#before dawn : the age of the gods | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 9 months ago

Text

WE CAN DIP IF YOU’RE READY ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; your dreams of a peaceful summer are rudely shattered by the presence of your best friend’s older brother; the same brother who rejected you five years ago. the same brother you’re still hopelessly, uselessly in love with.

word count; 7.4k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, best friend’s brother!gojo (he’s the hottest man in the stratosphere imo), mild age gap (five years!), unrequited love, but with a hopeful ending kind of, bittersweet fluff, mostly summer shenanigans and pining, riko is satoru’s younger sister and i would give her the stars, sugu makes a guest appearance, (they’re both just there to bully gojo), he’s fairly mature in this i think, reader is very stubborn and very down bad, [name] is used exactly once

a/n; personally i would let him use me as workout gear (tagging @teddybeartoji @dollsuguru @hayakawalove @stellamancer @vagabond-umlaut !! tysm for the help and encouragement ily 🥺🥺)

one mellow summer morning, over a breakfast of pancake and toast, the puppy-love you’ve nurtured for the past three years finally reaches its conclusion.

you’re seventeen years old. in three months you’ll be eighteen, standing on your own two feet, headed in a new direction — the whole world within your reach.

but right now you’re still only seventeen, and lovesick, and sleeping on a mattress in your best friend’s room; listening to the sound of the nearby sea. you’re seventeen, and dreaming about things you can’t have. you’re seventeen, and foolishly wearing your heart on your sleeve.

you’re seventeen, and hopelessly, uselessly in love with a certain satoru gojo.

it’s early. your veins are sleepy and your heart is heavy, and you wake up at the crack of dawn just to catch a glimpse of him before he leaves for work. he’s leaning against the kitchen island when you trot down the stairs, and the smell of syrupy pancakes hangs heavy in the air; his bare chest is exposed, pajama pants clinging to the curve of his hips, and he rejects you with an easygoing kindness you wish he wouldn’t grant you.

”you’re more like a younger sibling to me. you understand, right?”

(suddenly, without mercy; a finality to his voice.)

he ruffles your hair, and you’re still sleepy, and you wish you could grasp the strings of your heartbeat to stop it from fluttering like this. wish you could pull yourself out of whatever trance he put you in, all those years ago, when you stumbled over the threshold to your best friend’s house and crashed headfirst into his chest.

”you’re a good kid,” he says, and his smile teeters on the edge of something apologetic. mostly, it’s pitying. ”there are lots of people out there for you.”

he ruffles your hair, as affectionate as ever, the same as it’s always been. not a trace of any romantic intent. the weight of his palm on your head is usually a comfort, but like this?

it’s a specific kind of torture.

(i know, you want to tell him, but your voice is raspy and your throat feels sort of dry. i know.

but i want you.)

“don’t get hung up on a schoolgirl crush, hm?”

when you finally raise your head, satoru is looking at you, looking through you. kindly, patiently, like a benevolent god; his blue eyes flecked with dots of white, fluffy clouds on a summer sky. tilting his head to the right, as if searching for confirmation, waiting for your response. you muster up the will to nod, smiling in a way that must seem pitiful.

but he just pinches your cheek, throws a backpack over his broad shoulders, and asks you to let his sister know he’ll be home later than usual today.

then he leaves. he leaves you alone with two plates of pancakes on the kitchen table, sugary and sweet, one for you and one for riko. he put whipped cream on top, and chocolate chips in the batter. it smells good. it smells like an apology.

and that’s how it ends.

there’s no great climax, no real resolution. you bite down on your lip, and spend about an hour pitifully sniffling into a fluffy pillow, even though none of it comes as a surprise. it still hurts, though. your best friend comforts you, tells you that at least you have some kind of closure now — an absolute rejection to make your feelings go away. about time, she thinks, though she’s far too kind to say it outloud.

… except they don’t.

the moral of the story is: satoru gojo doesn’t love you back. he’s known you since you were fourteen, since he was nineteen, and he could never see you as anything more than a naive little kid. you’re his sister’s best friend, and he loves you, but not in the way you love him. it’s not surprising, or shocking. it’s exactly how it should be.

satoru gojo doesn’t love you back. he never will.

(you really, really wish your stupid heartbeat cared.)

five years later, on a breezy summer evening, you step onto a bustling train platform with your luggage in tow — breathing in the scent of a familiar seaside.

above you, seagulls chatter and cry. you look up at them, and then back down; everything feels familiar, despite the time that’s passed since the last summer you visited. the same flowers, peach blossoms and hydrangeas and tulips in all kinds of shades, the same street vendors and aroma of freshly grilled fish. the same cute and quaint port town, quiet during winter and autumn, pleasantly noisy during the warmer seasons. right now, on the cusp of june, there are enough tourists around to make finding the right face in the crowd a difficult task.

luckily, she’s quick to find you.

there she is. with her long, dark locks of hair, neatly braided, a yellow sundress and matching headband; sunflowers embroidered into the fabric. barreling towards you with a speed that would scare you a little if you weren’t so used to it, so used to her.

riko. your one and only best friend.

she’s nestled into your embrace before you can get any greetings out, and squeezing you so tightly that you have no choice but to let her beat you to it. she’s warm, like a bundle of sunshine. the same as always.

with a low whine of your name, she nuzzles into your chest. “i missed youuuu…”

a chuckle bubbles up in your throat. and even though it hasn’t been very long at all, even though you talk on the phone almost every day and saw each other just a month ago — you indulge her.

“i missed you too, riko…”

another whine, and then she’s pulling back. squishing your cheeks together and pouting petulantly. “you better have! don’t ever make me spend summer all alone again, okay?”

”you’re still mad about that?” you match her expression, sulking. “it’s not my fault i got sick.”

“too sick to see your best friend? too sick to continue our most important tradition?” she shakes her head, letting go of you. struggling not to smile. “awful. just awful!”

“drama queen.” her lips break out into a grin, and yours follow. “i’m here now, aren’t i?”

“you are,” she agrees, quick to link her arm with yours. you follow her steps, leading you towards a familiar house, resting in the distance. you can see it from here, a roof burdened with morning glories, those expensive white walls. “no, but seriously. i’m really happy to see you.” her voice drips with joy, giddy and sweet. “i don’t think i’d survive two months alone with that old man.”

(… ah. right.)

the girl on your right chatters on and on, clinging to you, gradually melting away your skittish nerves. she tells you about her morning, what she ate for breakfast, the new show she’s been binging — it’s just as familiar as the house that soon comes fully into view. big and expensive, but still cozy, overgrown with flora. you don’t think either of the siblings really bother to take care of it, but it’s a pretty kind of neglect. a cute veranda, a beautiful garden. the apple tree you used to climb.

from within an opened window, translucent curtains swaying with the breeze, the buzz of an old radio spills out. when you strain your ears, you think you hear humming — gentle and sweet.

riko grins, dragging you with her through the opened gate. the yellow paint on the fence is starting to peel, and someone from inside has started pushing the door open, and the butterflies in your stomach can do nothing but sputter and squirm.

it’s summer, and you're back. back in that cute, quaint port town.

(and so is he.)

“why, hello there! if it isn’t my cute little [name].”

time stills, for just a single moment.

he looks the same as you remember. a little taller, you think, but he was always tall enough to tower over you; broad shoulders and long legs, sharp blue eyes gazing down at you. he’s wearing black shades, but you can still feel the weight of his pupils, crumble under the knowledge that his attention is entirely on you. wearing a pair of sweatpants and a tight black shirt, showing off every dip and ridge of his chest.

a pleasantly cool breeze ruffles his white hair, short and trimmed, healthy locks to match his bright and sunny grin.

he looks happy to see you.

“don’t be weird,” comes riko’s voice, breaking you out of your little spell. all while she’s ushering you both towards the door, beyond the threshold, into the hallway. satoru clicks his tongue.

“so hostile today. shouldn't you be in a good mood?”

then he’s turning towards you, tilting his head just enough for his eyes to peek out. they’re crinkled at the edges, and his smile is fond. “how was your trip?”

more butterflies. his voice flows from his glossy lips, smooth and melted, pleasantly deep. you can only hang on to riko’s arm, mustering a small smile of your own. “good,” you chirp. a little stiff, but polite, like you’re greeting an old friend; it’s been so long since you last spoke to him. ”… i’m tired, though.”

your reply is met with a chuckle, a raspy tremor of his vocal cords. it sends a shiver down your spine. the weight on your arm disappears, as riko stumbles forward and kicks her sandals off, muttering something about gum getting stuck on the sole. you’re left standing right across from satoru, suddenly very aware of how much space he takes up all on his own — leaning against the wall, making himself comfortable. and chuckling, with that stupidly sexy voice.

”i bet,” he hums. ”take a nap if you need to, yeah?”

a moment of silence. riko curses in the background, and you shift from foot to foot, unable to properly look into his eyes. for a second, his smile drops — eyes obscured by the black glass of his frames, betraying no emotion. it only lasts a second.

then he’s moving forward.

one large stride towards you, as sudden as a lightning bolt, before he leans down to wrap his arms around you. squeezing your waist, with his biceps, not quite as tight as you remember his hugs being; you wonder if he’s holding back.

(his touch burns your skin, all the same.)

one of his palms finds solace on the top of your head, ruffling your hair. you can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks, terribly sincere.

“i missed you, kiddo.”

a quiet squeak tumbles from your lips, and you pray to every god you can think of that he doesn’t hear it. his chest is pressed right against you, firm, radiating body heat. his limbs wrap you up in it, a cocoon of warmth that makes it hard to breathe. you can smell his cologne from where your cheek meets his collarbone; sandalwood invading your senses.

“i m-missed you too,” is all you can croak out, voice breaking pitifully. at this rate you might actually faint.

just out of view, riko narrows her eyes. before you can plead for help, she’s tugging you away from the embrace, pushing her brother away, and you inhale as much of the fresh summer air as you can.

“alright, that’s enough,” she huffs, pulling you closer. “c’mon! we should unpack your stuff right away!”

“want me to carry it?” satoru asks, already eyeing your luggage like a predator about to lunge at his prey. even if you say no, you know he’s not going to listen.

so you let him. and within the next few minutes, you’re seated on riko’s bed, suitcase on the floor, a glass of lemonade in your hand. blinking sluggishly.

“are you sure you’ll be alright?”

you raise your head. your best friend is looking at you with a questioning glance, head tilted and brows furrowed. now you’re all alone, and it’s quiet, peaceful. her brother went out to buy snacks for you. all you can hear is the low buzz of the radio downstairs, and faraway waves.

“huh?”

“i mean, with, y’know…” she moves her hands haphazardly, making some kind of gesture you don’t understand. “with my brother. and your… condition.”

you blink.

“… did you just refer to my crush as a condition?”

“well, it might as well be!” she groans, muffled, faceplanting onto the mattress. “don’t think i didn’t see you checking out his biceps just now. you’re so obvious.”

heat rushes to your cheeks. you try to shoo it away with a furrow of your brows and a too-loud exhale, but it lingers underneath your skin. “look — i —“ you scramble for the right words, brain tied up into fatigued knots. “did you see that shirt? is he buying them a size too small, or what?”

“oh, come on! that’s all it takes?”

another pair of exhales. you cross your legs, and she rolls onto her back. the silence is comfortable, grounding, and all you can do is gnaw at your bottom lip until she speaks up again.

“… you could really, really do better, you know?”

her voice is quiet, now. soft and sincere, delicate as a sheet of glass. you know she’s just looking out for you, that she doesn’t want you pining for a guy who’ll never return those feelings — she’s kind like that, always has been. you love her for it.

but…

“… i just like him.”

you take a tentative sip of your lemonade. sour and sweet. the cubes of ice clink against the glass, fresh condensation cooling down the tips of your fingers. her gaze lingers on your skin. it’s heavy, just like his.

you meet it with a sheepish smile, a little self-deprecating — but not embarrassed. she already knows all about your predicament.

(you just like him. that’s all there is to it.)

and she pulls herself into a sitting position.

“i know, i know,” she finally sighs, slumping against you, cheek smushed over your shoulder. “just don’t give him more attention than me, ‘kay?”

you let out giggle. “well, duh.”

she gives you a sunny grin.

“okay, good.”

you put the glass down on the windowsill beside you. just so you can stretch your arms out, falling backwards; a mountain of pillows cushioning your fall. a yawn spills past your lips, and riko sits up.

“wanna take a nap?” she tilts her head, dark locks framing her pretty blue eyes, deep as the sea. “that’s probably good. we’re going straight to the beach tomorrow, you know!”

“mm…” your eyes flutter shut, and you focus on that faraway sound. waves crashing against sand, the whistling of seagulls, the salty scent of the ocean. “that sounds nice.”

despite your exhaustion, you end up tossing and turning that night. not because of your best friend’s snores, or the feeling of a mattress you haven’t slept on in two years — but from the quiet sounds downstairs. glasses clinking, a chuckle here and there. the tv being turned on. tossing and turning from the knowledge that your childhood heartthrob, current heartthrob, is in the same house as you. a little older, a little less childish, even more charming than you remember him being.

you’re older, too. more mature, you like to think, even if the gain is small.

(maybe there’s a chance?)

shaking the thoughts from your head, mind still spinning along to the tune of his humming, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to fall asleep.

you’ll be okay.

okay, nevermind. you’re completely screwed.

“oh, there you are!”

satoru is already waiting up ahead when you step onto the beach, feeling the sand between your toes, a pleasantly cool breeze giving you respite from the sweltering heat.

the sun beats down on you, fervent sunlight warming the water up ahead, calm waves and a sparkling blue to match the hue of the sky; cobalts and ceruleans, melting together like watercolour on a canvas. people crowd around the food stands, shaved ice and churros and grilled fish, scents mingling together with the joyous chatter all around you. vibrant sensations, enough to excite but not to overwhelm.

a picture-perfect summer day.

your heart tingles with something giddy, skipping happily as you follow riko’s lead; she’s wearing a cute bikini set, frilly and floral, hair styled into a pair of braided pigtails, kept together by her favorite scrunchies. leading you towards her older brother, waiting patiently, having already grabbed a nice spot for you. a parasol, a blanket, a picnic basket. you see bottles of pink lemonade, wrapped sandwiches, strawberries in a plastic container.

more than anything, you see him. you see him, and realize just how screwed you are.

he’s smiling, when you approach. as always. hair tousled by the ocean breeze, blue eyes gleaming with mirth, exposed by the sunglasses close to slipping down the bridge of his nose. he’s wearing a hawaiian shirt, black in colour, white floral patterns to tie it all together. just unbuttoned enough to show off his collarbone, a sliver of his chest, the short sleeves exposing his biceps; patches of pale skin, shining with the beginnings of sweat.

(you’re about to fucking explode.)

as soon as you’re in sight, satoru lights up, aiming the flash of his phone in your direction. his other hand stays tucked into the pocket of his shorts. “aw, look at you two!” he coos, grinning brightly, teasing and sweet. “pose for the camera, okay?”

you’re still too hypnotized to react, but riko scurries ahead, ready to steal it from his grasp.

“no pictures!”

“oh, don’t be like that!” he takes a step back, dodging her attack by a hair, still wearing the same grin. “you’re gonna thank me ten years from now, trust me. it’s for the memories!”

a new voice spills into the air, suddenly, and you’re brought back into reality. it’s silky and low, smooth and nice, honeysuckle nectar turned into sound. interrupting the siblings.

“it’s been ten seconds. how are you already bickering?”

you turn towards its source, and spot a familiar face — right next to satoru. were you seriously too mesmerized to notice him? black hair, another hawaiian shirt, slightly lidded eyes…

suguru.

he meets your surprised stare with a relaxed smile, and takes a step forward; meeting you for a quick hug. he looks the same as he did when you were younger, odd bangs, hair tied up into a bun.

“hi there,” he hums, right by your ear, a light squeeze before he lets go. “it’s been a while.”

you part your lips, smiling through your words. a little stunned. “i didn’t know you’d be here too!”

he chuckles, a light shrug of his shoulders. “me neither. satoru called me last night and asked me to drop by... i had time to kill.”

“you missed me.”

a dubious look. suguru gives a lazy roll of his eyes, avoiding the smug voice to his right. “i saw you last week,” he tuts, an unimpressed expression on his face. “how could i miss you?”

“do you need a reason to miss your best friend?” he shakes his head, slowly, side to side. white locks swaying back and forth. “awful. just awful.”

you stifle a smile, completely unsuccessful. the sun feels nice on your skin, and the scent of the sea is nostalgic, and they’re all the same as ever. it’s like you can feel your nerves melting away, slowly but surely, like grains of sand slipping through the gaps between your fingers.

“the matching shirts are cute,” you point out, wanting to partake in the conversation, only to be met with a pair of furrowed brows.

suguru sighs. “that…” he mutters, massaging his temple, not before shooting satoru a dirty glance. “wasn't planned.”

said man only grins, unperturbed, tucking his phone back into his pocket. thoroughly amused. “he’s mad that i stole his fit,” he chirps, stretching his arms idly. it makes his shirt ride up, ever so slightly, and you swallow a gulp.

“well… you look good in it.”

at that, satoru stills. gazing at you, silently, before breaking out into another grin. self-satisfied, a smooth curve, sunlight against the white of his teeth. you glance away, suddenly a little shy.

“does he?” the other two deadpan, completely in sync. it shoos away the smile on his lips, making way for a displeased frown.

“oh, come on. would it kill you to call me handsome now and then?”

“handsome?” riko places her hands on her hips, raising an unimpressed brow, a sassy lilt to her voice. “you look like a single father down on his luck.”

“seconded,” suguru quips, hiding the beginnings of a smirk. picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. “honestly, i’m surprised you’re wearing any layers at all. not gonna flaunt your abs this time?”

satoru brightens, suddenly. wiggling his brows, a sweet coo on the tip of his tongue. “oh? want me to loosen up a couple buttons?” he purrs, and you hate yourself a little for the instant yes that resounds through your mind. “you know you can always just ask, suguru.”

his teasing goes ignored, but you don’t miss the amusement that flits through the scope of suguru’s eyes, even as he tries to maintain that deadpan expression.

finally, he exhales. “well, see you later,” he hums, directed to you and riko, checking the time on his wristwatch. “i should probably get going.”

“you’re not staying?” you ask, lashes fluttering with a confused blink. he smiles.

“i am,” he reassures you. “just gonna go fishing for a while. i thought i’d give it a try.”

“fishing?” riko exclaims, covering her amused grin with the palm of her hand. stifling laughter, you can tell, a bout of giggles begging to push past her lips. “what are you, fifty?”

satoru lets out a snort. to his left, suguru goes eerily silent — ominous, staring into your best friend’s eyes with no visible emotion. enough to make her smile fall. you feel a sense of deja vu.

“wait, i’m just kidding!” she suddenly squeaks, clinging to your arm and hiding behind you. she’s always had good survival instincts. ”don’t put me in a headlock!”

(they’re so stupid.

gosh, you missed them.)

“oh, by the way — do you want some shaved ice?” she turns to you, eyes crinkled at the edges, voice syrupy and sweet. “i can go get us some. what flavour do you want?”

“ah, great idea!” satoru matches her tone, tongue flitting out to lick his lips, glossy with chapstick. “i was just craving something sweet.”

“you’re paying, by the way.”

“…”

“so? any preference?” she tilts her head, waiting patiently for your reply. smiling once she gets it. “alright, got it. you, suguru?”

“i’m good. thanks, though.”

“okie-dokie,” she puts her palm out, facing satoru. “money, please.”

he only tuts, digging through his pocket and pulling out a black wallet. you think you spot a photocard, but he’s pulled out a credit card and tucked it back into his pocket before you can get a closer look.

“get me watermelon, okay? strawberry is fine too. if push comes to shove, go for anything other than lemon.” he hands her the card with a click of his tongue. “and watch out for creeps. if anyone hits on you, you know where to aim.”

she pockets it with a huff, exasperation on her features. “i’m twenty-three, toru. i can take care of myself.”

“aww, don’t be like that,” he coos, hands reaching out to squish her cheeks. she tries to squirm away, to no avail. “you’ll always be my little baby sister, you know. and, as your dependable big bro, i —“

“ugh, whatever.” she shoots him an unimpressed glance, finally escaping his hold. ”are you gonna go all men are wolves on us, or something?”

”they are! just look at suguru.”

”hey.”

you hide a growing smile behind your hand, watching them bicker and banter, feeling that sense of peace again. the summer day feels a little like a hazy daydream, a heavy nostalgia that sticks to your bones like gum on the sole of your shoe.

and, once again — you end up alone with a certain someone. suguru walks towards the faraway pier, riko strolls up to the stand selling shaved ice, and satoru lingers behind. you think he looks relaxed, at ease, but you can’t really look at him for too long without feeling nervous. without feeling as if you’re both ignoring the elephant in the room.

it still feels a little like there’s an invisible wall between you.

he’s the first to speak up, craning his neck and stretching like a big cat, a tiny groan flowing from his throat. “well, there they go,” he hums. “what do you feel like doing first?”

“ummm…” you rack your brain for ideas, coming up empty. a little fried by his presence. you could go into the water, and escape the heat — sunbathing with him doesn’t sound so bad, though…

lost deep in thought, you barely notice him inching closer. still weighing your options, water or land, a relaxing nap or a splash war. you don’t notice until you feel his arm sneaking around your waist, pulling you closer, just by a hair. stealing all the oxygen from your lungs.

(you think your brain shuts down a little.)

his touch burns, as always. bare skin on bare skin. electric, a trail of sparks rushing through your veins. he’s warm, and solid, effortlessly composed — guiding you right where he wants you, which is by his chest, where you can practically hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat —

and then he’s pulling away.

you raise your head to meet his gaze, completely flushed, unsure if you were hallucinating or not. he’s looking somewhere behind you, with a distinctly cold gaze, one you aren’t accustomed to seeing. you crane your neck, catching a glimpse of a man turning his back on you both before walking away.

… was he staring at you, or what?

when you search for satoru’s eyes again, they’re already on you. he’s smiling, a little sheepish, scratching at the back of his neck.

“sorry,” he chuckles. “i got paranoid.”

oh.

your skin still feels like it’s on fire. a lingering heat, blossoming where his skin touched yours, rendering you speechless. embarrassing, embarrassing, embarrassing. he was just looking out for you.

finally, you gain control over your vocal chords, dry and charred. just enough to croak out a response.

“i — it’s fine.”

your eyes stay glued to the sand beneath you, staring at a crushed seashell, unable to look him in the eye. feeling the back of your neck grow hotter. you miss the dirty glance riko sends his way, having just returned with the shaved ice, and the way satoru mouths out a silent what?

it’s easier after that. she grounds you, a little, leading you out into the sea. the water is pleasantly mild, licking at your ankles, coaxing you further, until it’s reaching up to your waist. it cools you down considerably, and before you know it you’re splashing her with all you’ve got, giggles filling the salty air — seagull cries above you and wet sand beneath your feet, a glimmer or two of tiny fish, loud laughter. sensations all around you. satoru watches you with a smile, munching on a sandwich, not joining you both until riko beckons him over.

the day stretches on, melting away into evening. people leave the beach behind them, suguru heads back to the house with a bucket of fish and a smug smile, riko dries herself off with a towel and rushes to a nearby convenience store when she notices that it’s about to close. murmuring something about dinner, shooting you an anxious glance, a silent will you be alright on your own? with him?

you wave her off with a smile. hoping it’ll come off as convincing, even though you’re anything but.

one way or another, you end up under a parasol with a certain satoru gojo; putting empty bottles of lemonade back into the picnic basket, rolling up the blanket, stuck with cleaning duty. satoru carries it all, unwilling to let you help, the basket hanging off his arm. you walk away from the beach, stepping onto solid asphalt again, beginning your trekk up towards the main street — not too long of a walk, but you’re tired, even though satoru doesn’t seem tuckered out in the slightest. walking a step or two ahead of you.

the sun is beginning to set, melting like a sundae on the boundary of the horizon, rays of golden sunshine dripping down your wrist. satoru looks good in it, the pink and orange; peaceful, somehow. when the breeze licks a stripe across his cheek, he closes his eyes and exhales. there’s a smile on those lips, a smile of contentment.

he turns towards you and waits until you catch up.

“tired?” he coos, tilting his head, absently tucking his shades into the breast pocket of his shirt. blinking slowly, eyes shimmering in the summery hue of evening.

“kinda,” you smile, trying to muster a pep in your step. another hum buzzes in his throat, and then he’s facing forward again.

“c’mon. let’s get you something from the vending machine, okay? ‘s just up ahead.” he pats your head, once, twice. “that’ll give you some energy.”

you can only nod, following his lead. hydrangeas bloom all around you, a thick syrupy scent, paired with apple blossoms from the backyards you pass. then you spot the vending machine. satoru takes out his wallet, finding his card — it’s not the same one as before. riko still has it.

and this time, you’re close enough to see it. in his wallet is a photocard, clearly visible; of a baby, sleeping soundly, with short tufts of hair. a dark colour unlike his own.

(your heart melts, a little.)

“cola or sprite?”

you raise your head, looking through the barrier of glass in front of you. then you’re stepping forward, fingertip pressing against it, pointing towards a green can of sprite. not looking at him, as you make your choice. ”this one.”

— suddenly, you feel his skin on yours.

you’re sleepy, and pliant, jaw caught between his fingers. he lifts it up, turns it towards him, just so that you’ll meet his gaze. two seas of blue, flecks of pure white, summer skies and summer clouds.

“there,” he exhales, pleased. giving you a reassuring smile before pulling away. “you’ve barely looked me in the eye today. ‘s gonna break my heart, y’know.”

a pause. you gulp, on instinct, shying away from his unbridled attention — eyes moving from those summer skies down to the curve of his glossy lips, and then back up again. a mistake, because when you glance down once more — unable to help yourself — you see it.

that apologetic smile.

(you really are obvious, aren’t you?

how embarrassing.)

silence splits the scene in half, only the faraway sounds of seagulls as background noise. they sound a little like they’re laughing, mocking you.

satoru presses a button on the vending machine, followed by a quiet beep. he doesn’t look at you when he broaches the subject, and you wonder if it’s out of respect or discomfort.

“still not over that schoolgirl crush, huh?”

…

something twists inside your gut. a little ugly, a little sentimental. now that he’s made the first move, it’s easier to move the pieces.

“… it’s not a crush,” you murmur, kicking at a pebble on the ground. surprised by how clear your voice comes out. “i’m in love with you.”

a sigh. another beep, and the sound of a sodacan falling against metal flooring. he crouches down.

“… you could really, really do better.”

you watch as he fumbles with the pick-up box, eyes trained on the back of his neck, the buzzed hair of his undercut. letting out a quiet breath. “riko said the same thing.”

a snort pushes past his lips, ripe with fondness. he pulls himself up from the ground, shifting his weight from one foot to another, reaching for his wallet again. “oh, i’m sure.” he tucks the card back, slipping it into his pocket. a stray cat strolls by you, unburdened, waving its tail in the air. “really, though. you should listen to her.”

something cold meets your cheek. metal, condensation, a pleasant shiver down your spine. he presses the aluminium can against you, and you receive it with a murmur of thanks.

“i’m too old for you, for one.” he continues, and suddenly you feel a little like you’re being lectured. you break open the lid of the sprite can.

“you’re five years older.” a fizzy sound crackles like static in your ears, carbonation bubbling up, sticking to your fingertips. “and we’re both adults.”

he huffs out a breath, only mildly amused. “i’m pushing thirty, y’know?”

you take a sip, lips against cold aluminum, melting sunrays lapping at your skin. it tastes sweet.

“i know.” a pause, your bottom lip trapped between two sharp teeth. gnawing at the flesh. ”i can’t control how i feel, though.”

…

“yeah,” he sighs, leaning back against the glass. crossing one leg over the other, fiddling with something in his pocket. “i know.”

a moment passes. then he parts his lips, again.

“hey, how about you join me on a mixer someday?” he searches for your gaze, smiling, another one of those charming tilts of his head. “i know some cute guys. and girls, if that’s your thing.”

your answer is instantaneous.

“i’ll pass.”

…

another exhale, breathed out into the summer air. it’s dripping with exasperation, ripe with fatigue, but there’s still something fond there. unmistakable.

“fine, fine. just… think about it, okay?” his palm finds its way to your head, ruffling your hair with a gentle caress. that comforting weight. “c’mon, let’s go back. riri’s making dinner tonight.”

and then he’s taking a step forward. you watch his back for only a moment, still deep in thought. a fizzy, syrupy sweetness sticking to your teeth, a sense of nostalgia invading all your senses. and, as always, that silent adoration.

deep down, you know it’s true. there’s no changing this, whatever this is. in the same way riko will always be his baby sister, you’ll always just be the brat that sniffled into his chest after your first fight with her.

he’ll never quite see you the way you’d like him to.

(but, then again, isn’t that a part of it? that subtle, subtle kindness of his. the sense of maturity that asks for nothing in return.)

satoru is a good guy. that’s why you can’t help but adore him, despite everything. can’t help but watch his back as he leaves you behind, wishing you could catch up. that your legs were long enough.

it feels nice, to open yourself up like this. crack the lid of your heart, and have him wade through the carbonation. it feels nice to have your feelings be acknowledged, even if they aren’t reciprocated, even if you’re completely delusional and high on summer joy. it feels nice just to watch him shine.

you gulp down the rest of your sprite, toss it into a trash can across the street, and stumble after him. veins sleepy, heart heavy, overwhelmed by adoration. you’ve already cracked the lid open; everything else comes easy. you just want to make a move, any move. want to see how he’ll react.

“satoru,” you call, and he comes to a standstill. when he turns around your arms are outstretched. “can i have a piggyback ride?”

the man before you blinks. once, then twice, fluttering like angel wings, or pretty clouds.

and then his smile grows. you catch a glimpse of his dimples, for just a moment, and then he’s beckoning you closer with a chuckle.

“yeah? now you’re suddenly all brave?” he shakes his head, no real discontentment behind it. “or are you really that exhausted?”

he studies you intently, ripe with fondness, and you think your sluggish blinks must be enough to convince him. because he crouches down, back facing you, and chirps out a hop on. a little teasing, of course, but still nice. his arms underneath your thighs, lifting you up like it’s nothing. making sure you’re comfortable. he’s strong. very strong.

the butterflies in your stomach flutter around again.

and, honestly, you really are very exhausted. bones buzzing with something sleepy and fatigued, sore after all the running around you did in the water. completely tuckered out, resting your cheek against his back. like this, you can feel his muscles, the solidity of his body. it’s a little bit distracting.

“— remember?”

a series of blinks. you grasp onto his shoulders, holding back a yawn. “huh?”

“you falling asleep on me?” he chuckles, walking forward. one step after another, the soles of his sandals hitting the asphalt. “i was saying — how i remember doing this back then.”

you tilt your head.

“when you fell and twisted your ankle. i think it was nearby, actually… some park?”

“... oh.” when you really concentrate, you think you do recall it; the feeling of his back against your chest, a dull ache in your foot. “yeah, i remember.”

satoru hums, a little buzz of amusement. “after that, you and riri would ask me for it all the time. carry us, big bro!” his imitation makes you smile, voice high and squeaky. “so childish, i swear. i could barely carry one of you.”

a chuckle tumbles from your lips, and it seems to spur him on; because he continues. nostalgia pouring out his throat.

“don’t tell her, okay? but, see — i started going to the gym after that. lifting weights. training, and stuff,” he huffs out an amused exhale, grinning softly. “suguru made me carry boulders on the beach. it was kind of our thing.”

…

“we almost got arrested once.”

you can’t help but laugh, hiding in the smooth fabric of his shirt, in between those printed white flowers. shoulders shaking slightly, giddy and amused. “you did that just ‘cause you were embarrassed?”

“no,” he murmurs, softly, the slightest shake of his head. ”because i wanted to be prepared. in case the two of you ever happened to fall over at the same time, or something…” a sheepish little chuckle. ”i wanted to be able to carry you both back.”

satoru continues to walk, facing away from you. always smiling, you’re sure. even if you can’t see it.

“you’re both precious to me,” he says, making sure to keep a steady hold around your legs. “that’s why i don’t want either of you wasting yourselves on some random guy. i hope you can understand that.”

silence. then, a displeased huff.

“… you’re not some random guy, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“well, of course not. i’m the guy,” he stands a little straighter, and you can practically see the smug smirk on his lips. “but i’m not a very good person.”

you blink.

silence fills the open air.

he says it so casually that you almost don't catch it. matter-of-factly, like it’s just another obvious realization, something so deeply ingrained that it isn’t even worthy of a tonal shift. satoru, who makes pancakes for the people he loves, who carries your bags and buys you soda and keeps a picture of his baby sister in his wallet. satoru, your first love.

that satoru isn’t a good person?

(how could he ever, ever think that?)

“you are.”

a low hum buzzes in his throat. you’re not sure he heard you. if he did, he simply doesn’t care enough to respond. the scene flickers by, the moment comes and goes — you want to protest again, but something about this silence makes you hesitate.

the only thing you can do is —

“satoru.”

another little hum. acknowledging, this time.

“do you… i mean,” you choke down a bundle of words, replacing them with new ones. gnawing at the flesh of your bottom lip. “is there really no chance… you’ll ever feel the same? none at all?”

…

a mirthless chuckle. he sounds a little tired, you think, more than a little exasperated. but the amusement is still there, laced into his voice, and you drink it in the same way you’ve always done. a little root, soaking in the light of the sun.

“after all that,” he mutters, “you’re still asking?”

a moment’s pause. you listen intently, as if you could hear the gears of his mind shift if you focus enough. as if just being stubborn enough could coax him into opening up the way you have.

finally, he parts his lips.

“well,” comes a sigh, a click of his tongue. he breathes in the summer breeze. “maybe in a couple decades or so.”

you stare. those white tufts of hair sway with every step he takes, and his voice has a finality to it that isn’t lost on you. solemn, steady, a pillar of salt.

“… okay.”

a pause. then he’s barking out a short laugh, shoulders shaking with the sound. you tighten your grip around them. “okay?” he repeats, pinching the skin of your thigh. “can’t you read between the lines, you little troublemaker?”

a huff. you kick your legs, a little, just stretching them contentedly. wet hair sticking to his skin, your cheek still smushed against him, enveloped in his neverending warmth. “i don’t mind,” you whisper, choking down a yawn. “i’ve already waited eight years. a couple decades more isn’t too bad.”

silence, again. you wonder what he’s thinking, if you’ll ever come close to cracking open the lid of his heart. he parts his lips, and oxygen spills out.

(you think it’s a start.)

“… has anyone ever told you that you’re awfully stubborn?”

you’re quick to nod, nuzzling into his undercut. wearing a satisfied smile. “riko tells me all the time.”

“does she?” there’s silent laughter hiding between his teeth, eager to spill out. “that’s good. listen to her, alright? you might learn a thing or two.”

now he’s just teasing you. the sun is setting, and the air smells like saltwater, and satoru’s back is warm; his voice set to a melodic lilt, as if tempting you to close your eyes. it’s summer, in a quiet port town.

and you adore him again.

that’s right, you muse, belatedly. loving him was never a choice, and waiting wasn’t ever an issue. getting over him is the tall hurdle, the root of the problem, a root you intend you trip over as many times as it takes for this something to bloom.

because he’s beautiful, and comfortable, and kind. because it’s his back you always end up clinging to. because he knows how you like your pancakes, how you take your coffee, what you look like when you cry. because you like this feeling, the swarm of butterflies in your stomach. even if they’re completely meaningless in the long run.

satoru is right, and so is riko. you’re stubborn, terribly so. if only you could see that as a bad thing.

if only you were physically capable of giving this something up.

unlike the siblings and their overgrown yard, you just can’t seem to look away from an ugly bud yet to bloom — just in case it ends up blossoming, this summer, or the next. just in case it turns into something worth plucking from the ground. it’s fine if it withers away; at least it’ll give way to better soil.

you just like him. you just want to see where it leads you. that’s all, that’s it. that was always it.

“but promise you’ll go with me to that mixer, okay?” his voice calls, breaking you out of your thoughts, unrelenting. ”i’ll find you someone who’ll get your mind off little ol’ me.”

ah. that’s right.

(you’re terribly, horribly stubborn —

and satoru is too.)

you grin, soft and giddy, thinking of the years ahead of you both. what they’ll be like. where’s the fun in a certain future?

“fine,” you hum, wrapping your arms around his neck. inhaling that familiar scent of sandalwood. “do your worst.”

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo fluff #gojo angst #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk x gender neutral reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader

2K notes · View notes

bugsludge · 8 months ago

Text

Maybe the rage deal in the last episode wasn’t JUST “You live but have extreme amounts of rage.” What if they were offered their wildest dreams and the rage was a clause in like microfont bc to them the gifts of achieving their goals and living seems like a great deal especially for children. The rage pushes them to achieve a goal, the rat grinders are KIDS they arnt gonna have crazy outrageous dreams and ambition at 17 years old, I knew nothing when I was that age.

You have a crush on a girl for a couple years and want to catch her attention? Bam. Get more confidence, become buff, get noticed first the first time ever. Oisin was completely unrecognizable before but now after all this?

You hate another rogue so much you want to be better than him? Bam! Kipperlily finds the rogue teacher first AND signs up for the election assuming riz would be the one to do it bc why would Kristen Applebees want to be president? Which could be an event bigger fuel to KLCK’s fire.

You want to be a famous musician and you’re jealous of a bard in school who never goes to class but has what you don’t? Bam! Ruben copies her look and produce music when she’s on hiatus as well as getting signed by her label

Mary Anne’s is small and girly she was probably bullied and wanted to make it stop, so shes now indifferent, and strong enough to stand up for herself, she sees Gorgug on the first day of school get decked in the face jsut to grow into this strong guy and sees him as inspiration

Lucy was content with life, she loved her friends, loved her god and knew the rage wasn’t what she wanted to have to live with. The resurrection is supposed to help them feel fulfilled but she’d just be more unsatisfied with life if she took the offer. Lucy was happy with what she had, and had no further aspirations, she loved her god and 'stuck to her guns'

Buddy dawn a follower of helio, watches the chosen one of his church abandon everything, he’s sad and confused as to why she did what she did. He dies and is offered the chance to become the chosen one for an unnamed god, he’s scared, helio is missing, and if Kristin took an offer from a new god and was okay why wouldn’t he be?

The rat grinders were scared kids who needed a miracle, and one was offered CHILDREN WILL SCREAM FOR HELP UNTIL THEY ARE ARE OFFERED SANCTION, IT DOESN’T MATTER WHO THE SAVIOR IS

2K notes · View notes

gojosprettyprincess · 1 day ago

Text

He’s aged up to 20. not proofread!!!!

“Fuck, Is this all f’me baby?” Yuji cooed softly, his voice filled with lustful desires as his thumb hastily scooped up the pearlescent slick that was smeared across your split-opened pussy lips— his cock sliding into your warm core in slow and passionate strokes, coaxing even more out from your pussy with each thrusts. “Looks soo fucking tasty”

His face is visibly in awe as he captures the fluid with the slide of his thumb, swiftly bringing it up and inserting it into his mouth. His tongue eagerly circles around his digit, savoring the taste of your arousal as his gaze remains fixed on the little mess between your thighs.

A muffled “Mmm” escaped his lips and he savored the taste that dawned on his tastebuds, causing your face to flush with embarrassment. It was perplexing— despite the countless times you and Yuji had sex, he still managed to surprise you with a bunch of weird antics that never failed to humiliate you and leave you flustered each time, resulting in your hand instinctively rising up to cover your blushing expression because you absolutely hate it when he sees you like that.

Sooo embarrassing.

After a good minute of sucking your sticky juices off his thumb, he playfully removed it with a loud *pop!* before snaking his hand back to squish your soft thigh.

“Come on baby, don’t be shy. Lemme see that pretty face” he playfully declared after he noticed how your hand was covering your face. His eyes sparkled with a mischievous glint as he gently coaxed you to reveal your embarrassed face.

“You know I couldn’t help it when your pussy is drooling on my cock like this, had to taste you”. He added with a teasing chuckle as he continued gazing adoringly at the way your essence coated his shaft more and more each time he rams it in and out of your warm pussy. He knows that these types of things make you too flustered and shy but he just can’t help it when he sees the way your cunt gushes around him so nasty. The way it glistened so prettily on your sex hypnotized him.

“Y-yuji stop looking at it!” You mumbled shamefully, you can’t see but you can surely feel the fire of his eyes burning into the lewd mess on your pussy. His eyes shoot up to you in amusement, chuckling at your command.

“I can’t when she’s creaming all over me like this, sooo messy and sticky around my cock, you’re so dirty baby” he chuckled with delight, God the audacity of this man calling you “dirty” as if he wasn’t desperately trying to savor the taste of your pussy in his mouth like a fucking creep minutes ago.

Feeling the urgency building inside of him because of how good you felt wrapped around him, he hastened increasing his pace, the forceful thrusts of his cock escalating in speed and intensity. You quickly removed your hands from your face and tightly clutched onto the sheets as if your life depended on it because you know he's gonna lose control soon and fuck the brain cells out of your head in mere minutes.

Each movement of his body pressed against yours sent tingles of pleasure coursing down your spine. your pussy clenched around him, tightening around his shaft with such grip like you’re trying to cling onto his cock forever.

“Fuck, you feel so good, could never get tired of this pretty drooling cunt” he confessed, his stiff cock relentlessly pumping into your core, making you whimper even more which only sent more blood rushing to his cock. The soft pink hairs on his base quickly becomes soiled by your wetness as it rubbed against your clit, creating even more friction that drove both of you to the edge.

“Always making a creamy mess on me, you keep complaining bout me acting like a perv but it seems like you love it? Whaddya say, babe? Pussy is soaking me way too much to have me convinced otherwise” he chuckled, his voice hinting with mockery. He readjusted the position, his body hovering over you with his arms resting on both sides of your head.

“N-no! Shut up” you weakly defended with a feeble, embarrassed once again with how your pussy muscles involuntarily tightened around his shaft to his words, completely making your defense useless as it’s painfully obvious who’s right and whos trying to deceive themselves.

“Heh, whateverrr you say baby, I believe youuu” he grinned as his strawberry-pink tip jammed against your cervix, causing your back to arch off the creaking bed. His eyes lit up with amusement at your reaction, finding you sooo incredibly sexy in this vulnerable moment. To him, you look so cute like this. He loves making his shy little girlfriend get even more flustered while his tip is giving sweet, caring kisses to your cervix.

“Need you to make a bigger mess f’me, think you could do that?” He questions, a coy grin curling on his lips. Not that he cared what you thought because he's planning on making sure the bedsheets are soaked with your filthy squirt by the next five minutes max. The sheer desire coursing through him causing his fat cock to twitch inside your soaked core as he imagines the lewd scene. He willfully collapsed onto your body, pressing you down with force with his larger, muscular body, crushing you under him as his cock impaled your trembling pussy, slamming into you with primal urgency. his hips a blur as he pounded into your warm flesh brutally. The intense grip of your pulsating pussy around his length made him bite his lips in a mixture of pleasure and restraint.

The nasty sound of his invasive cock stuffing your wet pussy filled the room, making you even more embarrassed because of how loud and dirty it sounded.

“God, you hear how she’s talking to me? So filthy I bet that’s her way of telling me how much she fucking lovesss my cock, yeah?” He panted, his breath hot against your neck. “Sooo fucking tight, Cum so I can lick it out your pussy. Come onnn, be a good girl n listen t’me” he places a kiss on your sweaty forehead before burying his head into the crook of your warm neck, your comforting scent filling his nostrils. That’s the part where he starts going crazy.

890 notes · View notes

ceilidho · 2 months ago

Text

fear of god

prompt: There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 2 masterlist

How am I hearing you?

That should be the first question out of your mouth, but instead what comes out is a meek trembling of words. “E-excuse me?”

His smile doesn’t waver. “Asked if you could let me in, love. I’m a bit turned around.”

You pause for a moment to take stock of the situation. A programming that has served your species since the dawn of time quietly whispers something to you, its voice unintelligible but meaningful. The instinct to help kicks in with the man’s plea, but your own confusion stays its corresponding response.

There’s a man outside the ship knocking on the window and you’ve never seen his face before.

“Where did you—where did you even come from?” you ask.

He waves a hand and it drifts slowly beside his helmet, encumbered by the lack of gravity. “Around. Lost contact with my crew and I’ve been trying to get some help ever since.”

His tone is too blasé for the situation. You’d expect fear or urgency, but he speaks as though reassuring you.

“Was there another ship nearby?” You don’t remember Graves mentioning any other ships in this sector of the solar system. With many funded by private corporations or individuals, the team might not be always privy to all ongoing missions, but the commander would have known if there was a ship within a lunar distance.

“At some point,” he says, still smiling. Too friendly.

It’s been months since you spoke to a man your age that you hadn’t seen drink their own piss via the ship’s recycled water filtration system. Not to shame anyone—you’re part of that statistic too—but you’ve realized in the past few weeks how far that knowledge has gone towards dampening any burgeoning attraction to anyone.

But it occurs to you again—a thought burrowing into the recesses of your mind, like a phantom of itself, a loon call over a still lake—that you are hearing someone from outside the ship. Sound traveling through nothing; the very absence of sound.

The thought is too big for your head, but it fits itself in anyway. It stretches uncomfortably because material reality usually wins in the end. What you can see and hear, you can trust. You know the world through what appears in front of you; that's always how it's been.

This time though, there's something you can't quite fit in your head.

“Wait, let me…let me get some help,” you tell him, taking a step away from the window. Your stomach clenches when he frowns, brows pulled together in concern.

“You sure, love? I can walk you through opening the doors if you need help. Same as my ship, I bet.” He chuckles nervously. “Been out here awhile now; not sure how much oxygen I’ve got left in the tank, if I’m honest.”

That almost gets you, but you remember protocol. For all your shortcomings, you’ve never not followed protocol. Opening the airlock and letting anyone in or out is a process strictly monitored by the commander, and you have no authority to grant anyone access without express permission. You know the access codes, of course, for security and safety reasons, but despite the sudden urgency in his voice, you haven’t been authorized to let him in.

And then there’s the matter of—

Again, though his frame fills up most of the porthole, when you look out into the depths of space around him, you see nothing out there. You wonder if perhaps Graves purposefully omitted any mention of receiving a distress call from a ship with a lost crew member.

It feels less than likely.

“I’ll be back.” You take another step back, heart fluttering in your chest. “Just…wait. I’ll—”

The rest of your sentence never comes, tucked beneath your tongue. Your feet are already taking you away.

The metal floor clangs under your feet as you stumble away and down the hall towards the cargo hold. You can hear the man yell after you, his voice growing more and more distant the farther you run, until its echo lingers only in your head.

Down the stairs and through the main corridor, you pass the medbay on your way to the cargo hold, the room at the far end of the spacecraft accessible only by descending below the orlop deck. You come galloping down the stairs so fast that you nearly trip over the last one.

The doors to the hold slide open at your approach. Though the cargo hold on the ship isn’t as gargantuan as some you’ve seen before, it’s still big enough for your footsteps to echo across the room when you make your way inside. Crates holding the ship’s sampling gear and equipment are tied down to the floor by fiber-reinforced polymer straps and covered by heavy-duty nets. The smell of fuel and ozone is pungent, thick in the air.

The temperature in the hold is a degree or two hotter than the rest of the ship, putting you instantly on edge. Irritable; uncomfortable. Heat clings to the grooves of your skin, sinking past the epidermis. You tug your collar out with a finger.

“Hello?” you call out into the hold, voice reverberating off the walls.

No one responds. Perhaps Farah did come for her brother, as she mentioned earlier. It wouldn’t do for you to linger in the empty hold then, the man outside the ship still a pressing concern.

The ceiling is banded by metal beams, ferrous pipes running up the walls to the rafters, gurgling and whistling as water passes through. You can see the shoddy workmanship in the exposed scaffolding, areas that should’ve long ago been covered up or hidden away behind walls. A pipe in a far corner overhead drips onto the concrete below.

“Looking for someone?” a voice asks from directly behind you, and your heart jumps into your throat at the sudden sound.

When you whirl around, Hadir stands in the middle of the cargo hold, shoulders slouched and hands stuffed in his pockets. He lifts an eyebrow at the look on your face. Though he shares some features in common with his sister, his build is entirely different; stockier, slightly softer. Round jaw to her sharp. The same widow’s peak though, and the same nose.

“Yeah, hi—morning, by the way.” You gesture with your thumb towards the door. “I, just…this is going to sound wild, but I think I just…I think someone’s outside the ship.”

The easy look falls off his face in favor of a more serious expression.

“Outside the ship?” he repeats in disbelief.

“Yes, I know, but I swear. Can you just—” Frustration makes you curt. Partial embarrassment too because you know how it sounds.

There shouldn’t be anyone outside the ship because you’re in the middle of nowhere with no other spaceships around for hundreds of thousands of miles. There shouldn’t be anything other than carbonaceous and silicate asteroids drifting outside the ship. Rubble as small as grains of sand.

He frowns. “Did someone get locked out of the ship? Why didn’t you go get Graves?”

“It’s not—” Again, you can’t seem to find the words, the right one getting lost in translation. “It’s not someone from the crew.”

Something shifts across his face, a micro-expression that makes your throat tighten involuntarily, but he nods and follows you out of the hold.

Nerves plague you on the walk back to the porthole. Since you lead the way, you can’t look back and gauge Hadir’s expression, but you can feel his eyes heavy on your back. Skepticism still thick in the air, so rich you can almost taste it. You can hardly blame him. Were it anyone else, you’d think them delusional too.

The walk back feels twice as long somehow. At the top of the staircase, you breathe quietly out of your mouth in order to catch your breath without letting on how winded you are. Hadir’s footsteps echo yours, a beat off the entire walk back to the corridor you left just a few minutes ago.

When the porthole finally comes into view, you freeze, causing him to nearly walk right into you. Any apology for the sudden halt doesn't get off the back of your tongue.

A dark, empty nothingness perforated by light in the far off reaches of space. Your throat goes dry at the sight.

“There was someone outside,” you say. It comes out whispery thin.

You almost don’t need him to walk up to the glass and look out, knowing already what he’ll see. It’s immediately evident, the porthole free of anyone or anything obscuring the hazy band of stars off in the distance.

There’s no way to see Hadir’s expression as anything other than concerned. He peers out of the porthole again, twisting his head to the right and left in order to see as far as the view extends.

“I, uh…I don’t see anything out there,” he finally admits, a tad awkwardly. He has a hard time meeting your eyes.

“Oh,” you reply, nonplussed.

You step up to the window alongside him. Stars leak out of the blackness of space; eternal night. It’s a long way from anywhere out here.

“He might’ve gone to another window.”

For a beat, Hadir doesn’t respond. You’re both thinking the same thing. It’s unlikely that if anyone were out stranded in the middle of space that they’d float aimlessly around their only means of salvation rather than just wait for help.

“Maybe you just saw your own reflection,” Hadir suggests. "It happens. Freaks me out too sometimes."

The tone of voice he uses irks you; it’s vaguely placating, like he’s trying to reassure you as well as himself.

There’s nothing wrong with you though. You saw what you saw and heard what you heard. There was a man outside the porthole hovering in space and he spoke to you.

“Yeah, maybe,” you say instead.

You stare at the faint, runny outline of your own face in the window. No matter how hard you stare, you can’t imagine her suddenly opening her mouth and talking to you.

When the two of you finally part ways, you head for the medbay on autopilot. The mug that was in your hand is long gone—probably accidentally put down when you went looking for Hadir in the cargo hold—and you regret not stopping by the galley for a refill.

It bothers you that Hadir went the other way, towards the cockpit instead of back to the cargo hold. You wonder whether someone called him up before you found him.

The medical unit on this ship is smaller than what you’re used to for interplanetary travel. They’ve supplied you with the equipment necessary for simple surgeries and nothing more; anything more complex is left to chance and divine intervention. The operating table in the center of the room comes equipped with a scanner capable of medical imaging and diagnosing.

It’s an incredibly insular room on top of that, having been designed without windows. Not atypical for a medical bay. Though bigger than your personal quarters, you often find yourself on edge when spending any prolonged amount of time in your work station.

For all of its flaws, the ship is equipped with a rudimentary form of artificial intelligence. It mainly assists with performing diagnostics, assisting with determining the best trajectory for the spacecraft, and enabling autonomous navigation, the latter function being temporarily suspended after the impact from the day before, but it has some use. You’re especially lucky that every computer on board gives you access to the AI, meaning that you can stay cooped up in the medical unit rather than venturing back to the cockpit where your inquiry might wind up drawing more attention to you than you’d like.

You lean forward in your chair, a leg tucked into your chest as you flip a switch on the dashboard on the wall behind the computer and then a button on the keyword, the familiar blip letting you know to speak.

“Ship, please scan the perimeter for any nearby foreign objects.”

Chewing your nails and staring at the computer, you watch it light up, words and symbols flashing across the screen, buttons flicking on and off on the dashboard behind it. The ship rumbles around you as it scans the surrounding vacuum of space for anything with mass. The foot still touching the ground taps, a restless twitch running through your leg.

The blip of completion makes you jolt in your chair.

No anomalous objects detected around ship's exterior

You press the button again. “That’s—that’s not possible, Ship. I saw someone out the window.”

When you let go of the button again, the computer goes quiet, running through another round of calculations, performing the same diagnostic again. Another distended moment of anticipation. You hold your breath until the computer beeps, the perimeter inspection complete.

Scan complete

No anomalous objects detected around ship's exterior

The secondary confirmation makes your stomach sink.

It’s difficult to articulate the feeling in your chest. Halfway between disbelief and unease. Perhaps a simple error in judgment, but you can’t simply look past the voice you heard from the astronaut outside the porthole. In your life, you’ve made plenty of mistakes and bad calls; you’ve run the gamut of mistakes, everything from going back to old flings to nearly misdiagnosing a patient.

You have never seen things that weren’t there.

Still, the reading on the screen doesn’t waver. You stare at it until your watering eyes force you to blink.

You chew the nail of your middle finger until it tears. Sweat slicks the small of your back and the soft skin under your arms.

“Okay,” you whisper to yourself. “Okay.”

#ceil writing #cod x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz/reader #gaz x you

526 notes · View notes

qqueenofhades · 5 months ago

Note

I got political whiplash on Threads. First, everyone was screaming, “All is lost!” I came back an hour later, and everyone was screaming, “We Ride at Dawn!”

The right-wingers are in panic mode. Steven Miller was practically screaming on Feckless news. 🤣

I mean. The right-wingers' entire mentality, the fuel for the January 6 attempted coup, the recent SCOTUS President God-King Immunity ruling, and all the rest, is premised on the simple fact that the president is indeed, Almighty God King who serves for life and will never, ever willingly give up his power. So that's how I can guarantee that the GOP, because they are short-sighted fascist morons, did not plan for this. Their entire strategy was built around attacking Biden, because they hate him. Like, really hate him. He defeated Trump the first time and there was still a good chance that he could do it again. Trump got impeached the first time for trying to extort Zelenskyy for dirt on Biden, because he didn't want to face him. That's why they went after Hunter on largely bogus charges, tossed around the idea of impeaching Biden, actually (uselessly) impeached Mayorkas, etc.

And yet, because Biden (even if he was forced to do it) decided to step away and voluntarily give up his presidential power instead of wrecking American democracy to hold onto it, that has broken their little shriveled fascist brains. They literally can't comprehend it, and I can guarantee they're now shit scared about having to face Kamala, a brown woman, who is the epitome of everything their tiny evil brains hate. As noted by those bangin' fundraising numbers, there is also a lot of excitement around her. And suddenly, after MONTHS of "this election is a referendum on which old and mentally declining man you hate more," that has been removed as a factor. (Watch the media suddenly forget all about age and/or mental competency as a factor now that Biden is out. Does it apply to Trump, you ask? CRICKETS.)

Kamala is going to mop the f'n floor with Trump at the next presidential debate, and I guarantee that the GOP knows that too. Because yes, if Biden had another bad debate, or if he has a bad case of COVID that might end up giving him long-covid symptoms or keeping him off the trail for days or weeks, that would have been very, very hard to recover from. Now the GOP is the one stuck with an old, mentally baffled, virulently hated presidential candidate and the most pro-Russia, anti-woman, demonstrable-sellout whitebread VP pick imaginable, that they had to choose because Trump nearly got the last one killed and he wasn't interested in the job again, for some weird reason. And as we have pointed out before, this is the last-chance saloon for Trump in any number of ways, and he has been demonstrably overconfident the last few weeks as the media was consumed with discussion of Biden's stumbles rather than Trump's manifold unfitness, treason, felonies, and all the rest.

I don't agree with Biden on everything he has ever done in his long career in public service, but I will say that I don't think he would have actually done this if he wasn't eventually convinced, for whatever reason that might be, that it was the right decision. And my one big fear about him stepping down was that the party would instantly fracture, people would start flogging unrealistic Magical White Boy replacements, and otherwise insist on an "open mini-primary!" or some other fucking bullshit. Now, there are still a few idiots trying that, but by and large, the Democratic power apparatus has instantly thrown its weight behind Kamala. That doesn't excuse them for the weeks of wibbling Anonymous Sources self-sabotage beforehand, and I still vote that we destroy the billionaires at our next opportunity, but if we can stick with that and keep up those mongo fundraising numbers, we might indeed actually have a better chance than before, and that was what this was all about.

As I noted yesterday, Black women have been disproportionately influential in taking Trump down (think Leticia James, Fani Willis, etc) and there is undoubtedly a huge, HUGE amount of poetic justice if Kamala can be the one to stick the knife in his greasy orange gut once and for all. I can likewise guarantee the GOP is well aware of that, and the fact that while they can yell even louder and trot out the same old racist, sexist, misogynist fearmongering dirtbag attacks they used on HRC, that is a strategy with demonstrably diminishing returns (it sure as hell isn't going to help them win any more female or suburban or black voters or anyone else we always hear about how they're Making Inroads with). And we're not going to talk about how it's Obvious that America would never elect a black female president. Obama won two terms. Even with all that weight of frothing misogyny and DECADES of Republican smear machines, HRC won the popular vote and was ratfucked out of the Electoral College by the slimmest of margins, after a massive interference campaign by the Russians. It is fucking possible, we are going to do it, and the Republicans are so, SO FUCKING SCARED of having to live in an America run by a brown woman, that can only be for the good.

Kamala Harris 2024. Let's go.

#nbundarin #ask #politics for ts #kamala harris 2024

713 notes · View notes

drawnecromancy · 5 months ago

Text

A sample of Valiandra faces over the many years of his life.

A sample only, because you get to be many people in... over 15 000 years, give or take some centuries.

Anyway, don't worry about those ones in the middle. He's fine. He's absolutely fine. Perfectly okay.

#digital art #fantasy art #character portraits #it's ALL the same guy !#my art #the emperor #before dawn : the age of the gods #i might have the timeline stashed somewhere idk #anyway. it's funny to me that it takes him ten thousand years to realize he can be a cat.#and then a few more thousand years to realize he can be an inanimate object.#and then eventually he goes back to being a guy.#just some dude.

17 notes · View notes

usetheeauthor · 2 months ago

Text

Kinktober Day 16: Facesitting + Pregnancy

Burned!Aegon II Targaryen x Hightower!Mistress!Reader

Summary: On the verge of losing you, Aegon shows you just how valuable his mouth can be to serve you.

Warnings: 18+ smut, oral sex/facesitting, passionate sex, sloppy kisses, pregnant!reader, targcest, implied age gap, aegon calls reader “auntie” so auntie kink, cum-eating, finger sucking, fingering, lactation kink, pathetic!softdom!aegon, some dub-con elements, mutual orgasm (phantom orgasm for aegon), no c*ck!aegon, pregnant body worship, nipple play, brief thigh humping, surprise guest: Larys being a creeper

You watch him being fed with a scowl on your face. He looks so pathetic now. Whimpering and groaning in bed after nearly costing his loyal men the battle by being stupidly reckless.

There are many things you regret and his frail condition is a constant reminder of those faults. Never should you have laid in bed with Aegon II Targaryen, your half-sister Alicent’s son—your nephew. And should you have been tempted to befall the Targaryen’s incestuous sins than rather it have been with the mightier Aemond Targaryen.

A pity that you’ve done so all in the pursuit to bear a babe with hair of silver simply because you admired the beauty of a family you’d once heard bedtime stories about, dreaming that one day you’d marry your dragon prince. But, alas, the Gods did not have this in your favor and to spite them you lusted. Your punishment: you’ll have your silver-haired babe…however your supposedly beautiful dragon prince was now incapacitated. He is not used to you. And now that there’s been whispers of Queen Rhaenyra planning an attack on King’s Landing, it was about time for you to disappear and live life somewhere comfortable. Like Essos.

You hoped to be free of all this. All the mess your father has caused and risked your family’s extinction. But then you learned of Larys’ plans to quietly leave for Essos with Aegon and you fumed at the thought of being haunted by this war despite the distance.

You waited as the caretakers filed out of the room so you could have a moment alone with the broken man, arms crossed to your chest you paced to and fro.

Aegon is first to speak, a small smile on his face. “Darlin’, I was worried I wouldn’t receive a visit from you again. You’ve not entered my chambers in days. Months. Is it that you could not stomach seeing me this way? In such pain?”

You roll your eyes at his arrogance, walking over to his bedside. “You’re correct in the sense that I did not wish to see you in this light. But it isn’t for reasons regarding seeing you in pain. Rather I refused to see how weak you’ve become. I feared it to be detrimental to my health which in turn could affect the babe. I’ve finally gained the courage to do so because in a way I’ve been blessed and cursed by the Gods. You’re no longer the man I desired and yet I still carry your child. That is my punishment. But I’ve been blessed to be free of my desires for you and the…customs of your family.”

Aegon could only watch you with wet eyes at your confession. He searches your features pleadingly, hoping he can find deception in them. You couldn’t possibly feel this way towards him. You love him! He knows you do. You wouldn’t fuck him the way you did. You wouldn’t have held him the way you did. He knows you care.

You straighten up before slowly inching away. “I’ll be taking my leave at dawn—”

“No, no, no, no….” He chants over and over like a broken record, grunting as he sat up in his bed to reach for your hand and squeezing it tight. “You cannot leave me! I am your King! And I command you to stay by my side. You carry my child; the possible heir—”

“I’ve done no such thing.” You hiss.

“B-but you said…” He says, trailing off to stare at your protruding belly.

“As far as we’re both concerned, this depravity between you and I has never transpired. No one will ever know—”

“Please, no!” He cries, tears finally streaming down his face. They sting as they trail along the open wounds running across one half of his face but nothing could hurt in comparison to your rejection. “Don’t leave me. I do not wish to be alone. Everyone’s left me. Helaena, my grandfather, my hand, my mother, b-brother—you’re all I have left.”

“I will not take this responsibility,” You say, ripping your hand from him. “You have Larys. I know of your plans to leave for Essos. To walk amongst the ashes once the dust settles. I no longer have it in me to remain complicit to this war. I will raise my child somewhere where they shall never have to fear the weight of the crown.”

“Please, Auntie,” Aegon sobs, trembling. “I love you.”

“That’s unfortunate.” You whisper, turning your back on him.

You hear a loud cry behind you and all of a sudden you feel a pair of arms wrapped around your upper torso just below your bosom, holding you firmly.

“Let me go.” You hiss through gritted teeth, gripping his injured arm tightly but he simply yells out and holds you tighter.

“I can still be of use to you, Auntie. Maybe I cannot provide you with any more children but I’d live the rest of my life serving you, pleasing you.” He says, wet face pressed against your back.

“I require no such thing from the likes of you!” You whine, squirming and kicking.

Aegon pins you to his bed, placing wet kisses all over your exposed neck as you try to fight him off. He works on disrobing your clothes and you slowly give in to him, biting and sucking on his bottom lip while he tries to tear off your clothes. It takes him sometime as his fingers shook—-whether it was from pain or impatience you aren’t sure.

While you pull your dress off from over your head, he continues to trail kisses down your body. Aegon pays special attention to your round belly, one hand rubbing it tenderly. His free hand glides between the valley of your breasts, before clawing at the nearest breast. His fingers gently pull and flick at a hardened nub and it tears a guttural moan from your lips. You’re incredibly sensitive there.

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispers against your stomach, snaking up your body again to capture your nipple in his mouth. Your back arches, hands entangling in his hair while being cautious not to dig your nails in his scalp.

Aegon slurps. He drinks of your sweet milk that flows graciously from your teat. It spills from the corners of his mouth as he gratefully moans and whines against you.

“Oh, Aegon, I love you. I still love you,” You mewl, grinding down on his thigh between your legs. “I’m so sorry.”

He shows you that he accepts your apology, sticking his tongue in your mouth once more. You can taste your milk on his tongue, sucking on it earnestly.

His fingers part the fabric that separates your wet pussy from him and once he tests the waters—running a ringed finger through your folds—he plunges his longest finger inside you and immediately begins to work.

You gasp and his hand in your hair forces you to look in his eyes, to stare at his partially burnt yet still beautiful face. His mouth falls open after how tight and wet you are, missing that feeling of you around his cock. But somehow, it’s as if he can feel a phantom sense of pleasure coursing through his body.

He mimics your cries. Every whine, whimper and gasp thrown back at you until it’s as if he were competing with you.

Just as you felt like you were on the brink of cumming, he pulls his finger out of you and displays it over your face as if to brag. Your sticky wetness drips from the thick digit and you stick your tongue out to capture the essence on your tongue. Impatiently, you grip his wrist with both hands, lowering it to your mouth so you can suck on his middle finger as if it were the tastiest treat. You don’t even care about the metallic taste of his ring or the way he clashes against your teeth.

“My beautiful Auntie,” He praises with a groan. “I knew you could never leave your king. God, I need to suffocate between your legs. I’d die a happy man.”

He positions himself against his level pillows and beckons you towards him. “Please, love, I need you to ride my face.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” You say, brushing strands of hair that clung to his sweaty tear-stained face.

“You could never. No matter how hard you try,” He says with a warm smile. “I’ll always know you care.”

He sinks his finger into the thick of your thigh like a quiet order and you soon oblige, crawling over his body before making your way to hover over his face.

He lets out yet another thankful whine before he begins feasting on you. One arm coils around your thigh to keep you in place and bring your weight fully against him while the other trails up and down your naked body.

The pleasure becomes so overwhelming that you begin to grind and roll your hips against his face and he’s pleased beyond his reach, tears of joy prickling the corners of his eyes.

“Aegon! Fuck…p-please.” You’re sobbing now, holding onto his hair for dear life.

Your milk begins to flow once more, streaming down your body and in between your legs. The mixture of your honeyed juices along with your milk is an intoxicating concoction that has Aegon humping the air.

“I’m close! Oh, Gods, I’m going to cum all over your pretty face.”

“Yes, cummm, Auntie. Cum for me. Mmm.” Aegon hums eagerly. now both of his large hands held you down against him.

It’s as if he feels your pleasure through him, too, because the moment your eyes cross and you gush into his mouth. He begins to tremor and moan as well.

Both your sobs and gasps battle out until they mingle into one symphony. You continue to ride him until you’re satisfied that the aftershocks have ceased.

Pulling off of him, you immediately check on his well-being, cupping his face in your hands and examining him on each side. He laughs, placing a hand over yours.

“Relax, I’m just fine. Maybe a little sore but that comes with a territory,” He says before sighing happily. “How does life in Essos sound? You, me, our child…away from the war. Fuck it all.”

You smile, shaking your head as you aren’t sure whether he’s being serious or not but nonetheless you kiss the top of his forehead.

Unbeknownst to the two of you, Larys had been listening in the whole time, peeping through the crack of the door at your sensual tryst. Cum soils his hands as he stared at them angrily once he’s gained the clarity to see you as a threat to his standing.

416 notes · View notes

twizzie-lairs · 10 months ago

Text

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 11)

Have a nice big chapter/part for the weekend! :D

Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

Part 11:

Did.. did Charlie just say... Alastor?

You felt someone poke your face, multiple times, all at once, "Hey, Hey, miss bandage face, you good?"

You blink rapidly, being pulled out of your stupor and laugh awkwardly, "Ah haha, uh yeah. Yup, I'm good... Haha, thanks Angel.."

Angel just squints at you, not convinced of your act at all but just sighs and says, "Alright, whatever you say, weirdo.." and then returns back to chatting with Husk.

Vaggie, who was sitting next to you struck up a conversation, "Are you really sure you're okay to be up and around already? You look like you saw a ghost or something."

You briefly glanced at the radio that was sitting on the mantle on the wall before returning your attention to Vaggie, "Yeah, being up was much better than sitting doing nothing, I thought I was going to waste away if I didn't do something."

Vaggie sighs and nods her head, "I know the feeling."

"And.. I swear I thought I heard Charlie mention the name Al-"

"Alastor! You're back! We have a new guest staying at the hotel! Come say hi!" Charlie shot out of her seat as soon as she saw Alastor's shadows start to manifest, signaling his return.

You felt your blood run cold as your suspicions were confirmed. Yes, she just said Alastor. How common could that name be down here? This is just a coincidence, surely- Of all names!

"My, my dear Charlie, you seem quite excited! I haven't seen you bouncing off the walls like this in ages!" Alastor chuckles as he allows Charlie to practically drag him over by the wrist to the group.

He sounds like a radio host...

Your breath starts to quicken as Charlie guides him over to you, his aura feels so oppressive, unlike any Overlord you had ever met before... But what made your hair really stand on the back of your neck was the static noise that filled the air as he got closer. You felt your eyes shake and your gut sink in your stomach.

What was this feeling?

You gulp and look up, eyes wide, looking like a deer in headlights as you make eye contact with this "Alastor".

"Go on! Introduce yourself!" You felt Charlie nudge you excitedly, in an attempt to nudge you out of your frozen state.

On his face, a large, creepy grin/smile- (if you could even call it that) grew even larger on his face - a feat you didn't even know was possible. You felt like you should be scared but then... It dawned on you.

That feeling in your gut dissipated instantly and it felt like a weight got suddenly lifted off your chest.

This was Alastor. This was your Alastor.

Tears start rolling down your face uncontrollably as your body is racked with sobs.

"Heyyy! Hey! It's okay, (y/n)! I know Al can be a wee bit intimidating sometimes but I promise he's not a bad guy! Well... mostly.. haha..." Charlie trails off with a nervous chuckle as she scrambles around the lobby to find you some tissues to dry your tears.

Upon hearing your name said out loud, a loud record scratch filled the air.

"Haha... ha...Charlie, dearest! My, you'd think the years are catching up to me! Was that some sort of joke? Why, I didn't know you wanted to become a comedian! Did you say.. (y/n)? That must be a mistake. I've only ever known one person by that name and they surely couldn't have ended up in Hell of all places!" Alastor chuckles, the laugh track coming from his staff warping as he hovers over Charlie with an intimidating aura- thinking she was playing some sort of sick joke on him.

Charlie whips around to see Alastor up in her face and then she scrambles back, "Woah! What? Alastor! Gods, no, why would I joke about our new guest? That would go against everything i'm trying to do here!"

Alastor's gaze darts over to you, "You see, I think this '(y/n)' and I need to have a chat..." His eyes narrow as he makes quotation marks with his fingers as he says your name.

He walks towards you and grabs your wrist with force, finger like claws starting to dig into your arm- despite protest from Charlie and Vaggie to let you go- to stop harassing their new guest because you were still quite injured and fragile. Even Angel and Husk got up from their seats at the bar after hearing the commotion in the lounge and started yelling at him to stop hurting you because it was very apparent that you were in pain with how rough he was handling you.

Then, with a snap, he teleports you and himself up to his radio tower- away from all the commotion.

Alastor slams the door shut with a fury that you've never seen before, and locks it to make sure you won't even try to make a feeble attempt at an escape.

He was powerful. Alastor knew he didn't really need to lock the door because with his power, he could vaporize you before you even thought of making a dash for the door. He did it as an intimidation tactic because he knew the fear it instilled in his prey.

Now, walking towards you, he pointed his staff at your chest, and leaned in close to your face. Strange static and symbols fill the air as he and his antlers grow in size, towering over you.

"Now... who are you really? You get one chance to make a feeble excuse before I kill you and broadcast your screams for all of Hell to hear, for making a mockery of my dear (y/n) by taking the name of my beloved and masquerading around Hell- thinking you can show up here like this to try and mess with ME- tHe RaDiO DEMON."

You see dark shadows and tentacle-like masses appear, and you stumble backward until your back hits a wall, never breaking eye contact with him- your lip quivering in fear.

"I.. But- It... is me...hun... I missed you so much..." You whisper with a somber smile that's quickly warped into an ugly crying face. The unrelenting tears keep rolling down your face, and your left hand reaches up towards his even more demonically altered form that towers over you in a desperate attempt to get him to recognize you.

Before you can touch his face, one of his hands snatches your wrist and pulls it closer to himself to examine the sparkle that caught his eye as you started to reach out to him, roughly jostling you and lifting you up in the air by your wrist as a result.

You wince briefly at the pain in your wrist and shoulder joints as he examines your hand when you remember you were wearing your ring. You never took it off all these years.

You could hear his breath hitch just ever so slightly over the static as he gently put you down and let your feet touch the floor again.

Alastor realized that the ring on your left ring finger was the exact one he had gotten for you- the one he put on your ring finger right before he buried you right the night you were brutally assaulted and murdered back when he was alive.

He slowly morphed back into his "normal" form. (Normal for Hell, that is, this was an entirely new look for him from what you remembered when he was alive).

The shock dawning on him that it really was you was apparent as he took a few steps back, still holding your hand. He looked at you in disbelief, the look of pure shock was just like how you had looked at him initially in the lobby.

Then suddenly, he pulled you into a warm embrace, "My dearest... I am so sorry for hurting you. My darling... whatever are you doing here? Someone like you doesn't belong here!"

Now, holding your face in both of his hands, he wiped your tears with the most gentle expression on his face, a stark contrast from the nightmarish demonic one just a moment ago. and you could almost swear you could see the slightest traces of a misty look in his eyes as he held you.

His claw-like fingers slightly dug into your face, but not enough to hurt, as he examined your new appearance, his gaze turning from soft into a hardened expression once again. Almost snarling, he began to ask you again, "Tell me, darling, tell me the name of the gods forsaken angel bastard that cast you down from Heaven. I will find a way to make them pay. I'll make them ALL pay for this... NO ONE will ever harm you again..." The strange symbols and glitchy auras were threatening to come out again.

You sniffled, still trying to calm down your tears, which immediately made him halt in his tracks and turn his attention back to you at this moment.

You looked at the ground, and you knew you couldn't avoid this conversation forever, "Hun... I... Before we met... there was something I never told you-" Before you could finish, you felt your legs start to wobble underneath you- the adrenaline was starting to fade and you were starting to feel some of the pain from your previous injuries come back to you.

"Please, my love, take a seat first." He guided you to a set of a table and two chairs. Ever the gentleman, he pulled your chair out for you and helped made sure you were alright before he sat down across the table from you.

You put your hands on the table, a signal he immediately picked up on as a sign to envelop your hands in his. You looked at him in the eyes with a look of shame that scrunched up your face as you prepared to tell him the truth, "Alastor, hun... I never went to Heaven..."

You swore you heard another record scratch before a quiet hum of static filled the air again. Alastor chuckled, "Oh my dear, never lost your sense of humor, I see!"

A look of even deeper shame washes over your face as you break eye contact with him and stare at his hands that held your's on the table, "It's true. Alastor..." You sigh deeply, feeling an aching pain in your chest, not only from your injuries but also from the mental anguish you were dealing with as you shakily begin to explain everything about your past. Your shitty family and messed-up inlaws. Your narcissistic, unloving, and abusive ex-husband that you killed.

You painstakingly revealed every single minute detail. You told him everything.

-> Part 12

Tag List:

@mysticwitchcraftco @lil-bexie @lonely-burger @cherry-cola-100 @angelxx7 @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 @avitute @justhellacesome @mcrtrashfan @spookysisters

2K notes · View notes

ddejavvu · 10 months ago

Note

OMG SPENCER REUNITING WITH HIS POPULAR! HS CRUSH.

disclaimer: both characters are well over 18 years of age, but it's mentioned that they knew each other when their age gap was of significance as spencer was young for a high school student.

Spencer's not surprised his face doesn't jog your memory- after all, 11 looks very different than 29. But 18 years later, and you're standing in front of him, 34, your brows wrinkled ever-so-slightly in the middle as you process his name.

"Are you-" You start, realization dawning on you as you stand before the team of FBI agents, "Oh my god, are you the Spencer Reid that went to my high school? The genius kid?"

"That was me," His mouth flattens in an awkward grin, and your eyes light up. Prentiss and Morgan's eyes do the same, but Reid is pointedly ignoring them.

"Wow," You gush, "You helped me pass my physics exam! Oh my god, thank you, I wouldn't have graduated if it weren't for you."

"You're a fast learner," Spencer deflects, even if it's untrue. He'd spent hours coaching you on physics principles, but he didn't mind as it gave him more time to sit with you.

"You remember me!" You marvel, nervousness at the looming threat of your stalker momentarily gone, "I can't believe you're an FBI agent, that's so cool. Actually- I can totally believe that. But still! So cool."

"It's not as glamorous as it might seem on television," Spencer begins, but Derek stops his ramble short with a broad hand to the center of Reid's sweater-vest-clad chest.

"Don't listen to Pretty Boy. It's super cool- you should see him fire a gun. He's a great shot," He lies through his teeth, and Spencer's never understood the significance of the term bro until right this moment, "He's really good at kicking down doors, too."

"Woah," Your eyes glimmer, and Spencer's thighs ache just thinking about partaking in Morgan's favorite pastime, "So are you gonna be, like, my bodyguard until this guy's caught?"

"Oh, yes he is," Prentiss nods, her grin bright as she shoves Spencer forwards, "From now until that creep is locked away, Reid's gonna be glued to your side, Y/N."

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one-shot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid hc #spencer reid hcs #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid dialogue #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fanfiction #spencer reid smut

2K notes · View notes

notjustjavierpena · 1 month ago

Text

Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia: Chapter III

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: I'm excited to bring to you the next chapter! Happy reading!

Chapter Summary: In which you experience your wedding night and an uncomfortable conversation takes place.

Pairing: General Marcus Acacius x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Chapter warnings: +18, arranged marriage, historical sexism, probably historical inaccuracies, large age gap, religion in the form of Roman Gods, shitty parents, anxieties over wedding night, virginity loss, female masturbation, handjobs, piv sex, praise kink, dirty talk, painful sex but also not painful sex, creampie, politics, Marcus gets angry

Word count: 9k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57443332/chapters/154904269

Chapter III: You're a woman and a wife now

After you enter the room, Marcus closes the door to his night chambers with a soft click. He secures it to give the two of you an illusion of privacy despite the many servants walking up and down the halls that now belong to you as well, cleaning the rooms of any signs of guests so that new people can relish in festivities tomorrow too.

“I noticed you regained your appetite. Did you like the feast?” He asks as he starts undoing his sandals with steadier hands than you can muster right now in your anxiety-riddled body, untying them where they stop just underneath his knees until he can step out of them completely.

“Your cook is better than ours,” you compliment with a little smile, your arms crossed over your chest until you can hug yourself with your palms on your back. You try to self-soothe like when you had first met but the thought of the wifely duties that lie ahead makes your heartbeat pound in your chest in a dizzying fashion.

“He is your cook now too,” he delves into small talk, trying to make a mundane situation out of something that so evidently weighs heavily on you. He is just about to continue when you hold up your hand to stop him, reluctantly having let go of yourself to signal that you wish to speak.

“Marcus,” you start in a soft voice without knowing where the sentence will go, doing the utmost to make sure that you are not sounding as if you are going to refuse to share a bed with him in case of evoking anger in him. He watches you curiously, graciously allowing you to interrupt him all the while you swallow the lump in your throat, “I must confess that I am nervous.”

You can barely get the sentence out before tears start to well up in your eyes, your throat constricting as you find yourself on the verge of crying. You reach for some of the fabric of your tunic, clutching it desperately as you hold a sob at bay.

Marcus looks at you with sympathy that shouldn’t surprise you but still does despite the moment you shared the last time you were alone with each other.

“What bothers you?” He asks despite knowing the answer already.

“Is it not obvious?” You ask with a whimper, “I am dreading the thing that all wives so desperately long for on their wedding night. I have been told stories of blood and cries, of men being cruel in their passion, and— I know that it is my duty, that this is as important as the ceremony itself but it scares me. What if my body simply isn’t made for this act?“

It is odd to confess something so personal to a near-stranger but you suppose that there is no point in tiptoeing around the fact that you are united in marriage which demands the deepest form of vulnerability towards each other. A tear manages to escape your eye and it rolls down until it drips off your chin.

“Carissima,” Marcus soothes gently. He dares walk to stand in front of you, his bare feet quiet on the cold floor and even though he can potentially reach out to put his hands on you, he does not, “Goddess Nox has given us plenty of time to take things slowly before dawn. These stories you have heard… I wish you would not think of me as such a brutal man. Our chambers are not a battlefield.”

You reach up with the back of your hand to swipe away the tears that have started to continuously fall from your chin, catching some on your cheeks before they even manage to go so far. You feel a pang of guilt at your assumptions because Marcus is right and the proof is in the way he kissed you so carefully yesterday when you had asked.

“I’m sorry,” you cry unhappily and stare down at your feet again, hating the way you come off as a scared child. You are married to a general of the great Roman Empire, meant to exude grace and strength even when the two of you are alone in your home. Your home. These chambers will forever be yours too.

“I know this is difficult but this is something we must do to start our lives together as man and wife,” Marcus coos back at you. He dares to put a hand underneath your damp chin to tilt your head up again, looking into your eyes with his own that seems to be miles deep with their brown color. You whimper but he shakes his head, “No more of that. I will not have you remember your first night in these halls with remorse and terror.”

His hand moves up to cup your whole cheek with how large his palm is, and as you feel his warm and gentle fingers on your skin, you close your eyes and lean into the same kind of touch that had made you explore yourself in bed last night. He smiles as you melt a little, “Very good, that’s it.”

Your eyes shoot open again as he praises you so effortlessly, a warmth spreading through your lower body at hearing words you have never heard from any man before. A tiny drop of need pools in your belly, making you bold enough to make a request, “Will you kiss me like yesterday? Perhaps then I might relax more.”

Marcus nods. You move to remove the crown of flowers that secures the veil covering your hair. You place it on one of the many marble surfaces in the room, handling it with the care that comes from your superstition as to what would happen if you were to tear it. You do the same with the veil, draping it across a chair while Marcus waits patiently. No tears fall from your eyes anymore.

You signal to him that you are ready and you don’t flinch as he leans close, the tip of his thumb resting underneath your chin while the rest of his hand is spread across your face. He pokes his nose into your cheek, pecking you there with featherlight touches of his lips before gently going inward to capture your mouth.

The kiss is even better than yesterday. It makes you release the fabric of your dress in an instant, your arms coming up instinctively to wrap around your husband’s shoulders. You kiss him back with a desire that must have been asleep in your body because it wakes up as fiercely as linen catching fire.

“What do I do?” You pant when he gives you a moment to breathe, your faces barely an inch apart. You might drown in his eyes.

“You trust me,” he replies without hesitation and you can do nothing but nod slightly, so eager to follow orders that it terrifies you a little. You feel his strong hands bunch up the fabric of your tunic that’s draping over your hips as he captures your mouth once more, a soft moan leaving you as his tongue slips past your lips.

He leads you towards the bed without pulling away. You can taste the honey and fruit from the dessert on his tongue, smell him when he forces you to breathe through your nose when his mouth does not leave yours. He smells faintly of scented oil that a servant probably recommended after a shave along his neck, of sweat and of himself, which you will fall asleep and wake up to for many days to come. He has you not worrying about yourself for even a second, not even when one of his hands reaches for the woven belt around your waist to undo it with utmost care.

It sways in the air as it falls to the floor, lying forgotten for the maids to clean up tomorrow. He allows you a breath when he breaks the kiss but he takes the air from your lungs once more when his hands touch your shoulders. You feel lightheaded as he slips the tunic off of them, the soft fabric slipping down your arms and chest until it catches on your hips. You have never been this exposed to anyone before, the slightly cooler air outside of your clothes making your nipples harden and catch Marcus’ attention. He admires your bare chest without words at first but it makes you hesitate, knowing how effortlessly he had complimented your appearance when you had first met. However, when you reach up to cover yourself, he shakes his head.

“You are radiant,” he praises and warmth goes to your face, eyes dropping to the floor at the idea that he might mean it wholly. You gain a shred of courage, pretending that you haven’t looked at the floor again by fixing your gaze on your skirt. You work the draping fabric over the swell of your hips, ripe for bearing children if that is what he should want, and let it pool around your feet. You have already had your blood this month, so you have no garments covering your sex. Suddenly, you are more exposed than you have ever even seen the depictions of Venus. Does he find you just as beautiful now that you are in nothing but the golden jewelry that your mother said he had sent?

Without word, your instincts guide you to sit down on the large bed and Marcus waits patiently while you crawl back on the linen sheets. You move your arms back to support yourself, bending your knees slightly but not daring to let your legs fall open like you know you probably should. You consider the pose of a siren, legs together like a tail and laying to one side to show off the curve of your body.

“Seems like Venus has favored you. I shall wonder how your father has kept you in his house for so long,” Marcus finally breaks the silence but only to make you smile shyly, stirring up a little laughter and shortness of breath in your chest. Cupid seems to have hit you square in the chest with his golden-tipped arrow, filling you up with desire for your new husband when he says praise so effortlessly.

“Are you going to join me now?” You ask, finding that nervousness is best fought by being direct. You gaze at his face to read him but you have no clue how these situations unfold, so you are unable to read his mind and foresee his next move.

“You will not be ready,” he shakes his head. You narrow your eyes as you ponder what he means, watching him undo the knot of red fabric on his shoulder to slip off the top layer of his toga. He hangs it on the chair next to your matching veil.

“Ready? But I am in your bed,” you let him know of your confusion. When he turns around to face you once more, you gasp at the sight of his sex, the length of it. He is visible through the toga now that the top layer isn’t covering him up anymore. His cock is outlined by it from the way he has gotten hard in response to seeing you naked, a thing you knew was going to happen but never could have imagined what looked like.

“Come closer,” he says as he stands by the end of your bed. His tone has changed a little but you cannot confirm whether it has to do with him being aroused underneath the remnants of his clothes. It seems like a command now, so you follow through with a pounding heartbeat until your heels are pressing into the mattress right at the edge of the bed.

“What did you mean?” You ask.

“When you are alone,” he begins but the tone of his voice is still to the gentler side, his hand reaching out and hovering above your knee. He makes you gasp as he grabs it, carefully pulling it outwards until the most private part of your body exposes itself to him. His eyes only look down briefly, “Do you touch yourself here? Between your legs?”

You glance away quickly as your heart leaps into your throat. The images of last night flood through your mind and you feel embarrassed, so you shake your head in response, “No, of course not.”

“I don’t believe your words for a second, Carissima,” he chuckles, his dominant hand going up your thigh until he removes it altogether to catch your wrist. He moves your hand to rest between your thighs, “Show me what you do.”

You release a breath you didn’t know you have been holding, feeling the warmth of your cunt against your fingers and how it aches for you to caress the spots you like the most. Your pulse is everywhere now but mostly centered around your clit, the pearl-shaped nub that you have explored just the night before.

“I don’t do it long,” you babble nervously as you start to touch gently between your legs, two fingers rubbing in gentle circles over your clit. It makes you gasp a little, the sensations in your lower body heightened by being in another person’s proximity as you touch yourself, “I always stop right before… before something happens.”

“There’s no need to stop. Something beautiful happens when you keep going and get to that pinnacle,” Marcus teaches you with a kind expression, moving his hand to push your other leg out to the side. You are opened up to him like a lotus flower but he still doesn’t seem like he will move on top of you yet, crush you with his weight, and fall asleep afterward with horrible snoring that your sisters have joked about.

You start to feel familiar wetness increase between your legs, your fingers gliding over your cunt easier and making you speed up your touches as the pressure increases. Marcus sees it from the way your slit glistens in the dim light of the oil lamp on the nightstand. He encourages you, his cock even more prominent underneath his clothes, “If you have touched between your thighs, you will know of what I speak. I see it now, the signs of your body welcoming intrusion by making itself warm and wet for me. It will feel like you are missing something… I assure you that I will give it.”

You furrow your brow at those words while you stroke yourself and feel a flutter of pleasure intense enough to make you moan, Marcus’ eyes dropping to his own lap where his length twitches. He readjusts himself with a soft groan and then something clicks. You do feel exactly like he said, perplexed by why you have not noticed the gaping emptiness all the other times you have done this.

Experimentally, you reach lower to prod a finger at your entrance and you groan at the way it slips effortlessly inside yourself. You aren’t sure what to do next, letting the finger stay still inside of you as you get used to the unusual pressure, but the heel of your hand starts grinding down onto your clit in earnest.

Marcus steps a little closer at the temptation you bring him with your growing pleasure. He squeezes your thigh and you nearly laugh in surprise when you can feel your walls squeezing your finger, “Will I not hurt you if I… grip you with my…”

You cannot say any of the words you know. Cunt, heat, sex. It somehow feels more exposing, more intimate in a way than the physical gestures you are performing for him. You hear him laugh but his eyes are not cheerful when you find them, instead, they’re dark with lust and you squeeze your digit again.

“On the contrary,” he touches himself on top of his toga, his stomach rising and falling faster than just a moment ago when he didn’t have a hand on himself, “It’ll feel like I was made for nothing else.”

There’s the familiar gathering inside of your belly. Sweat prickles at your skin, pleasure steadily blossoming from inside of you as you reach a point of no return. This would be where you would stop back home, leaving you sensitive and emotional as you forced sleep onto yourself. This time, you chase the feelings that terrify you.

You feel like the most fragile person ever; like you are made of clay that might shatter at any moment. You clutch at the sheets with your free hand, Marcus’ eyes sure to make you succumb to how brittle you are as he watches intensely. You bite your bottom lip, a small whimper escaping you as you teeter on what you have always shied away from.

“Don’t stop,” he urges when you hesitate for less than a second. His breathing is ragged now, synchronized with your own as you suddenly realize that you are doing the same thing. He seems better at controlling it than you, “Let it come, so we can enjoy each other.”

You cannot breathe, snapping for air as you press a little harder on your hard clit. You want to squeeze your eyes shut but then you’ll miss the look on Marcus’ face as he sees you come undone, so you power through and, and… and—

A cry of surprise and pleasure leaps from your chest as you find release. You lift your hips to meet your hand, your index finger slipping out of you as you instinctively know to focus on your pulsing clit. It is like nothing you have ever felt before, going on for several maddening seconds where you don’t know whether to chase more or stop when you can do nothing but tremble from the sensation.

The linen on the bed is wet underneath you and a cockiness within you tells you that you could handle him tenfold if you wanted. You are disoriented by the heat ebbing out of your body, leaving you in a state of daze and a mix of emotions that you cannot fathom has nothing to do with the wine during the feast. You let your hand rest on your stomach, feeling your panting underneath it and suppressing a giggle that bubbles up all the way from your belly.

“Will it be like that every time?” You ask and stretch your legs to let your feet hang out over the edge.

“It can be,” he replies with slight amusement, hiding a lopsided grin. He is standing with his knees brushing against the bed, having itched to get as close as possible without overwhelming you and perhaps scaring you off. He lets your foot brush his toga, “However it might get better with time and practice.”

You stare at him in disbelief, not sure if you believe that there’s something even better awaiting you somewhere in your future. You stare down between his legs where he must be aching like you’ve been several times in the past. You are already aware that you are wrong in the assumptions you have about pleasure because you’ve learned so much in less than ten minutes. How will it feel when he gives it to you?

“Can I touch you?” You boldly ask and slowly find the confidence to sit up, feet planted on the floor. You are so close to his lap, “When you are undressed?”

“You can,” he nods, not able to hide the surprise on his face as you look curious above all else. He undoes the belt around his waist and lets it clatter to the floor, and you watch with nervous breath how he lets his own garments slip from his body until the whole of him is revealed. It is fascinating to see a man like this, much different from the statues around Rome and particularly where you sometimes have felt scared to look.

He steps between your knees, looking down at you and the height difference should be intimidating but is not. Instead, there’s the calming reassurance of being watched and guided as you lift your hand to rest your palm on the softness of his stomach. He has muscles there, just a little less toned than what the working men back at the village sport. His arms are what hold his tremendous strength, the effects of carrying a sword or spear on the battlefield. He is gorgeous, you think to yourself while curiosity and unexpected heat stir in your loins.

Your eyes wander while your palm skims lower. They follow the sculpt of his torso, a long scar weaving itself around his hip distracting you until your gaze settles on the sight of his erect cock. It is much larger than you expected - thick, long, and intimidating but somehow also beautiful - and the thought of it entering you brings new anxiety to your body and mind.

“You are nervous,” he points out, chest rising and falling slowly as you explore the fine hair on his skin which becomes thicker the further down on his abdomen they are. You run your nails through the trail just below his navel, looking up as his cock jumps at the contact.

“I try not to be. I’d rather be curious,” you tell him, finally bold enough to touch him where he is hard and straining. You wrap your fingers around his generous girth. He is warm in your hand as you stroke him lightly to simply feel the weight of him and it takes little else before he lets out a low, appreciative groan. The confidence his response gives you makes your mouth water but despite what your brain tells you to do, that seems over the line right now.

Instead, you look up at him with big eyes as you continue in a rhythm that he seems to like because you can hear the catch of his breath. You think he might stop you when he covers your hand with his own but instead, he adds slight pressure to guide you in how he likes to be touched.

You hadn’t thought this was how everything would go down. There’s a strange form of equality between the two of you when you are naked together, a comfortable feeling in your chest at the idea of a whole night of giving and taking pleasure from each other being before you. What you had gathered from what Cassius so disgustingly had tried to explain to you whenever you were by the river alone, it was supposed to be a cruel act for the woman. This is not cruel.

Eventually, Marcus’ breathing has become labored and you know that he is within reach of his own pleasure. However, he tightens his grip on your hand to slow down your movements much to your confusion.

“You’re a quick learner, almost too quick,” he says with a warm chuckle, removing your hand from his cock. There’s a bead of clear liquid at the tip, threatening to drip down onto your thigh. The room somehow smells sweeter when the both of you have been so close to experiencing a peak together.

“Why did you stop me?” You ask curiously and let your hand drop to your lap. You can still feel his warmth radiating from his heated skin, it glowing with a sheen of sweat already.

“I don’t want this to be over yet,” he explains with a few controlled breaths that seem to calm him. His jaw clenches as if he is in pain but he doesn’t sound like you have done anything wrong, “And it will be if I lose myself.”

“Am I… are we ready now?” You question once more.

“Lie back,” he orders with a nod. You do as you are told and he joins you on the bed with confident grace, as if he has done this a million times before, the mattress dipping underneath him. Gently, he pushes on your chest to make you lie down on your back. When you are comfortable, he lies down next to you with his body turned towards you.

You see him come closer and meet him halfway, pressing your lips to his in a kiss even deeper than the first you’ve shared with him. He makes a noise of approval at your eagerness, cupping your face with a single giant hand while you cup the back of his head with both of your own. You try to initiate more kisses but suddenly his lips descend to your throat, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he pecks along the sensitive skin of your collarbone too. You start to feel impatient for another high with him, another peak of pleasure to dance its way through your veins.

“Marcus,” you say with your fingers in his hair, “I’m ready.”

“Let me make sure,” he says while the hand on your face settles on your thigh instead. He rakes his fingernails across your skin when he goes inwards, causing you to gasp at the idea of what he means. Are you wet for him? Yes, you are. You know you are.

Two fingers slide between your legs. He parts your thighs slightly to gain more access and then simply feels the slick that has been dripping from your cunt since you kissed him fully clothed. A gasp leaves you at the feeling of being touched by a man in a place that you’ve been told is your most private. In return, a smile spreads across his face and a satisfied hum escapes him.

“You’re ready,” he whispers with his gaze fixed on you. Teasingly, he holds his fingers up before you and turns his wrist so you can see your wetness shine in the light. He then puts his digits in his mouth and licks them clean, to which you want to hide your face with a squeak. He describes you as ripe and sweet, juicy like the peaches in the Summer, all the while he shifts his weight and positions himself between your thighs.

Feeling him like this - the skin of his rough thighs, the coarse hairs that feel nothing like yours as they grace your softness - makes a fresh wave of nerves wash over you. It feels like there’s suddenly a very short time to prepare for what you have come to understand will be a transformative experience. You start to tremble, looking down between Marcus’ legs and wondering how on Earth you are supposed to allow him into your body. Above you, you hear him say your name but it sounds like you’ve been trapped inside a bell jar.

“We will go slow,” he promises when you look like a hunted doe. He has placed his hands on your thighs to soothe you, letting his calloused palms skim up and down your skin, but you tense up even more since he has barely touched you before. You swallow as he goes on, “You will guide me with your comfort. If anything hurts, I promise it’ll only be for a moment.”

“You will stop if I tell you to?” You ask with uncertainty. A part of you already knows that you will try to power through no matter the pain.

“Yes,” he promises and removes his hand again when he realizes its effect on you. He places it on your chest instead, feeling your unsteady breaths underneath it, “But I need you to relax, Carissima. Take a deep breath and tell me what you fear.”

You do as he says, heaving for a large mouthful of air that makes your heartbeat settle down slightly as it fills your lungs. For once, you don’t shy away from his gaze as you talk about lying with him in such explicit terms. You chew your bottom lip after a few breaths, “What if it doesn’t fit?”

Marcus laughs and you feel embarrassed. He shakes his head as he notices, leaning over you to hover just above your lips. You hold onto the arm on your chest as he reassures you, “It’ll fit, I promise on the Gods. Your body and mine were made for this; for the act of making beautiful children.”

You decide to be brave and kiss him now that he is so close, and slowly, as you taste his mouth again, you tangle together in a way that makes sense for what you are about to do. Marcus is close enough to map out every detail of your face, one hand on your hip and the other resting just above your head. You, on the other hand, have grabbed both his bare shoulders, holding onto him tight enough for your fingertips to dent his skin. He has promised that it will be okay if you scratch him with your nails, that he, if he is completely honest, likes that sort of thing.

“Okay, I’m ready,” you say with determination, feeling the way Marcus lets go of your hip to run his fingers through your folds again. You moan softly as he lets his hand gather wetness, your eyes going down to watch him take his cock in hand and smear it with slick.

“Don’t look down there, look at me,” he guides you gently as he prods against your slit. You force yourself to meet his eyes again, a gaze in them that holds a mix of desire and restraint. He takes a deep breath that is followed by him starting to push forward, the feeling so intense that you whimper while keeping eye contact.

“Shh,” he soothes during the initial sensation. There's a painful sting as the head stretches your walls that have never known such intrusion. It makes you breathe rapidly and shudder from discomfort until a cry leaves you when you are breached. Tears form at the corners of your eyes as it burns. It’s a feeling that you can’t describe, a fullness that feels unnatural and natural at the same time. He pushes beyond the thick head and it makes you tighten around him, so much he has to still completely. He looks angry but he isn’t, his teeth gritted as he continues to push despite the danger of finishing, “You’re tight around me, try to relax.”

“S-sorry,” you attempt to follow his instruction, try focusing on the exciting intensity of his gaze, the delicious way he looks at you because he wants you. His weight on you is so heavenly, his skin is warm against yours that is riddled with goosebumps despite not being cold, and the sound of his breathing reminds you of the way your own breath is rapid when you pleasure yourself.

Yet when you seem to think that the worst is over, he goes a little faster with feeding you his cock and the pain intensifies by blooming into something more sharp. The air inside your lungs feels trapped as your breath hitches but you force it out until it releases into a pained cry. Mostly, you just want to stop but you’re reminded that this has to happen if the marriage is to be successful and legitimate. So instead, you clutch at Marcus’ shoulders and whine.

“Am I hurting you?” He asks, resting his forehead against yours and stilling his hips. You nod at first but then shake your head quickly afterward, unable to speak in case you’ll sob. He doesn’t seem convinced, “I’ll try moving. I won’t go further in before you can handle it.”

You nod in approval, your heart beating so fast it is making your mind feel clouded. He begins to move with gentle, shallow thrusts of his hips, his eyes glued to you in search of anything that might tell him that it’s too much. The first few moments have you thinking that you might split in half but you find that the repeated fill of your cunt makes everything turn into a dull ache as you get used to it. Your noises are pained yet soft, soon switching to quiet moaning as he moves inside of you.

“Doing so well,” he praises as you welcome him further without thinking. A sensation that you had thought would only be painful has kickstarted a different kind of feeling. It’s a warmth that spreads through your lower body, pleasure that mixes in with the rest in an almost insistent way. Marcus makes a noise that makes you clench around his cock, and he finds your mouth in a messy kiss, “I’m almost all the way in. It’s supposed to feel good. Does it feel good?”

You nod repeatedly as you feel connected to him in a way that you never thought you would with another person. He is so deep inside of you and the discomfort that you thought would persist is fading away fast, leaving only a tug of pleasure that tightens more and more. You close your eyes and squeeze them shut as you moan a little louder for the first time.

Without control of your body, your hips rise up to meet his and he fucks you a little harder. The friction is significantly more intense than what you have felt alone, but you can feel its effects mixing with your previous orgasm’s warmth. The room fills with the lewd sounds of your shared breaths and the scent of sex.

Marcus’ hand settles on your hip, his incredible strength hauling your leg over his own hip so he can switch up the angle. Meanwhile, his other hand reaches down and pushes hard down on the back of your thigh to open you up even further to him. He stretches so his upper body towers over you and rolls his hips with controlled desire, mouth hanging open a little in his breathless state as he concentrates on making the pain disappear completely.

It does a moment later. An involuntary moan leaves you when the head of his cock slides over a spot that seems different from every other place inside of you. Your eyes fly open after having been squeezed shut for so many seconds, fireworks going off in your peripheral vision. Your gaze moves down between your bodies to see a faint trace of red on his cock, setting your heartbeat into overdrive. You should be shoving him off now that you are bleeding but what the hell felt so good? He hits the same spot once again to make you cry out and crane your neck.

“You like that? Was that all I had to do?” He asks with a satisfied smirk, breathing raggedly on top of you as he treats you to even more of the same pleasure. You want to come again, your hips rising to meet his thrusts more insistently if it means him giving you pleasure like that over and over again without fail. As your pleasure starts building into another peak, a shocked laugh leaves you.

“How do you… How did you—?“ You start.

“I knew where I wanted to reach. Feel that? That spot is made for feeling good,” he explains with a voice rough with his own pleasure before you manage to finish your inexperienced question, “I wanna hit that over and over, fill you up so you can feel it there for days when I’m done.”

“Don’t stop,” you groan.

“I’m not going to,” he promises but instincts tell you to make sure, that if he even falters a little, you’ll feel the frustration of no release like you have since you discovered what is between your legs. You tighten your thighs around his hips, locking your ankles around the small of his back and the move makes Marcus growl.

He, who you are ready to call a master in the art of love, leans down over you and drives into you like a wild animal. You whimper but it isn’t of pain, the familiar feeling of ecstasy building rapidly between your legs again. He feels huge inside of you, the whole length of him throbbing against your overstretched walls.

And he kisses you, seemingly not in control of himself anymore when he feels the same pressure in his lower abdomen. It is messy and sweet and rough at the same time, your hands cupping his face until they automatically slide up into his hair. You can feel his chest rub against your breasts, your nipples more sensitive than they ever have been and you moan as a fact runs through your head. No man has ever been this close to you before. Only the sun’s rays or the clouds’ rain has been this close to you.

You come once more with this thought in your mind, the intense and warm feeling hitting you as suddenly as the snapping of a dry twig found in the sun. You arch your back with a groan, feeling it even deeper inside of you than before because it seems to be the spot inside of you that has triggered it.

“Oh! Oh Gods,” you moan into the air, Marcus’ lips having descended to your now-exposed neck and kissing with the same fervor as he had your mouth. His own noises have grown in volume, his cock seeming to respond to how your heat clenches around it. You have tears coming down your face without knowing why; you aren’t upset but rather quite the opposite. Everything below your navel is sensitive, slick, and used up.

You feel it as he goes rigid as you have just done, a rough growl leaving him as he has his own orgasm. However, you instantly realize that Cassius forgot to mention something in his horrible renditions of love-making; the sticky, warm waves that come along with a man’s ultimate pleasure. You gasp in shock, looking down between the two of you as Marcus fills you up with his seed.

You cling to him, your hands grabbing at whatever they can while you whimper, and you stare at the milky white ring that forms around his length. He keeps going for a few thrusts more, and the noises coming from your connected bodies are on the verge of making you embarrassed. It’s squeaky and wet, but it’s not making you want to pull away. Instead, it makes you reach up to cup Marcus’ face so you drag his lips to your mouth and kiss him, the sensation of his seed inside of you making you feel more connected than ever.

You kiss for a moment before your husband buries his face in your neck. He leaves you empty when he softens, eliciting a weak gasp from you when you become aware of the sticky wetness smearing your inner thighs. Marcus pants against your already burning skin and chuckles without any particular reason. You are in awe of what has just happened, seeming to somehow know that this was the completion of the act.

This act, once so unfamiliar and feared, now feels like a revelation to you. The new dimension of pleasure, so uniquely intense and intimate, makes you wonder how anyone gets anything done when they can do this all the time. You are sticky with sweat, dizzy with tears and pleasure, and by the Gods, you want to do it again and again with him. He will not leave this bed until you get tired of feeling this way between your legs. You think of commanding him this but you are already aware that it is an impossibility. He would probably laugh at you but given the way he lifts his head and looks at you now, he might also follow through on your order by sinking back into the mess between your legs.

You miss his weight on you when he rolls off, the both of you staring towards the ceiling. The room becomes very quiet in the aftermath, torches and candlelight flickering around you. You have a hand on your chest, trying to calm your racing heartbeat to no avail and breathing rapidly to catch your breath. Your whole body buzzes, feeling like it is aglow and warm, and you dare sometimes look at your husband out of the corner of your eye. He looks the same but less surprised by the state he is in, clearly experienced and you find it all enticing when everything inside you has shifted.

You let your back and legs relax fully into the bed. Marcus watches as you stretch your body, and there is some kind of tension between you that you cannot put into words. You know it stems from the silence that is also between you, an unspoken game of who breaks it first, and when you dare peek at him, you find him staring right back at you. Your heart rate spikes once more but Marcus holds your gaze in a way that makes you unable to look away.

“Are you alright?” He asks after a beat. You see him look at you with a softness that reflects how vulnerable you must look right now. He reaches out to take your hand, brushing your knuckles with his thumb, “You are not in pain?”

“No. I– I’m fine,” you shake your head. You say the words and realize that they are true even despite your uncertainty at first. For now, your body feels afloat but you have a gnawing feeling that it won’t last. A thought enters your mind, “What do we do now? I mean, what does one do after being together like this?”

“Well, given our roles and the expectations placed upon our union, there’s a thing that I would like to do. I’d like to help you arrange yourself comfortably if you’ll allow me,” he gently releases your hand and shifts to sit upright beside you.

You give him a puzzled look, not sure what he is talking about but you nod. It’s natural to trust him, you find, and his proposition intrigues you, “Yes, of course.”

Marcus reaches for the pillow against the headboard on his side of the bed. He fluffs it with care before patting your thigh, causing you to follow your instincts and automatically lift your pelvis towards the ceiling. When you have given him the room for it, he slips the soft pillow underneath your hips to elevate them, resulting in them laying comfortably at a gentle angle.

Afterwards, he lies back down beside you but this time with his body facing yours. You try to smile at him but there’s embarrassment in your chest as the intention behind his act becomes clear. However, even as he senses your vulnerability, your new husband simply reaches for your hand again to kiss your knuckles. It is soft and intimate, it is kind reassurance in your time of transition.

A moment after, he guides you to rest your palm just below your navel and places his own on top of it, caressing where new life may spring after tonight if Goddess Juno has the both of you in her favor.

"The pillow will help," he says quietly as he gently feels the soft skin on your stomach, the skin made to carry a child, "To ensure that our union bears fruit. Our alliance is only strong if I put a baby in your belly."

The words remind you of how your partnership is a part of something much bigger than yourselves, something to do with your father’s power and greed that you aren’t sure if Marcus feels too. Yet despite the impersonal nature of your union, the General’s tone is gentle and speaks of more than just mere duty.

“And while we wait? What then?” You question, daring to entwine your fingers and feeling your chest flutter when he doesn’t protest.

“We may rest…” He suggests with a smile, “Or, if you prefer, we may talk. It is different in every marriage.”

There’s something about the way he words it that makes you feel more secure in your situation, that even if this is new territory, he is giving you permission to join in on shaping your relationship.

You nod, “I think I would like to talk.”

“Then talk we shall,” he agrees without question, “Tell me something about yourself.”

You let go of his hand to place both palms on your stomach, looking to the ceiling as you reminisce about the life you have left behind back home. You tell him about the river all over again, about the sparkles the sun leaves on the surface of it, so beautiful it makes it seem like you can pick them with your bare hands. You tell him about wine and bread from the market, about a secret orange tree that you think only you and your sisters know of, and then you tell him about your sisters who all married for love.

The latter makes Marcus shift slightly. A fleeting expression crosses his face before he gently clears his throat and gives you a small, hesitant smile to reassure you, “Do you think you’ll be happy here?”

You take a moment to mull it over. You don’t want to lie to him but he looks so hopeful and sad at the same time, “I suppose that there’s always going to be a part of me that is going to wonder what would have happened if I had followed my own path and married someone I was deeply in love with, but I hope I will find happiness here. Perhaps it would have been you anyway, you never know. I would be as lucky as my sisters then.”

You say the last sentence with a twinkle in your eye, a soft and playful smile on your face, and Marcus looks almost shy, the importance and duty that he usually carries crumbling. You take the opportunity to see further under the surface, “And what about you? Do you have family that you are close to? I couldn’t help but notice that there were no formal introductions at the festivities.”

He hesitates briefly before answering, “My parents passed when I was merely a child. Thus the military became my family in many ways. I’ve always admired their dedication to each other. The responsibilities for the men I command seem like the next closest thing.”

“I’m sorry about your parents,” you say sincerely, touching his wrist gently, “I suppose it explains your dedication.”

He looks modest as he smiles, “I suppose it does.”

There’s a comfortable silence in the large chamber. Marcus looks down at your hand, opening his palm to invite you to place your own in it. You take his hand without hesitation and it feels natural, a thing so calming and warm, which invites you to venture further into his world.

“May I ask you something?” You ask.

“Of course,” he replies.

“Our conversation was interrupted earlier by one of your men, and I wanted to ask what was whispered in your ear. I hope I am not intruding—“ You tiptoe into the conversation, hoping your curiosity doesn’t come off too strong.

He interrupts you, waving a hand dismissively, “We are husband and wife. I support the idea that we shouldn’t keep secrets from each other.”

“Yes. Yes, I quite agree with that,” you say with relief in your voice, “So you’ll tell me?”

“There was some unrest in the city today. The man was one of my men telling me that there’d been an incident - a confrontation - in one of the town squares. It led to the death of two of my soldiers.”

You gasp, “Gods! That’s terrible!”

“The loss is shameful and upsetting, yes, but the people are hungry,” he explains simply, “Even the smallest of disputes can escalate when tensions are high. When one feels unheard by leaders, one can be driven to acts one might never have considered before.”

“But surely Rome’s subjects know better than to challenge Roman authorities?” You note with your brows furrowed, suddenly finding yourself speaking words that you have heard too many times around the dinner table at your childhood home, "A firm hand might be necessary to keep the peace. If the people are allowed this kind of behavior towards the empire - and thus the emperors - they might sometimes need to be reminded of their place."

There’s a shift so small that you could almost miss it in Marcus’ expression but disappointment clouds his eyes. You notice it because he follows it by subtly slipping his hand out of yours. He measures you with his gaze for a moment, “You don’t truly believe that instilling fear with unyielding force is the right way to rule?”

You sense his disapproval and feel embarrassed flood your system. With warm cheeks, you sit up and stutter a reply, "I... I suppose that's what I've been taught. My father always says that strength and control keep the empire strong and unwavering."

“And if I ask you to look past your upbringing?” He says it casually but there’s a command in his voice. Suddenly, the security you had felt moments ago is washed away by the feeling of being a mere little girl.

You look down at your hands, not able to keep eye contact despite how close you have just been, "I didn't mean to offend. I don’t— I don’t think I have ever taken the time to consider other perspectives. My father has given little room for such discussion."

“Is that so?” He raises a brow, “And does he seek influence in Rome’s leadership?”

"Yes," you reply hesitantly, still yet unaware of the implications of your words, "He hopes that our marriage might help him gain favor, perhaps even become an advisor to the emperors."

“It seems like your father was unaware of the fact that I served under Maximus Decimus Meridius, a man who believed in ruling with honor instead of fear. He would have done himself a favor by seeking alliances elsewhere if he aligns himself with ruling through oppression. Perhaps he should have married you off to the emperors themselves,” he says firmly, jaw tight and words filled with frustration, tingeing on angry. They come out a lot more venomous than you think are his intentions yet they sting nonetheless and you have to bite your lip to keep tears at bay.

“I didn’t— I’m sorry, I was just repeating what I have always heard,” you stammer, swallowing around a lump in your throat. The vulnerability of your situation suddenly crashes over you like a wave trying to drown you, making you choke on a sob as his hard gaze scrutinizes you. You are young, barely out of childhood, and thrust into the role of a wife. You have never been expected to relay your views to anyone let alone a commanding general of the highest order in Rome.

For a moment, an uncomfortable silence fills up the growing distance between you. You try to shift away on the bed but there’s a sudden ache between your legs from the previous activities of your wedding night. It’s shameful to look back at him but you have no one else to turn to right now. A tear escapes your eye but you find the courage to say what you need to say even if it is with a dizzying heartbeat, “My whole life, I have been taught to be obedient, to serve along with my sisters. My mother even. I don’t know who I am outside of that.”

Marcus suddenly mirrors your expression of shame, evidently grappling with his own emotions behind his eyes. He gently lifts his hand to catch the tear running down your face until it threatens to drip down from your chin.

“Forgive me, I should not have raised my voice at you,” he says sincerely. He cups your cheek with a softening demeanor and you allow him, needing the affection and this is where you can receive it, “I know you have your concerns but I hope you can entertain the idea that this union might not just be a different cage.”

You nod, leaning your cheek into his gentle touch and earning a smile. There’s a promise beneath his words and despite everything, you allow yourself to feel hopeful. This man is not your father, actually far from it, and he is offering you something you are not used to; partnership and respect.

Instead of answering him, you chew on your bottom lip and try to find the same courage that made him apologize so you can address the ache in your lower body. The pillow under your legs is all askew. You try to busy yourself by straightening it, “It has started to hurt where you…— Is that normal?”

"It can be," he says gently, and the hand on your cheek goes to skim over your bare thigh in an attempt to soothe, "Your body needs time to adjust and recover.”

You pout as you automatically lie down again. You look like a child not getting their way, “Time to recover? Does this mean we can’t do it again?”

Marcus’ expression flashes with amusement at your eagerness. He raises a brow, “Eager, aren't we? I admire your enthusiasm, but it's important that you give yourself time to heal. Rest might help.”

“Surely there's something else we can do?” You only just abstain from pleading him, tilting your head.

“This, my dear wife, was your husband's subtle way of saying goodnight,” Marcus chuckles quietly and you find that all tension has slipped from the room once more. He dips down to kiss your forehead, the tip of his nose skimming down the length of yours. He stares into your eyes, only an inch from you, “Say it.”

You smile and kiss him softly, “Goodnight, Marcus.”

“Goodnight, Carissima,” he whispers.You go to sleep next to your general, the man who is slowly becoming the commander of your heartbeat, unaware that your conversation has changed the course of your father’s future gains from your powerful marriage.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

369 notes · View notes