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unheavenlyvision · 2 months

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BAD ROMANCE.ᐟ

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: gojo satoru/reader

𝐖𝐂: 9.4k

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m hurt you know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Correct.”

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

Sheepishly, you say, “Oh…well…I am.”

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

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

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

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

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

He thinks on it for a second, “No.”

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

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

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

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

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

★

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He picks up pretty quickly, “Hello?”

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

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

“–Satoru.”

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

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

“You okay?” He checks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Turning your head to the side, “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“–The same one?” Gojo cuts you off.

Humming out a, “Yes and–”

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

I know but–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh…” He feels bad now.

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

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

“Stop dating?”

Consistent in his confirmation, “Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Says you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

“We’re friends.”

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

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

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

Frown deepening, “You’re being serious?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Like what?” He plays dumb.

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

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

“Satoru,” you warn.

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

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

Humming at you, “Why not?”

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

He’s smiling smugly, “Then don’t.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” you nod.

“Hmm? Okay what?”

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

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

“Okay,” agreeing easily.

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

Again, agreeing, “Okay.”

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

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

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

Pouting at him, “Don’t be cruel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You need to stop kissing me.”

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

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

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

“Shuddup.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

“Why not?”

“Because it wasn’t even planned.”

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gojo, breathe.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gojo, you don’t have to–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…Like it,” you mumble out.

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

Repeating, louder, “I like it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You sure–”

Cutting him off, “–Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whine at him over it, “Please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trying again, “‘Toru, want– I want–”

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

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

“Feels– feels good, I–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#visionwrites #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader smut #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #satoru x reader #satoru x reader smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru x you smut #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #jjk x reader

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gguk-n · 18 days

Text

Transition (Charles Leclerc x Driver!Reader)

Part 2 of Replaced

Summary- After being kicked out of Ferrari rather rudely, Y/N must try to find a seat in the ever changing driver's market in the craziest year at Formula One till date.

{Reader's POV}

After leaving our home in Monaco, I spent the next couple of months regrouping with my team. I visited my family to clear my head; my mother always knew what to do in a difficult situation. She was the brains of the family. After a long and deep talk with her I realised what I wanted with the future. Number 1, I wanted to race in Formula One until I was 60. Number 2, I wanted a team that loved, valued and respected me as their driver. Number 3, last but not the least, I wanted to be paid more than what Ferrari was paying me.

Every team on the grid was open for picking except McLaren. Mercedes was losing their star driver, RedBull had to negotiate with Checo; the two teams I was eyeing right now. If I knew Horner and if I played my cards right, having a female driver on his team would change the dynamic and bring more spot light on the team. If Toto signed me, he would be replacing one iconic person with another; enough to make headlines.

The first race of the season hurt, I couldn't believe the next 24 races would be my last time in red, I couldn't fake the smiles. It hurt every time I saw Charles. We met for the first time since I left a day before Bahrain's media day. He looked as handsome as ever but his eyes held this deep seated sadness, you could see it. "Been a while" Charles almost whispered when our eyes met in the hotel. "It has, I've missed you" I replied. "I've missed you too" he almost cried out wrapping me in his arms. "The last few months were torture. You'll come home now, right?" he asked still holding me in his embrace. "Charles" I began, he pulled away, tears visible in his eyes, "I'll come back soon, mon tout. I need time" I mumbled. "How long will that be, mon cherie?" he asked. I wiped the tear that slipped out of his eyes, "The day I sign a team, I'll move back. I'll know my future and I'll finally be able to look at you without jealousy" I said. "OK" he nodded, kissing me for the first time since we met. "Je vous aime" he stated. "Je t'aime aussi" I replied back.

I finished P2 in the first race of the season. All the media and commentary were going crazy. It felt nice to finish P2. Max was fun to talk to post race during the cool down. He was always the more level headed one in our friendship. Max asked me about how things were between the two off us away from the prying eyes of the media who had already started to announce an imminent break up between the two of us. "He's been shit, since you left" Max spoke. "I'm sorry" I apologised. "oh no, don't apologise to me. I was just stating the obvious." he shook his head. "I heard you're talking to Horner" he commented. "Yeah, we're discussing but like I'm discussing with a lot of teams, honestly." I replied. "As you should, I think it would be fun....if we were team mates." he replied thoughtfully. "I wouldn't mind terrorising Charles in a RedBull" I laughed.

The next few races were quite memorable with me on the podium for every race. It was a proud feeling, a bitter sweet one though. Charles only saw me at race weekends but that was the nature of the sport, didn't mean that I didn't love him any less.

The talks with RedBull fell through since I wasn't able to bring in the kind of sponsors they wanted and the dream of driving in one too. Mercedes was very iffy, where Toto wanted to bring a new driver on the grid; while I was still effectively seatless. But Susie was a smart woman, she knew having me on the team after the void Lewis would leave, would do wonders since I was the first and only female driver on the grid in a really long time and having me would bring the similar kind of publicity, if not the same.

After months of back and forth, and negotiating; Toto agreed bringing a junior driver in too early wouldn't benefit anyone. I would race for Mercedes for the next 2 years and if the options opened up I didn't mind letting Toto have his little fantasy. My announcement would happen in Monza, the home of the tifosi. The perfect time and place. I had moved back in with Charles after the contract was signed. I did not tell him that I planned to announce it in Monza. Charles was just happy to have me back.

Mercedes made the announcement just before free practise, effectively ruining any plans the media had, it played in my favour and I had a ball. "You love drama don't you" Charles laughed. "What can I say? I have a knack for the theatrics" I laughed along. "Quoting Chandler are we?" Charles muttered kissing me as he said it. The days leading up to the race were crazy. As both me and Charles got ready to get into the car he said, "Can't wait to see you in black. You look hotter in black anyways" "Hope to be your teammate again in the future" I nodded as we put our helmets on. Charles won the team's home race. I missed the podium by a smidge, but knowing my future was secure didn't make the loss saddening.

As Charles got down from the podium to meet me, Arthur handed him something. "I thought, whether I finish podium or not I'd ask you this but as a 2 time Monza winner sounds so much cooler." he rambled. "What are you talking about Charles?" I questioned. He got down on one knee, the crowd went silent. "Will you Y/N Y/L/N do the honour of making me your husband?" he asked. I had tears in my eyes, "Yes" I nodded. Charles slipped the ring on my finger and kissed me. I could taste the champagne on his lips. I wrapped my arms around his neck and deepened the kiss while pulling his hair. We pulled away to a lot of hooting and screaming. "Wow" Charles exclaimed. "That's the hottest thing you've done till date, I think I'm hard" he said. "I'm staking my claim." I stated. "I'm always yours, now and forever" he replied. "Can't believe we'll have two Leclerc's on the grid next year." I commented. "Can't wait to race you Mrs Leclerc" he said kissing me again.

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miley1442111 · 2 months

Text

safe- a.hotchner

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summary: aaron had to make sure you're safe, can he get to you in time?

pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny! girlfriend! fem! reader

warnings: angst, fluff, suggestive mentions, angsty for a moment (I think that's it?)

not entirely proofread

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Aaron ran through the crowd, the only thing on his mind was you. Were you hurt? Were you dead? Were you even in there? Could he help you? Could he get to you?

Was he too late?

He could hear Derek shouting for him, pleading with him to slow down. He didn’t understand, none of them would ever understand. You had to be ok. You were his everything. He should’ve never fallen in love with you, it wasn’t right. You were Jack’s nanny. You’d been with them since Haley died. You’d supported them since Haley died. Then you turned into someone whoAaron loved being around, someone he trusted with his son’s life, and his own. Then he waited up for you on his nights off, when you had your nights off. Then you waited for him on late work nights.

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The door opening startled you, as it always did, but you just glanced to the hall and saw Aaron hanging his coat.

“Evening,” you called to him. “Or should I say morning?”

He sighed. “Shouldn’t you be out? Isn’t Jack at a sleepover?” He smirked.

“Not all young people only want to party,” you rolled your eyes, finishing up washing a dish and turning to him. “Hungry?”

“I can’t ask you to make me food-”

The nightly battle of getting him to eat something with nutritious value rather than old cereal while he looked over reports. “Nonsense. I have leftovers from Jack’s dinner, it’ll take me 10 minutes-”

His hand on your waist stopped you from moving. “You’re here to take care of Jack, not me.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing his hand off. “I know, remembering that would be a lot easier if you could take care of yourself,” you huffed, moving to start cooking something for him.

He sighed. “Y/n,” he scolded.

You didn’t answer, and just continued.

His hands circled your waist and you stilled. You felt his hot breath on your neck, and swallowed as the air became heavier, as the moment held more weight.

“Aaron,” you whispered, slow and steady as it came out of your mouth.

“No one ever takes care of you,” he said, a wolf-ish smirk on his face, one that you could definitely get used to.

“You do,” you shrugged, trying to get back to the task at hand.

“How? How would you like me to take care of you?” Aaron Hotchner was a man of iron-solid resolve, a man that couldn’t break under too much pressure, that wouldn’t break under too much pressure. But you? You were his undoing, you guided him through everything, knowing he was keeping you and Jack safe everyday made his days less unbearable.

You chuckled lightly and turned around to face him. Then you pressed your lips to his.

He could’ve sworn you tasted like heaven. Your hands running through his hair, his hands on your waist, his lips on yours. Nothing could’ve felt better.

He pulled back and smiled.

You smiled too.

--------------

“Hotch!” Derek shouted, finally getting a hand on him. “Jack is out of there, he’s safe!”

Aaron turned to him briefly. “Y/n isn’t out, she’s not here, is she Derek?”

“Who’s Y/n?” He cursed several times under his breath.

“His girlfriend,” you answered. You were banged up pretty badly, bruises and bleeding and dirt, but you were standing there. In front of him, you were real, you were alive. He opened his arms and you slumped into them.

“I tried my best to keep Jack out of it, I don’t know where he is, I just told him to run-” you spoke quickly, but he quieted you with a kiss to your head.

“He’s safe,” he promised. “You're safe too.”

You nodded, and buried your head in the crook of his neck as the team watched on in shock.

Aaron wasn’t planning on answering any of their questions, all he wanted was to have you and Jack home and safe. Where he could protect you.

--------------

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

#criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #bau team #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds fandom #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner fluff #thomas gibson x reader #thomas gibson #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction

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kierahn · 6 months

Text

DRIVEN. [ y ! assassin x m ! reader ]

[ nsfw, minors DNI ]

yandere! assassin x journalist! male reader

warnings :

nsfw

forced non-con [in bold letters]

dead dove

reader death

slight torture warning

semi-necrophilia ?

hi, i'm back after three months of dying🧍‍♂️ it might take me awhile before i post a fic again, but here's an update for you guys.

malachi was a man whose services could be availed with just the right amount of money. he isn't the type to settle for less, confident that he was beyond excellent at doing his job.

ask him to dispose of someone and it would be as if they never existed in the first place. most of his victims' bodies had never been found. that, or they would be beyond recognizable when found. traces of his victims' existence would be gone in a pull of a trigger, with only their names to be remembered by their loved ones.

you were a journalist, renowned for your boldness and endless pursuit for the truth. unlike malachi, your silence can't be bought by any amount of money. you never hesitated to shed light on several issues which made you a formidable force in the eyes of the elite. after all, a journalist who values transparency above anything is someone to be feared by their kind; shrouded with secrets that they dare not reveal to the media.

you were well aware of the risks that came with your job, but that never once detered your work. truly remarkable, but idiotic in a sense.

you knew that it would all come to bite you back someday. with all those companies that you had brought down and names that you have ruined; maybe this was your karma catching up to you.

even as you stood at the receiving end of malachi's gun, regret never once entered your mind. you will never regret challenging the elites. they were nothing but a bunch of cowards, hiding behind their status and disposing of anything that threatened to destroy it.

over the past few months he had been keeping a watchful eye on you, malachi hadn't expected you to barely flinch despite having a gun pressed against your forehead.

"what an interesting reaction," the male on the other end mused as his calculating gaze studied your unfazed expression.

you truly were a bold one, always so headstrong and indifferent. even when threatened with a bullet through your skull, you stood your ground, not even a yell for help or a plead for him to spare you.

"why am i not surprised," a sound of amusement escaped malachi's lips. "you've always been so fearless. perhaps, you were already expecting this to happen."

he wasn't entirely wrong, you've long envisioned this scenario inside your head.

you stood with an oddly placid expression before the barrel of his gun, but your hands told a completely different story. they trembled against your sides, a stark contrast to your calm demeanor.

you were scared.

you could only hope that he could do it quickly to save you from further embarrassment.

"there's no point in prolonging this, is there ?" you spat out in spite, opening the door for death who stood at your doorstep.

your eyes were always so full of challenge, malachi wanted to rip that away from you. he had always wanted to see you with a different expression; whether it was fear or something more.

"a shame," he slightly lowered the gun in his hand, now pointed right where your heart lies. "i've grown quite fond of you, journalist." malachi shamelessly confessed.

something you two had in common was being highly driven by your work. unfortunately for you, malachi still had a job he was committed to.

‘ bang! ‘

he didn't fret over the possibility of the gunshot being heard by a passerby. if anyone were to investigate the source of the sound, he would simply dispose of them too.

malachi watched intently as you dropped to the ground.

and there it was. your fearful expression.

your eyes were wide with tears as you clutched your side where the bullet lodged itself, your breathing laboured as your mind quickly worked to try and numb out the excruciating pain you felt. curses left your lips, the warmth of your own blood trickling down your wrist.

he wasn't quite contented in ending things there. normally, he would go for a swift kill and dispose of his victims afterwards. however, he had purposely shot you in a spot that didn't instantly put you to rest.

the sound of footsteps nearing your fallen form reached your ears before your hand was forcefully ripped away from your bleeding side and pinned beside your head, leaving you more vulnerable than you intially were as your killer straddles your bloodied waist.

malachi's eyes scanned your tearful expression with a hint of content. absentmindedly, his free hand moved to caress your open wound.

"!!" an excruciating scream left your lips when malachi suddenly dug his finger through your bullet wound.

his grip around your wrist tightened when you started to thrash around under him, your survival instincts kicking in. you tried to throw him off of you, but your frantic movements only caused your wound to open up more.

malachi clicked his tongue in disapproval, removing his finger from your wound. "now you're just making things harder for yourself."

“HN!– ha.. f.. uck you,” you curse him through gritted teeth. your expression hardened as you shut your teary eyes tightly, trying to minimize the pain.

he leans down to move his face close to yours, examining the tears that slid down your reddened cheeks and the saliva that trickled down your chin. malachi drew his hand that was stained with your blood, brushing it under your eye and leaving a streak of crimson red.

"you know," he starts softly, feeling you tremble underneath him. "this look suits you better than the stoic one that you always wore.”

"i bet i can make you show so much more than that," malachi chuckled darkly, his words holding anticipation. "consider this a parting gift for my dear journalist."

the male roughly grabbed your cheeks to prevent you from struggling when he leans in to capture your lips into a forced kiss. his other hand left your limp wrist to rest, slipping under your bloodied shirt and brushing over the bullet wound up to your chest.

his touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the tight grip on your cheeks. anyone could tell that malachi was, to some degree, fond of the man under him.

he soon broke the kiss to trail his lips down your neck. his lips land on your shoulder where he suddenly bit down to leave his mark, making you flinch and let out a pained groan.

malachi pulled his lips away and gently licked the bleeding bitemark to try and soothe you in a way. he straightened back up to examine his handiwork.

your eyes seemed to be in a daze, your breathing slowing down. it was a clear indication that your conciousness was beginning to slip. but before life could completely escape you, malachi lands a harsh slap to your cheek.

"don't be so ungrateful, y/n." he warns, grabbing your cheeks roughly once more, his hand that was under your shirt leaving to grasp onto your thigh. "leaving without accepting my gift. no, no. i won’t let you do that.”

malachi released his grasp on your cheeks by roughly tossing your head to the side, he worked to unbuckle your belt before slipping your trousers down to your knees. he was seething. you couldn't leave him just yet, not without him seeing your expressions as he's (literally) fucking the life out of you.

your vision swayed as the blood loss eventually made you cease your struggles. the light in your eyes was slowly fading and so was your warmth.

but that didn't stop malachi from getting his entertainment. after pulling down his own trousers, malachi rammed himself into you in one single thrust, leaving you with no preparation as you jolt at the sudden intrusion.

you weakly claw at the male's clothed chest. there was just so much pain, from the bullet wound on your side to the bitemark on your shoulder, and now the size that stretched you out dry. you could feel something warm trickling down your thighs, a a texture you could recognize.

you sobbed quietly as the pain doubled when malachi started to move without giving you the time adjust to his size. the tip of his cock worked its way on your insides, trying to find the spot that would make you melt under him.

his eyes watched as your pained expressions turn into one of hesitance. readjusting himself, malachi sets his pace. he knew that he finally found the right spot when he felt your thigh twitch in his grasp and your walls tighten around his dick. lo and behold, your look of hesitance contorted into a disturbed one as you quickly throw an arm over your face to cover yourself.

a shameful moan escaped your lips as soon as he finally hits the spot that broke it all for you. it wasn't long before you turned into a hot mess under him. your chest rose and fell in a rapid rate as you whimpered and moaned under him.

malachi's free hand roughly removed the arm that covered your slutty expressions. you looked so lewd with his cock inside you, drool spilling from your lips and your eyes rolled back in undeniable pleasure.

now this was the sight he had been longing to see.

the pain from your wound was long gone as intense pleasure eventually replaced it. malachi quickened his pace when he noticed how your cock twitched, indicating that you were near your climax. he wasn't that cruel to deny you of orgasm in your last moments.

or maybe he was.

before the knot in your lower abdomen could come undone, malachi grabbed a hold of his gun and shot you straight in between your eyes, lodging a bullet through your skull and finally putting you to rest.

your warm blood stained his lower abdomen, trickling down to his cock that continued to drive into you who had long went limp under him, your eyes deprived of life.

he gave a few more thrusts before finally spilling his warm seed inside of your ass. his breaths were heavy as he kept his cock buried inside your now freezing and stiff body.

malachi soon pulled out of your corpse, fixing his trousers and standing back up. he sheated his gun back on its holster as he gazed down at your limp body.

he knew he was fucked up, but this was on another level.

he smiled smugly.

maybe you should've picked another job in the first place.

#male reader #yandere x male reader #x male reader #yandere male x male reader #yandere x reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere male #yandere #kiahndere

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natlovesls2 · 7 months

Text

Why Me?

Lando x Latina!Reader

*ੈ✩‧₊˚warnings: 18+, brief mentions of razors (in a hair removal way and self harm way), mentions of blood once or twice, bullying, swearing (maybe), angst to fluff, no use of y/n

*ੈ✩‧₊˚word count: 1.5k

*ੈ✩‧₊˚summary: You don't feel good enough or your past experiences haunt you

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

You stood in front of the mirror, awkwardly rubbing at the brown skin of your arms, pinching at the hair that was beginning to grow back— the prickly feeling, a reminder of the extra steps you had to take to feel slightly attractive. Shaving every bit of body hair has been your dirty secret since your mom allowed you near a razor. The pink plastic always tucked away in some corner of your bathroom, ready to save you from humiliation. You refused to ever let another person see you like that— refused yourself from being bullied or ridiculed ever again.

The memories of those elementary and early middle school days haunted you, taunting you at every moment those memories slipped into your mind. The awful names the children your age had called you stuck like a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe in a busy street— the most pesky type of sticking. It clung and clung, refusing to leave the shoe and its place, leaving behind a tacky feeling that made walking uncomfortable. Those names left that same tacky feeling in your brain that made it impossible to feel comfortable in your skin.

You could still remember the day the boy you liked called you a man. The way he laughed and caused everyone at your table to laugh at you plagued you every day. It crawled into your brain on days when you least wanted it to, reminding you of the innocent childhood love you were denied. The constant whispers and laughter made around you reminded you that you weren’t loved or desired by the people you so desperately wanted to be approved by.

So, as you stood in front of your mirror looking at your sun-deprived, brown, and prickly skin-- you couldn’t help but hate yourself. You hated being the opposite of what everyone wanted. You hated that you were the Latina men wanted when they said they “love Latina women.” You despised the role in the media that women who looked like you had acquired— the maid. It tired you beyond belief to see other brown Latinas be portrayed as such as if you had no other value to society. It felt as if your skin was anything other than the protector it was meant to be. It felt more like a target— a target that yelled: berate me and make me feel like shit. And if your own ethnicity saw your skin as less than others, then what was there to expect from others? But of course, you hadn't always felt like that-- in fact, you had once loved the way you looked.

You sighed, turning the knobs of the shower on, letting it warm a bit before getting into it. You let the warm water hit your body, relaxing your thoughts for a while. The self-hatred and unpleasant memories wash away with the soap. The untouched razor in the corner of the shower finally caught your attention, bringing back everything that had just passed. And as you shakily picked up the razor, you wished you had been “blessed” with lighter skin that came with that hard-to-see body hair. You swiped the razor up and down your arms, cutting away your arm hair and, with it, washing away your shame.

The sudden knock at the door startles you back to reality, though you were sure you were out of it to begin with. “You okay in there? You’ve been in there for quite a while; I’m starting to worry,” your boyfriend yelled through the locked wooden door of the bathroom. The relationship had started two years ago and was everything your younger self had idolized and wished for.

“I’m fine,” you yelled back, quickly finishing your shower, wrapping a towel around your body, and opening the door.

He smiled at you, wrapping his arms around your waist, swaying you around. “You look beautiful,” he leaned down to press a quick kiss to your lips, resting his forehead against yours. He was the beautiful one in the relationship that was everyone’s opinion— including your own. Everyone online made it clear that Lando was out of your league, and you believed every word. It didn’t matter how much he told you that he loved you and that he thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world.

“What’s wrong, love?” He whispers, rubbing his nose against your own, giving you another quick kiss before pulling away completely. He looked at you attentively, analyzing your facial and body expression.

“Why me?” You asked, voice cracking as you attempted to hold back the tears that had snuck up on you. “Why would you want to be with me?”

Lando reached out to gently caress your cheek, wiping away the tears that managed to escape you, “Why not? Why wouldn’t I choose you?”

“Look at me! I’m nothing like the ideal woman, at least not one that someone like you would want!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He scoffed, shaking his head and pulling you closer.

“It means that you deserve someone who looks like they just walked off a runway show! Stop laughing, Lando, I’m being serious right now,” you push him away, smacking his shoulder out of frustration, stepping back as he outstretched his arms to, once again, wrap them around your body.

“Come on, there’s no way you’re actually being serious. You know why I love you.”

“It’s hard to know when no one else understands it.”

“It’s not for them to understand! We’ve talked about this, and what did you tell me? You promised that you wouldn’t pay attention to what people say,” he ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his face.

Of course, you remembered the promise and the million other similar promises. It was easy to make those promises but incredibly hard to keep them– especially when his fans constantly reminded you of your flaws and misfortunes.

“Sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you. Just get dressed; I’ll wait for you in the living room,” he leaned forward slightly to give you another kiss but hesitated and decided against it.

"I love you," he said quietly, closing the bedroom door as he walked out, once again leaving you with your thoughts.

A feeling of nausea settles in the twisting pit of your stomach as you dress into the outfit you had chosen before your shower: a green dress that stops a few inches above your knees with a thin white cardigan. Slowly, you walked out of your shared bedroom, watching as Lando's eyes lit up as soon as he saw you– giving you that toothy smile he always gave you when he was especially happy. The type of smile that always made you feel special and eased your worries, even if it was just temporary. You couldn't help but smile back at him, giving him the same wide smile. "Stop it, you're giving me butterflies," you laugh at the situation; it was strange that he could make you feel so loved with something as simple as a smile.

"Maybe that was the plan... you look beautiful– you always do." He always knew the right things to say and when to say them. You always liked that about him; Lando was confident, and that made him reliable. He knew what he wanted; sure, he didn't have his whole life figured out, but when things went wrong, his confidence made it seem as if plan B was always meant to be plan A. You suppose this is why you had fallen for him so quickly. His ability to fix things that were broken and had gone wrong.

"I love you," You quickly said, wrapping your arms around him– hugging him as tight and close as you possibly could.

He pushed against you, holding your shoulders with his hands and smiling, "You love me?"

"Yes, so much. More than I could have ever imagined loving someone."

"I love you too. You're so perfect for me in every way– I mean it. You're so kind to people, even when they aren't kind to you. You care so much about everything, and you're so passionate about it. That's why, that's why I love you," he pulled you back into the hug, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

You knew you would continue to feel uncomfortable in your own skin, and that feeling wouldn't go away for a long time. However, as long as you had Lando by your side, it would be a little less painful. "I'm going to remind you that you are beautiful and that what you see as flaws are the things I love most about you for as long as the universe lets me be by your side," he promised, and you knew he would stay true to that.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

Note: this is loosely based on my personal experience so if this isn’t your experience as a Latina, I understand. That being said, everyone deserves love regardless of their skin color, race, or ethnic background. I am extremely sorry if anyone has been told over wise or has been made to feel unloveable. -`♡´-

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bloomyeu · 1 month

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Give me your TMI

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: as your friendship slowly turns into something more, you dont know what to do

word count: 2k

warnings: angst but what else did u expect

a/n: i didnt rlly know how to end this one ahaha

series masterlist masterlist | requests

Your apartment has always been a sanctuary, a place where you and chan can escape from the harsh realities of your lives.

It's a cozy, intimate space filled with personal touches—a shelf packed with your favorite books, a few plants thriving in the soft light by the window, and a well-worn couch where the two of you have spent countless evenings together. Your cat, mimi, a fluffy ball of fur, lazily sprawls across the armrest, occasionally flicking her tail.

This place has become a second home for Chan, a silent witness to the unspoken bond between you.

The two of you have always had a connection that others noticed but never fully understood. There’s a familiarity between you that goes beyond friendship—inside jokes, shared glances, and the comfort of each other’s presence. Yet, despite the closeness, neither of you has ever put a label on what you have. It’s a delicate balance, one you both seem content to maintain, even as the lines blur between friendship and something more. The lack of labels has kept things simple, or so you tell yourself, but, the ambiguity has become harder to ignore.

Lately, you’ve noticed a change in Chan. He’s still around, but there’s a distance in the way he interacts with you—a hesitation in his words, a slight pullback when your hands brush. The long conversations that once flowed effortlessly now feel stilted, as if he’s holding something back. You can’t pinpoint when it started, but it’s there, gnawing at you in quiet moments.

as you sit on the couch, your cat purring softly beside you, the silence between you feels heavy. Chan is here, but his mind seems elsewhere, lost in thoughts he’s not sharing. It’s unlike him, and the uncertainty gnaws at you. You’ve always valued the openness between you, the way you could talk about anything and everything. But now, something feels different, and the realization stings more than you expected.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself. “Channie,” you start, your voice cutting through the quiet, “is everything okay? You’ve been… different lately.”

He glances at you, surprised, but quickly looks away, his expression guarded. “What do you mean?” he asks, his tone carefully neutral, as if he’s bracing himself for what’s coming next.

“You’ve been distant,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I don’t know, it feels like you’re pulling away from me.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the floor. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost hesitant. “I’m just… dealing with some stuff. It’s not you.”

But you’re not convinced. The way he’s avoiding your gaze, the way his shoulders are tense—it all tells a different story. And suddenly, you realize that whatever he’s dealing with, it’s something he’s not ready to share with you.

And that hurts.

—

As seasons pass, the distance between you and Chan only grows more pronounced. What was once a subtle shift in his demeanor now becomes a chasm that feels impossible to bridge. He’s still around, but his presence seems to be a mere shadow of what it once was. You see him less often, and when he does come over, it’s with an air of detachment that leaves you feeling isolated and confused.

The small, everyday moments that used to be filled with laughter and warmth are now marked by an awkward silence. Conversations that used to flow effortlessly now stumble, interrupted by long pauses where neither of you knows what to say. When Chan does speak, his responses are clipped and terse, as though he’s going through the motions but not really engaging. You notice how he avoids eye contact, his gaze often drifting to the corners of the room or his phone, anything to escape the weight of your shared space.

The more he withdraws, the more you find yourself overthinking every interaction, searching for clues as to why he’s pulling away. You replay conversations in your mind, trying to pinpoint where things might have gone wrong. Was it something you said? Something you did? You want to ask, but every time you try to approach the topic, Chan’s demeanor makes it clear that he’s not open to discussing it. His evasiveness only fuels your anxiety, making you feel more like an outsider in a relationship you thought you understood.

channie!!!! imy :[ mimi misses u 2 come over for dinner?

sure only for mimi tho hehe

hoping to have a more relaxed setting where you can talk things through. You prepare his favorite meal, setting the table with care, trying to create an atmosphere that feels intimate and comfortable. When he arrives, however, he seems distracted and distant. His greeting is brief, and he quickly retreats to the couch, petting mimi while he scrolls on phone. his posture stiff and closed off.

You try to make conversation, asking about his day and sharing anecdotes from yours, but he responds with short, disinterested answers. As you sit across from him at the table, a sense of frustration wells up inside you. You’ve put in the effort to create a space where he could feel at ease, but it’s clear that he’s not fully present.

Finally, you can’t hold back any longer.

“Channie, we really need to talk,” you say, your voice trembling slightly. “I don’t understand what’s happening between us. It feels like you’re pulling away more and more, and it’s hurting.”

He looks at you, his expression unreadable. “I told you, it’s not you. I’m just going through some stuff, and I need some time to figure it out.”

You feel a pang of frustration. “But I’m right here. I want to support you, but it’s hard when you’re shutting me out. I feel like I’m losing you, and I don’t even know why.”

Chan’s face softens, but his eyes remain distant. “It’s not about losing me,” he says quietly. “It’s about me needing to deal with things on my own. I’m afraid that if I let you in, it’ll make everything worse.”

The admission stings, and you can’t help but feel a mix of sadness and anger. “So you think pushing me away is going to solve anything? All it’s doing is making me feel like I don’t matter. Like I dont matter. Do you not trust me?”

Chan’s shoulders slump, and he runs a hand through his hair, looking torn. “I didn’t mean for it to come across that way. It’s just… hard for me to open up. I’ve always been this way, and it’s not easy to change.”

The conversation dwindles, leaving an uncomfortable silence between you. The warmth of the dinner you prepared feels cold now, and the evening that was meant to bring you closer only highlights the growing distance between you. You both sit in silence, the emotional gap between you widening, leaving you to grapple with the painful realization that the connection you once shared is now shrouded in uncertainty.

—

Without Chan, your days are filled with a profound sense of confusion and heartbreak. His admissions had left you reeling, struggling to reconcile the man you thought you knew with the one who now seems so distant. You find yourself replaying his words over and over in your mind, trying to make sense of his fear and his withdrawal. The more you think about it, the more you realize how deep his insecurities run, and how they’ve come to shape the dynamics between you.

The apartment, once a save space for the two of you, now feels like a reminder of what’s slipping away. The warmth and comfort you once associated with these four walls are overshadowed by the empty spaces left by Chan’s absence. Every corner of the apartment seems to whisper memories of better times, and it only amplifies the silence that has settled between you.

Chan’s absence becomes a constant, painful presence in your daily life. He still reaches out occasionally, but his messages are brief and lack the warmth that once characterized your conversations.

When he does come over, it’s clear that he’s not fully engaged, almost like he doesnt want to be there. He’s physically there but emotionally distant, and the brief interactions you have are tinged with a sadness that neither of you can quite articulate.

You try to give him the space he’s asked for, but it’s hard not to feel hurt by his growing distance. The silence between you grows more pronounced, filled with unspoken words and unresolved feelings. Every attempt to bridge the gap feels like it only widens it further. You’ve always been able to talk to Chan about anything, but now even the simplest conversations feel strained and awkward.

In your quiet moments alone, you grapple with your own feelings of rejection and sadness. You understand that Chan’s fear of vulnerability is driving his behavior, but it doesn’t make the pain any easier to bear. You miss the easy closeness you once shared, and the emotional chasm that has opened between you feels impossible to cross.

You’re left in a painful limbo, uncertain of how to move forward. You want to support Chan and be there for him, but the constant silence and emotional distance are taking a toll on you. The weight of the situation is heavy, and as each day passes, you find yourself searching for a way to bridge the gap between you, hoping that somehow, amidst the silence, you can find a path to understanding and healing.

—

hey ynnie we shld talk ur place?

channie hii yea we shld sure wtv works for u

The decision to confront Chan one last time feels both necessary and heartbreaking. When he arrives, the familiarity of his presence contrasts sharply with the emotional distance that now separates you. The apartment feels both intimate and alien, a space that no longer holds the same comfort it once did.

You sit together on the couch, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken words. Your cat, mimi, sensing the shift in atmosphere, retreats to a corner, adding to the sense of somber quiet. You look at Chan, your heart aching with the realization of what’s become of your relationship.

“Chan,” you begin, your voice trembling with emotion, “I think we need to acknowledge whats going on ya know, this obviously is about us, you can't really about it now.”

Chan’s eyes meet yours, a mixture of sadness and resignation in his gaze. “I know,” he replies softly. “I’ve been avoiding this conversation, I'm sorry, but we both knew that it was never going to work.”

There’s a pause as both of you grapple with the weight of the moment. The connection that once drew you together—your shared curiosity and mutual affection—now seems like a distant memory. What was once a source of closeness has become a barrier, as your emotional needs and fears have diverged.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Chan continues, his voice filled with regret. “You know with my job and all, I just cant handle a relationship. Besides you're moving for school in the fall, how would it even work out?”

You nod, tears welling in your eyes. “I know channie, trust me I do. But we should have tried. Whenever I try talking to you, you just shut me out. Do you not care?”

Chan’s expression mirrors your own sorrow. “It’s not about that. You know that. We were two lonely people who found each other, nothing more, nothing less.”

The conversation is a painful acknowledgment of the truth that both of you have been avoiding.

Despite the depth of your feelings and the history you share, the realization that he didnt want to be with you hurts. The barriers that have emerged—his fear of vulnerability and your struggle to connect—are too significant to overcome at this point.

As the sun sets, you both just sit there, the silence between you two marking the end. There are no grand gestures or promises of reconciliation, only the quiet understanding that its over.

Chan leaves the apartment, and you watch him go, feeling a profound sense of loss. The space that once held the warmth of your connection now feels hollow, marked by the absence of the person who once meant so much. You’re left with the echoes of what was and the uncertainty of what the future holds.

In the quiet solitude that follows, you maybe regret not telling him sooner, heck maybe even meeting him.

As you sit alone in the apartment, the reality of parting ways sinks in, and you begin the process of moving forward, carrying with you the bittersweet memories of what once was.

fin.

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joannechocolat · 2 years

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On Power, and on Powering Through, and Why They’re Really Not the Same

I don’t pay much attention to personal attacks in reviews. It comes as the flipside of success; an attempt by the critic to puncture what they see as too much success. But I still remember one review, just after the film of Chocolat, when two of my novels happened to be in the Top 5 at the same time, in which a (male) newspaper critic referred to me dismissively as a premenopausal woman writer. I was a little taken aback. Clearly, it was meant to disparage, but I was only 35, ten years away from the perimenopause. What exactly did he mean? It wasn’t a comment about the book (which I doubt he had even read). The obvious misogyny aside, it seemed to express resentment, not of my books, but of me, myself, my right to take up space in his world. That word – premenopausal – was at the same time a comment on my age, my looks, my value, and a strong suggestion that someone like me shouldn’t be this successful, shouldn’t be writing bestsellers, shouldn’t be so – visible.

I don’t recall the name of the man, or the paper for which he was writing. He was far from being the only journalist who felt I didn’t deserve success. I shrugged off the unpleasant comment, but he’d meant it to hurt, and it did. I still wonder why he – and his editor - thought that was appropriate. I also wonder why, 20 years on, women are still dealing with this kind of thing. It’s still not enough for a woman to be successful in her chosen field. Whatever her achievements, you can be pretty sure that at some point, some man in his 50s or 60s – maybe an Oxbridge graduate, author of an unpublished novel or two - will offer his opinion on her desirability, either in the national Press, or most likely nowadays, by means of social media. The subtext is clear: women who don’t conform to societal values of what a woman should be are asking for this kind of treatment; especially those who dare to achieve more than their detractors.

10 years after that nasty review, I finally began the journey into perimenopause. No-one told me it was happening. No-one in the media was talking about it at the time. Even my doctor never thought to mention that my symptoms – the insomnia, headaches, mood swings, anxiety, depression, sleep paralysis, hair loss, brown patches on my skin – might have a single origin. I began to feel I was losing my mind: as if I were starting to disappear. I started to doubt my own senses. I blamed it all on the stress from my job. My mother had powered through menopause – or so she led me to believe – and made no secret of her contempt for modern women who complained, or treated the symptoms as anything more than a minor inconvenience.

And so I did the same. I powered through; and when at last I began to experience the classic symptoms of menopause - irregular bleeding, hot flushes, exhaustion, night sweats so bad that I would awake in sheets that were wringing wet – it did not occur to me to seek help. After over a year of this, I finally went to my doctor, who took a few tests, cheerfully announced I was menopausal, and when I inquired after HRT, advised me to power through – that phrase again - and let Mother Nature take her course. The internet was slightly more helpful. I took up running, lost weight, cut down on alcohol, downed supplements and sleeping pills and vitamin D, and felt a little better. Then, breast cancer came to call, and by the time my treatment was done, the symptoms had more or less disappeared, or at least had been superseded by the symptoms of chemo. I congratulated myself at having powered through cancer as well as surviving menopause.

But two years later, I feel old. I look that way, too. I’ve aged ten years. Some of that’s the cancer, of course. I was quite open about my treatment when I was powering through it – partly in order to pre-empt any questions about my hair loss or any of the all-too visible effects of three courses of chemo. Not that it stopped the comments, though. Even at my lowest ebb, a sector of social media made it clear that my only concern should be to look young and feminine to anonymous men on Twitter.

Right now, I don’t feel either. My hair has gone grey and very thin. My skin, too, seems thinner; both physically and mentally. At a recent publishing event, several acquaintances failed to recognize me; others just looked through me as if I had become invisible. Invisibility would be a relief; I find myself dressing for camouflage. I tend to wear baggy black outfits. I got my OBE last week. Photographs in the Press show me talking to Prince William. I’m wearing a boxy black trouser suit, flat shoes and a red fedora. I think I look nice. Not glamorous, but comfortable; quirky; unpretentious.

On a thread of largely supportive messages, one Twitter user pops up to say: Jesus, who’d accept an honour looking like that middle-aged disaster? @Joannechocolat thought she’d make an impact? She needs a stylist. If you look in the dictionary for the definition of “dowdy”, it features this photo.

It’s not the same man who belittled me over 20 years ago. But the sentiment hasn’t changed. Regardless of your achievements, as a woman, you’ll always be judged on your age and fuckability. I ought to be used to this by now. But somehow, that comment got to me. Going through menopause isn’t just a series of physical symptoms. It’s how other people make you feel; old, unattractive, and strangely ashamed.

I think of the Glass Delusion, a mental disorder common between the 14th and 17th centuries, characterized by the belief that the sufferer was made of glass. King Charles VI of France famously suffered from this delusion, and so did Princess Alexandra Amélie, daughter of Ludwig 1st of Bavaria. The condition affected mostly high-profile individuals; writers, royals, intellectuals. The physician to Philip II of Spain writes of an unnamed royal who believed he was a glass vase, which made him terribly fragile, and able to disappear at will. It seems to have been a reaction to feelings of social anxiety, fear of change and the unknown, a feeling both of vulnerability and invisibility.

I can relate. Since the menopause, I’ve felt increasingly broken. I don’t believe I’m a glass vase, and yet I know what it feels like to want to be wrapped in a protective duvet all day. I’ve started buying cushions. I feel both transparent, and under the lens, as if the light might consume me. On social media, I’ve learnt to block the people who make mean comments. To make myself invisible. To hide myself in plain sight. I power through, but sometimes I think: why do women power through? And who told them that powering through meant suffering in silence?

Fortunately, some things have changed since I went through the menopause. Over the past few years, we’ve seen more people talking about their experiences. Menopause is likely to affect half the population. We should be talking about it. If men experienced half these symptoms, you bet they’d be discussing it. Because power isn’t silence. You’d think that, as writer, I would have worked that out sooner. Words are power. Sharing is strength. Communication breaks down barriers. And sometimes, power means speaking up for those less able to speak for themselves.

I look at myself in the mirror. I see my mother’s mouth; my father’s eyes. I see the woman I used to be; the woman I will one day become. I see the woman my husband loves, a woman he still finds attractive. A woman with a grown-up child who makes her proud every single day. A menopausal woman. A cancer survivor. A woman who writes books that make other people sit up and think. A woman who doesn’t need the approval of some man she’s never met to be happy. She can be happy now. I can. And finally, I understand. Powering through isn’t about learning to be invisible. It isn’t about acceptance, or shame, or letting Nature take its course, or lying about feeling broken. It’s looking beyond your reflection. It’s seeing yourself, not through the lens of other people’s expectations, but as yourself. The sum of everything you’ve been; of everyone who loves you. Of claiming your right to be more than glass, or your reflection in it. The right to be valued. The right to shine, regardless of age or reproductive status. Men seldom question their own right to these things. But women have to fight for them. That’s why it’s so exhausting.

This morning, instead of putting on my usual baggy black sweatshirt, I chose a bright yellow pullover. I looked at myself in the mirror. It’s not a great colour on me now, but it feels like dressing in sunshine. My husband came into the bathroom. You look –

My husband rarely gives compliments. I can’t remember the last time he commented on how I was dressed. I wondered what he was going to say. Dowdy, perhaps? Inappropriate? Like a menopausal woman in dire need of a stylist?

At last, he said: When you smile like that, you look like a friendly assassin.

A friendly assassin. I’ll take that.

Shining like the sun. That’s me.

#menopause #cancer

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liesmyth · 5 months

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Is it better if John erased their memories, or if they came back that way and he just decided not to fix them?

It's immensely better if he intentionally mindwiped them. TO ME.

I'm a John fan. I think he's a tremendous tragic antagonist, and that everything he does in the HtN backstory is relatable if not painful familiar. He was under immense pressure, trying to mitigate the literal end of the world, having his mind and his whole self changed in ways he had no frame of reference to understand. He went from being desperate and trying to do his best to being carried away by circumstances to going absolutely fucking insane. There are many ways to rationalise John's actions all the way to the end, which is what makes it such an effective corruption arc. If you want to engage in some blorbo apologism, there are plenty of excuses to be found.

There's absolutely no fucking way to excuse mind-wiping his friends. THAT is why it's so important to me that he did it deliberately, in cold blood, justifying it to himself as a way to take their burdens upon himself so they wouldn't have to feel guilty. He removed their agency. He didn't want any peers in the world he'd created. He could have acknowledged what had happened, for better or worse, and tried to make amends - but instead, he chose to remove their knowledge that something had even happened in the first place. It's the turning point! I need him to go into that with his eyes fully open. He's doing it on purpose! He weighed the pros and cons and prioritised his comfort over his friends' identities.

EYE believe that his story arc is infinitely more powerful if there's a point we can look at and say "here is when John's story went from things happening TO HIM to John doing terrible things". Especially in a backstory that's ultimately about divine corruption and losing touch with your humanity, I think that turning point needs to be something that has a personal value to him, something that can't be chalked up to "he was high on death" or "humanity was doomed" or even "he touched the soul of the earth and went insane."

I think it's important, thematically, that one of his first actions after acquiring godlike powers was to make sure that no one would be able to remember his human self and challenge him on equal footing, even if he's still internally lamenting his own loneliness and wishing things were different.

Obviously, this is all coming from a known John Girlie™ and Eldritch Alecto Enjoyer — I interpret John's ascension to quasi-divinity as something that was mostly imposed ON him and he couldn't control, which is why I need him to cross the moral event horizon outright with the mind violation of his inner circle. Someone who views John as more directly culpable in the end of the earth might feel less strongly about the importance of the mindwipe in his story arc than I do, but TO ME it's the culmination of the tragedy. You've become the inhuman horror, baby.

/post that inspired the question

#i'd totally read posts or fics where this happens differently but TO ME it's juicy if he does it outright :3 #i doubt we'll ever find out for sure bc i think we've seen ALL that we're going to ever get of the resurrection unless it's from alecto's d #so it's really all headcanons! but this is mine #ask #anonymous #elle tlt posting #ejg #tlt thoughts #SORRY I HAVE SOOO MANY FEELINGS ABOUT THIS

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pinkmirth · 7 months

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⸻ 𝐸𝒳𝒞ℰ𝒫𝒯ℐ𝒪𝒩!

𝒮𝒴𝒩𝒪𝒫𝒮ℐ𝒮 ⨾ isaac’s contempt for humans is unshakeable. though maybe, just maybe, you can convince him there are still a few good souls left— that you could be of the utmost value to him.

𝒞𝒪𝒩𝒯𝒜ℐ𝒩𝒮 ⨾ ( 1k+ words of . . . ) isaac laforeze x fem!reader (black coded), canon divergent, set in the 15th century (1400s), nsfw/smut, porn with no plot whatsoever, unestablished relationship, hook-up, size difference, rough sex, mating press, gagging using a shirt, isaac is mean, explicit language, lowercase intended, not proofread, minors shoo!

𝑀𝒴 𝐿𝒪𝒱ℰ-𝒩𝒪𝒯ℰ! ⨾ this man has been growing on me, i cannot lie . . . he’s vengeful and cruel and that makes him sexy in my warped little mind >< to all the isaac fuckers, please enjoy! ❤︎

what the fuck is he doing?

isaac has no clue. all he’s sure of is that right now, in this very moment, you lie beneath him. not in the way you’d imagine either, such as pinning you down and forcing that you accept defeat; but with clothes ridden and a gaze overtaken by lust. it isn’t only you that’s succumbed; it pains him to admit that he wants this too.

to put it simply, the man’s bedding you— a malicious man who reserves compassion for no one, not even himself. isaac thought he had no appetite for these kinds of things. it’s much closer in his nature to pierce a forging dagger clean through one’s chest, send their spirit on a trip down to hell, and conjure up a better being out of them. he’s even considered turning you. but perhaps, he likes you just as you are. your devotion to him is admirable. he can tell that you love him— it’s terribly obvious, with how eager you are to please. as for whatever’s happening between you and himself, he isn't sure if he could even call it lovely.

it’s more of a rendezvous, as he’d like to put it. you’re there when he needs you to be, so sweet and forever pliant, and he takes full advantage of that. he isn’t fond of your kind, but you intrigue him, so he’ll give you a chance. if humans are good for anything, it can be to gratify him in the very least.

you’re molded into the position that isaac has shaped you to take; at your back, legs coiling around his waist, with your dainty hands flailing in search of his firm biceps to grab onto. you like to think that you can handle the man, and you’ve surely slept with him quite enough times to accustom yourself. it’s just that tonight, he’s going so fast. he’s had a sour day, you bet. now he’s here at your chamber to take it out on you; not that you mind it. desperation coming from the likes of isaac laforeze is enough to get yourself off of.

“mmph— forgemaster!” you whine out to him. he couldn’t care less.

“quiet.” isaac hushes you, bringing a large veined hand coming to press at your throat. he’s big, imposing, mean. you should hate him, considering that he likely, no, undoubtedly hates you . . . but his harsh pounding makes your brain melt away.

“don’t be a nuisance, just take me. it’s the only thing you can do right, after all.”

he might be currently spitting venom your way, but you think he’s actually growing more of a liking to you. in truth, you might just have hopeful thinking (including an unhealthy attachment to the man.) before, isaac would only ever take you from behind so he didn’t have to see your ‘disgustingly shameless expressions,’ as he’d call them. he couldn't bring himself to bear witness to your glossy eyes. now, he’s got you laid on your back, so he can unleash the nastiest set of words straight into your face.

apart from the bedroom, he isn’t necessarily rude. isaac speaks with poise, his accented tone forever calm. the forgemaster is nothing but well-mannered. yet, hatred still remains. you see it quite clearly— a fiery contempt that his eyes cannot hide.

there’s a narrow bead of sweat that travels down the side of isaac’s face, his mahogany-red eyes focused on your core as he wrecks you, spearing you open time and time again. the man peers down at you with what you could only consider to be disdain, and such a look shouldn’t excite you so. it’s as if the wet squelch of your pussy is too vulgar, too loud for him. he’s ramming in with reckless abandon, and your cunt’s making a nasty mess all over his smooth, clean-shaven pelvis.

he’s so fucking rough, uncaring of whether or not it hurts. his thighs are flexing along with his rugged thrusts, enveloping you within the security of his deep brown frame. between your body and his, you slip a hand down to rub at your neglected clit, since you know he isn’t about to go out of his way and do it for you.

you mewl with every jolt of his hips, and he’s had enough of the sound. isaac stops, takes hold of both your legs, presses them down to your chest, and keeps them there with his own weight. in this air-thinning position, he slips back into your heat. this time, with more control. his reign on you is stronger, and his thick cock is going so much deeper.

“by god, just— fucking shut up.” his otherwise handsome face is twisted into a shadowed scowl. oh, how humans irritate him so. he prays that the lord can forgive him for his spiteful heart. “be good, just this once . . . don’t allow my patience to wear thin, woman.”

not wanting to upset him further, you take your bunched-up top from your chest and bite into it, drooling over the fabric to keep yourself quiet. isaac almost chuckles. it’s simply air passing through his nose, but a laugh nonetheless.

“you look better that way.” he grunts, bruising your soft-brown flesh with his grip, “when you’re being muzzled.”

you begin squeezing him rapidly, cunt fluttering in a way that tells him you’re closer than ever. you moan into the spit-riddled cloth and shut your eyes hard once you come all over him, leaving the both of you with sticky essence dripping down to your thighs. isaac’s climax soon nears, a lowly ‘fuck,’ escaping him. he pulls out instantly, allowing his cum drop onto your heaving tummy in hot spurts. the last thing he wants is to bring another poor soul to a world as cruel as this one.

all is done, the highs pass, and your eyes meet. his own, colored similarly to the finest redwood, have softened just by a little. maybe you’ve fucked away some of his contempt. isaac brings a hand to his tattooed forehead, and wipes off his sweat with the back of it.

“it’s reassuring to know that humans are useful for something.”

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inkyquince · 11 months

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The idea of Gortash and Astarion being in love with the Durge at the same time is so interesting to me. Because their both fundamentally in love with two different people. Pre-tadpole, Gortash fell for a Durge who was a slave to their urges. Astarion fell for a Durge whos regained autonomy over their mind and now has the ability to choose who they want to be.

This may be a hot take, but idc.

I feel like... From reading everything in game about Gortash and meeting him? He would be so into a redeemed Durge. Like, yeah, slight downside of their morals being a smidge too light now, but oh well.

Dark Urge had gotten free of Bhaal. The one actual barrier between them and also fully going into their plan. Remember, Durge apologised to their father for being so FOND of Gortash, they promised that they'll kill the other Chosen in Bhaal's name, etc. The one controlling all their moves? Their Father.

And they either are/want to be free of him.

Fuck, he's hard. They're so fucking strong and stubborn and perfect.

He uses guile, he uses charisma, he uses everything to get a leg up. He used his body, his joined a gang, all while younger. Now he's here. Nothing he respects more than gaining power and influence without being controlled, if his time in the House of Hope taught him anything, it's that being controlled will lead to being beaten and used and discarded.

Control is what made the Dark Urge so fucking endeared to him in the first place. They're not a mad dog, like Orin. They loose control some times but LOOK at the acts you just played through. They have SO much fucking control compared to what their urges want them to do. Gortash values control so fucking much.

But, just like Gortash, Astarion will fall in love with the Dark Urge, redeemed or not. Even if he remains a spawn, he's so soft with them. He will stay until he can't watch them loose their mind anymore. But ascended? He wants them in his lap, naked and rabid and far gone. He loves them, even as nothing better than a feral dog.

Like.... I think Astarion and Lae'zel and Shadowheart are the ones who will fully love the un-redeemed Dark Urge. Gale, as we can see after the Tiefling Massacre, will stick by you but he fucking HATES your ass for what you put him through. Wyll and Karlach leave. Even if you don't pick the nasty sides in the game, when Dark Urge gives into their... well, urges, they're horrified. Astarion, Lae'zel and Shadowheart, while not ECSTATIC are less incensed about the shit you do. Hell, when you take Bhaal's offer, everyone in the party basically... Says goodbye to the person they loved, EXCEPT Astarion. Even if you break up with him, he says that 1000 years from now, when he's forgotten how to open himself up to people, he shall spare a thought for his little lost mad love.

The fact is, Gortash and Astarion will love the Urge, just in different ways, Redeemed or Not. Hell, if the Dark Urge goes feral, Gortash will still love them properly, I feel. Ascended Astarion, like a normal Tav, will love them as a pet. For the romance of ruling by your side, to bond in blood, to adore you bringing sacrifices to his door like a cat with their prey, Gortash is the dark romance love interest you want.

#wow inky #the moment you send in you draft manuscript you can actually form thoughts around gortash huh #anyway #quinceyeasyspeaky #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #enver gortash #gortash #gortash x durge #dark urge #durge #dark urge x astarion #astarion #ask

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shirefantasies · 7 months

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How Many Kids Do They Want? LoTR Edition

This is just a headcanon set I like to think about because I love little ones & think all of the characters would make great parents in their own way 🥰 I definitely am going to expand on this in the future but for now enjoy!

Aragorn

He wants to bring a life into the world, but only under good circumstances. When the time comes, he favors a small family he can focus on- one child is enough for him. As much attention as he can possibly give goes to his little one that way, no resentment, no competition, all of the time in Aragorn’s world to spend with those dearest. Despite the pressure to have a son, he is happy to have either a son or a daughter as long as they are happy and healthy and provided for. Aragorn’s child will grow up with an amazing guide to do what is right and care for their friends and family, not to mention learning Elvish and many skills to survive outdoors if need ever arises.

Legolas

Open-minded for sure, but I think he actually leans toward a larger family. No extreme amount, but four or five sounds good to him! Legolas is very caring, patient, and even has a playful side that all lend well to spending time with wee ones. No strong preference on sons or daughters, Legolas cares more for smiling faces and fair hearts. He pretends to be competitive with his children to motivate them, but always caves and lets them win in the end! They’ll all become amazing archers if he has anything to say about it.

Boromir

Having a big family warms Boromir's heart. He wants to be different from his father, carve out space for each and every child individually. Having a big family shows in his mind how much he loves his spouse and can provide for everyone, too. Boromir is definitely the type of dad whose children just come barreling toward the door upon his return home, rocketing into his arms as he manages to catch them all! If you ask him, Boromir's ideal family size would be four or five children. He loves the idea of having a son or sons to train up, but really doesn't want to miss out on having beautiful daughters too, so his hope is for a mix of both. Constantly encouraging his sons and praising every achievement at their passions. The girls are ladies of Gondor and nothing shall take that from them, least of all their father, who is always joining their tea parties and letting them take turns as queens knighting him and each other.

Gimli

Dwarves tend to have smaller families, whether that is by choice or happenstance. Gimli enjoys the idea of having three children, a moderate amount, and of course he really would love a son. He wants a mini-me as they say, a small reflection of himself to share all his favorite things with and teach to defend all that is important to him. Daughters are less common among his people, thus of course they are of great value and would be a blessing were he to have any as well. Gimli would constantly be hyping them up and reminding them that they are worth so much, any man in their life had better treat them so or else!

Frodo

If he were to have children, Frodo favors a smaller family. Growing up, it was just him and his uncle for as long as he remembered, and he likes the idea of being able to focus more on his child. Thus, his perfect family size if you ask is simply one or two children. In his mind there’s something about having a son, perhaps a mirror to his own youth or someone to impart his lessons into in the sense that feels most traditional to his family dynamic, but the idea of having one of each makes him so happy- Frodo’s little girl would have him wrapped around her finger!

Sam

I know I said at one point Sam only wants like three but that’s because I didn’t realize he canonically has so many forgive me. We all know Sam loves the idea of having a big family! Canonically he’s even down to have thirteen children, but of course he is fine with a smaller number too. Just definitely more than one, at least three or four. Sam has so much love to give and he adores bringing life into the world and nurturing it more than anything. Every little one is their own unique person he loves to foster and dote on. He wants some of each of course, but just loves the idea of having little girls especially!

Merry

Really wants one of each. His family will feel like a full package that way and he wants every type of experience he can have, walking a daughter down to her wedding and letting her dress him up and playing games with his son. Teaching both of them how to stand up and fight for themselves, of course! Merry is so the type who wants a mini version of both him and his spouse if he can have it. Would make so many jokes about the little clones and just melt for the child who looks like his partner. Regardless of who she looks like, his little girl has his exact smile and you'll always catch them making it at each other before the next moment of teasing and mischief!

Pippin

Wants so many kids. Five to ten, no problem. Numbers aren’t his concern so long as he can be involved with each and every one of them. Just the type who wants his family to be a small army! Definitely wants to experience having sons and daughters, but statistically he’s going to anyway at his rate! So good at getting down to their level and having the greatest time with them, but also showering them with love and calming words and learning their needs by actually listening. Just Pippin and his little army of fellow neurodivergent sweethearts all with different passions and gifts and special interests.

Faramir

Willing to concede to his partner especially if that’s who actually bears the children. Faramir adores the idea of having a family, of doing everything differently than he experienced, of pouring true love and respect into a little soul doing their best, and that is where his happiness truly lies. A part of him likes the idea of having two sons as full atonement for his and Boromir’s difficult childhood, but even one would make him happy. He is so patient at explaining things to a young mind and his optimism comes out all the more when spending time with a little one- all the world’s beauty is that much brighter!

Eomer

Big family! More than a number he dreams of a boisterous, active home where no one is ever lonely. A warm hearth and the voices of children nearly ever-present. His heart swells as he imagines having one in each hand and plenty more all around him. Eomer, for whatever reason, has the number six in his head. Of course he wants sons, sons to train as fine riders and fighters, but his sister has proved to him that that future is not lost on Rohan’s maid either. He would be so much softer, gentler with his daughter(s), still showing her things like how to shoot an arrow or how he sharpens his blades but with greater care. Gathering everyone for story time is one of Eomer’s greatest delights.

Haldir

For much of his life, Haldir did not think about children, was uncertain that was a future he would even attain. Thus, as the time approaches for consideration he realizes he simply feels blessed by the prospect and is very willing to listen to his partner about their wishes. Granted, he does not wish to live beyond his means or in a way that he could not provide for all he needs to, but in general he is open. The beauty of Lothlórien grows with every new addition, every fair member of elfkind so he is happy with boy(s) or girl(s). He would teach his daughter(s) to walk with grace and uphold their ancient strength and remind his son(s) that honor and respect must center all their actions.

Eowyn

Traditional housewife ‘duties’ were never her desire. Thus, she does not want a large family, though the idea of raising a little life with her partner makes her happy. She only wants one child, maybe two so they can play together, and her family will feel complete. Any child(ren) of hers will surely be active, so she and her spouse will have their hands full with whoever! Strength is a matter of the heart, and Eowyn will raise a strong family no matter if they are male or female. She loves the idea of having a daughter or daughters to share her stories and triumphs with, though- future Shieldmaidens of Rohan!

Arwen

She wants to be able to focus on her family, so ideally not a huge one. Carrying on her legacy and having someone to care for with her partner, a living breathing proof of their love and commitment, is the most important part. She has never been too particular about if the child is a boy or a girl, just that she wants to be there for them and a calming, loving presence in their life as much as possible. So good at holding and reassuring them it’s like magic.

Elrond

Elrond is patient, steady, and he likes to take his time both with his children and between having them. He is happy with a smaller or average-sized family, two or three children. That way he can spend his time, care, wisdom, on them all and lavish Rivendell’s resources on them in different ways. Perhaps they are interested in the rich history, the weapons of old, the art, textiles, the sheer natural beauty of the location. Whatever it may be, he will offer it to them so long as they use it well and with respect. It appeals to him to have one of each, but we all know he would have a soft spot for his daughter!

Lindir

All I can picture is twin dad Lindir. Don’t ask me why, all I know is this man elf has his hands full with a baby on each side. Exasperated but lovingly shaking his head as the two identical little elves/half-elves try to convince him they are their sibling again! Or even having one of each on one fell swoop, teaching them both their favored instrument and singing with them! Lindir doesn't mind so much whether he is to have sons, daughters, each, so long as his children have the finest things in life and know that he shall always give them what he can.

Taglist: @kilibaggins @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart | Reply/Message/Ask to join!

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szasfuckingwife · 4 months

Text

CHALLENGER

GOJO SATORU X FEM!READER X GETO SUGURU

SYNOPSIS: YOU ARE KNOWN FOR YOUR BIGGEST TALENT. AND WHEN SAID TALENT IS HITTING A BALL WITH A RACKET, HOW CAN YOU STOP THE EYES OF TOKYO’S STRONGEST COMPETITORS?

WARNINGS: Nothing but some good ol’ smut

A/N: Nothing, jus go watch challengers that shit was amazing

Gojo Satoru who can’t stop gushing to his best friend Suguru about the girl he saw at the Shibuya Open. It was evident that you hitting that tennis ball with such vigour replayed in his head over and over again.

Except, his friend didn’t get the hype. I mean, he saw your sponsorships and saw that you were good. But never understood the hype. Until, he saw you play in person.

Both of the boys were starstruck on how much stamina you had, how passionate you were, and how short your shorts were. Geto and Gojo had the pleasure of fixating their gaze on you whilst everyone craned their neck to watch each opponent. And even though they missed how the other challenger played, they didn’t care.

They were looking at you.

Whilst you’re more focused on your ability to play, you notice that Gojo is a decent player. It’s clear he loves tennis. He’s fit, strong, good looking and knows how to make you smile, which is not a must but a plus for you. If it’s opening doors or getting you chocolates, Satoru is the man.

However, Geto is much more deeper than that. There’s something missing, something that you seem yo be missing too, that is inside him. When he loses a set, it’s explosive and dramatic. Like you.

From a wide perspective, Satoru would be the obvious match. After feeling insecure in how you played, not only did Satoru take you out for dinner, but his lips pressed against yours so softly.

He guided you to his bedroom and stripped you down slowly whilst not looking away from your eyes. Knuckles turn white as you grip the headboard, realising Satoru’s tongue may have more things to offer than just sweet words.

That night was passionate and, just as if you were on the court, you both took your time and concentrated on the pleasure that came with such an activity. Satoru’s veiny hands explored your body with such precision, you felt like prey under his touch. But you wouldn’t physically allow Gojo to overpower you, you were the better player by no doubt.

His cerulean eyes widened as you made your way on top of him and began to ride him. The whimpers of your friend only motivated you to continue, milking every last drop.

The days after you and Satoru’s intimate night was awkward. Geto knew you fucked, it was clear as day. The lingering stares, the less frequent hang outs, Satoru’s cheeks blushing whenever you walked in the room.

It was obvious Satoru had some feelings towards you, and Suguru wanted that too.

Never-mind being friends since they were in diapers, Gojo was taking the one thing Geto had— or did he?

One night, the pair had an argument. Sure it was about ‘Satoru stealing Suguru’s lucky socks and not giving it back. But you knew better. Outside their hotel room, you heard everything.

“Face it, Suguru, this is more than just a silly sock. It’s because you’re jealous~!” Suguru’s eye tweaked as he heard Satoru’s tease him. “You’re mad that she picked me and not you! Admit it.”

The dark haired man stayed silent for a while before speaking, “Whatever she did with you, she was thinking of me. She wants me.”

A smirk adorned your face as you heard your two boys talk about you in such a passionate way. They were both pining for you. And maybe Suguru was right when he said you were thinking about him when you were fucking Gojo, could you not have your cake and eat it too?

You decide it’s time to knock on the door and end this, stupid but weirdly flattering, argument.

Both of the boys stop in their track as they hear three knocks come from the door, instantly racing to clean the room. When they deemed the room clean, it was now a matter of who’d open the door for you. Face value, it was a simple task but q task that both of them took with great seriousness.

Just as quick as they cleaned the room, they both raced to the door, Geto being a smidge faster.

“Hey..!” They both said in unison as you stood, a shit-eating grin plastered on your face.

“Hi.” You responded. You walked in without getting invited, something the boys were accustomed to the more they knew you.

They watched as you sat on a seat, “You want a drink?”, Gojo spoke up, “Beer?”

You shrug and almost instantaneously, Geto was in front of you with a can of beer in hand.

“Why are you guys acting so weird…?” A chuckle leaves your mouth as you open the can. They both look at each other before Satoru responds.

“So, Suguru is mad because I may have, accidentally, used his lucky socks for my set last night-”

“Lucky socks my ass! You’re just mad because you know that Y/N is into me.” Suguru smirks earning another chuckle from you. Satoru’s eyes flick between you and Suguru with a slight frown.

He shakes his head, “It’s not even like that!”

You turn your head to him and raise a brow, “What’s it like then, Satoru?”

He remains silent for a while. Probably weighing his choices, does he leave the situation alone and appear weak in front of the girl he likes or does he fight back against Suguru? “He’s jealous we fucked.”

Suguru booming laugh echoes throughout the room. He was taking it seriously, however the pathetic way in which Satoru spoke humoured him. “Listen to this guy, Y/N…I mean seriously. I wouldn’t be jealous of another man for sleeping with a woman. A woman isn’t just her body.”

Ironically, you were just your body. For tennis, that was all you relied on. Your agile glides against your half of the tennis court, your mobility, your cadence. Without your amazing body, you wouldn’t be able to do what you love.

“Suguru.” You interrupted the bickering.

He looked at you.

“Do you wanna fuck me?”

The question caused both of them to choke on their own breaths. You’ve always been known for having no filter, but the natural way you spoke of having sex was a shock for the two boys.

“Y/N, stop messing aro-” “I’ll let you.” You expose your magazine front cover smile, playfully giggling at their reaction.

“You’d let me?” Suguru began to grin before he was struck on the back of his head by Satoru’s hand.

You giggle again, “I’d let both of you. C’mon…pleasure me…”

Both boys watch as your hand travels up Suguru’s thigh, achingly close to his crotch. His breath hitches as he takes in the feeling of you kissing his neck.

But suddenly, like a lost puppy, Satoru kisses your neck in hopes you wouldn’t forget him. And you don’t. You turn your head with a smile and a gasp, letting him continue to kiss your neck.

And then, another pair of lips are on your neck. You hold their heads as both of them now hungrily kiss your neck.

“Can we…touch you..?” Satoru says in between kisses. You eagerly nod before you feel hands on your thigh. Geto’s hand cupped your breast whilst his friend’s fingers rubbed against the outside of your panties.

You tried to his your smile with a bite of your lip but you can’t help it. Your boys were being so good to you, and treating you so well. To reward them, your hands were back on both of their, now hard, crotches. They gasped and moaned as you rubbed the outline of their cocks so nicely.

“Take off your shorts…” You whisper and they immediately did what you said. As they sat with their cocks out, they watched you kneel before them, smiling so innocently at them. You were a tease.

Slowly, you began to stroke both of their cocks simultaneously. Seeing as he never felt your touch before, Suguru threw his head back in ecstasy. The white haired boy, however, spat down at his cock, encouraging you to go faster.

“You like that, Satoru? Hm?” You smirk up at him. He nods absentmindedly, too caught up in the feeling to properly communicate. Another giggle leaves your lips as you turn to face Suguru, “How about you, pretty boy?”

Suguru hums in response, “Mmhmm…Yeah…it’s good…”

The boys moans rose in frequency and pitch, the pleasure of feeling their friend’s hand wrapped around them felt too good. But you knew better than to let them cum this early, you removed your hands. Both of them responded in a sour face, a whine even left Satoru’s mouth.

“Satoru, you stand there, Suguru, you can get on the bed…” You say whilst stripping yourself down. “After this, you better win that fucking challenger..”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #geto suguru #geto x reader #gojo satoru #gojo saturo #gojo smut #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #geto suguru x reader #geto x you #jujutsu geto #geto smut #szasfuckingwife

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khuzena · 7 months

Text

Just a coworker

Dr ratio x g/n!reader (i tried)

Part 1, Part 2

cw. angst, super slow burn, they eventually get tgt, hurf/comfort, jealousy brr, reader is unhinged, mentions of drugs, kinda cringe but who cares I've written worse, not proofread, dr ratio is a pussy

a/n: I HATE LIFE SJNAANAN

A week passed and you got the jist of it, you were already done with the basics but everytime that man always found a reason to keep tutoring you.

You were grading some papers until you felt someone looming over you and snooping around your laptop.

“Hey!”

“Do you really need to shout?”

You hid your laptop away from him as he pried for any more info, causing you to kick his leg.

“Who’re you talking to?”

“Why the hell would you care? Plus im grading some papers, you asshole”

You typed away as he didn't leave your side, just watching you input some values— damn one of your students got a 2/100? Might as well make them repeat a grade.

“Which idiot fails literature? More or less just essay writing?”

“Uh…”, you paused, your other hand getting your coffee and sipping on it, “An illiterate person?”

No other words were shared as you two just sat in silence, him staring at the grading sheet and you typing away on your keyboard.

…

It was a quiet day, peaceful even. If it weren't for a fight that broke out at the food court. You should mind your business, but your favourite student had been gravely injured; worry comes easy.

You ran to the student, one hand rested on his leg as it bled, “Hey, stay with me— breathe.”

Your student, Mike, had been buying some coke from some guy in your coworker’s class, turns out Mike got scammed and well, you did not know the full story to take any full action but the blood shed was enough to panic.

“Mike, Mike!”

You held him, you were not an expert at cpr or had any training on how to deal with that much bleeding or anything about dealing with concussions.

Shit, shit.

“We need a doctor!”

Despite your desperate yelling, none were brave to come forth to help, the others just recording or covering their eyes.

What were you supposed to do?

You held onto mike as the others tried to restrain the guy that hurt him, this was bad.

Until you saw Veritas buying some coffee at the new coffee shop from weeks ago.

“Hey you!”

Veritas does not flinch, he does not respond.

“DOCTOR VERITAS RA—”

He groaned, about to run away yet you yelling his full name was enough to make him regret not buying earplugs prior to this incident.

He walked up to you and your student as he kneeled at the both of you’s level.

“What exactly happened?”

No matter how much he hates you and your guts, he still has a duty as a doctor.

“Some asshole beat him up, fuckin’ hell”

He doesn't say anything, before laying Mike down in a more comfortable position and getting a pill from his pocket.

“What's that?”

“Tylenol”

He forced open Mike's mouth and shoving down a pill.

“Isn't that a tad bit aggressive?” Mike was near choking as you patted his back and elevated his seating position.

“So it's better to airplane the pill in his mouth like he's 2 and let him die then?”

“That's not what I meant.” you sneered before some guys from the medical department ran to your side and took care of it.

Now you two were just standing behind the infirmary door and waiting for any update.

“I'm going to miss my class because of you.”

You laughed, the audacity of this man?

“Then go, I didn't ask you to stay.”

It's so hard to read this man when he has his alabaster head on, you can't even tell what he's thinking.

“You talk too much”

“You started it!”

“Just stop talking”

“Whatever.”

You peaked through the window and saw Mike unconscious on his bed, even though it wasn't your fault, it feels like it is…

You sighed as the nurse left the room, standing still before she spoke, “He's fine. It's good that you and Dr. Ratio was there.”

“Uhh yeah…”

You really didn't do much…

Veritas stayed silent as the nurse left, he's not one to like small talk.

“huff… huff… finally.”

You raised an eyebrow, before registering whose voice it was, your eyes lighting up.

“Amir!”

“Whew… I had to end class early, I learned about what happened too late.”

“It's not your fault”

Amir sighed while leaning so ungodly close to you, before Veritas had some audacity left in him to make a comment, “Actually, it is.”, he really has no shame does he?

“I apologise.”

“Now you're just being rude.”

Veritas turned away, can't that man just leave you both alone?

“I don't care. It was both your student's that got into this mess.”

“I have over a hundred students, how could I monitor all of them?”

“Yet you still have to take responsibility for it. I can't believe you let it get to that level.”

“Then leave, if you're just gonna be rude then shut up.”

Amir's jaw hung when he heard you literally tell the Dr. Ratio himself to shut it, not even the people from the IPC would have this level of audacity. It was your last straw, you've already dealt with enough bullshit for the day.

Usually, he would have some snarky reply up in his sleeves but what's crazy is that he just walked away.

“Did you just—”

“I did.”

“Wow.”

—

You were already about to go home as it was getting late, who knew having to shoulder the aftermath of that fight would be that tiring? No shit sherlock.

Peace and quiet, no one to bother you—

“You there.” that familiar voice echoing in the hallways as loud stomps were nearing your direction.

You spoke too soon. Why him of all people?

“You didn't come to today's tutoring session.”

You crossed your arms, looking up at him. Wow. He wasn't wearing his alabaster head? Can't say that it's new but the opportunity to stare at his face was a rare occurrence. But, he infuriates you too much that you'd rather kiss mud than oogle at him.

“And?”

“What do you mean ‘and’? I was waiting for you.”

You eyed him up and down, he did look upset. But did he really think you'd have the energy to confront him, much less see him after what happened today?

“I told you I wouldn't be able to attend tutoring lessons as I have someone to tutor too”

“When did you say that?”

“Two days ago?”

He was baffled, utterly baffled. When did you say that? You must be lying. Despite his stone head obstructing you from any chance to see him right now, by his voice, he was fuming.

He crossed his arms, his right foot tapping aggressively, “I do not recall you saying that.”

“But I did.”, his eyebrows furrowed as you spoke with clear conviction, what do you mean you did?

“You should've told me.”

“I did.”

“Then— why are you being so difficult?”

“It's not me who's being difficult, why are you even mad?”

Like that, the words at the tip of his tongue vanished. Exactly, why was he so worked up?

“You're just using this as an excuse to not deal with the issue.”

You had enough of his bullshit. You started to walk the other way but he just couldn't leave you alone.

“And what if I am? Get lost.”

“We need to talk.”

You turned your heel and faced him, face red and hot then you pointed at him,

“About what? About how sure it's absolutely my fault about what happened today, I'm an idiot, I don't know anything!”

“Now you're just blowing the issue up into something completely different.”

“What else is there to say?”

“You—”

He got silent, biting his lip under that stone head as his temper got the best of him.

“You really are an idiot.”

…

“Just leave me alone.”

There were no other words exchanged as you walked away, your footsteps getting more faint as a second, another one and another pass.

He shook his head at your outburst, you really were an idiot, incompetent and… whatever. At least now that blabbermouth always peering over his shoulder is gone.

…

As you walked home, you couldn't help but cry. There was nothing to cry over but it was too much. The heads berating you for not paying attention to your students, that a scandal like that could ruin the university— to hell with that shit, to hell with that university.

At least you felt safe, at home, with the company of your cats.

“Meow?”

Ah.

You hugged your cat, its fur getting wet as tears dripped, you were starting to taste the saline tears as it creeped into the corners of your lips.

Your phone rang with notifications from the doctor, Wait— how'd he even get your number? shit. But god won't he just leave you alone?

With a click, the notifications died down leaving only your quiet sniffles and your cat’s purr to be heard in the living room.

You didn't have any energy to eat, to hell with your health.

You turned off the lights and plopped into your bed, your cat joining you (yay) as the soft glow of the lamp illuminated the room.

You let out a yawn, turning the lights off but there was a call notification.

‘From Unknown Number’

You felt the urge to swipe and listen to what he had to say, but it's probably bullshit.

You fell asleep.

[From Unknown Number.]

:hey.

:answer me.

:stop being so difficult and just give me 3 minutes.

:Are you there?

:idiot.

:hey.

[99 more unread messages]

…

Time flies, three days flew by already yet it still feels like yesterday. You feel like shit, yeah the issue has been resolved, everything's fine but why did something just feel so wrong?

It was a good rest though, bless that lady who allowed you to have a few days off.

[From Unknown Number]

:I know you're seeing this.

:Stop acting like a child.

:Come on.

:You moron.

[231 more unread messages]

…

Phew, when you entered the faculty room, there was no Veritas in sight. Good, good.

You laid down your satchel on your desk and readied some stuff before heading out, making sure to check all hallways before you make a move; don't want to see the Doctor so early in the morning. (checking every hallway 24/7? What is this? Fnaf?!?)

Things were uncannily peaceful today, did he not come to work today? Or… Maybe you just got really lucky that you both did not cross paths for today.

“And,” you wrote diligently on the whiteboard, “That ends our discussion for today.”

The time ticked to 4:58 pm, you could already see some of your students pack their things.

“Any questions?”

They all shook their heads no as you finally dismissed them, oh how you missed being in your classroom despite being away for merely 3 days.

Today's a lucky day, no issues, no Veritas Ratio in sight.

“Hey __”

You jolted at the sudden call of your name, your head turning from the sound as you see Amir with a worried expression.

“Oh, Amir?”

So suddenly, he pulled you into a hug.

“What're you doin—”

“I was worried.”

“About?”

“You were no contact with everyone for three days, we were all worried.”

You awkwardly laughed, Amir was a fine man, definitely not your type though. You squirmed away from his hold.

“Yeah, just needed a break”

“Oh, I see.”

He paused, “You good now?”, his tone laced with concern.

“Yeah, at least I think so.”

“That's good.”

Your best friend, he was not stupid. He was intuitive too, he eyed you like you were some sort of experiment and like with any experiment, he's made his hypothesis.

“You don't sound ‘good’”

“What do you mean?”

“Is this about Dr. Ratio?”

Bingo, right on the money. There was no use trying to lie to him, especially not after chuckling awkwardly when you got caught.

You nodded, confirming his guess, “Knew it.”

He was in deep thought as he tried to think of any and every possibility why.

“Are you guys dating or something?”

You choked on your own spit— him of all people? Is he out of his mind? At this point, the idea of getting with that socially inept man sounds like an insult.

“Are you trying to piss me off?”

“Calm down sponge bob squarepants, geez”

You groaned as he handed you a juice box. “Thanks,” you quietly muttered out.

…

It was 5 pm, by now, everyone's probably clocked out by now.

It's weird, a 5 pm where you don't get tutor lessons from him.

Whatever, food for thought.

As you left the faculty room, a small part in you wanted to catch a glimpse of him despite you trying to avoid him. Did you miss him? or was just not being alone at these hours too comforting?

He wasn't there. As expected.

…

The next day, you see Veritas, you two walk past each other, he did not spare you a glance.

“Doctor…”

Wind breezes through the both of you but you stood still as he kept walking to his class. How cold.

It was no use trying to confront him, atleast, not here.

For a second, your gaze softened but you quickly got back to your senses. This feeling was strange.

…

The bell rang and, as usual, everyone left. What a fulfilling job.

This week has been really quiet. Peaceful but something was missing. Your life was fun, not this mundane even before Veritas but a part of you looks for him. No no, you were just being insane or something.

The faculty room door slid open, then, just as you wished would never happen (oh really?) Veritas was at you guys’ usual tutoring spot.

You wanted to run but your bag was there. Mustering up the courage, you tiptoed and grabbed your satchel, it felt like playing a horror game with how stealthy you were trying to be.

Shit.

Your pen fell, hopefully it didn't catch his attention.

Just as you were about to go grab it, he took it and handed it to you.

You gulped and took the pen, wanting to run but you froze on the spot.

“You look stupid trying to act stealthy.”

You didn't reply, only gulping nervously as you stayed still.

“What? Say something.”

Truth is, you had nothing to say.

“Sigh, you really like making things so difficult, don't you?”

He doesn't stop you from leaving, but maybe it was you stopping yourself from leaving.

An awkward silence ensued, it was getting annoying, for him, atleast.

“Aren't you going to leave?”

You don't say anything, just standing still, again.

“Answer me.”

Why did you enter the room?

“...” Veritas walked up to you, his codex not in hand as leaned closer.

“Give me 3 minutes.”

He raised your chin with a finger, face unreadable despite his alabaster head gone. It's the third or fourth? You've lost count how many times you saw his real face. Your memory was shit.

“I just want to talk about how…”

He bit his lip, yet his eyes remained fixed on your blank expression.

“That I want to apologise for my behaviour last week.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

That same old silence, he couldn't find the right words, he doesn't know how to say sorry.

“Well…”

“Well?”

Did he stutter? That's odd; very.

“I…” His eyes leave yours, he's practised saying it but it's the hardest thing he'll ever have to do, “I'm…”

Curious eyes gaze into his conflicted ones. Can he even say it?

“So…” sorry.

“I'm sorry.”

You stare at him with shock, did he just apologise?

“Did I hear that right?”

“God damn it.”

He pulled away and walked away to his desk but you followed him, “Hey, did you mean it?”

“Why wouldn't I?”

He knew you'd react like this, he expected you to laugh, mock him or anything but you just look at him with a look of shock—

“I see.”

—And somewhat relieved of what he said.

“I'm sorry too.” He was envious of how easily you spoke those words, you were no genius, yet you were better than him at apologising.

“I shouldn't uh—”

“I just want to say that—”

You cleared your throat, licking your lips in anxiety, “You go first”

“No you—”

“No, you.”

He hung his head low, before looking in your direction.

“It was uncalled for me to treat you and that man that way.”

“I'm listening.”

“I didn't take into account that you both were probably stressed from the situation and…”

He couldn't find the words, nothing was new to him. Complex maths? Easy. Medicine? Easy. Philosophy? Done. History? Is this a joke? He knows everything!

Other than one thing.

“I'm sorry.”

Apologising.

His words brought you immense relief, it was your turn to speak. For the first time, you can read his face. He looked pitiful. Did he not get enough sleep lately?

“I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have lashed out on you.”

How could you just have the knack to be so… Human? That, he couldn't understand. Being genuine, felt new.

“I understand.”

…

“What now?”

He fixed his books on the shelf, the ones he wanted to share with you.

“I dont know.”

“I thought you knew everything?”

He rolled his eyes as you teased him for it, he shouldn't have apologised.

“Stop talking, and also.”

He handed you some wipes, what was it for?

“Your hand,” you looked down at your dominant hand, seeing whiteboard marker creases, “Clean it up.”

“Oh okay.”

You wiped the stains off, but you wondered how perceptive he was. You didn't even notice it yourself.

“How's the tutor lesson with your student?”

Ah, that guy. It's been long since you've finished tutoring him with the basics.

“Went smoothly, he passed his exam”

He hummed, he finished tidying up his desk, good that you listened to his lectures.

“What did you teach him?”

“Until just page 25”

“Huh?”

But you studied the entire book with him, if you just needed help with just page 25, the tutor session would've only taken a week.

“Did you just keep going to the tutor sessions to see me?”

“Maybe, maybe not”

A soft smile creeped up in your face as you saw him short circuit for a bit before regaining his senses.

“You jest”

“I do not.”

…

“So… When's the next session?”

“At my place, tonight. It's getting late.”

Oh? At his place? What a bold offer—

“Just reviewing?”

“Just reviewing.”

You laughed as he rolled his eyes, the two of you leaving the faculty room.

“Under one condition.”

You raised an eyebrow, what was he asking for now?

“A date.”

“Pardon?”

“Do I have to repeat myself?”

You choked on your spit, that's absurd— god.

“No, I heard you. Fine.”

“Agreeing that easily?”

“Do you want me to refuse?” He was starting to get cocky, might as well drag him back down to earth.

“No, you still need to learn more about Quantum Mechanics.”

“Fine.”

…

Veritas pulled you close to him as you both walked the sidewalk, isn't he such a gentleman?

“The tab's on you?” no way were you paying the tab, he better pay it.

He scoffed, he could feel you hold onto his arm as he made sure you were on the right side of the lane to protect you of some sort.

“Whatever, you moron. Hurry up, we still have so much to review.”

A/N: its so bad wtf😭😭😭😢

#dr ratio x reader #dr ratio x you #dr ratio fluff #dr ratio angst #hsr fluff #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail angst #veritas ratio

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divineidolatry · 8 months

Text

CONSTANTLY IN THE DARKNESS — CHAPTER 1

— written by june.

pairing: coriolanus snow x reader*

rating: explicit (18+) — mind the tags, see masterlist for disclaimers

summary: against your wishes, you call the curtain on your relationship with coriolanus snow and walk out of his life for good. against your wishes, he waltzes back in like nothing's changed.

tags: exes to lovers, it's complicated, slow burn but they're constantly fucking, manipulation, toxic relationship, power play, unprotected sex, bdsm, dom!coriolanus, sub!reader, edging, overstimulation, orgasm denial, spit kink, bondage, pearl play, choking, shoe riding, degradation, dirty talk, brat taming, penetrative sex (piv), aftercare

taglist: comment on the masterlist to be added to the taglist.

wordcount: 4,352

just before our love got lost you said "i am as constant as a northern star" and i said "constantly in the darkness, where's that at? if you want me i'll be in the bar."

“Coriolanus…” You drop the silver cutlery on the fine porcelain, the sound sharp enough that he winces. Good. This should hurt him as much as it hurts you. “What are we even doing anymore?”

His face holds that cold expression you can’t read, beautiful and impossible, a question you saw the first day you met him and you knew you wanted to crack him open.

You always knew he had ambition, and you possessed plenty to match. Power called to you from an early age, you’d just gotten smarter about you grabbed it. Still, he made you better. He made you sharper. And in turn, you could make him look soft enough to please.

But the parts of you that slotted together like perfect gears before had grown jagged and mismatched now. His ambitions mean more than you. They come before you. A part of you thinks it would be okay if he still made room for you at the end of the night, but it’s all perfunctory and dutiful.

“We need to talk. Actually talk.”

It’s not for a lack of trying to understand him, but there’s walls in Coryo that shift position, closing him off when you’re not careful enough. Talking with him turns into talking to him. He never did share much, even when you made it clear that you supported his ambitions, never troubling him with your own. You’re big girl, after all, independent and capable, you can hold your own value and underscore his. You know how to charm the worst of them and flatter the best of them, you are an asset beyond compare and yet he’s losing interest. Galling.

“I’ve been loyal, beyond a shadow of a doubt. I’ve kept clean in public so you can defile me in private. I play your game so well, and yet…” You flick your finger against the crystal wine glass, lipstick stains rimming the edge. You dressed to the nines tonight, giving him a last chance to look at you, at everything you offered him as a partner in every sense of the word. “You make me feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

His silence hangs heavy and painful in the air between you two. There’s something so pristine and perfect about the room that itches in your gut, that sometimes makes you want to take the knife and stab him through the back of his hand just to see if he’d even flinch.

“Am I not good enough for you anymore?”

Oh, how icy his gaze is. It cuts right through you, past all your defenses.

These dinners, once bubbling with conversation and excited plans about the next chance you’d have to shift the board, have turned to quiet and perfunctory affairs now. He meets your eyes less and less on the university campus. You spend hours waiting for him in the quiet hallways on the top floor no one goes to, doing your seminar readings in the same hidden alcove where he once liked to make you moan so high a rumor had spread of a ghost haunting.

It doesn’t matter to you that he is busy, it mattered that he stopped including you, that he didn’t even try. And you can’t get through to him. It’s getting sad — worse, stale. On top of that, people are talking. Gossip loud enough that you could hear it from the back rows in lecture halls, of discord between Panem’s golden future and his leading lady. Bad metrics for both of you… and it fucking stings too.

His heart isn’t in your mouth anymore, and you are beginning to starve. And he’d let you.

You fold up the napkin, dropping it on top of the half-finished meal, knowing the waste will irk him. Whatever hook you still have in him you will pull on. You must. You refuse to go down without damages.

“This is what you want, isn’t it? It’s easier this way, me deciding to leave you, that way you won’t have to clean up the mess. That’s why you’ve been so cold, right?”

He doesn’t speak. Pushing the chair out, you get up and walk the length of the table, your heels clicking loud against the marble. You move close to him, press your body against his and feel the heat of his breath on your skin… but his expression does not shift, and you shake your head with a pained noise catching in your throat.

“I don’t think you are this cold,” you whisper, slipping your hand in under his shirt, pressing your fingers against his chest. His heart beats hard and strong. “I hope you realize when I’m gone…” You trail off, struggling with the words.

Silence. Again. He’s leaning back in the chair, watching you try to reconcile this… and he is letting you flounder. Has he allowed you to ask for his time with the intention to give you nothing? The cruelty in that hurts even worse.

“Goodbye, Coriolanus.” You press a soft kiss to his cheek, scraping your nails over his skin, hoping it stings as much as his icy silence does. You gather your bag and coat, and leave his penthouse quietly.

In the elevator, you wipe at an errant tear. The air around you feels crushing but you cannot give in under pressure. You won’t.

For a few days, you don’t cry. You had foreseen this outcome to the conversation after all, made your preparations to leave as little behind as possible, and fortified yourself to understand that no matter how perfect a match you seemingly were for each other, you still actively had to choose one another. Whatever had consumed him also kept him from letting you in as he used to, and it meant he was no longer choosing you.

The barb still lodged itself deep in your chest, leaking poison all the same.

You go through the motions, brushing your hair, washing your face, studying. It’s in one of the lectures, the professor slipping through the lackluster material, that it hits like a fist between the ribs, and you clutch at your side remembering how Coryo would have made this make sense to you. It hits all at once how he’s not there, won’t be, he’s not going to make even the dullest media history class shine bright anymore.

When the tears come, it is Clemensia who wipes them away, lets your head rest in her lap, and offers to fetch the rest of your things. She was his friend first; you’d been a year under them in the Academy. When she comes back she doesn’t say if he reacted, though you doubt he was even at home. She strokes your hair, assuring you she won’t pick a side. Through all her care of you in the weeks to come, she proves her words, not letting you flinch away in public.

“Just because he plays a good game,” she reminds you, “doesn’t mean you can’t make a better move.”

You slowly get back on your feet, keeping her words in mind. She helps with applying your makeup on days when your hands are too shaky, keeping your perfectly crafted mask in place. She glues herself to your side as you attend classes, keeping it cordial with Coriolanus while your gaze slips past him. You forgot how good it felt to be someone’s priority.

“Why are you being so nice about this?” you ask one night, exasperated as she’s getting you ready for a party, squirming in your seat. You don’t feel ready for re-emerging into society, but what choice do you have? Crawl into a hole and vanish? You’d never give him the pleasure.

She rolls her eyes and gets up off the floor to fetch a dusty bottle of posca from the shelves.

“It’s not that different,” she says, handing a glass over to you. “I was in his corner too, and it bit me. Hard.” She grimaces, scratching at her wrist before rolling down the sleeve over her hands.

“Did you two…” You have wondered, after all, jealousy flickering at times like a dangerous question mark.

“Not like that! I just needed him to show up for me, to do this one thing, and he was busy chasing his own greatness.”

It's a relief to hear, mostly because you have an easier time believing her than him. “But you got over it.”

“I can’t fault him. If you’re here, it means something, and it’s not always flattering.” She wrinkles her nose at the posca even as she drinks it down. “When you want something so bad because you need to make sense of the world, to bring some sense of order to the chaos of life… I know you get it. He’s always been this way, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.” Her words are just a whisper as she pins curls in place on your head, her hand lingering to trace your chin as she examines your face.

Clemensia had taken a liking to doing these little things for you, drawing from a deep well of knowledge she’d amassed. It had become an outlet for her, creativity to couple with her own ambition. She liked to practice different looks on you before paring them down to a more fitting style suitable to current trends, but each flourish of her brush warmed your skin.

You knew that duality well — of wanting to create and struggling to find the time and place. Ever since you were small, your parents had clung to the idea that singing lessons and dance classes were of utmost importance, even keeping them going during the war. They wanted you to excel, rise in standing, and it had honed you.

Unbidden, one of his old comments floats up in your mind, making your breath stutter. ‘You have the prettiest voice of all the girls in Panem, do you know that?’ And while you scoffed then, your ego bloomed under his praise. ‘Tell me more about how much you love my voice, Coryo…’

“Hey… come back to me, you better not ruin the hard work I’ve just done, I don’t do hard work for just anyone, you know?” Clemmie teases, but you can see a stern look in her eyes. You don’t have a lot of time, and she isn’t keen to waste it. “We have somewhere to be soon, okay?”

You nod. She’s right. The Capitol’s numerous galas and grand events throughout the year had kept going despite your broken heart, and tonight is the Rose Ball, an extravagant gala held in the grand conservatory with an orchestra playing and the guest list consisting of only the names of the highest esteem in the Capitol. And your name was still on it. Tonight, you intend to make sure it isn’t the last invite sent your way, no matter what.

Clemensia finishes with a lipstick red as wine, smiling as she puts her hands on your shoulders and turns you to the mirror.

“Look at you,” she says, tilting your chin up so the light catches the pearlescent shimmer dusted on your skin. “Everyone will be falling for you. And he will have no choice but to watch what he lost.”

You shiver in excitement.

You share the ride with some people Clemensia knows, and while they gossip away, you sit alone with your thoughts, the mask wavering for a moment. This is the first formal gathering you’re attending since the split… Several months of picking up the pieces to pretend like everything’s fine, to recoup as much of your image as possible, while still doing him the courtesy to not hurt his. You have been so good, and still people look at you as if you made a mistake and not him.

Tonight would be harder to find a bathroom to tuck away into, an empty study room to make your safe haven. No cover to hide behind, so you needed to don the appropriate armor, to appear unaffected. To tell a tale to outdo his. After all, Clemensia’s right, everyone can be made to want you. You will move on, and you will make him regret it while you do. You will remind him that your heart isn’t a delicate plaything, but a fire furious enough to match his.

You play with the pearls around your neck, the matching gold and pearl earrings bouncing against your cheek as the car passes over cobblestoned streets. They are the very same Coriolanus gifted you on your first anniversary, and weighted with memories. You thought about throwing them away immediately after the break-up, but that would have said something about him winning, and you can’t stand that.

Clemensia, hawk-eyed as ever, notices your nervous fiddling and nudges your foot with hers right as the car pulls up to the entrance. “Shall we then?” Clemensia offers you her arm and you take it gratefully. You revel in the sync of your heels clicking as you ascend the hard steps to your most important battlefield yet.

Past the heavy gilded doors, the gala’s milling crowd slows down as you enter, eyes drawn to you. You hold your head high, gripping Clemensia’s arm tight. No one here will get the pleasure of seeing you flinch. They announce your names, and you smile, brilliant and beautiful. The corset underneath your rose-red dress keeps your back straight, reminiscent of old elegances that has the old garde softening for you.

You think you spot him on the far end of the room, but the shadows are long and the lights dimmed. His gaze feels a certain way though, and there’s a wicked warmth in your chest that only he has ever made you feel.

“I’m going to do reconnaissance,” Clemensia says as she gives your hand a squeeze. “Let me get the lay of the land.”

“Go, go.” You wave her off, confidently stepping into a circle that parts to let you in amongst them, laughing at the right time. If there is one dance you know better than any other, it is this: the social graces and manners expected of you in these cutthroat places, where the marble runs red with lies and blood. Your heels know where to step even when sleepwalking.

While your mask does not waver, you sure feel bare under all the scrutiny, hungry gazes roving over every bared slip of skin on your arms. After what feels like hours of compliments, cruelties and layered comments, you find a brief escape in an alcove on the second floor, rubbing at your sore ankles as you catch your breath, head spinning. Roses weigh in on all sides of you, enchanting and heady. If you had to say something nice, it’s that Coriolanus knows how to work with the best event planners the Capitol has to offer.

You rip off a handful of petals, crushing them until the fragrant oils spill forth, and press them down the front of your dress before you get up to continue mingling.

The night is long: a dance with the Featherpillow boy a year your junior who easily dances circles around most of the men here; a glass of champagne with the Fairweather twins as you chat about the latest fashion trends and they enviously compliment your pearls; Clemensia whisking you away to a polite and stiff conversation with the Ravenstills. The night goes on for some time in this manner, gliding between dances, advances, and gossip. No one can seem to keep you in one place.

And everywhere you go, you feel the constant, unrelenting pierce of eyes on you. Not just the masses… his.

You are showing him up. Everyone knows it. Coming to his event with seemingly no hard feelings, dressed like a classical painting, fielding every conversation with natural ease and charisma. Everyone wants to see you, talk to you, be seen with you. It’s a move that will have lesser men folding their hands.

Coryo isn’t.

There’s no shortage of attention in his corner, the constant requests for a word from important political seats and fellow society greats, and invitations to dance which he only takes when you do. The undertow between you is palpable. He is an inevitability, you can feel it when you draw close during dances, gazes brushing past each other.

He is throwing you off, little by little, his smile blistering bright and dangerous across the room, and he catches you looking. Just once. And once is all he needs.

You swipe a glass of posca from a passing waiter, knocking it back in one go. This wasn’t part of your plan.

It definitely isn’t a part of the plan that Coriolanus appears in front of you, taking the empty glass away from you with a cool smile.

“May I have the next dance?” he asks, voice perfectly warm and polite. Every single eye watches the two of you with rapt attention as he offers his hand out to you.

He knows you can’t turn him down now, and he is relishing in it. His eyes are lit up, a fire in them you have not seen in months. You put your hand in his, beaming up at him.

“It would be my pleasure,” you say, dragging out the last word until it drips like daggers from your lips.

The two of you assume the starting position, you with one hand in his, the other on his shoulder, and you can’t help but notice that it is all too comfortable a role to slip back into: the perfect pair, polished and primed for the show. A lone pianist begins to play, and you recognize the tune as one of your very favorites… one you played for Coriolanus more than once on the grand piano in his penthouse.

Maintaining a polite expression, you shoot him a look. “Did you request this piece?”

“It’s your favorite, is it not?” He keeps it civil. More than civil, he keeps it warm, saccharine sweet even as he continues to lead you without a single misstep while giving the audience a perfect dance.

“I thought you’d forget about me,” you say, testing the waters. “Like you do to everyone who no longer interests you.”

“You think I’d be that cruel?”

“I know you would be.”

A hum rumbles in his chest and you feel it against your body, heating your cheeks. The dance goes on, gliding and spinning, the room growing dizzying either from the drinks or the way he won’t drop eye contact with you.

This much attention from him was not the plan, definitely not the goal, and as the tempo slows for the twinkling end of the piece, you think you might fall over if not for the sheer adrenaline coursing through you… and the firmness of his grip, fingers digging into the back of your corset.

As the music falls quiet, there’s a brief moment where you could hear a pin drop, the tension in the air releasing as the audience applauds. You blush, bowing to him, simmering with the dual-edged feeling of having been made a spectacle of — and a part of you enjoyed it because it was him doing it.

He offers his arm to you and you hesitate, wanting to search out Clemensia in the crowd, but with the expectant eyes still on you, it’s hardly the time to turn him down.

Shit.

You take his arm with trepidation, chewing the inside of your cheek as he leads you to the upper level of the conservatory. As you pass by Clemensia you shoot her a pleading glance, but she cannot save you, and you both know it.

He knows the place like the back of his hand and leads you to a tucked-away alcove crowned with rose arches. The plush settee is comfortable but small, and you wind up pressed against his side when you sit down. Worse still, it’s like he delights in tormenting you as he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in.

“Did you enjoy doing that?” With a gentle huff, you finally speak your mind, voice hushed. He’s close enough that you feel the warmth of his breath, of his entire body, and yours never forgot how good he could make you feel, aching for him like a traitor. “Did you want to make a fool of me?”

He does nothing to assuage the pained curiosity of your words, tutting as he reaches up to finger one of your earrings. “No need. You and I can both agree you made plenty spectacle of yourself all on your own tonight, darling.”

You hold back from chewing him out, refusing to align his glance to his. It always frustrated him back then and it still does, as he moves his hand to your chin and tilts your face towards his.

“Hard time letting go?”

He knows just how to stoke the fire in you. “Of you? Never.”

“As you say.” He rubs the fabric of your skirt between his fingers. “You seemed all too comfortable letting everyone reach out to pull you around tonight, truly playing the belle of the ball, hm?”

“That’s how the Capitol landscape is and you know it. I was not trying to upstage you.”

He tuts at that. “You think that is why I’m upset?”

You furrow your brow. “What else would it be?”

“Because for all your flitting about tonight…” He lowers his voice, and you lean in instinctively. “You wouldn’t have deigned to give me the time had I not put you on the spot.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your mental game board in disarray. “You’re jealous?”

You’ve learned to not cry over him anymore. Even when it hurts, when the three years down the drain remind themself like a splinter under your nail, you’ve learned better control than that. But this time, you feel the hot prick of tears in your eyes. When one slides down your cheek, he wipes it with his thumb.

Damn it, damn him, damn it all. You swallow.

“After everything, you are jealous? I didn’t even come here with someone else.”

“You came here with Clemensia.”

“Yes, a friend.”

“She was my friend first.”

“Oh, don’t be a child.”

You roll your eyes, slapping his chest. He holds your hand there, and when the first feeling that runs through your heart is a sliver of hope, you know you’re done for.

“I’ve missed you.”

Check mate.

He wins again.

You try to pull away, but he resists, pressing you closer into him. For all that hurt, all the frustration, when you look into his eyes, when your gaze flits down to his lips, you still want to crush his lips with yours, to slot right into his life like you never left, and that thought gnaws at you. You hate yourself for it. And your mask is not that strong…

“You really could have thought about that earlier, Coriolanus. You had every opportunity.”

He seems content with not elaborating on why he froze you out, left you in the dark, and it frustrates you. His only response, in fact, is to act on the heat of the moment, pulling you into a kiss.

It’s greedy and hungry and he bites at your lower lip, causing you to whine. His lips are soft and taste of sugary pastries and finely aged wines and oh, it would be so easy to fall head first into how good it feels, how much you missed this, to climb on his lap right here…

You lick into his mouth, wanting all you can take before you part from him, unable to forget where you are, that there is no privacy in this place, and that you can’t risk everything for him — however badly you want to. When you pull away, you see the mess you’ve made of him, lipstick on the corners of his mouth, and it thrills to know he’s made one of you too.

“Not here,” you say. But it isn’t a no. It’s hardly a stop. It’s a challenge and you desperately want him to rise to it.

He waves over one of his attendants to assist in making you both presentable, leaving you in the seat once he is taken care of. You hold back a protest, ready to settle back into the shadows of his ambition, but then overhear him whispering about “ready the car” and “make sure they have a good time” before he turns back to you. There’s the fire that could burn the whole of the Capitol down if he wanted it. There’s the hunger that could have you willing to offer him of yourself just to sate him. It leaves you speechless. It leaves you burning.

He whisks you away out the back entrance to the waiting car and once seated in the back, partitions pulled up, you spare no time climbing on top of him, arms wrapping around his neck.

He fingers your earrings again, hand trailing down to your necklace. “Our first anniversary, hmm? Do you remember why I had the rose engraved in the gold?”

You aren’t interested in reminiscing anymore, you want the present moment, you want to burn your mouth on his. You kiss him again, rocking against him as you do, relishing in the way he tightly grabs your hips, helps you keep grinding down as he lifts up the skirt higher, skimming the top of your thigh-high stockings.

“Missed you too.” Your breath is hot and ragged against his skin.

You look over his face, bodies still slowly rocking together, and when your semi-glazed eyes meet his, you see nothing but fire, dangerous and warming, everything you have ever wanted from him. In a craze, you find yourself begging.

“Please… make me yours again.” It’s a romantic notion, and it will haunt you come morning, but now you are nothing but a bundle of nerves and want, all ripe for his picking.

“Patience,” he breathes against your neck, his lips on the pearls. “We’re almost there.”

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