but his lips were curled in a smile, until he lifted his drink to his lips and took a sip, a grimace replacing it.

“You don’t seem like you’re dreading it anymore,” you sip your own drink, pressing the cool glass to your too-hot cheeks, alcohol roasting you from the inside out.

“Well, someone said I had a knack for looking at things from a unique angle,” he gives you a grin, “so I just did what I did best,”

“I see that ego of yours has recovered,” and his gaze catches yours, ���I’m glad this conference was good for something at least,”

“I don’t think that’s all it was good for,” and your eyes can’t pull away from his — a current that sparked between your gazes that only wished to pull you closer than further apart, “you’re selling it short — moderated panels, the workshops, the stale coffee, the networking opportunities,” and his fingers brushed yours, “what’s not to love?”

And any sluggishness from your intoxication is chased away by his touch, a live wire pressed to your skin, “Networking?” You repeat, the warm brush of his fingers against your skin feather-like, “what chances have you had to network?”

He decides to down his drink, a flinch as he swallows, “Not many, well, not many that hadn’t ended without people glaring or fleeing,” you snort, but still liking his thumb rubs across the length of your knuckles, “but the ones that went well have been more than satisfactory,” your eyes flit to his hand and then to his lips, before settling to his gaze.

“And you’re satisfied? With the conference?” you add, and it’s a dangerous game to play, fingers curling around his as if by instinct, a current completed by its circuit, and you were needlessly addicted to the feeling.

He hums, in mock contemplation, as he leans closer, until your knees brush, “Not completely, but that’s because I don’t think I’ve taken what I want yet,” and he pulls a napkin from his pocket, handing it to you, and you see your words scribbled on there.

And you know it’s already far too late for you.

You’re close. Too close — as you can see the specks of dark blue that you could map like constellations in his eyes and you were sure his cologne was melting every brain cell that told you this was a bad idea, and leaving only behind need — but still you spoke.

Your fingers brushed his as you took the napkin, next words far too breathless for your own good, as if the spark between you had caught fire from your touch and sucked the oxygen from your little bubble — and you were just waiting for it to burst.

But it didn’t. Instead, he leaned closer, a breath away, fingers cupping your cheek, “can I?” And you nod nearly out of reflex, and he kisses you — despite the alcohol, you can taste the hint of sugar from the sweets he undoubtedly had before. It’s chaste and much too brief, but you two fall into a second as if it’s second nature.

“Well, are you going to take it?”

~~

“This is a such a fucking bad idea,” you manage to huff out right as the elevator doors close, but not before Satoru has you pressed to the mirrored wall of the elevator, “we shouldn’t do this—“

But all the same, your hand cupped his cheek, mapping the contours and curves of his jaw until it melted into his hairline, fingers running through his soft white locks with reverence, and his cheeks are flushed red, and even warmer than they look, “did one drink affect you this much?” you chuckle, and he pouts, drawing a full laugh from your lips, “oh this is definitely a bad idea,” not only because both of you were drunk, but he was far too cute to resist.

His eyes flutter close for a moment at the sensation of your touch, lips parted as he relished in your touch — and when had he been touched so softly before? Your noses bump, as the heat is engulfed in honey for a moment, caught between breaths.

“I have nothing but good ideas, Princess,” his nose brushes your cheek, as he inhales — fuck, how did you smell like everything sweet, even after a full day of conferences and two hours at a rundown hotel bar, “you may be my best one yet.”

“Flattery, Professor?” And his lips dare closer to yours again, as the elevator finally reached his floor, “you’ll have to do better than that,”

And as he steps forward out the elevator, fingers finding yours, he grins, cheeks warm from intoxication — and whether that’s the alcohol or you is a mystery. “Y’know I’d do just about anything for you, sweetheart.”

You follow him out, as he leads you to his room, tugging you along as your lips curl, “Anything?”

He catches a glimpse at the wicked curve of your lips as you grin while he unlocks the door, that curve soon pressed against his neck, and he knew he wanted nothing more than to be pulled into your orbit — because there isn’t a thing you could do to repel him.

“This isn’t—“ Satoru bites his lip, as he watches you sink to your knees, a shaky gasp parting those same lips, spit slick from your kiss, as you dragged your thumb down the kiss-ruined flesh, “what I had in mind when you said anything,” his words are slurred, and you’re seeing the glow settle over his cheeks, making you only want to litter the red flush with kisses.

“I see why you don’t drink often if one drink does this to you,” your nose bumps against his, “we don’t have to do this if you’re—“

“I’m fine, I promise,” he cuts you off gently, his fingers closing around your wrist, before bringing your hand against his cheek, “I don’t want to stop, please,” and your thumb rubs along his cheekbone, “do you need me to solve an equation? Motion? Velocity? Force?”

You snort, your fingers ghosting over his jaw, “There’s something else I’d rather do,” and you undo the button of his slacks, “or someone,” and his lips curl — which only makes you want to wipe it off his face, until his lips are only parted with your name on his tongue.

You had stripped him down to his boxers, every button of his shirt undone painfully slow, as your fingers ghosted up and down every inch of exposed skin, “such a good boy, Satoru,” you had murmured, as you finally had reached the last button of his shirt, choosing to kiss your way up his stomach and chest — and fuck, it was hard enough not to blow his load then and there, “gonna make you feel good, baby,” your hand slid up his body, dragging over his chest, and onto his cheek until sliding into his hair again, tangling in the locks before you tugged, hard, drawing a pretty gasp from his lips and sending a wave of heat throbbing between his thighs, “but not before you earn it,”

You take a step back, his hands twitching as they reach for you, “Just watch,” You strip slowly, your jacket already tossed aside, as you undo the buttons of your blouse torturously slow, as your lips curl at the sight of his pout.

Muscles winded and tense like a spring ready to snap at your word, but you didn’t let him, and when you step out of your slacks, his boxers strained against his erection, a dark patch over taut pulled fabric, “look at you, I’ve barely touched you, and you’re already about to rip through your boxers?” You click your tongue.

And your careful steps back to the bed have him swallowing thickly, resisting the urge to bite his lip as he watches you, “Please,” he’s murmuring, “please, baby,”

God, he looks too fucking pretty begging, and you were only that much sure he would look prettier with tears in those eyes of his, whimpers and moans parting those pretty pink lips.

“Please what?” you leaned closer, your knees pressing his legs apart, brushing against his inner thighs, teasingly close to where he wanted them most, “gonna have to use some of those big words you got your degrees with, Satoru,”

Your knee grazes his clothed bulge, “Fuck—“ your fingers find his undercut with ease, nails grazing the nape of his neck as you did, a delicious shiver running up his spine. He was so sensitive for all the bravado he had — for how intelligent he was, how high he held himself, it only took a few of your touches to reduce him to this.

And fuck, it was so hot.

“Not that word,” your hand draws up and down his thigh, tracing the muscle, before drawing a path over the elastic of his boxers, “tell me what you want — my fingers? My mouth?” Your fingers dip inside his boxers only to snap the fabric against his skin, earning a sharp hiss and a jerk of his hips.

His eyes flicker up to your lips, and you know what he wants, but you’re still waiting to hear the words, “your mouth,” and you tilt your head expectantly, “please,”

“Good boy,” you don’t miss the way his dick twitches at the praise, as your fingers tug his boxers down, pooling around his ankles. His cock slaps against his stomach, pretty precum dripping down his length — and how’s it possibly that his dick is as gorgeous as the rest of him? Pretty red tip that melted into a blush pink length, lovely veins that wrapped around as if it was made just for you. And you didn’t believe in the law of attraction — but you knew you’d welcome his dick inside you anytime.

You sink to your knees, and the sight must be pretty by the way his gaze grows dark, “Like the idea of me on my knees for you?”

“Can’t I like the idea of using that smart mouth for something other than a verbal lashing, sweetheart?” And your tongue darts out to lick the precum from his tweeting tip, making his head loll back.

“You can,” and your fingers ghost over his balls, “but don’t forget who’s in control, Satoru,”

You press a kiss to his slit, before letting the length slap on your tongue. And already his chest is already heaving, as your fingers curl around the base, slowly pumping and smearing precum along his dick. You hear the crumple of the sheets as he grasps at them.

“You’re so fucking big — can’t wait to feel you inside me, g’nna feel s’good,” and a pretty moan parts his lips, hips bucking into your touch, boneless nearly, as you watch his precum slip down your fingers and wrist, “does it feel that good?” your teasing only draws a pout to his lips that’s quickly fading into another moan as you thumb at his slit, making him whine, “so fucking whiny,” you goaded, but no snark can find it’s way from his lips.

“F-fuck, sweetheart, can you blame me?” And your lips curl, as his tip bumps against your lips, dragging precum along them, “you’re gonna be the death of me,”

“And you’d thank me for it,” and you finally let his cock slip past your lips, and his mouth falls open, muscles tense as he feels his length settle along your tongue, until it’s tracing up the bottom, flicking against the tip.

“F-fuck, baby, you take me so well,” and you do, so fuckinh pretty as your head bobs along his length, messily sucking and licking, cock growing impossibly larger, just as his tip grazes your throat, “shit, ngh,” and he’s threading his fingers into your locks, beginning to buck his hips so that his swollen tip bumps against your throat, even deeper.

His lewd groans send a wave of head straight to your needy core, and you can’t wait, a hand slipping up to grasp at his waist, but the other slips into your panties and your fingers brush against your drenched folds.

You’re a fucking vision when he glances down to watch his white pubes brush against your face, half spit and half pre dribbling from the corner of your mouth. He’s practically fucking your mouth at this point, tears slipping down your cheeks, he’s not sure if he’s drunk from the alcohol or from his cock anymore. And when he sees your fingers buried in your cunt, fucking yourself because sucking him off was too much—it was too late.

“F-fuck, not g’nna last much longer, need—“ but that only makes you suck around his length, letting his tip hit your throat, and his nails dig into your scalp, as he finally cums, hard, your name on his lips. Thick ropes of his cum paints your mouth, hot release burning down your throat. You swallow every drop, relishing in the soft groan of your name that leaves his lips, enough for you to hit your sweet spot with your three fingers stuffed in your cunt before cumming.

You’re panting around his cock nearly as you pull your mouth off, strings of spit and cum stick to your lips and his dick, as you hear the creak of the mattress as he lies back against the bed, probably too fucked out to think. And you’re getting to shaky feet after easing your fingers out, ready to have him taste your own juices. But no, you can’t.

He was too fucked out to be conscious.

“Satoru?” You asked slowly, but you were only met with soft snores and the easy rise and fall of his chest that told you he was asleep.

Well fuck.

~~~~

Satoru never drank. And it was for good reason.

He always felt shitty afterwards. Headaches, nausea, and body aches. And that didn’t account for the side effect that had afflicted him the most — regret. The events of the night flash through his mind, a slideshow movie of the worst kind as he shoots up in bed to find himself alone in bed. He glances around, rest of his body still frozen in place, as if he had stopped moving, you wouldn’t see him.

But no, you wouldn’t see anything — because you weren’t here.

Not a single sign of you. The bedside beside him empty, and no trace of your clothes left behind — you had left. His eyes flickered to the time, 10:00 AM, far too early this morning. But what had you expected? He scrubs a hand down his face, cheeks burning — especially when he had cum down your throat and then had thanked you for it by passing out like a virgin.

And still he woke up hard. He glared down at the erection tenting in the blanket, as if it was the reason for his own downfall, but it didn’t have the courtesy of falling down itself.

Oh, he was never going to live this down.

And then the phone rang, and his heart leaped, likely bumping against his ribcage, as he reached for the hotel phone, wondering if it could possibly be—

“Hello? Is this Mr. Gojo?” The receptionist asks.

No, of course. Perfect.

“Yes, this is him,” he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, this day could only get better, couldn’t it?

“I’m calling to remind you that you had selected the early check out time, and your check out time is in exactly an hour, and we are unable to extend it due to other guest check-ins,”

He shouldn’t have bothered to hope.

A frantic packing job and harried check out, he had slumped in his taxi to the train station. He didn’t even get your number. And he scoffs at the thought, like you’d give it to him after last night. He leans against the cool glass of the window, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone to see you that night. Maybe it would have been better to stop. But the two of you were always in motion — night by night rushing by each other, and last night was no different.

But now you both are still in motion — just not together.

And maybe it was better that way. But if so, his eyes open to take in rushing outside, why couldn’t he stop thinking about you?

~~~

Satoru forgot how much he hated this department.

Satoru found himself sipping his drink by the makeshift bar again. He had waded through the questions of the other professors, wanting to know the details of his research. He saw the sharp gazes behind plastered smiles, and they were just hoping to learn something to tell the new department head. But he told them nothing, hiding his smirk behind the rim of his glass at their sour glances. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

And then he spots a familiar figure.

“Oi,” Ijichi tensed at the sound of Satoru’s voice, he makes his way to Satoru’s side, “I thought you said the department head would be here,”

“She’s on her way. She got stuck in a meeting. Haven’t you been checking your email?”

“Who checks their email when they’re away?”

And Ijichi mutters under his breath, “People who are actually responsible,”

Satoru glances at him, “That reminds me, didn’t I owe you a slap?” And Ijichi squeaks in terror, before he takes a step back, as his phone goes off.

“The department head is on her way now,” and Satoru raised an eyebrow.

“Her?” And Ijichi frowned.

“Have you really not checked your email the entire time you’ve been away? The new department head’s name was announced months ago, and she’s sent consistent emails, and Satoru runs his hand through his hair.

“I’ve had all department emails sent to spam,” and Ijichi gapes at him, as Satoru pulls his phone out and opens his spam folder, scrolling through the hundreds of unread emails, “what’s her name?”

And just then the doors open, and he wonders if he’s dreaming, if he’s back in that hotel room again and he would wake up any second beside you.

But he doesn’t, as your eyes find his, stepping through the crowd of other professors, as Ijichi steps forward, “Ma’am, this is—“

“I know,” you smile, before your eyes slide back to his, “come here often?”

And he knew he was far too deep already.

✧ a/n: this took so long to write — I thought I would be done last week but I was not haha. I hope you guys enjoy. there will be a part two! I have plotted out part of it. thank you guys for being so kind :)

✧ taglist: @dazailover1900, @being-me-is-not-a-sin, @satorusmochis, @dreamtardisspace, @mixmatcheds, @kxouri, @kakashineedstotouchgrass, @happystrawberrytyrant, @mynahx3, @destinyrosexoxoxo, @iwannaeatthewolrd, @parkeronii, @nanasukii28, @9419x, @5sos-wdw, @zeee26, @saintlesssaint, @forest-fruits-jam, @cowgirlcujoh, @somrou, @satowooo, @buddhas-bunny, @spider-fan72, @daintyfaintyy, @flyingtranscatofeffed, @nightfloweruponahill, @xxemmarldxx, @hanxyy, @caramelmac-chiato, @faeryli, @penutjuice, @waterfal-ling, @buttercupblu143, @ilikeweedalot, @amy-chaan, @johannakhalafalla, @alexithemiyatic, @theshylittleelfgirl, @kittykattysstuff, @shervinss, @catsgomurp, @notgoodforlife, @anth0nyx, @caelestine-the-caelicatto, @fackeraccount, @fushitoru, @svt-backup, @suguwife, @mua-for-now,

[rqnarok]

summary: make up sex with old man!logan.

cws/tags: smut, mdni! oldman!logan. insecure!logan. petnames. logan calls reader ‘kid’. jealous!logan. daddy kink. oral (f receiving). not proofread. 

Logan can’t be ‘mad’ at you for more than a day. He just fucking can’t, alright?

He tried to keep his hands to his own as a protest of yesterday's quarrel. Logan still doesn’t know if it’s meant to be a punishment for you or himself. 

The older man does know that when he’s jealous, he’s doing it in a self-destructive way.

How he isolates himself and avoids you instead - because he knows that he doesn’t deserve you. A fucking hundred-year-old something who’s angry all the time, who’s aloof to the world, and who’s pining over someone as pretty and young as you. 

It fucking wound him too when he pretends nothing ever hurt him, that the way you laugh too loud at the guy’s jokes at the pub did not have any effect on him. That he had to pretend as if he’s not an insecure old man who just wants you all to himself by making things worse. 

“C’mon.” It’s all that Logan could force out as he skims through whatever he’s pretending to read, ignoring the way his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth in ferocity, “What’re you on, huh? Y’ve got no reason to throw a tantrum like this, kid.” 

He sees the moments when your gaze changes, hurt bleeding into the orb, “You’re mean, Logan.” It wounds him - but this kind of confrontation is all he’s ever known. 

Hell, he doesn’t even know why you decided to stay with him. He thought you’d leave in the middle of the night of the first month after figuring out how much of a failure of a man he is. 

So when he goes back from his tiring work and still sees your figure cooking dinner for him in the kitchen, he fucking loses it. His breath gets stuck in his lungs as he watches you stroll around with one of his henley shirts, humming softly the tunes of your favourite song. 

Maybe he’d use a different type of confrontation now—maybe he’d talk about his feelings more often. He’d do everything not to lose this sole sight: His pretty girl being so domestic that he can’t help but get so shamelessly hard.

The way he tried to gain composure and not to lose his coolness but fails miserably at the sight of his your shirt riding up to give him a good view of your perky ass as you reach something from the top cabinet. 

Logan takes you by surprise when he wraps his arms around you, nipping and kissing the soft skin below your ear—his way to say sorry - it’s all my fault.

“Will ya’ forgive your old man, sweet girl?”

He hates how he sounded so unconfident - so different from his younger self.

But when you lean your back onto his chest and shyly nod, his worries are buried. Logan hauls you up with a smile, the bone-cracking sound reminds him of his old age. He rumbles in laughter when you squeal in surprise before spreading your thighs apart on the kitchen counter, pulling your legs around his head so he can eat his dinner. 

His big nose drapes around your clothed pussy before groaning at the smell of you. Cursing himself from avoiding you yesterday when he could have had this. “Y’ve got such a pretty pussy, baby. ‘S mine, huh? My pussy.” He says as he takes off your panties.

The statement itself and the scratchy feel of his ragged beard made you arch your back from the rough surface, “A-ah, ‘s yours, Daddy.”

“Tha’s right.” Logan licks a stripe of your dampening pussy, deeply humming in delight when you let out a high-pitched whine and subconsciously locking your legs tighter to pull him closer. You trail your hands down and tug at his greying hair while he laps you up and fucks you with his tongue. Making you come undone in just a span of a short time.

Logan wipes his mouth and beard as he stands before you in quick breaths, looking at you all apologetically: I’msorry I’msorry I’msorry-

You’re teary-eyed, blinking up at him - whining for him to fuck you hard now - to make up his stupid faults. 

Stupid old man who thinks he’s not worthy of you.

 Logan groans as he tosses away his belt, holding the base of his cock as he teasingly drags the head on your wet folds, “Ssh. Let Daddy make it up t’ya, alright? Daddy’s gon’ give it to you now, baby.” 

[nausicaaandhermouth]

A Kiss For Loyalty

masterlist

young!silco x gn!reader [1.2k][AO3]

summary: You find him after the attack on the bridge, and you're left to figure out how to tread the fragile state of him.

tags: young silco, a few hours after vander tries to drown him, angst, established relationship, hurt silco, not betad

a/n: mid-lecture we were looking at photos of gash wounds and i couldn't help but think of young silco's face fresh after the drowning, so ofc i had to write a comfort fic for him. kinda comfort. it's mostly angst.

Vander couldn’t look you in the eye, couldn’t form a single word. And at first, worry was what overtook you—Silco hadn’t survived, lost in the fight. But the more you looked at the larger man who had returned, the more you recognised something else: the aftereffect when he’d had too much to drink, had raised his voice, had felt guilty. Regret.

You find Silco in your bedroom, curled up on the worn mattress that had held you both some countless nights. It had overheard the visions for your new nation, the sloppy passion of drunken evenings, the quiet rise and fall of breaths during winter. Now it’s witnessing something new.

You’ve never heard Silco cry. Your bedroom shrinks at the sound of it, as if the corners darken and round themselves to hold and hush him. It’s a sharp sting, an undeniably pained cry bleeding into his palm, cupped around his mouth.

When you approach, you’re silent—assessing, investigating, worrying if this isn’t something you can fix. He’s never been so evidently broken. You’re not sure whether it’s about Vander or at the failure of their uprising, both of which had taken a large portion of his heart.

“Silco?” you whisper, taking another step forward.

“Don’t,” he manages, his sobs becoming quieter, but affecting his breath, bubbling out of him in squeaks and chokes. “Please,”

You shake your head, keeping your ground but keeping your eyes on him. He’s refusing to remove his reddened hands from his face, his hair curtaining over his left side, black, wet strings.

“You’re hurt,” you furrow, focusing on the blood down his hand. You rush forward, chest attempting to wrangle in a frenzied heart. “Show me, hey, S—”

“Stop!” he inches away from you, a childlike recoil that makes you freeze.

It’s a foreign behaviour, a desperation he’s never worn, never come close to mimicking. As far as you’ve known him he’s been the opposite. Even in pain, he stitched together a composure so convincing it made others doubt he could ever truly feel the hurt he was raised around.

You suppose that it’s something he’s worked on, refined throughout the years after taking on the responsibility of becoming Zaun’s face, alongside Vander. His ideologies had spilled straight from his heart into your ear. You understood why he worked so hard to maintain a strong face.

That man was gone; he hadn't entered the room this time.

He’s hiding, you see, shielding his face from you. This, you understand, is something he thinks may spare you from even a fraction of the pain he must be feeling. He’s always been so. To hoard the suffering and smile.

“You don’t want me to see you?” you ask, kneeling by the bed and retracting your hands.

Silco doesn’t answer, the chokes of suppressed sobs the only sound from him.

“It’s alright,” with a shake of your head, you turn around, facing the other way and leaning against the bed. “I don’t have to see you. Just… just talk to me,”

You wait a beat, then another, waiting for his voice, willing his voice to regard you again. Anything with a meaning that you could warp into a sign of hope.

“Please,” you add. It’s unintentionally desperate, pleading, giving him the power of controlling where the conversation goes. Something he needs, you suppose, something he’s certain is still predictable.

You hear a sharp breath behind you, then the shuffle of your bedsheets. Your eyes slide the farthest they can without turning your head, attempting to see any glimpse of him.

Then his hand enters your periphery, pale skin against scarlet, fingers twitching and shaking as his forearm rests on your shoulder.

You take gentle hold of his hand, turning it this way and that in search for wounds. But nothing. “Who…” your breath escapes, “Is this your blood?”

“Yes,” he responds, a word that pricks at your lungs sharply.

You see the moment clearer now. A wound so deep that to reveal it is its own pain.

You recall Vander’s face. The shame that distorted his features, how ugly it becomes as you try to piece together the fragmented pieces. 

“Vander did something,” you surmise. Your breath quickens, a sneer creating brackets around your flared nostrils. “Did Vander do something?”

You feel Silco’s breath near the top of your head, but before you’re able to turn, a weight settles over you. Momentarily, you hold, letting the firmness of his muscles process on your body, around your shoulders, his other arm snaking over your bones and holding you backwards to him.

You hear his soft sniffs over your head and slightly to one side, the bone of his cheek pressing against your crown.

There it is again. It’s a spear through your body, the sound of him. It strikes a fissure along your lungs, each sudden inhale a crack veining in your airways, each tremoring breath he takes an earthquake on your skull. Vander, what have you done?

You take his hand and hold it to your cheek, the cool back of his hand against the warm apple of your face. You interlace your fingers, a familiar practice, just as fluid as the locking of legs in the night, or the pressing of palms for a prayer.

Next was the chaste kiss on his index knuckle, for loyalty. Then on the middle knuckle, for liberty. Another on the ring knuckle, for luck. And lastly, a kiss on the pinky knuckle, for love.

It was a silent conversation he and you had made, meeting mouth to bone always easier than devoting a voice to each word.

His other hand wrapped around your wrist, bringing your arm upwards and over your head, your own knuckles meeting his familiar lips. But they tremble.

He breathes a kiss, gentle, on your index knuckle, starting, then failing. His breath falls jagged on your skin.

For a moment he restarts, the warmth of his air hovering over your knuckle. But again he fails.

Your frown deepens. Even more so when he moves your hand and skips to your pinky knuckle, the only promise fulfilled.

“How bad is it?” your voice slightly muffles against his hand near your mouth.

He swallows, clearing his throat. “At the… we were at the river, he—” he grips your hand slightly tighter.

“It’s still hurting?”

His clothes shuffle. “Yeah,”

“Let me look?”

Silence.

You start to think he’ll reject you again, not yet prepared to face you in whatever shape Vander had left him. But he loosens his arm around your shoulders and moves away, his presence at your back fading.

Your other hand remains in his, the anchor, as you shift on the floor and turn.

You look up and your eyes meet. No. One eye meets yours.

You sense his panic by how the one remaining blue jumps between your eyes, tips of his mouth downwards. He brushes aside his wet hair.

The left side of his face had been marred, a trench of exposed muscle, skin, and blood bared at you. The blackened sclera is haunting, a flame moving in tandem with the watery blue of his other eye.

You’re more than certain there’s nothing but indignation gushing through your veins. Yet, Silco remains beautiful. You realised a long time ago it was difficult for him to not be, no matter the state of him. And still now, left eye diseased with the molten of betrayal, mouth frowned by grief, fear in his good eye.

“It’s not over,” he whispers, leaning forward as you reach up and cup the unmarred side of him. “We’ll take back Zaun,”

There he is. No man, no river, could ever kill him. “You’ll show them,” you press a kiss to his index knuckle.

[babyleostuff]

spreadsheet

𝜗𝜚 THEME: fluff, established relationship 𝜗𝜚 PAIRING: (architect)student!mingyu x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT: 980

SYNOPSIS: if there's one thing mingyu finds incredibly sexy, it's intelligence

“i give up.” 

that was honestly the last thing you’d ever expect to hear from your boyfriend. kim mingyu never gave up, and even if - it wasn’t everyday that his ego allowed him to admit to failure.

confused, you looked up from your computer to see what finally managed to defeat him, just to be met with a very pouty, and a very annoyed boyfriend looking at the screen of his own computer, like he had some personal vendetta against it. 

you quickly covered your mouth with your hand to hide the smile forming on your face. you didn’t need mingyu to think you were making fun of him. “weren’t you supposed to work on your exam project?” you asked, doing your best not to burst out laughing. there was just something about that hunk of a six foot two man with killer biceps who was sitting opposite you, and pouting like a five year old that made you cackle. 

“yes, but i have to use a spreadsheet or whatever to sort out some of the information, and,” he sighed, “i have no idea how to use it.” 

with a loud bang, mingyu’s forehead met the table, which would definitely leave a small bump he’d make you kiss better later. huh, so he really gave up. 

“i don’t think i understand,” you crooked your head at him, pushing yours and his computers away, so you could lean over and place your hand at the nape of his neck. “kim mingyu, one of the best future architects, doesn't know how to use a spreadsheet?” your boyfriend was smart smart, there was no way he didn’t know a couple of formulas to sort out the data.

mingyu groaned loudly, and shook your hand off his neck. “don’t make fun of me baby,” with a whine, he lifted up his head, revealing big shiny puppy eyes, which were practically begging for your help. “as you said, i’m an architect, not a computer science guy!” he exclaimed, his lips turning more and more pouty with each word. 

for a person that loved to make fun of coups and his pout, it didn’t seem like mingyu realised how big of a pouty baby he was himself. 

“i don’t think you need to study computer science to know how to use a spreadsheet, gyu,” you said, and ran your thumb over his jutted out lip. “besides, you study maths and physics, shouldn’t you know how to use this kind of stuff?” 

“if this is your way of making me feel better it’s not working,” mingyu huffed, grabbing your hand in his. “and i really need to figure this out, but i have no idea how. i tried watching tutorials, but i still don’t get it. like, the more i try to understand it the less sense it actually makes,” his breath ghosted your knuckles, as his lips moved against your fingers.  “please tell me you’re an undercover tech guru, so you can do this for me. ” 

you gave mingyu’s hand a little squeeze, and took his computer with your free hand, sliding it over to your side of the table. 

“what are you doing?” he asked, confusion lacing his voice. 

you shook your head in amusement, and squeezed his hand once again, as you transferred all of the necessary data into a new, empty spreadsheet. “i may not be a tech guru as you called it, but it’s a good thing you have a super smart girlfriend,” you murmured, focused on the screen, “that knows the basics of how to use a spreadsheet.” 

you didn't have to look at mingyu to know that his eyes were wide and his mouth open in bewilderment - but it wasn't your fault - it's not like you ever had the opportunity to show off your skills before. besides, mingyu was so in love with you and he was so down bad that you didn't have to do anything special to make him look at you like you just invented a new element.

“it’s really not that hard, you just have to,” the quiet noise of you typing filled your living room for a moment, “you have to know which formals to use.” 

mingyu couldn’t tear his eyes off you. how in the world did he manage to bag a girl that was not only insanely beautiful, but also smart as hell? though he couldn’t see what exactly you were doing (not that he cared about that, he wouldn’t understand any of it anyway), mingyu was sure you were doing magic with those damn spreadsheets. 

“here,” you said with a proud smile a short while later, “is this what you were meant to do?” you turned the computer around for him to see the, yes - perfectly sorted data, just like his professor wanted them to be. 

“you are so fucking hot.” 

mingyu couldn’t help himself. he loved acting like he was the smartest in the room, but holy shit - his girlfriend was a genius, and he’d act all dumb just to have her fill out his spreadsheets. 

“you are literally the most amazing thing ever, baby,” mingyu breathed, still looking at you with disbelief. “so so smart, and so so mine.” 

you snickered, and threw a rolled up napkin at him. “calm down, gyu. that was nothing, seriously.” 

“nothing?!” he exclaimed, offended. “nothing, you say? so why was i struggling with it for the past hours?” 

“if you paid more attention in class i’m sure you’d manage perfectly on your own,” you said, suddenly shy under his stare. the lovesick look was truly overwhelming. “now, will i get something in return?” 

mingyu's expression suddenly seemed to change from pure surprise and admiration to something that pretty much resembled smugness. “what do you have in mind, princess?” he asked, crooking his head at you. 

you smiled and pointed your finger at your lips.

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity @gyuguys @raginghellfire @treehouse-mouse @waldau @wonootnoot @hellodefthings @dokyeomkyeom @sourkimchi @bbysnw @hoichi02 @aaa-sia @haneulparadx @minvrsev @zozojella @wonootnoot @kimingyuslover @wntrei @honglynights @jihoonsbbygirl @uhdrienne @bloodcanbehot

[prettyfastcars]

hiding all of our sins | Mob!Lewis

Summary: Your father had a lot of enemies, and naturally after his death those enemies began pestering and threatening you. When your own home began to feel unsafe, you turned to Lewis for help. Lewis – your late father’s best friend and the only person in the world that you could trust. Lewis promises to take care of you, and reassures you that you’re safe with him. He seems like a perfect knight in shining armour, but he’s not exactly a saint… is he? Perhaps his chivalry masks an ulterior motive. 

Themes: mob!lewis, smut, fluff, praise kink, slight angst, mentions of death and violence, age gap (reader is in her early twenties), explicit language

You always waited by the door for him. 

Lewis had been gone for quite some days this time. Usually his work trips are short, but he’d been gone for more than a week. You tried not to think about how miserable you’d been without him here. 

You sighed just thinking about how you spent your days all alone, with only the housekeeping staff around, in the big house. You weren’t complaining though, you were grateful for it. For everything Lewis gave you. The security, the warmth, a home where you weren’t paranoid all the time. 

You were grateful for Lewis. Sometimes you wondered what would’ve happened to you if he hadn’t offered a helping hand when he did. 

Lewis came into your life after your father’s passing. But your father always spoke of him. They were childhood best friends. They grew up together, and later on became powerful, rich, and Machiavellian rulers together as well. But Lewis moved away in order to expand his empire even more and never visited. 

He and your father kept in touch though. 

Your family was small, it was just you and your father. And he had kept you sheltered your entire life. So when time came to leave home and move for uni, it was hard on both of you. You’d never been out in the ‘normal’ world before, you were always homeschooled and your friends were always other homeschooled kids – whose parents were friends with your father. So your circle was small as well. 

And your father worried too much about you not being safe at home anymore. And unfortunately, he seemed to have worried himself to death. Because barely a year into uni, you received a call from home telling you that your father had passed due to a sudden heart failure. 

Your whole world came crumbling down then. You would’ve been buried beneath the rubbles as well had Lewis not offered you his helping hand at the right time. 

At your father’s funeral, that was the first time you’d met Lewis in real life. All this time he’d only ever been a voice on the phone. But he was there for you now. 

He was there for you all throughout the funeral, took care of the planning and everything. He stood with you and held your hand at the cemetery even after everyone was gone. Lewis was somehow always where you needed him to be. Right beside you. 

After your dad, it was up to you to handle all the businesses and what not. And you weren’t well equipped to do that. Plus, some people – rivals – saw it as an opportunity to scare you, hoping you’d offer them everything, give it all up and run. Some chose to appoint you as their new target, in place of your father: sending you threatening notes which always found their way into your car, your home, by the pool, everywhere. They also began poaching your staff, employees, even some of your guards. 

And your home didn’t feel safe anymore. You couldn’t sleep at night, hadn’t been able to for days because you were constantly worried about your safety. Every little sound, every little creak made you panic, made you think that someone was in your home and were about to hurt you. 

That’s when you turned to Lewis. 

And he was ever so kind to help. Within a day or two you had packed your whole life and moved in with Lewis, in his luxurious home. 

At first you thought it’d be awkward living with him. After all, you had never met him your whole life. He was much older than you, wiser too. And he was always calm, always knew what to do and what to say. He intimidated you at first. But then you got past the cold exterior, and he quickly became the warmest presence in your life. Comforting. Safe. 

And you wouldn’t lie, you had a silly crush on him. How could you not? He was handsome, and beyond charming. He had the most gentle voice, and the most addicting laughter. He had ink all over his smooth skin, and his hugs were soothing even though he had hard muscles all over. And he had the kind of smile that could make your knees weak. 

You were lost in thoughts of him, so much that you didn’t even realise the front door was opening up to reveal the man himself stepping into the house. 

“Lewis!” You squealed, running into his waiting, open arms. 

He laughed as he caught you, wrapping his big arms around you and holding you so close like he’d never let go. You buried your face into the cool material of his suit and breathed in his signature scent. Dark and powerful. 

“I’ve missed you too, princess.” He murmured against your skin as he kissed your forehead. 

“You’ve been gone for too long this time.” You whined against his warm neck, feeling the cold pearls of his necklace brushing against your mouth. You gave them a soft kiss without him noticing. Something about him always made you behave like a spoiled little princess, always wanting more of his time and attention, always whining and complaining. 

“I’m sorry,” He cupped your face so you’d look at him, “But I’m here now. Okay?” 

You nodded quickly, then smiled at him like he was all that mattered in the world. “Come, let’s eat.” You grabbed his hand and pulled him further into his home, towards the dining room. “I asked the chef to let me make dinner tonight.” 

“You did?” He let you drag him all the way to the dining room. 

The pride in his voice made you bloom. “I did! All by myself.” 

When he finally saw the dining table, he turned to face you with a gentle smirk. With his braids tied at the back like this, he looked younger than he was. “I love how extra you are, princess.” 

You led him to his chair and said, “I’m not extra, I just like using the fancy stuff.” 

He reached out and grabbed your wrist before you could turn around. Bringing your hand up to his soft mouth, kissing it and then he murmured, “Well, you laying the table with the fancy stuff is very much appreciated, princess.” 

You smiled at him again before you took your seat. He sat at the head of the enormous table, and you to his right. He asked you about how your week without him went while he poured wine into two glasses. He listened to your whining and complaining with a soft smile on his pretty face while you both ate. 

You asked him about his work and as usual, he gave you the briefest of details. When you pried some more he always told you that he would rather keep you as far away from that life as possible – like your father did. 

And then, of course, the mention and memory of your late father always put a pout on your lips and a frown on your face. Lewis hated it. So he reached for your hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. 

“I hate seeing you upset, princess.” He said, rubbing his thumb across your skin. Caressing it in a way that made you relax immediately. 

You let out a sigh. “I just wish he would’ve taught me how this world works.” You said, your tone full of regret. “Maybe I could’ve handled things on my own after he was gone, instead of piling all my troubles on top of you.” 

“Hey,” He said, rather sternly. “Look at me.” When you finally looked up from your plate, Lewis gave your hand another reassuring squeeze. “Your father wanted to keep you away from the dangers of this life. And I intend to keep you safe as well. As for handling things on his or your behalf, well it’s an honour.” 

You smiled at Lewis. A softer smile. There were instances like this one where all you wanted to do was climb onto his lap, wrap your arms around him and never let him go. “Thank you, Lewis.” 

“You know I’d do anything for you, princess.” He wanted to get rid of that sombre look on your face, so he suggested, “Now, how about we have a movie night?” 

Your face lit up immediately. “Okay, I’ll go get changed and make us snacks.” You spoke as you got up. 

Lewis got up as well, saying he’d meet you downstairs in the living room after a quick shower. 

— 

You rushed to your room and got changed into your most comfiest PJs, before almost running to the pantry in the kitchen to find the best snacks. You gathered your goods in the living room and waited for a few minutes, but Lewis didn’t come. 

So you walked back up, down the corridor and all the way to his room. You knocked twice before entering, then heard the shower going. You almost turned around to leave but then you caught the scent of his body wash – invigorating, appealing, earthy, and incredibly masculine. Somehow that made you stay. 

And instead of walking out of his bedroom, you threw yourself onto his comfy bed. You stretched and rolled around lazily like a sleepy kitten who’s found the most perfect sunlit spot. So there you stayed, mindlessly scrolling through your phone and eventually drowned out the sound of Lewis’ shower.

A few minutes passed and you didn’t even realise that the shower had been turned off. The sound of the bathroom door knob turning made you freeze, and a second later Lewis was standing in front of you with only a towel wrapped around his waist. 

“I didn’t hear you come in.” He said, standing there in front of the bed with a playful smile on his face. You remained speechless. He added, “I noticed some of your stuff in my bathroom. Care to explain?” 

Your brain barely even registered the words that came out of his mouth because you were mesmerised by the sight of him. The water drops sliding down his abs, the tattooed skin glistening, and that damn towel wrapped so low, so carelessly. Your heart pounded. 

Lewis took a few steps forward, coming to a stop at the end of his king size canopy bed. He braced a muscular arm against one of the posts, “I also noticed some of your things on my bedside. And now that I think about it, there was also a ‘you’ size dent in my bed when I walked in.” He had that same boyish, playful smirk. “Did you nap in here, princess?” 

You finally peeled your eyes away from that deliciously distracting nautical compass tattoo in the middle of his chest, and stared into his dark brown eyes while his previous questions finally registered in your brain. The moment they did, you groaned and hid your face into a nearby pillow. 

Lewis laughed as he came to the side of the bed, reaching out to tickle you until you faced him again while laughing hysterically. “I’m sorry, okay?” You tried to run, but he grabbed you by the ankle and dragged you back, and ended up pinning you to his bed. “I’m sorry.” You repeated, giggling and now unable to hide. 

He pinned your wrists on either side of your head, leaning over you as he spoke. “I didn’t ask for an apology. You can do whatever you want in this house,” He smirked. “I asked for an explanation. Now, did you sleep in here while I was gone?” He prayed you didn’t look down, otherwise you’d see the huge bulge forming behind the towel. 

The thought of you in here? On his bed? Sleeping peacefully while he was away dealing with work? It made him puff up with how much he liked it. 

You groaned again, and tried to escape but he threatened to tickle you until you were breathless again so you finally confessed, “Okay fine, I slept here the whole time you were away.” You sounded a little embarrassed as you said so. 

“You did?” 

You nodded, looking up sheepishly at him. “It helps.” You said. You couldn’t get over how good he looked above you. 

Lewis frowned. “Sleeping in my bed helps? With what?” 

You whined in embarrassment, then said, “You know, the funny feeling.” 

“What funny feeling, princess?” 

Instead of talking, you twisted your hand free from his grasp and held his hand while you guided it over to where you wanted. You urged his hand to cup you in between your legs. Lewis sucked in a sudden breath as he did, cupping you through the satin shorts of your PJs. 

“Right here?” He questioned with a deeper, raspier voice, looking up to meet your eyes. He found you with parted lips and a hazy look in your eyes. You nodded at his question. “And you get this often?” 

“Only when I think of you.” 

His fingers gave you an experimental squeeze, pressing into your clothed flesh. And you gasped at the foreign but welcomed feeling. 

“Well then, I better see what this is about.” 

You watched how he let go of your wrists, grabbed the waistband of your shorts and slowly dragged them down your legs. He threw them behind him somewhere before placing his warm, rough and tattooed hands on your thighs, spreading them. 

You gasped as he slid a gentle finger up and down your slit through your thin underwear. You watched his tattooed finger moving slowly in between your shaking thighs, and when you looked up you found him staring down at you with nothing but hunger in his eyes. 

“Please.” You murmured. 

Lewis smirked. It felt like a warning for the coming danger. “And this funny feeling… how did it go away, princess?” 

You whimpered both under his touch and at his question. 

When you didn’t respond, he leaned down and mumbled as he kissed along your exposed throat. “Answer me.” 

You whimpered at the tone of voice he used, which made you grind against his finger instinctively. “I… I took care of it.” 

“How?” He kissed his way up to your chin, biting your skin playfully and making your back arch off the bed. “Hmm?” He sounded almost stern again. “Show me how you did it.” 

He pulled away then, his finger no longer touching your skin as he stood on the side of the bed. You looked down and that towel around his waist was ready to come undone at any moment. And that made you clench your thighs tighter together. 

“Show you?” 

“Mhmm,” He nodded. “I wanna see.” 

The look in his eyes gave you a strange rush. Like a boost of confidence. So you held his stare as you took the rest of your clothes off, dropping them carelessly on the bed before you grabbed the nearest pillow and straddled it. 

You watched how his breathing deepened, even when he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against one of the bed posts. Like he wanted a show. 

So you gave him one. You humped his pillow right in front of him until you were a moaning, whimpering mess. Your fingers naturally found their way to your breasts, fondling and toying with them as you moved your hips, grinding on the pillow. 

You were carried away by the satisfying feeling in between your thighs. Your eyes were closed the whole time, so you didn’t see him as he moved closer. You only realised he was indeed close to you again when you felt his hand wrap around your throat, preventing you from moving. 

You opened your eyes and found Lewis’ face mere inches away from yours. You were breathing heavily, and he looked like he was barely able to hold back. 

“So this is what you did while I was gone?” 

You nodded. 

“And did you think of me when you came? Each time?” His voice was almost unrecognisable. Deep. Dangerous. 

You nodded again. 

Lewis frowned like he was in pain. “Oh princess…” He whispered, leaning in just enough so that when he spoke, his lips brushed against your parted ones. “Now, can you do what you did to the pillow but on my face?” He asked, so casually that it took you a moment to process his words. 

“What?” 

He smirked again, “You heard me. Come sit on my face.” 

You barely had time to be coy. He was already moving into the position he wanted, with you holding onto the headboard and kneeling on the bed while his face found its way in between your thighs. 

You’d never been this intimate with anyone before, and Lewis sensed your brief hesitation. But then he kissed your inner thighs as you hovered above him and he said, “It’s okay, princess. It’s just me. I’m dying to see what you taste like.” His arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you in place as he urged you to lower yourself down to his waiting mouth. He lifted his head up just a little to give your pussy a soft kiss. “This belongs to me, don’t keep it from me. Now sit.” 

You whimpered as you did. And he was ready for it, his eager mouth latched onto your clit and he worked his mouth like his life depended on it. Sucking and licking and shoving his tongue past your wet folds, occasionally moving his head side to side.

You moaned out loud, throwing your head back as your hands held onto the headboard for support. His tongue worked wonders against your sensitive clit, making you feel all tingly and warm as you dripped all over his mouth.

“You taste so fucking good, princess…” he murmured against your wetness as you gently rolled your hips against his face, smearing your arousal all over his lips and chin, grinding against his tongue like you did the pillow. His teeth grazed your swollen, sensitive clit until he had you moaning loudly against him.

Your hips moved against his face as he licked each and every drop of what you gave him. 

“Fuck, princess.” He groaned, closing his eyes and humming loudly at your taste. He adored the sounds you made above him. He even forgot that he was himself throbbing with need because he was determined to make you come. He’d dreamt of this, of having your thighs wrapped around his head and to taste you and make you come all over his tongue. “Come for me, baby.” He whispered. 

You were so close even he could feel it. Your thighs clenched around his head even harder. His hands rubbed up and down your skin, caressing you as he tasted you leisurely like he had all the time in the world. 

You looked down at one point and found him with his eyes closed, enjoying himself, happy to be there and that did it. You came with a loud cry, grinding harder against his tongue. You were shaking, trying to calm down after that mind bending orgasm, and before you knew it Lewis was behind you. 

Kneeling behind you with his legs outside of yours, that damn towel discarded, his warm chest pressing into your back. His arms wrapped around you and his mouth kissed your neck from behind. 

“You taste like heaven, princess.” He mumbled into your ear, his hand drifting down your body to tease your clit again while his other hand wrapped around your throat. “I’m gonna fuck this delicious little pussy now, okay?” 

You nodded quickly, whimpering as his fingers spread you open for him while he pushed into you again from behind. “Fuck…” You moaned quietly. 

There was nothing gentle about him this time. Unlike earlier, he was now wild, and passionate, moving in and out of you, fucking you like there’s no tomorrow. “That’s a good girl,” He murmured when he noted that you pushed back against him, meeting each one of his thrusts. “That’s it, princess…” 

He tightened his grip around your throat as he sped up into you, growling right in your ear and telling you that you belonged to him, “You’re all mine now. All mine.” 

You were a moaning mess, holding onto the headboard to keep yourself upright while he pounded into you from behind. His braid had come undone from the ponytail they were in and now tickled your skin as he brushed his warm mouth against your skin. 

“No need for the pillow now, baby, you hear me? You can just walk in here and take whatever you want from me,” He gripped your hips and slammed in and out of you, grunting in the process. “Anything you want, you can have it. My hands, my tongue, my cock… it’s all yours, princess.” 

The pleasure became too much to handle, and you felt a familiar pressure forming in between your hips. His tight grip on your body would surely leave a bruise, but Lewis didn’t care. 

“Do you even have an idea of how obsessed I am with you?” He released your throat and placed his hand on your abdomen, pressing down on your front so he can feel himself inside you with each thrust. His fingers rubbing your clit quickened then. “You feel me deep inside you, baby?” 

You nodded, moaning and gasping in pleasure. 

“This is how I’m gonna keep you now, always full of me,” He growled, teasing your earlobe while he pounded into your mercilessly. 

You whined loudly when both his hands gripped your waist, pulling you into him harshly each time, speeding up until you came all over his cock. It didn’t take him long to come after that, buried deep inside you and filling you up like he’d always dreamt of doing. 

You were shivering after he was done with you, whimpering and sore as he pulled both of you down on the bed, pulling you closer to him. He snuggled you until you stopped trembling. 

“Did I hurt you, princess?” He asked, kissing your face. 

“No,” You murmured. Then shyly added, “Can we do that again?” 

Lewis laughed, wrapping you tightly in his arms as you wrapped around him like a koala bear. “Anytime, baby.” 

And there you were finally, in his arms. 

This wasn’t quite how he had planned it in his head. Lewis had grown envious of his childhood friend. The initial plan was to get rid of your father, earn your trust enough until you handed everything – the properties, the money, the trained guards, all of it – to him, and the final part of the plan was to get rid of you. 

Making your father’s death seem natural was easy. But that last part of his plan never happened. It almost did, but then he saw you that day at the cemetery, looking sad, teary-eyed and so, so beautiful. 

Things changed then. He still took everything, but didn’t get rid of you. He couldn’t. He was obsessed, and he needed you closer, wanted you living with him and so he found a way to make your family home seem unsafe. 

Planting those notes was too easy. 

And next thing he knew, you were begging him for help. So he took you in, and kept you. Obedient and needy for him. His princess, now forever. His sins, all of it hidden perfectly.