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darsynia · 6 months ago

Note

Surprise blurb bomb!

You’re at a conference and a little worried because your boss has enlisted you to present. You’ve got about a day to go, so you’ve been in pacing in your hotel room rehearsing. However, the frustration mounts every time you hear yourself make a little mistake. Your next door neighbor has heard all of this, so they come to knock on your door, checking that everything is alright. When you explain what’s going on, they nod sympathetically, having to present as well. They kindly offer to help you practice, which leads to the two of you falling asleep collapsed on top of each other on your bed. What happens after that? Who’s your babe?

Thank you so much for this!! I chose Steve, and this is teeth-rotting fluff with my signature little characterization moments. I hope you enjoy!!

gif from @askthesuperhusbands

Notes: Pre-Ultron, no warnings, 2,447 words, first draft so I get it out without fussing

Excerpt:

“I get it. Public speaking is hard enough when it’s important, but it’s even harder when there are no friendlies in the audience.” Steve smiles wryly. “That won’t happen here, I promise. I’ll be in the room, because just like with the war bonds, I’m a symbol of what you’re fighting for.”

Always On

“The idea of ‘public relations’ has fallen into disrepute, just like ‘human resources’--and I think their tarnished reputations are related,” you say, hands clutching the edges of the wooden desk chair ‘podium’ precariously balanced on the hotel bed. “I know everyone in this room is well-acquainted with the concept of finding common ground with a myriad of people-- Argh!”

You frown, feeling the judgment of the rumpled sheet hanging on the wall. It’s covering the mirror that had pulled your focus away for the first twenty minutes of this practice exercise, but you still know it’s there. At this point, the sheet is a fig leaf covering your dignity and your inability to stay focused.

It’s past midnight, and the long day is getting to you. The introductory paragraph of your presentation is in the bag, but paragraph two isn’t working at all. It’s your thesis statement, the crux of the whole project, and you know you’re fighting an uphill battle. Without help from the well-respected UNITY Project, the governments of the world might try something extreme to keep the Avengers in line. Each year the group of philanthropists, aid workers, humanitarian lawyers, and other notorious do-gooders meet and choose ten groups to endow aid or oversight on. You’re hoping for the oversight, but it’s a long shot. The group has a sterling reputation, and their clout might be enough to get Secretary Ross to back down.

Your hands ache from where you’ve been clutching at your makeshift podium, but you square your shoulders and try again. “What we’re seeking is a partnership, a way to celebrate this team’s efforts and smooth over their rough edges.”

The sheet is mocking you, so you close your eyes and picture the faceless group you’re going to be appealing to.

“Citizens around the world trust your judgment and their heroism. Together we can ease fears and--” You stop, struggling to remember the word you’d thought up in the rental car on the way to the hotel. No amount of squinting at the note cards does any good. Your notes are rain-splattered and ruined in exactly the wrong spot, of course.

Throwing your head back, you let out yet another miserable groan.

Seconds later, there’s a gentle tap on the door. You recognize the pattern.

“Go away Steve, I’m busy dying of frustration!”

There is silence for over thirty seconds, but you’re not fooled. After counting to fifty-five, you stride over and throw the door open right before Captain America’s knuckles strike the wood again.

“Yes?” Your withering glare doesn’t faze him. Steve just raises his eyebrows and holds his hands up in a ‘surrender’ gesture.

“Three ‘arghs’ in fifteen minutes gets a visit, you should know that,” he tells you with mock sternness.

Hot embarrassment has you stepping back in dismay. “You could hear that?”

“A few words of the speech, too,” he nods, prompting another ‘argh’ from you.

Your choices are to spontaneously develop superpowers so you can drop through the floor, or do as you always do in this friendship--or let Steve Rogers be the hero. Your dilemma must show on your face, because for once, he doesn’t wait for you to ask for help.

“Something tells me the board of United International Continuing Acronym won’t be convinced by those noises,” Steve says, using Stark’s nickname to cover for the way he pushes past you into the room. For a few seconds, the fronts of your bodies brush against each other, and the heat from those few seconds burns through you.

By the time you recover, Steve’s already across the room, clearing his throat. “I sympathize, believe me. Doesn’t matter how much public speaking I’ve gone through, it still ties my stomach into knots.” He turns and gives you a look of teasing determination. “I have a few suggestions, but I’d have to swear you to secrecy.”

Your crush surges up to color your voice with maybe a little too much affection as you say, “Captain America has secrets?”

The look he shoots you has the same sort of heat from seconds ago. “Here,” he says, pulling a folded page from his pocket. “This is a new one, but back when they first put me in tights, I practiced my script in a room set up with some of these.”

Steve hands you a drawing of a crowd of people, some smiling, some frowning, some turning to their neighbors instead of looking forward. It’s got all of the charm of his usual drawings, despite being more simple than usual. When you look up at his face, his sheepish expression tells you why. He must have drawn it right before knocking on your door.

“Steve,” you breathe, touched by the gesture but also the way he’s captured the spectrum of audience reaction. It reminds you of everything he’d gone through to be the man he is now, the man you’ve fallen for as inevitably as a crowd cheers for a brilliant performance. You couldn’t help it.

“Not now, all right?” he whispers, a kind of pleading in his eyes. “Speech first.”

You blink at him. Did he just acknowledge that something’s different between you? What is it about this corporate hotel hundreds of miles from the home that’s turned everything deliciously sideways? He’s already on the next Act, and you shove those feelings aside to focus like he’s asked you to.

“My place was a quarter this size, but maybe we can…” Steve trails off, propping his drawing on the draped wall sheet and flipping off all but the lights above the bed. Somehow it works, limiting distractions and changing the covered mirror into an easel for his thoughtful drawing.

There’s only one problem.

“Are you planning to lurk behind me?”

“Well, I’d sit in the chair, but--”

“Steve!” You can’t even glare at him, because all you can see is the glint of the fluorescent light reflecting off of his shined shoes. He pushes off the wall and steps forward just enough so you can see the kind look on his face.

There’s no way he could know how romantic that sounds, so you swallow against the sudden tightness in your throat and nod at him.

You start again, and suddenly it works. The chair is a podium. The crowd is real. Steve is somewhere out of sight, rooting for you. You get through the whole thing, and it feels great. You can hear Steve clapping for you through the relieved buzzing in your ears.

Then it all falls apart. When you let go, the chair falls over and smacks you in the face, and the little breeze from your flail of pain knocks the drawing down. Steve rushes over to help, but he bumps into you, and you both fall sideways onto the bed.

The giggles last for a glorious few minutes, and then he says, “Okay, since everything went sideways, can I make it worse?”

You’re lying on a bed with Steve Rogers and his smile is like an early sunrise, so you say yes.

“The concept is good, but you sound like you’re using big words to impress. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s not really us. Tony’s irreverent, Clint’s the salt of the Earth, and Bruce is the kind of scientist that puts everyone at ease, at least until he turns green.” Steve turns onto his back, but he doesn’t get up, which feels consequential, despite his criticism. “Nat’s public persona is standoffish but not pretentious, and I’m--”

“You’re folksy,” you interrupt, still stinging from the unfortunate truth of the word ‘pretentious.’ “The epitome of ‘plainspoken.’”

Steve shoots a look over at you, and you realize those two words are exactly what he meant.

“The guy next door,” you add. Inside, you’re crumbling a little bit. Does he think you’re pretentious? Are you pretentious?

Steve rolls to face you again, reaching out to brush his thumb gently across the place the chair had struck you. It’s covered by your hair, but he somehow knows exactly where it is.

“You still have a full day left of the conference before it’s your turn. I could have colored that drawing and given it to you tomorrow, but that wouldn’t have helped tonight.” He pulls his hand back, but sets it on the bed between you. “That’s what makes us a team.”

You’re confused, but comforted nonetheless.

“You paint with words. It’s not that different from art, and every artist chooses how much effort to put in each piece,” he explains patiently. “It’s the same for this. You’re representing everyone, and that means you have to save some of that energy for the physical part of it. Not everyone realizes that.”

“Oh, God,” you blurt out, sitting up. “You are a symbol, just like you said. You’re always on, even at the Compound! How much energy does that take?”

He looks up at you, and the truth in his eyes is painfully intimate. “It’s not as bad now. When I came out of the ice, it kind of felt like I was still in tights. Always exposed for the greater good.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. It’s your job to book him for events. You’re the one shoving him onto the stage.

“No, no, don’t do that,” Steve says, sitting up and framing your face with his hands. “It was worse before, when it was Tony or some random person at SHIELD sending me out. I trust you. This conference was your idea--”

You scrunch up your face with guilt at that, and Steve gets this look of determination on his face. The next thing you know, he’s leaning forward and kissing you. It’s electric, stage lights blaring, orchestra in crescendo, and the velvet curtain rolling closed on the triumphant final scene to the roaring of the audience applause.

Then he’s pulling back, standing, and running his hand over his face. “That was out of line, I’m sorry.”

“It was a masterpiece,” you say, looking up at him with your hands clutching the blanket and your heart in your eyes.

The way his nervous tension completely leaves his body is even more reassuring than the softly-spoken “Oh. Good,” he lets out. His encore wins all the awards your heart has to give: “I didn’t practice that at all.”

Joy colors your voice. “You’re a natural.”

Steve’s ears turn red, and he says, “Well, I should let you get back to it. It’s past one--”

“You could stay,” you rush to say, standing up and stepping past him to pick up the drawing. Behind you, he makes a strangling sort of coughing noise, and you realize what you’ve said. “To practice!”

That just makes Steve gasp your name, clearly amused and scandalized in equal measure, and you groan in frustration. Feeling giddy just destroys your cognitive abilities.

“The speech! What is it about this hotel??”

“A new medium. Canvas instead of watercolor paper. A speech instead of short stories,” he says, setting the fallen chair back upright.

“You know about those?” you ask, surprised. You’ve made a point of working on them only during your downtime.

He has the grace to look apologetic. “Tony made a comment once, that I’d turn up in one of your stories if I offended any world leaders, when I was sent to the UN Grand Assembly.”

“Shit, I forgot I threatened him with that one time when he was being an ass.” Your grumble ended in a colossal yawn. “What time does breakfast start tomorrow?” The conference is a multi-day affair, and missing the early meal had not set you up to stay awake through the panels today. “I won’t have any time to practice this tomorrow night and you’re right, I really need to clean up the wording,” you add, feeling your elation at the kiss drain away with worry.

“Then let’s keep at it,” Steve says, taking the drawing and setting it back up on the sheet. He turns and gives you as wicked a look as you’ve ever seen on his face. “The speech, I mean.”

You wake up to the alarm with a sore neck, your dress pants digging into your hip, and a bed partner. He’s the farthest from a pain in the neck as a man can get, but falling asleep fully dressed with your head on his shoulder wasn’t the wisest decision you’ve ever made. You pull in a deep breath, trying to clear out the mental cobwebs scattered in happy glitter, and Steve tenses up under your head.

“I’m sorry,” you say immediately.

“Don’t be. I’m the one who should have left you to sleep.”

You sit up so he can slip out of bed, knowing that he needs to put distance between you for his own peace of mind.

“Be honest: have you ever voluntarily abandoned a woman who needs your help?” you tease. “In all seriousness, you were a huge help last night, and I’m sure that was outside your comfort zone. That was probably the most I’ve ever seen you talk outside of lecturing Stark!”

“I didn’t even notice,” he says, pulling the sheet off of the mirror expertly folding it over in the corner of the room.

He’s faced away from you, so you indulge in a back-arching stretch while muttering under your breath, “You have no idea how hot that is.”

“Right back at you,” Steve retorts, looking back at you with the sheet in one clenched fist. “I need to get going. Want me to pick up breakfast for you?”

You’re off script and floundering, trying to reconcile the sexy rasp in his voice with this attempt at professionalism. It’s exactly the kind of relationship you’ve always dreamed of, and you find your heart slipping further into romantic oblivion.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Thank you,” He says, holding out a hand to help you up. Once you’re standing, Steve holds your gaze and lifts his eyebrows in a very clear question. Heart pounding, you nod, and he takes your lips in a brief but fervent kiss. He moves back, pausing at the door. “I just thought of something, but it’s--”

“Tell me anyway,” you interrupt. “You don’t have to alter your wording for me.” It’s maybe too symbolic and cheesy, but you’re sleep deprived.

“I’m looking forward to another collaboration,” he says, flashing you a brilliant smile.

Note: I may have to write a sequel with what happens AFTER, given that I impulsively wrote this and missed that the prompt was 'what happens after that' I feel so dumb haha

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x f!reader #captain america x reader #captain america x f!reader #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers fluff #captain america fluff #first kiss #friends to lovers #thank you so much for the prompt my dear!#i found a way to get permanent dark mode on google docs and it means i can actually effing write omg

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comicarc · 2 months ago

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𝐈 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 (𝐈𝐗)

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"A lonely moon craving for the radiant sun." In which a certain girl catches the attention of a prideful billionaire playboy as they both attempt to find their way in the world. (I haven't seen many fics explore Bruce in his formative years, so I thought I'd share my take on them, of course with romance.)

wc: 2201

A/N: "The future influences the present just as much as the past." -Friedrich Nietzsche

─── ･｡��☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“That’s it! That’s where you’re gonna stop?” The little boy groaned, resting his head on y/n’s lap as she bandaged his hand.

“Why of course, you’ll hear the rest when you’re ready. For now, mull over my words for there is always something to learn from history.” She smiled looking into the eyes of the little boy with a motherly affection.

“What’s there to learn? Bruce Wayne’s selfish, Harvey Dent is ignorant and you–you’re just plain depressed.” The boy rolled his eyes, annoyed that he’d wasted half his night listening to a story without a climax.

y/n’s smile widened as she chuckled. “I thought you were smart, little robin. No one ever tells you that bravery feels like fear. And it’s easy to be brave when you’d rather die than give up.” She combed a hand through his hair, humming some lullaby.

As she tied the end of the bandage, securing it, the little boy sat up and leaned against her shoulder as he clarified, “So you’re saying I should fight till my last breath to get what I want? To be stubborn.”

“As hell. Or else the world will devour you, and you’ll be left dreaming.” She finished.

The boy turned his head to face her, expecting the same gesture she gave him every night. Placing a kiss atop his forehead, y/n rose from her couch to prod at the flame burning in the fireplace with a poker. The boy watched her, unwilling to move from his seat.

He loved y/n’s humble abode, for it overlooked Gotham in such a way that the city looked like a dream. From the window, he could see a sea of lights below and skyscrapers decorating the skyline in the distance. It was a picturesque view.

Not to mention her apartment was the perfect size, not too small that it felt claustrophobic but not too large that it felt artificial. There was a coziness to it that he never felt in his “real” home. The kind he craved to bathe in till the end of time.

“Can I stay tonight?” He asked for the umpteenth time in the past week. He knew what she would say, that she truly wished she could but she couldn’t deprive his father of such a wonderful presence.

“Y’know what, why not? It’s the holidays, and I’m sure Batman wouldn’t mind you having a little time to yourself.”

“Really? Yes!” The boy exclaimed. Immediately he was on his feet, running to the kitchen for a midnight snack. As soon as he had his food in a bowl the boy ran back and turned on the TV above the fireplace, setting it the movie Home Alone. He cozied himself into the couch, cuddling into a blanket he found nearby, and patted at the empty space beside him, indicating for y/n to join him.

She told him she needed a moment outside before joining him for the night. Setting the poker down in its mantle, y/n walked out to the patio, sliding the door behind her to ensure that the little boy would be none the wiser to what was happening outside.

She took slow steps to the edge, leaning over the railing with her hands folded atop it. “I let him stay tonight. I hope you don’t mind,” she spoke, her words fading into the crisp air. The moon shone down as if illuminating just her. The rest of her patio was shrouded in a darkness so deep, that even a bat couldn’t see through it.

That’s where he remained hiding as he answered, “Robin needs the break. Make sure he comes back in the morning.” He hesitated before he took a step into the light. Though he still remained out of her sight, she could feel the warmth exuding from his armored body. Standing on her feet again, she moved a step away from the rail until her back was only inches from his body.

“Batman, what a peculiar name. However, did you come up with it?” She began, hoping she’d elicit a reaction. There was a familiarity to his voice that she couldn’t quite place due to the modifier.

Met with silence, she attempted conversation again. “It’s a beautiful, silent night. I remember a time when Gotham’s symphony was especially deafening during this hour. Why remain in the dark when you can bask in the light of the city’s new hope?”

“Darkness shields just as much as it threatens.” He confessed, his voice wavering ever so slightly.

“And light guides us home, to happiness.” She responded. She wished she could whip herself around, to face the dark knight in all his glory, but she knew he’d have left by now. He was never one to stay too long, but at least his fleeting presence made his company all the more precious.

Alone on the patio, y/n headed inside, back to the Bat’s protege: Robin. Inside, the eager little boy ignored the movie, and began to question y/n’s story yet again. “Please, please, please tell me more. What happened with the case, what happened after they found out where you lived?”

“Well, Falcone’s still serving time in jail, so to say we succeeded would be an understatement. Talking about the trial would be a bore, especially since most of it is public record. As for the boys, well nothing really changed. Harvey hung out more and more with Gilda until they fell in love when they went to Harvard. Bruce went to Yale and essentially dropped off the face of the Earth until he returned to Gotham last year.”

“Ok, if you don’t want to talk about them then I get it. But what about Dr. Crane, what happened with him?” Robin persisted.

“That’s for another night, alright? Patience is a virtue you really should practice.” She chuckled, moving one of the couch pillows under his head as he slouched into a sleeping position. She patted his side until the boy forgot all about the movie and fell into a restful sleep beside her.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A year prior, Bruce Wayne had come back to Gotham. Really, it was more like he had snuck in. For months he remained a recluse, until one day he threw the biggest gala Gotham had ever seen at his mansion. He called it his homecoming ball, but y/n believed it was merely a distraction. The Bruce she knew always used such extravagance as a facade, but there was always the fact that he’d been gone from Gotham for nine years. He’d most likely have changed in that time as any man would.

By then, at the ripe age of 27, y/n herself had earned her spot in the Gotham Gazette. Having earned a few awards for her writing debut about her involvement in the unraveling of Falcone’s drug operation all those years ago, y/n was able to go to Gotham University and eventually Columbia to earn her degrees in journalism. From there, she was hand-picked by the Gazette to work for them as a full-time writer.

Batman had come into the picture just a month after Bruce’s return, but his presence was so rare that at first, he seemed a myth. Even now, a year later some people still doubt his existence. The only real proof people have is Robin, who showed up in his colorful spandex three months ago. y/n found the little bird in a back alley near her home on his first day, and ever since she’s been helping stitch him up or give him company on the nights he patrols as a sidekick to Batman.

Sending off Robin in the morning, y/n had the remainder of the day to prepare herself to attend another Wayne gala for Christmas. It was a dreaded assignment, for she had wanted to keep herself at a distance from any Wayne, but things don’t always work out the way we want them to.

Before heading to the mall to buy a nice gown for the black tie event, y/n headed to Gotham Academy. She was to meet an old friend at the now-abandoned stands that faced the racetrack. The place where it all began.

Seated on the stands, she shielded herself from the winter wind with the large men’s coat she wore. Its color had faded with time, but the warmth it trapped was still able to keep her comfortable. It was large on her, but that made it all the more comforting for it engulfed her in a tender embrace.

A tall, lean figure approached her, with his hood up and a mask to conceal his face. He was muscular, an attribute evident by the way the jacket comfortably hugged his figure. There was a noticeable bulge at his side in the shape of a sidearm, but it was tucked away snugly enough to reassure y/n that it wouldn’t be needed.

The man took slow steps toward her as he took in y/n’s still form in all its glory under the morning sun. She looked absolutely angelic, with golden rays illuminating her glorious face. The man was utterly entranced by how beautiful she looked, despite the apparent lack of effort she had put into her appearance.

“Harvey, dashing as always.” She broke the silence with her honey-laced voice.

He smiled as he took off his mask. Sitting beside her he replied, “y/n, lovely as ever. Merry Christmas.”

“I have the file you want, but I can’t imagine why you couldn’t get it yourself.”

“I may be a man scorned, but Two-Face still has his limits.” That may have been true for many things, but this circumstance was different. He wanted an excuse to see her again.

After the accident, Gilda had left him, his public image was ruined, and his mind was in shambles. Yet, y/n remained at his side, as his sole supporter. Even when he changed, when his pain led him down the dark path of criminality, y/n continued to stay in contact with him. He knew she hoped she could change him for the better, but they both knew it was a misplaced expectancy.

She deserved the world for the kind of woman she was, and that was the very reason Harvey refused to make his advance. He couldn’t give her the heaven she deserved. He feared no man could. But Gotham had recently been put under new authority with all the Arkham inmates running around like they owned the place. And with vigilantism becoming a new trend, who knew what divinity may enter the equation to whisk her away for good?

Handing Harvey the file, y/n stood. Quirking an eyebrow at her sudden departure he remarked, “Is that my coat?”

With her back to him, she answered, “Merry Christmas, Apollo.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

At last, she returned to her humble abode. At the entrance, there lay a large cardboard box marked with her address. At first glance, there was no sender, no note, nothing that eased y/n’s suspicions. y/n was hesitant to pick it up and bring it inside with nothing to reassure her that it was safe to open.

But a nagging instinct allowed her to let go of her precaution and do just that. Once inside, she set it down on the nearest counter, grabbed an exacto knife, and carefully sliced through the edges of the packaging. The box opened to reveal a note engraved in gold letters, reading, “Make a proper debut in high society with a bang. Sincerely, An Old Friend”

As she read the sign-off signature, a few people came to mind. Harvey was the first suspect, having been graced by his longing niceties in the hours prior. But he wouldn’t have made such a blatant gesture for no reason; at the very least, he would have made it abundantly clear he was the sender.

Selina could have simply bought a beautiful piece and sent it to her when they went out together. But there was no such occasion they had planned soon, and as far as y/n knew, Selina didn't know she was attending this gala.

Another name came to mind, and this one was much more plausible. A girl she once knew, with a habit of making grand entrances had a knack for extravagance that could rival Selina’s. Something was definitely going to happen tonight, and she’d be the first reporter on the scene to break the story. How thoughtful.

Wearing the item inside the box, the flowing, midnight-blue silk dress, shimmered subtly under the soft lighting of her apartment. It hugged her curves with a delicate grace, its plunging neckline framed by delicate trim that cascaded down the bodice, ending in a graceful train that pooled around her ankles, leaving a trail of elegance with each step. The dress made her feel as though she’d finally fit in, no longer a weed in a field of roses. Taking her press pass and invitation in her clutch and wearing her simple silver heels, y/n was out her door again hailing for a cab on the street to make her way to the Manor.

˖ ࣪🦇𓆰♡𓆪🦇ִ ࣪⋆

taglist: @earth-to-name

#bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x reader #harvey dent #harvey dent x reader #bruce wayne #angst #dc comics #pre batman #high school #gotham academy #comics #enemies to friends to lovers #academic rivals #dcu #batman x reader #bruce wayne x you

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 1 year ago

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The Arcana HCs: Lucio's Birthday

~ we interrupt our regular programming to bring you headcanons for Lucio's birthday as today is, in fact, January 13th. please, enjoy :) - brainrot ~

You're about to encounter something difficult enough to require weeks of planning

How do you plan a birthday celebration for someone who thrives on massive parties, but who also currently lives a nomadic lifestyle and is partially exiled from your hometown???

The answer: you spend well over two months preparing, and then hope that Lucio will be okay with this kind of event not happening every single year

You keep track of the names of the different adventurers you've partnered with over time, and leave messages and letters for them at the different towns you pass through with an invitation

You also negotiate with a town you pass through frequently to lend you the use of their square for a day or two. The townspeople know you better than most after all the jobs you've done for them

And then, for the month leading up to it, you have to both save money to throw the party with and lead you both back towards said town without arousing any suspicion

Two days beforehand, you hit the outskirts and convince Lucio to stay in a rundown barn at the edge of town instead of going in and seeing everyone who's shown up to celebrate

The next morning, you hand him the one-person job listing that you and the inn manager came up with to keep him busy out in the forest while you set up

To say he's less than excited after spending the night in a pile of hay is an understatement. Especially since you're not coming with him! Really, MC?

After he goes pouting off into the woods, you meet up with everyone who's made it in the town square. You set up tables, a bonfire, coordinate with your friends, and grab some supplies

Said supplies are to make the rundown barn a little cozier to make up for forcing Lucio to stay there yet another night when a perfectly comfortable inn is less than a mile away

Lucio comes back as the sun is setting with the wild boar he was commissioned to hunt and a pair of kicked wet puppy eyes that make your heart twist in your chest

Thankfully, the bedding and lanterns you brought back help to make up for it. The barn is filled with a cozy, warm glow as you start a pillow fight in the hay and eat dinner on the folded quilts

You stay up late with him that night, reminiscing on all the adventures you've had together and talking about a beautiful future for the two of you

When it hits midnight, you pull out a tiny cake for two and a candle and wish him happy birthday as his eyes light up from the treat

It's a beautiful thing to see how much he's grown. In the past, it would have taken a week of festivities and a mountain of presents to pass as satisfactory

Now his hair is shining golden and rumpled full of straw in the low lantern light, and he's savoring every bite of his cupcake on the floor of an old barn with a completely contented look on his face

You want to give him better, and you are giving him better, and it's made even sweeter by knowing it's something he doesn't expect

The least enjoyable part of the adventure is waking up at the crack of dawn and sneaking away while Lucio sleeps so you can haul the wild boar into town to be prepped for tonight's feast

You're able to catch a couple more hours of sleep, but by midday, Lucio is up and raring to enjoy his birthday

He's a little surprised when you ask to blindfold him (and even more surprised when, after you do, you take him on a long walk instead of back to bed)

When you finally give him his sight back, he's standing in the middle of the town square, surrounded by all the people he's worked next to and worked to benefit with the biggest grins

Yeah, he's used to being worshiped as the count with the big parties, but he's not used to a small crowd of people he respects showing up because they like him for who he is

He's going to cry. He's going to try to hide it. He's going to do a terrible job of hiding it. You're going to have eyeliner smudged on your shirt sleeves

The party is a roaring success. Your own budgeting aside, your party guests have chipped in where they can to make sure that food and wine flow freely all evening and night

(Bringing gifts would have only been inconvenient, with the traveler's lifestyle you two have)

And the shout of laughter that goes up when Lucio recognizes the roast beast slowly turning over the fire as the boar he was packed off to hunt is so loud it leaves your ears ringing

There's dancing, story swapping, strength competitions, and some of the bawdiest songs you've ever heard. And, of course, your partner, right in the middle of the fun and having the time of his life

Thanks to your late morning, you're able to party through the night and lead him back to your reserved room at the inn (finally! a bed!) just as dawn approaches

Your true birthday gift is the week off of jobs at a rented cottage that you spent the rest of your budget on. Lucio's so excited to spend a week being lazy that it almost keeps him from sleeping

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana game #lucio the arcana #lucio morgasson #happy birthday lucio morgassen #count lucio #montag morgasson

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disasterbiwriter · 9 months ago

Note

You already know I want to read about what happens the first time Jess gets sick and how Luke handles it 😅

As he has every morning since he brought Jess home six weeks ago, Luke wakes up at 3 AM.

It's not terribly far off from his standard 4 AM wake-up-and-meet-the-bread-guy schedule, but given that he hasn't been falling asleep until midnight most of those nights, a victim of sky-high anxiety and a mental to-do list that feels as long as his leg, it feels a little insulting that his body won't permit him to at least sleep until his alarm goes off.

He tries to focus on his breathing in hopes that he'll ease himself back to sleep for another blessed twenty minutes, but the minute his eyes close again, he becomes aware of the barest pressure on the edge of his blanket.

Luke cracks open one eye to see his three-year-old nephew standing next to him, all bedhead and solemn dark eyes.

"Hey Jessy," he croaks. He pushes up on an elbow. "What's up, bud?"

Jess shrugs and doesn't say anything. Not unusual - he's still shy around Luke, warming up by degrees day after day.

"Did you have a bad dream?" Luke tries.

Jess shakes his head.

Luke hesitates, not sure what to do next, then finally tries, "Do you want to come up here and try to go back to sleep?"

That's all it takes. Jess scrambles up the side of the bed and wedges himself firmly against Luke's ribcage. Luke is instantly on the verge of tears.

It's the first time Jess has ever reached out to touch him first.

Luke thinks he's in for it now, an hour of wiggles and kicking, but Jess drops back to sleep immediately. It's impressive, his ability to konk out like that. Luke envies it. Jess's little mouth drops open and the tight fist he has clutched up under his chin relaxes.

Moving centimeters at a time, Luke lowers himself back down on the mattress and gently reaches down to stroke Jess's hair. He breathes in the little boy's sleepy, sweaty scent, which has become so familiar to him he wonders how he ever did without it before. Luke frowns, then dips his head closer and takes another deep breath.

Jess smells... wrong. His normal, sweet, little-boy smell is still there, but he also smells mildly of something vaguely sour and phlegmy. Luke frowns and gently presses the back of his hand to Jess's forehead. A little sticky, maybe, and warm, but not unduly so.

Hm.

"He... smells sick?"

Luke tries to keep his voice level, but Jess's preschool teacher, Ms. Marian, sounds like she thinks he's nuts, and frankly Luke's temper is its own beast even when people aren't treating him like he's crazy.

He counts backwards from ten, then says, "I just figure keeping him home today is the right way to go. If he's better tomorrow, he'll be back then."

Luke stays on high alert for the rest of the day, taking Jess's temperature every hour or so, chasing the little boy down as he wanders through the diner. It's normal all day, and Jess is himself: tactile, curious, still quiet but getting bolder the longer he lives with Luke. Luke, on the other hand, is exhausted from trying to keep up with regular business and making sure that Jess doesn't climb into a bag of flour.

"But imagine how you'd feel if you'd sent him to school and he was sick," Lorelai says that afternoon when he admits that he feels like a mother hen. She's moving through the diner in this balletic way, delivering meals, bussing tables, plucking up one of Jess's crayons to add eyebrows to the monster they are drawing piece by alternating piece. It's starting to look uncomfortably like Taylor Doose, and Luke is certain this is not a coincidence.

"I guess," he grumbles.

"You gotta go with your gut. But guts can be famously hard to interpret." She rubs one hand over her stomach, stretching her face comically and bringing a giggle out of Jess. "Sometimes I think my gut is telling me one thing, but really it's just saying it needs one of Luke's brownies."

"Brownies?" Jess asks hopefully.

Luke shakes his head and checks the register one last time - plenty of singles, quarters, and dimes. "After dinner," he tells Jess. He comes out from behind the counter and angles his nephew towards the stairs. "Tomorrow?" he asks Lorelai.

"It's only a dayyyyy awayyyyy!" she carols after him.

They eat dinner and Jess happily scarfs down the promised brownie. Luke gives him a bath and sniffs his head again (still a little sour), so he washes his hair twice. They read I Am a Bunny once and The Monster at the End of this Book one and a half times (Luke's Grover voice was apparently unsatisfactory in the first attempt) and by the time Jess is asleep, Luke is halfway there himself. He strips and showers and collapses into bed and is asleep before The Arsenio Hall Show.

So when he jolts awake in the middle of the night, fully alert, he assumes it's because he went to bed so blessed early. He glances at the clock: half past twelve. So then what...

The sharp bark that rings out through the apartment pulls him immediately out from under his quilt and to his feet. A seal, he is convinced there is a seal in the apartment. What the hell kind of dream...?

The seal calls again, but this time Luke registers it for what it is. Not a seal, a cough.

He turns on his bedside lamp and squints across the room. There's Jess, sitting up in bed, curled over like an apostrophe. His back is turned towards Luke, and the sharp, barking coughs shake his little frame.

"Oh buddy," Luke murmurs. He palms the thermometer and crosses over to Jess, dropping into a crouch in front of his nephew.

He instinctively touches his wrist to Jess's forehead and hisses in a breath. "Hey Jessy," he says softly, trying for calm, "open up your mouth and let's take your temperature, huh?"

Jess coughs again - it sounds so deeply uncomfortable that it makes Luke want to cough in response. "No, Unca Luke," he whispers - or Luke thinks he's whispering. He realizes a split second later Jess is so hoarse his voice can't get any louder. "My neck hurts," he says now. "Inside." He swipes at his nose, smearing snot across his little cheeks. It's a testament to his two months as a parent that Luke doesn't gag.

"Ahh. Sore throat, huh? Okay then." Luke settles for wedging the thermometer under Jess's armpit, feeling like the lowest dog in the dirt when Jess whimpers that it's cold. They sit for a few moments until Luke pulls out the thermometer and reads it.

101.3.

"Shit," Luke whispers. "Shit."

"Unca Luke, it's too cold." And like a flipped switch, Jess starts shivering so hard it makes his pearly little teeth chatter.

Luke's head swims. "Well, we can do something about that," he lies. He takes Jess's comforter and wraps the little boy up in it, scooping him up into his arms and bundling him against his chest.

In between spikes of panic, Luke manages to get Jess to take a dose of Junior Tylenol, all the while running through the list of options.

Call the pediatrician and leave a message with his service - no idea when he'll call back. Take Jess to the emergency room in Hartford - Luke hates the idea of Jess shivering and crying in the backseat for that long. Call someone - Cesar? Lorelai? - to drive them to the emergency room so he can sit with Jess. He's pretty sure nobody signed up to play ambulance service for their boss and his nephew when he hired them.

All the while Jess is still shivering against Luke's chest, no energy to do anything except cough and wheeze, while Luke spirals closer and closer to a full meltdown.

God, if things weren't already bad enough, Jess's cough is getting so sharp and acute that Luke is starting to get properly scared. Every cough makes his pulse rocket, every whistle from Jess's little lungs is enough to make him choke down tears. His whole body aches to do something, anything to help the little boy.

Suddenly, he finds himself remembering a night not unlike this one: waking up in the wee hours in his childhood home on Peach to the sound of a sharp cough and his mother's soothing voice. He followed the sounds to the bathroom he and Lizzy shared to find her sitting on their mother's lap, the hot water running in the shower, the room tropically steamy.

"Lizzy's got a touch of the croup, is all," his mother explained. "We'll sit here in the steam and she'll be good as new. Go on back to bed, hon. I've got her."

He doesn't believe in messages from beyond the veil or anything hokey like that - that was always Liz's deal - but that doesn't stop Luke from whispering a thank you to his mother as he bundles Jess into the bathroom.

Luke turns the water as hot as it will go and turns on the shower. The residue from Jess's apple-scented shampoo is still on the tub, so for a moment the room smells pleasantly like a pie. Luke settles down on top of the toilet seat lid, tucks Jess up under his chin, and sort of awkwardly rocks them both from side to side.

"Okay, Jessy. Let's just hang out in here for a little bit, okay? The nice warm air is going to help your cough. You're gonna feel better in no time, okay?"

"I want to sleep," Jess moans. He coughs again, rough this time. "I want my ducky pillow."

Luke curses himself. Of course he should have grabbed the ducky pillow! "I know, Jessy," he says aloud. "You're tired. It's late and you're ready to sleep, I hear you. Let's get this cough taken care of and then we'll get some shut eye. I'll stay home tomorrow and we can rest and watch whatever you want on TV."

"Babar," Jess says meekly.

"Babar," Luke agrees.

"Can I sleep in your bed?"

"Sure, bud. Once your cough gets a little better you can snuggle up in my bed. We'll get ducky pillow and you and I, we'll have a sleepover. But for now why don't you just try to sleep on me, okay? I'm not as good as a ducky pillow but Uncle Luke is pretty soft too."

Jess whimpers a little. "It's too bright."

"It sure is, kid." Luke rises into a half stand and manages to use one elbow to knock off the lights. He settles back down onto the toilet lid and gently rubs Jess's back. He watches the steam swirl around them in the glow of the nightlight.

Eventually they both fall asleep. Luke wakes up at eight to the water in the shower running ice cold. Jess wakes up when he feels Luke shift and demands french toast. He's sweaty and cheerful, bright eyed as he smears syrup all over his face.

Thirty-five years later, it's the middle of the night when Luke gets the call.

"I don't know what to do," Jess says raggedly.

"Hey, it'll be okay. Let me listen to her."

There's a pause. Then, "Hi Pops" echoes weakly over the line, followed by an old familiar bark of a cough.

"Hi honey-girl. I'm sorry you're feeling so bad. Let me talk to your daddy again."

There's a shuffle, and then, "Well? Should we go to the ER?"

"It's the croup, Jess. She's got the croup. Go ahead and take her into the bathroom and let the shower run, sit in the steam. She'll be okay. You've got her."

#hey remember that time i demanded asks and then stopped writing?#this one's for ernest who makes my brain wake up whenever she lets me read her writing #ernest only asks lovely things #jess danes au #i'm here jess au #luke danes #jess mariano #sick fic #gilmore girls #gilmore girls fanfic #am writing #fanfic

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igotanidea · 2 years ago

Text

Benched : Jason todd x cheshire!reader

Another story from Cheshire!verse. The others are Cheshire cat, That damn gala and Five years later and Tired.

Summary: Y/N (vigilante name: cheshire) was benched by Bruce because of her strange behaviour. One night all the feelings found a way out and there was only one person who could calm her down.

Warnings: cussing, mentions of anxiety and panic attack, reader is locked in a room at some point, Jason and Bruce dynamics are a warning of itself

“What is wrong with you?” Bruce’s voice was stern and emotionless when he led all the batboys and Y/N to the batcave after a mission.

“Nothing.” She muttered incoherently hoping she wouldn’t have to deal with The Batman himself. She…. Had made some mistakes during a patrol and if it wasn’t for Dick’s reflex and Tim’s quick thinking it could have ended really bad.

“Are you trying to kill us? You’ve been erratic, chaotic and fidgeting for way to long.”

“Hey! Don’t you dare lashing on her!” Jason was always ready to stand up to his beloved Y/N. And now, as he saw her clenching her fists and narrowing eyes he knew she was barely holding. Normally she was strong and resilient, but – as much as Jason hated to admit it – Bruce was right. Something wrong has been happening to her for a while now. However, this was not a reason to attack her verbally.

“Stay out of this Jason.”

“The hell I will.”

“Jace. Come on, it’s ok. Just calm down. Bruce… has a point here.” She squeezed his arm trying to reassure him

“Y/N. He has no right….” He hissed through clenched teeth

“How about we all just take a breather, hm? Look everyone, we are back, safe and it’s all good, right?”

“Shut up, Dick!”

“Look who’s lashing on who now.”

“What do I have to do to have five minutes of peace here?” Tim rolled his eyes and sighed deeply “will there ever be any time when you two are in the same room without fighting?”

“SHUT UP TIM!” both Dick and Jason shouted but Red Robin just shrugged and turned towards Y/N.

“Want to get out of here?”

“I want nothing more than that.”

“You are not going anywhere.” Before either of them could move, Bruce was in the way, blocking way out of the cave.

“Come on, Bruce. We are all tired and stressed and overworked….” Tim tried to bargain

“And that’s coming from a workaholic. “

“DAMIAN! Who’s side are you on?!”

“Mine. The only right one. I am the only rational one here.”

“You are an asshole, that is what you are!”

Before anyone realized it, everyone (except Bruce of course) was shouting at each other to the point where all words became blurry and it was hard to differentiate who was offending who. It obviously started as a little banter between Dick and Jason and took off pretty quickly.

“What are those noises?”

“Oh, thank God you’re here Alfred. You’re like the only one who can make them calm down.”

“What about…..?” Bruce started but was quickly interrupted

“I’m sorry, Master Wayne, but it seems like you have no word in this discussion. And I am not going to be the one to conciliate them. Again.”

“But….” Bruce looked helpless

“Miss Y/N, you look pale. Would you mind joining me for a cup of tea upstairs.”

“I would love to accompany you, Alfred. You’re the best company a girl could ask for.”

“This is enough!”

“Wait, did Bruce just raised his voice?” all of a sudden all the batboys went as quiet as the mouse.

“Father?” for the first time in his short life, Damian was confused beyond recognition and Y/N wished she had a phone to snap a picture

“Well, that’s just made my day. We finally pushed The Batman over the edge” Jason let out a laugh quickly moving to stand next to his girl and grabbed her hand.

“I’m out. Screw you all. I’m going to bed. Are there any cookies left Alfred”

“I saved a few for miss….”

“I’ll be sure to take good care of them.”

“I hate you, demon.” The girl hissed. She was really hoping for a midnight snack.

“Yeah, right. Get in line.”

“Leave us.” Once again Bruce was back to his cold, unemotional self.

“You mean you and Dickhead? Sure, be my guest” Jason’s hold on Y/N hand grew tighter as he tried to drag her away.

“Me and Y/N.” Bruce hissed

“Over my dead body!”

“That can be arranged.”

“You would break your no-killing policy for me? Woah. I’m flattered.” Jason scoffed ironically

“You’re insufferable.” Bruce stated

“Well, you’re die-hard.” Jason retorted

“You never listen!” Bat was starting to lose his patience

“You only listen to yourself!” Jay shouted

“ You’re stubborn like a mule.”

“You don’t care about anything!”

“I tried my best to raise you!”

“Well, I tried my best to live up to your expectations!”

With Damian and Tim gone, Y/N, Dick and Alfred were just left standing in the cave their eyes switching between Bruce and Jason fighting silhouettes like it was some sort of twisted tennis game.

“Can someone please…..?” Y/N started

“I hate you!” Jason yelled, his face almost as red as his helmet

“You finally admitted that!”

“You never cared about me! About any of us for what I know!”

“This is not true!”

“It is the only truth!”

“I always tried to protect all of you.”

“Ok, that is enough.” Dick knew exactly what was going to happen if they did not stop them “Y/N, a hand there?”

“Sure. As long as you’ll deal with Bruce.”

“Take your aim, Cheshire.”

“I hate when I have to do this.”

“I know. But desperate times…..”

“Blah, blah, blah. More action less talking Nightwing.”

“What? I’m chatty. It’s part of my charm”

The girl just rolled her eyes and taking the stance, without an ounce of hesitation jumped right at her boyfriend tackling him to the ground.

“Have you been working out, Jay?” she raised an eyebrow. It was either this or she was getting weaker. It was much easier to ground him last time when he threw a temper tantrum in the cave. Which was last week.

“Maybe. You like my muscles Y/N. It’s ok to admit it.”

“Shut up.” She went red in an instance but much to her relief he was much calmer now, that she captured all of his attention. In the meantime Dick managed to calm down Bruce and everything was going to a good conclusion. All of them, one by one started to leave the cave but before Y/N disappeared Bruce grunted suggestively.

“Ok, all right! Fine! You got what you wanted, they are out. Now, what did you want to talk about.”

“You know, after all this time, you still know how to play both sides and twist people’s mind for your own benefit.”

“That’s not me. That is Cheshire. We are not exactly the same. Just like Bruce and Batman. I wonder what your investors would say if they found the elegant Mr Wayne beating up criminals in some dark and dirty Gotham alley….” She smirked trying to imagine Wayne Enterprises clients’ faces.

“Hide your claws. Now. What is going on with you?”

“Since when are you concerned?”

“Since you put lives of team in danger. Yours included.”

“It was not that bad.” She muttered looking down. It was. And she knew it. And he knew she knew. And she knew he knew she knew ….. Or whatever. Mind games was hard at times.

“Y/N” he sighed deeply. She was the first girl to become his sidekick. The first … daughter of some sort, even if he never truly adopted her. But, even if he did not like it, given their history together he had a soft spot for her. Deep, deep, deeeeeep inside, but still.

“What?” she spat on the edge of desperation

“Do you need help?”

“Help? No. No!” her face twisted involuntarily “why would I need help?”

“You’re obviously going through something.”

“Look who’s talking. That’s hypocritical, even for you Bruce.”

“Is that your final answer?”

“Why do you sound like…..?”

“You’re benched.”

“WHAT?!”

***

He benched her. Holy shit! She was like the only almost stable in the team and now she was on forced leave. For an indefinite period of time. Screw Bruce! In his own words, he was going to let her in again the moment she get herself back together. As if she wasn’t holding herself together!

While the boys were out, jumping on the roofs, chasing villains and getting their lives in trouble she was fuming in the manor walking from one corner of the room to another. Of course, for the last week, she was doing her best to disobey Bruce’s order. She was sneaking out the window the second they left, following suit, using the most of her flexibility skills to squeeze unnoticed, but it was for nothing. The first night, Bruce used some new technology (ironically, it was the tech SHE invented) to transport her back home, the machine claws (another irony) clenched over her body as she was flied to the manor. It was humiliating. The second time, she used the stun gun to knock her unconscious (Jason was ready to kill him for that, but luckily Dick and Damian managed to stop him). Third time she installed some crazy magnets to stop her in her tracks and when the team came back found her plastered to the wall, her hands dangling limply mid-air.

“GET. ME. THE FUCK. DOWN!” she struggled against her containment and Bruce just pressed some button cutting her lose. Luckily, before she hit the ground, Jason jumped forward and wrapped his strong arms around her, saving her from any damage.

“ARE YOU INSANE?!” he yelled, gently putting the girl down with the kiss on the top of the head and turning into a monster throwing himself at Bruce.

“Will it ever stop?” Tim whined without any hope for the future.

The fourth, fifth and sixth time was no better. No matter how strong and stubborn and resilient she was, she finally gave up. After tenth time. When Batman dragged her and locked her in the manor’s safe room. Up till now, she never knew they had one.

“FUCK YOU BRUCE!” she screaming pretty sure this place was wired and he heard her shouts in his comm right in his ear. Hopefully this will make him go deaf.”

“That’s my girl! Go louder, baby.” Jason laughed thought the communicator. So she was right, it was wired.

“Nah, it’s a waste of my throat.” She was slowly losing her voice “as for you Red, try not to get killed again, can you handle that?”

“Dunno. Guess you gotta wait and see, sweatheart”

“I hate you.”

“I love you, baby.”

“Ugh. Can you two just stop!” Damian yelled “I’m getting sick. Of you!”

“Nah. I think we can torture you a little more, demon. Auch! Dick, get the fuck off me!”

Y/N sighed deeply and shook her head. They were never going to change. And despite everything it was the reason why she loved all of them so much. Her reverie was interrupted when she heard the sound of key twisted in the lock.

“Miss Y/N? Is everything all right? I heard you scream and ….”

“I’m fine Alfred, thank you. Would you mind if I come up? Or would that be the violation of the rules?”

“Master Wayne can be excessive, we all know that. I’ve just made tea.” He motioned for her to come with him. Thank god for Alfred.

***

It was 3 a.m. and they weren’t back yet. That was weird. Normally a patrol did not take this long. For the last two hours Y/N was trying her best to fall asleep but instead found herself tossing and turning in the sheets missing Jason’s embrace and his warmth. Even the chamomile tea Alfred made for her did not help. She groaned in frustration feeling her heartbeat fastening. All of a sudden her head got flooded with the thought she has been forcing out of her system for the last two weeks. Bruce was right from the beginning. She was erratic and scatterbrained. She was distracted and nervous. He knew. He knew from the very beginning, even before her. Funny, since it was her organism who was sending warning signals she was purposefully ignoring. Until now. She felt like she was suffocating, her hands shaking, her head spinning and breathing was becoming a problem.

“What…. the hell?” she stumbled out of bed. Once again, it was 3 a.m. and suddenly she felt the rush of energy in her veins and needed something, anything to do before going completely crazy. So she got up and quickly walked to the kitchen hoping there were some dirty dishes or anything to clean up and keep herself busy. Unfortunately, Alfred made sure everything was cleaned before he went to bed. Damn! What’s your next great idea, Y//N? she though. Books, library! Great! That would keep her occupied.

Boys came back an hour later, exhausted, all of them just dreaming about going to bed. Jason in particular. He needed Y/N. He needed her next to him. When he did not find her in bed he freaked out. Like never before and raised an alarm like never before. Was she taken? Was she attacked? Was she hurt, injured, held captive or in pain? He was already reaching for his gun when Tim stopped him from rushing out the manor in his rage. He found her in the library, sitting on the floor, tomes and tomes splattered all over the floor while she was pacing nervously all over the place.

“Y/N.” Jason’s eyes opened wide at her flustered state “what are you doing?”

“Tidying up.” She smiled nervously and giggled. She giggled! Now Jason knew something was terribly, terribly wrong “I couldn’t sleep and though why not. I mean, I could have chosen to do some workout instead but figured that cleaning would be more useful. Or… maybe I should have cleaned up the bedroom instead. I mean, it’s been a while since I did. And the bathroom. Or perhaps I should have worked on that new IT software for Wayne Enterprises, I am way past deadline and HR is going to kill me if…..”

Jason took one stride into her and grabbed her shaking hands.

“Y/N. Please, please, calm down. What is happening?” her eyes were all over the place, everywhere but on him “Hey, you’re scaring me. Look at me.” His voice got a bit more commanding tone than intended but it worked as her terrified gaze fixed on him.

“Breathe with me” he spoke calmly pulling her to sit down on the floor, pushing some books away to make place for them “All right. Just…. breathe. In and out. That is good.” He gave her a couple minutes to regulate her hitched breath before speaking again “What happened?”

“I…. I don’t know.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“For like two weeks…..”

“TWO WEEKS!” he yelled and he jumped “Sorry. Why didn’t you tell me? Or anyone? But mostly me?”

“It wasn’t that bad….”

“Mhm, sure. That’s what I said after resurrecting. It wasn’t that bad. And everyone knew I was lying.”

“Jace.”

“Hm?”

“You never said that. If anything, you were always underlying you were through hell. And no one denied that.”

“Exactly, Y/N. I’ve been through hell. And that is why I know precisely how a person going through it look like.”

“How? How does such person look like?”

“Like you at this moment. Was it a panic attack? Anxiety?” he cupped her cheek tracing her cheek. “Tell me.”

“You are giving me anxiety right now asking so many question.”

“Sorry baby. Do you need a hug?”

“Yes, please.” She nodded weakly and he just wrapped his arms around her pulling her into the comfort of his embrace.

“Whatever caused this, whoever caused this” he groaned “you are safe now. Everything is fine. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“What about you?” she muttered against his chest

“Me?” that was surprising “what about me?”

“Will you make sure no one hurts you, again. Or will you just be your reckless self?”

“Wait. Is that the reason…..?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. “ she sighed deeply “Partially. I guess I just had too much on my plate. Dealing with work and vigilantism and my restless brain seeing all the possibilities and missed opportunities. I guess my mind just decided to remind me all the mistakes and traumas from the last ten years.”

“No surprise you broke. Bruce gave a hell lot of traumas to all of us. But hey, on the bright side, you survived all of them.”

“Since when are you optimistic?”

“Ugh, your right. It so out of character. I should cut on my time with Dick, his attitude is rubbing off on me.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that. He won’t let you live through it” she laughed “hey, let go of me” she winced when Jason started to tickle her.

“Better?”

“I think so. But you know what” she ruffled his hair playfully “I like it when you smile. I missed that happy face.”

“Are you trying to tell me something babe?” he leaned toward her clearly going in for a kiss

“Nope.” She put a finger on his lips “I’m not going to wipe it off your face.”

“Really?” he raised an eyebrow “you’re gonna make me work for it?”

“You know me all too well.”

“Fine.” He sighed “I’ll give you 5 seconds of head start. Start running kitty. Because when I catch you, I’m not letting you out easily.”

“5 seconds?? Jason Peter Todd!”

“One…..”

“I hate you.” she turned around and rushed out of the library, avoiding all the books left on the floor in her anxiety haze.

“Five.” Was he cheating? Yes, definitely. But the game was on and he could not stop thinking about catching her and just having her all to himself.

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nhstadler · 1 year ago

Text

M A G I C

I don’t know why, but these keep coming. I’m in a writing slump but this just works and I wanted to share it with you guys in case some of you might enjoy it. I’ve been writing a sort of post-Hogwarts episodic piece about Seth and James and the gang that includes scenes from the past and their present and I think I will continue this when the OG story is finished (there are only two more chapters and they are all planned out, so it’s happening :) ).

The whole thing is called A CATALOGUE OF US and this would be the very first installment (it's too short to call it a chapter, I guess).

Any feedback is greatly appreciated. Or questions, or hopes, dreams, fears… anything, really. I’d love to hear from you.

The end of summer is always a tragedy.

Because it feels like a small death. Every time. There is a palpable chill that creeps back into the warm, endless nights - slowly, gradually - and then, in the blink of an eye, it’s over.

But when it starts, it’s magic.

I lean my forehead against the window, watching the world pass by as the train speeds through the landscape, lush greens bleeding into purple and blue as we get closer to the coast. There is an older lady across from me, knitting a neon green pair of socks. She sometimes looks up and gives me a smile and I smile back.

Tiredness is creeping back in. I’ve had three-and-a-half coffees already, but I’ve been awake for fifteen hours. Fifteen hours I spent mostly on aeroplanes and trains, trying to get back home. And maybe it’s the caffeine overdose, but it feels strange, somehow. Because it’s been almost a year and everything should look different, but it doesn’t. It all still looks the same; the soft hills and the harsh cliffs and the wild heather that crawls along the edges, barely swaying in the wind.

I sometimes wish I wouldn’t remember it all so well.

…

...

Rain is drumming on the window, blurring the view of the platform. There’s a sea of umbrellas that are nothing more than colourful smudges behind the glass and I let myself sink back into the seat, my hair chafing against the velvet backrest.

The whistle blows once - a warning for those who still haven’t boarded the train - and I feel a strange sort of wistfulness at hearing the familiar sound. Like I’m mourning something that hasn’t happened yet. But this was always going to be difficult. Even without him.

“Oi!” There’s a sharp knock on the window and Katie yells out in shock, her elbow knocking into my side as she spills half of her magazines on the compartment floor.

“Open the window, Woodley!” James’s voice is muffled through the glass. He’s trying to prise open the metal ledge from the outside and I stumble over Sam’s legs as I pull down the top part as far as it will go.

The smell of rain floods the compartment and the air feels heavy. He’s completely drenched, smiling his most adorable dimpled smile, and I wonder if I will ever get used to this; to James Potter looking at me like this. We had all summer. We had midnight talks and sun-drenched mornings and slow, salty kisses. And yet, when he smiles at me, my knees feel too soft and my heartbeat too fast.

“What are you doing?”

“He’s breaking my back!” Freddie shouts from somewhere below the window and I lean out a little to see him standing next to the train. His hair is plastered to his head and his hands are wrapped around James who is sitting on his shoulders.

“Did you think I’d let you go without saying goodbye?” James is still grinning as he dips his head, bracing his arms on the window frame. Strands of wet hair are sticking to his forehead, looking almost black, but the gold in his eyes gleams and my stomach swoops.

“But, we already said goodbye.”

He laughs - a small, secret, dirty laugh that makes my blush crawl to the tip of my nose. “Yeah, but your parents were watching.”

He’s so much trouble.

And so charming.

The whistle blows again, longer, more urgently, and I want to climb out through the window and into his arms. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I’m going to hurt myself,” Freddie mutters, loud enough for us to hear, but James ignores him and leans in more, across the gap.

“I’m going to miss you, Woodley.” His voice is low and rough, like it was that night at his grandparents’ house when he snuck into my room. His hand slides to the back of my neck and I can feel the press of each finger against my skin. “A lot.”

He kisses me between the train and the platform. He kisses me like the whistle isn’t blowing, like it isn’t pouring, like no one is watching. Like we have forever.

“I’ll see you soon, OK?” He whispers the words against my lips and I nod because my throat feels tight and sore.

Water is dripping from my nose.

I think I’m crying.

The train is pulling away and James lets go as Freddie stumbles backwards. We’re picking up speed too fast, too suddenly, and there’s so much I didn’t say.

Like ‘I will miss you too’.

Like ‘please don’t fall in love with someone else’.

“Seth!” Katie gasps as I recklessly lean out the window like she thinks I might jump. I can feel her hand fisting in the hem of my jumper, pulling me back. Hard rain is pelting my face as I watch James follow the train to the edge of the platform. I watch him until he is nothing but a small, blurry dot in the distance and I think about the way he looked at me that night in the Burrow; when it was also raining and we were lying next to each other in that tiny bed, whispering underneath the blanket so no one would hear us.

…

...

The train rattles and I wake with a start. My mouth feels fuzzy and tastes like old coffee and I’m so disoriented that it takes me a moment to realise that we aren’t moving anymore. We have pulled into a station and the conductor is standing on the platform, having a smoke.

Across from me, the old lady is gone and her neon green socks are lying in my lap. I look at them for a moment and my throat closes off. I’m tearing up at a pair of slightly lumpy socks and I don’t know why.

It’s a hassle to collect all of the bits and pieces of my luggage. I’ve accumulated three random plastic bags since I left Boston, filled equal parts with food and rubbish, and I cram the socks into one of them. My backpack has a weird shape from all the airport impulse purchases and my suitcase is too big, but I fight my way through the narrow exit, consequences be damned. And then, I see her.

Katie’s hair looks brighter in the pale evening glow - more red than brown - and my heart feels heavy and light at the same time. There are sequins on her headband and they sparkle, even though the sky is cloudy. She’s pure light.

I drop everything at once - the plastic bags and the backpack and the suitcase that is definitely dented now. We’re both screaming, our voices hollering across the empty platform as we fall into each other’s arms, swaying back and forth like a pair of drunk idiots.

“Oh my god!” Katie shouts into my ear and her hands grab my arms, pushing me away and pulling me into her all at once. Her nose is pierced, which I knew, but I’ve never seen it in person. I wasn’t there when she got it. I didn’t hold her hand and grimace when the needle went through. “You look like hell. Still gorgeous but also like hell.”

She’s grinning. I am too.

“Trust me,” I push my hair back behind my ears in an attempt to tame the greasy frizz halo that I’ve involuntarily cultivated over the past hours, “hell has nothing on overseas air travel.”

“Why didn’t you apply for a portkey?”

“I did,” I say, bending down to pick up my backpack again, feeling the weight of it. “Unfortunately, I’m not famous or rich enough.”

“Excuse me?” Katie has grabbed all of my sad plastic bags like they are serious pieces of luggage, her eyebrows raised as she looks at me. “You’re a fucking Woodley.”

“That’s what I said!” I sling my arm around her shoulder and she wraps hers around my back, pulling me into her despite the fact that I probably smell like lemongrass armpit sweat, and I can feel it sink in. That feeling you get around certain people, no matter how long you are apart.

Like coming home.

#hntbaw #hpfanfiction #nextgen #fanfiction #jamessiriuspotter #hownottobeawoodley #aesthetics #aesthetic #moodboard #moodboards

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bunnyboo77 · 3 months ago

Text

Porcelain Eyes.

(I don't own the image below)

The October air clung tightly to the small town of ash hollow. Every year he could barely contain her excitement for Halloween. The crisp smell of autumn leaves the flickering of candlelight in hollowed pumpkins and most of all the costumes. She lived for getting dressed up transforming herself into something otherworldly and mysterious. This year she had outdone herself spending weeks sewing a vintage inspired Victorian gown complete with delicate lace and intricate embroidery.

Penney's friends were already buzzing about it “you're going to win the costume contest this year for sure,” her best friend Olivia said drain their usual coffee meet up.

“You're going to look incredible” Carson added always the support of one.

Penny smiled imagining walking into the neighbourhood party heads turning as she made her dramatic entrance. But there was just one final touch you needed: the perfect mask.

The day before Halloween penny had wandered through the local antique shop hoping to find something unique. The bell above the door chimed as she entered the musky scent of aged wood and forgotten treasures filled her lungs. Shelves were cluttered with strange artifacts old books tarnished mirrors and faded photographs. The place had an unsettling stillness as though time moved differently within these walls.

“Can I help you Little Miss” a voice rasped from the shadows of the counter. An elderly woman stepped forward her eyes Milky with age but oddly sharp in their gaze.

“I'm looking for a mask” penny replied “something unusual”

the old woman smiled thinly her lips curling in away that sent a shiver down penney's spine “I think I have just the thing”

she beckoned penny towards the back of the shop where dust covered shelves seemed to grow taller and darker as they move further from the light. The old woman reached high and pulled down the small wooden box its surface worn smooth with age. With a careful hand she opened it revealing a mask.

It was beautiful striking even made of what looked like porcelain with delicate gold filigree around the edges it had a haunting almost expressive face a sad smile eyes slightly hollow and downturned. The white surface seemed to shimmer under the dim light of the shop.

“This…. This is perfect” penny breathed “how much?”

The old woman narrowed her eyes “this mask comes with a story young lady you should know before you decide to wear it”

penny hesitated “a story”

the woman nodded shifting her weight as if the tail itself was heavy “it was handcrafted centuries ago by renowned venetian mask maker. He created it for his beloved wife who wore it to a grand masquerade ball. That night she danced and charmed guests but as the evening waned she grew faint. By midnight she had collapsed her heart stopped and the mask refused to come off”

penny frowned “refuse to come off”

the woman's voice lowered “they tried for days to remove it but no matter how hard they pulled it stayed locked to her face. In the end she was buried wearing it”

penny almost left but there was an intensity to the old woman expression that made her think better of it instead she asked “then how did it end up here”

“the mask……. Travels. When the wearers dons the mask it becomes part of them entwined its faith with whoever has it next” the woman's eyes gleamed “but beware once you put it on strange things can happen it's not something to be taken lightly”

Penny who loved a good scare but rarely believed in such things grinned I think I'll take my chances”

the old woman's lip twitched as if suppressing some dark amusement 2 very well but remember midnight is the hour you must be wary of”

with a shrug penny handed over the money and left the shop mask in hand.

Halloween nights arrived and penny’s grand entrance at the party went exactly as she imagined heads turned drinks were set down and people gasped at the sight of her her friends rushed over showering her with compliments.

2 where did you get that mask” Olivia asked eyes wide.

“It's so detailed creepy but enchanting” Carson added running a finger along the golds filigree.

Penny smiled beneath it feeling a strange sense of power it was as though the mouse had transformed not just her appearance but her whole aura. She felt bolder more confident than ever.

The night progressed with laughter music and dancing but as the clock neared midnight penny began to feel a subtle shift. Her head felt light her vision blurred at the edges maybe she had too much to drink.

She excused herself from the group and made her way to the edge of the party where the noise was softer. As she glanced at her reflection in the nearby mirror a flicker panic seized her. The mask….. It looked different. The sad smile had twisted into something else something to sinister. The hollowed eyes seemed deeper darker.

She reached up to remove it but her fingers couldn't find the edge. Panic surged. She tucked harder her nails scraping against smooth porcelain but the more she pulled the tighter it seemed to cling to her skin. Her breathing quickened her heart hammering inside her chest.

She stumbled away from the mirror, her hands trembling she ran toward the bathroom locking the door behind her. Staring into the mirror again her own eyes stared back in terror framed by the cold and moving porcelain of the mask.

She clawed at it desperately trying to remove it but it was as if the mask had fused with her own face. Tears streamed from her eyes pooling at the bottom of the masks hollow cheek every pole every attempt to wedge her fingers under the edge was met with searing pain as if her skin itself was being torn away.

A sudden knock on the door startled her. “Penny” it was Olivia's voice “are you OK there”

no penny wanted to scream **** no I'm not OK**** but when she tried to speak her voice was muffled as if it was coming from far away the mass tightened suffocating her words into silence.

Midnight stroke the sound of the clock's chime echoing through the house with each tall penny felt herself slipping further Into Darkness as though something ancient and malevolent were awakening inside the mask pulling her under.

A final desperate thought crossed her mind *** the woman in the antique shop she warned me***

and then everything went black.

The morning after the party Olivia and Carson stood outside penney's house knocking in increasingly. No answer. Concerns etched on their faces they pushed the door open it had been left unlocked.

Inside they found the house exactly as it had been the night before. Except for one thing.

The mask. It sat neatly on the kitchen table its porcelain surface gleaming in the morning light. But penny was nowhere to be found.

Only the mass remained its sad hollowed eyes now filled with tears of sorrow.

#story #happy halloweeeeeeen #october #mask #all hallows eve #halloween #spooky month #spooky vibes #octobre 2024 #horror #spooky season #spooky aesthetic #masquerade ball

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bluteatavern · 1 year ago

Text

Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?

Chapter 1: Feather of a caged bird

The tops of the city's buildings look like bright thorns trying to poke the night sky. I can understand it. Those who find nothing they need on the ground might as well try and search for something else above them. But there are also the ones who had already accepted that we are all meant to fall at some point, from whatever height we have reached. When you acknowledge that, it doesn't really matter if the fall hurts or not.

This is how I feel as I lean over the edge of the building.

What time is it? I last checked it on the bus, but now it feels like is close to midnight. It's not like the idea hit me as soon as I saw the building through the bus window. It was at some point between climbing the wall of old bricks with vines growing here and there, and reaching the terrace after going up the stairs with missing steps. These thoughts always come in the strangest of times, like a sudden glow that doesn't bring a gentle light of hope, only the promise that things will get better this way. It's almost comforting.

It's colder in here than I thought it would be. The wind seems to be getting stronger, pushing me sometimes forward, sometimes backward, as if not even the world knows what to do with me. My air is visible in the dark for a moment, with the faint light coming from Fukuoka city right in front of me. It's not a panic attack, it would be ridiculous to have one now when everything is so calm.

It usually looks like a storm. I can't quite remember when it started, but it wasn't that strong at first. But time passed, and the clouds started to get darker, making it unbearable to do anything with it in my head, distorting every image, every memory, and every word, leaving everything too confusing to understand how I was feeling. It was easier to pretend that nothing was happening and that there was nothing that needed to be felt. I forced myself to believe it as I tried to silence everything in my head that screamed otherwise, looking for reasons to get one foot out of bed. But after a while, I started to realize that there is no reason. And if it ever existed, it has already been blown away by the first gust of wind.

There's no reason to move around while waiting, in vain, for something that even you don't know what it is. Why fight something that will never change? Why keep trying to get your feet out of the mud, waiting for something to return the effort?

When I exhale again, the air comes out raggedly, and a hiccup follows soon after. It doesn't make sense, because I don't feel like crying anymore. I don't feel like feeling anything, not even fear, but I wouldn't call it peace either.

My face must be terrible right now. Still, I run a hand over it, wiping my eyes the best way I can. I've never heard stories of anyone worrying about their physical appearance at times like this. And what's the use? My body might explode against the concrete, or by a miracle, I might survive and suffer excruciating pain until it's finally over. They might never be able to recognize my body, or maybe no one will look for me, thinking I just went away when things got bad. I don't care. I wouldn't be here if it bothered me.

No. What comes next is the real issue, even if I won't be here to see it. But what if I don't think about it now as well? I don't want to step back this time, I'm sure of it.

I've always been selfish. Why not be now?

I look at what appears to be a big black hole below me. No vertigo, no signs of dizziness are felt in my body, and the adrenaline has worn off a few minutes ago.

Looking ahead, the city remains the same. Shining and making all sorts of sounds that an ordinary city makes.

After all these years, I never actually walked those streets, or absorbed more than just the air in the apartment from the inside of a bus, or from the people that came in and out of the shop. When I became aware of that, I tried to do things differently, I tried to ignore the Storm whenever it became too violent. I prayed that it would make things better somehow.

But nothing changed. And I grew tired of being the only one noticing it.

And the city is still there. Oblivious to everything outside its most crowded places. Everyone has more to worry about than people alone on top of roofs of abandoned buildings. It's like the world has forgotten about me in the midst of this entire existence. But it's not like I've given it many reasons to remember me.

I wish the reason I came up here was different though. One where this sight wasn't the last thing I'd see. Maybe that way it would be less sad to see something so...beautiful.

As always, I can destroy anything, any experience, anything good that comes into my life.

This wasn't the change I wanted, but it looks like is the only one I'm worthy of getting. The only one that everyone in the world is sure they will get someday. So why wait any longer? The way out of this is praying my next shot will be easier to leave with.

I approach the edge, and it feels like moving through the mud for the first time in ages.

"...look, I don't know if there is a perfect spot to look at the city, but if I had to make a list, this one would be in fourth or fifth place..."

I stop with one foot on the parapet and the other one hanging in the air.

I know the voice is that of a man, and the words are in Japanese. It's calm, almost lazy, but not that tiring to hear.

"...you can see a bit of the sea, and over there on the right, with the yellow and green billboard, there's this restaurant. And let me tell you, it's really good. Believe me, I've been there twice"

I place both feet together on the ground before turning around halfway. There's a darker shadow in contrast to the night, leaning against the wall of the old water tank near the space where the stairs reach the top of the building.

"And of course, there's the big tower right over there" He points to what I believe is Fukuoka Tower right behind me. He ends the next sentence with a dismissive wave of his hand "...a bit overrated if you ask me, but I think it's worth a third place in my 'Best Views in the World' list, 'Cause why not, right? No one said I couldn't judge places only I can see. That might not be fair but feels good to have a secret that is not actually a secret. It's just a truth that no one has discovered yet. Anyway, you ever visited there?"

It's as if we're not on top of a building, but on the street, talking safely. Did he even realize what I was trying to do? And how long has he been there? I know I didn't see anyone when I arrived. Why else would I have stayed otherwise?

"Sorry...it's just that I...I don't understand Japanese very well" I say, forcing my accent on each 'r' and 'd' of the sentence, fully embracing the stereotype "...would...would you mind leaving for a second? I... I want to be alone"

He leans off the wall and takes one slow step ahead. His figure becomes more distinguished from the rest, and I can see a bit of his hair, and a bag he's carrying in one arm.

"And what are you going to do if I leave?" He responds, in English this time. Oh, of course.

As for what I'm planning to do, is the kind of thing I wouldn't do in front of a stranger. It's not a mystery, especially considering where we are right now. He knows I might not do it as long as he stays, and for that, he's right...he might be.

I turn around and grab a part of the rusty fence, cool to the touch. This seems to awake something in this stranger, as I hear his footsteps coming closer to where I stand slowly. I fight the urge to yell at him to stop while I grip the fence tighter, heating the metal with my palm.

His next words have a different tone, almost unnoticeable. It's still lazy, but...more urgent.

"If you really wanted that, you'd have done it by the sixth floor. Instead, you went up three more. My guess, you don't really want it, but you still haven't figured out a reason to stay either. Or maybe you think the answer lies here"

He finally reaches the parapet and climbs on top of it to stand beside me, turning his body so he can face me directly, though I just keep gazing at the city. He doesn't seem to mind the height either. Maybe he thinks this will be over soon, and that's why he doesn't mind staying.

"And maybe you're right. The reason might be around here somewhere. But you won't get to see it if you jump. This is not your only option"

It's always the same stuff. The same delicate words. I don't need to see his face to know that he, too, has the same expression I've seen every time someone thought they could help me. It was all in vain. The more they tried to pull me out of the mud, the more I seemed to sink, sometimes even bringing some to my own misery. It was a vicious cycle, they come, they try to help, they get a taste of the Storm, and then they finally leave, sometimes after a long time, sometimes because I shove reality in their faces.

I don't want to accept his help because I don't need it anymore. I don't want a new perspective, I just want to be alone right now. But I don't have time for him to realize that.

I put a fist against my forehead and then rub my face, forcing out the frustration that is clear in my voice when I finally speak.

"And who are you to be sure of that hum? What are you trying to be here? A hero?" I place both hands on my own neck and sight while looking up.

"I don't-"

"Quit it, seriously. I don't want to have to listen to it anymore, especially from someone who's just pretending they get it. Look, if you don't want to look like a suspect just because you were at the wrong time and place. So just go!" I stretch one arm towards the stairs, returning his gaze for the first time.

His hair is messy, and it seems like there's something around his neck. He's a bit shorter than me too.

"...I can wait" I finish. My breathing is hitching a bit. How am I supposed to convince him to leave like this?

"I'm sorry, but I'm not leaving until I make sure you're okay"

"I am fine, alright? You can go now."

A few more seconds of silence pass without either of us moving. I can try to jump now, but I don't know if he will try to catch me and end up falling too. Despite being rude to him, I know he just wants to help, and that's why I don't want him to waste our time. It's a lost cause, and as soon as he realizes that...well...the better.

"...you're right about one thing though..." He begins "...I'm a nobody right now. I'm probably not even acting like a real hero too. I'm not someone who knows what you need. But I can help you find out if you let me. So why don't you explain it to me? Maybe it could help clear a few things for both of us. Tell me why you thought this was the answer. What made you come up here, so far from anything? What are you trying to escape from?"

At this point, would he believe if I said I can’t name it? It's there, I can feel it, but It's like trying to light up this building almost falling to pieces with the light of the city that is so far from us. Instead, I bend my knees very slowly until I'm completely sat. I've lost the will to try and chase him away. Clearly, he doesn't want to give up.

"Usually that's why I come here y'know? To try and see things from a different point of view. One that can expand my eyesight. Sometimes I believe I can even see the future for a brief moment"

"Sorry...didn't mean to invade your crystal ball"

"I don't know if I would call it a crystal ball. I prefer the term 'domain'. I like the way it sounds. But that's fine, I forgive your trespassing attempt" He chuckles. I just exhale through my nostrils with a tiny, crooked smile.

Now he must think he's walking on less shaky ground, and I would have thought the same once, but now it's too confusing to differ a genuine reaction from a rehearsed one. This quickly rips the crooked smile from my face.

He sits down lazily.

"Look, one thing that I learned is that this world is a crazy selfish thing. It goes 'round and 'round faster than we'd like, and it expects everyone else to follow its pace without complaining, even if you lose the chance to say what you want or do what you want as a consequence. But there are those times when you just go to a certain spot and everything changes. I've found this spot in here, being above everything without anyone noticing..." He traces an arc in the air with his palm, which appears to be covered by a glove "...like the world stopped the moment you sat foot in this place" He sounds a bit tired in that last sentence "It won't do that for you in real life, but that's why I think you should enjoy a moment like this, when everything seems to be still in place, and you can say whatever you want. No one will hear"

"But...you're still staying...aren't you?"

I didn't mean to sound disappointed this time. It's just the tiredness, the cold, and my face, that I insist on cleaning.

"Yes" It seems like he's disappointed as well. I don't know if it's with me, or himself "But I'm not going to insist you tell me anything you don't want to. I mean, I'm not a psychologist, I'm just a random guy who showed up here in this building at the same time you did. It doesn't have to mean anything you don't want to. Scream, curse, take down this fence until the roof is clear. I believe you shouldn't hide something when you're in a place high like this one"

Once again the wind blows, and his last sentence keeps echoing in my mind. I imagine the words coming out of my mouth and being carried away by the wind, while I hope that everything else goes along, to a place far away from me, and never comes back. I know that won't happen for real, but feels good to think about it. A confession might not redeem me, but maybe it will assure me that this, right here, is the only right thing, as I suspected.

"Or we could go somewhere else. It gets pretty cold here around dawn" He's really doing his best to get me out of here, isn't he? It makes me feel sorry for him somehow.

I pull my knees against my chest.

"Have you ever felt like you've been chasing something, and you can't picture what anymore, but is the only way you learned how to get by, and now it just seems like you're just...well...moving?"

He pauses before responding.

"Moving is not the same as progressing when you don't know where you're heading. In this case, yes. Everyone has felt like this before. But tell me, if leaving like this has brought you nothing, why you keep doing it?"

Because it won't lead to anything but the same place you started if the rest is the same. Living for me is a constant fight against what makes me want to bang my head against a wall and push the urge away as much as I can until it comes down all at once. And then I have to do it all over again. It's tiring, stressful, and never goes away no matter the number of times I look on the bright side. It's stuck inside me, and I can't get it off. Slowly but surely people will notice it, and they'll try to help me. That's the part that hurts the most.

"And what if you're not worthy of this?" I ask.

"Why would you think that?"

"Because no matter how much you try to change things, they just keep turning back to what they were. The problem ends up being way too deep in you to solve. And it hurts. Not only for me but for other people as well. And it's unbearable to watch it without being able to do anything, knowing it's all my fault" My arms are shaking. Saying it out loud is harder than I remember.

"It can't be all your fault, y-"

"Yes it is!" It feels funny. To let things out all of this to you. But that doesn't mean it's good "You think I didn't try to change my mind over and over and over again? Why would I have come here tonight if I wasn't sure of the answer?"

"To think. To think of another solution" He gestures to the darkness below us "That's never the only answer. You can still do the right thing"

This is the right thing. He just doesn't know because he hasn't been around long enough to see the pattern. There is nothing to be done right here anymore. Everything is too broken for that, and it seems like everyone always chooses to ignore it but me.

And he's no different from the others. I should have noticed sooner.

"Let me be straight here..." I turn part of my body to him "I've heard those same words a million times before, and I can tell you that there is no 'do the right thing'. What is right for me hurts someone else. What I do for others hurts me too. In the end that's the only thing I ever do. I mess up absolutely everything"

"I'm sure that's not true. Villains are the ones who mess up everything. And you don't look like one"

"Oh, really? Because I've only lived with one person alone my whole life, and still I managed to make his life hell just by being there...He never got the chance to be truly happy...it was always because of me...me and this weight that was born with me and I can't get rid of..." It's a cruel irony, but he wouldn't notice it. He doesn't know the whole story. I change my tone without noticing, and my voice becomes softer "...it's like...like I can't do anything for anyone for real...like a bird in a cage... that doesn't know what it takes to get out"

He straightens his back and turns his face to look up at me at the sound of those last words, as if he's only hearing them now. I repeat the same words in my head and start to laugh.

"God...I've never said that before. It sounds like a line from a bad dramatic tv show hehe" He stays as quiet as a grave "Oh come on. You're shutting up now? You can laugh too. I know it's stupid"

He clicks his tongue and takes a deep breath.

"I don't think it's stupid..." he starts getting up from the edge"...and if I'm being honest with you, and myself, then you're probably talking to the person who best understands what is like to be a bird in a cage"

He doesn't move to try to touch my arm or comfort me. At this point he'd probably be trying to hug me, telling me pretty things, drawing a future full of empathy and love, but the only way I know he's still here is by his voice, which hasn't changed an octave since he's appeared. Am I hallucinating? Is he an illusion? If so then...

"Oh, but of course you understand..." I chuckle. At such times, people always understand a lot, hallucination or not.

I look up, and realize how far I've always been from reaching the sky, even though it was falling above my head.

"So why don't you tell me what it's like, please?" I walk past him without stepping down to the safe part of the roof and start walking with both arms outstretched across the bare part of the parapet.

"Do you feel trapped in some way? Maybe inside your own head? Does everything around you make you so scared and hopeless that you can barely get out of bed in the morning? Do you deal with what you can, but it never seems to get you anywhere?" My arms drop.

I stopped walking because a part of the steel fence is right in front of me, leaning to the side opposite to the edge. I grab it and turn it slightly to the other side. It wasn't being held by anything on the parapet anymore, so it just goes willingly in the direction I pull it, until it finally breaks free from another part that has been holding it in place for god knows how long. One second there was a rusty and cold fence ahead of me, and now only the remains of one have stayed. The other half fell and fell until it finally crashed against the concrete with a loud thud. It echoes through the building and its parking lot. It feels like it echoes through me too for a second, reminding me that in a few seconds, the next thud will come from my body down there.

"Look, I know what you're trying to do here. But you also said I need to fix things. And that's what I was trying to do..." I feel it coming again, stronger than when I arrived. I just want it to be over. Could the world have a little compassion and let me get it done once and for all? Can this man be that merciful? "...so could you by the heavens just go awa-" I was about to shout at him until he leaves, but...

I turn around and see a new silhouette forming behind the boy's back. It's graceful, and seems to be quite light. It takes me a second to understand where they came from.

Now he has the coat he was wearing dangling from one arm, and his bag propped up in the other. Little pieces that look like they are made of paper are coming out of it, and one by one, they go to his back, attaching to one another like pieces of a puzzle, and forming...

Wings...he has wings...he has...feathers.

"Wanna know something funny about life?" He starts after all the...feathers...quit coming from the bag "Words never mean the same thing to everyone. The meaning depends on the one hearing"

He leaves the edge with a little jump and holds out a hand to help me down. The wings rustle like leaves.

Everything starts to get mixed up. The outline of his body, the lights, the buildings. Everything seems to spin...except the wings.

"Hey kid, are you alright?"

"The wings...you have...wings...you have..."

I feel sick, and my head is throbbing.

He has...feathers...like...

My vision darkens, and I feel a gust of wind rushing through my body out of nowhere until the ground disappears beneath my feet.

"Shit" I hear someone saying, but I don't recall who it could be.

The sound of everything is muffled by the wind, but my heartbeat is clearly hammering in my ears.

And that rustling, so soft...

And so fast...

In case you prefer Ao3...

Chapter 2

#mha #bnha #hawks x reader #keigo takami #bnha hawks #mha hawks #oc

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littlest-dark-age · 2 years ago

Text

Day 1 : Fall out in the cold star light

Stalker eddie can't seem to keep his hands to himself

tw : somno, thigh fucking, pet names (precious angel, baby, good slut), eddie calls himself daddy, delusional eddie, slight degradation, mentions of eddie following reader. If I missed anything, please let me know

Eddie knows he shouldn't feel like this, and that his feelings towards you shouldn't push him to do illegal actions. Especially when the town already is convinced he sacrifices goats behind his trailer, yet he can't seem to help it. Finding himself standing in front of your house well past midnight, with such perverse intentions.

He didn't mean to sneak in while you were home the first time it happened and panicked when he saw your sleeping form tucked into your cozy bed. You had said that you'd be staying the night with Robin whenever he was watching you in the library. Yet in the few hours that he wasn't staring at the back of your head and straining his ears to hear your words, something had come up for her to not be able to have you over that night. Eddie quickly decided that this, being able to watch over you as you rested peacefully unaware of him so close, was better than shoving his face in your pillow and blowing his load all over your poor teddy bears. This is where such a dirty and disgusting habit was born. Sneaking in when he knew you were at home and daring himself to do more and more every night, silently hoping you'd wake in the midst of him touching you.

Eddie climbs the vine covered lattice panel until he's able to grab onto the edge of your cracked window and hauls himself into your room. Instantly being welcomed by the gentle glow of your little lamp tucked away on the corner of your desk and the sight of you, slightly snoring with your face squished into the pillow.

A smile spreads across his face at the sight of you, his sweet angel, before he shrugs off his jacket and vest and carefully kicks off his beat up shoes near the window. Eddie shuffles over to the side of your bed in the dim light, trying to be quiet so as to not wake you. He bends down and softly strokes your exposed cheek with his large, warm hands. A bolt of excitement running through him like it always does whenever he gets to feel you, even if it's something as simple as resting his hand on your cheek.

Growing bolder at the fact that you didn't stir at the light touch, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead and another to the tip of your nose. Resting his own forehead against yours, Eddie closes his eyes and simply breathes you in for a moment. Before he mixes your intoxicating scent with his own.

"I love you so much baby. Can't ever get you out of my head but I'm not sure if I want to." His gentle mumbles seem so loud in the calm air of your bedroom.

Slowly standing all the way up, he begins to crawl onto the bed with you. Stilling when his weight causes the springs to creek as he examines your face for any signs of your waking while he has one knee on the bed, perched on the soft mattress to be as close as he possibly can be. The closeness and your scent causing his cock to stir in his ripped jeans and making them even tighter on him.

Eddie is finally able to settle in and lay down next to your sleeping body, tucking himself into your neck as he slides his hands over your blanket covered side. Slowly rubbing up and down the length of your side before beginning to tug the soft blanket down, little by little. Revealing your cute pajamas that you got for your birthday last year that also happened to be your favorite, at least that's what you told Robin. He feels like he knows you so well yet is still so far away from you, as if you were the sun and he was the moon. Forced away from one another, yet Eddie couldn't resist your pull. Always wanting to keep you in view, needing to know every scrap of information you would give him. Even if you didn't know you were giving it to him. You consumed Eddie in every way possible and had to know you did, it's why you never bothered to lock your window or the reason you'd always wear such cute night clothes when you knew he was going to sneak in. At least, that's what Eddie convinced himself to push the guilt down of cumming into your underwear the first time. Now he doesn't care, too high on the feeling of you and being able to feel you.

Blinking away the thoughts that flood his corrupt mind, Eddie shifts you carefully onto your back and finishes tugging the covers down to your thighs.

"My precious angel….god, look at you. You were teasing me today, weren't you? Showing off those legs during gym because you missed me? You don't have to slut yourself out like that just because I've been busy, honey. Daddy was just busy, that's all. Didn't forget about you….not one bit." Eddie practically purrs out into the silence of your room while fumbling with the knot on the drawstrings of your pajama bottoms.

He pulls down the bottoms and lifts your legs ever so slightly, giving himself just enough room to wiggle between them. His cold rings grazing your warm and soft skin as he looks down at you from sitting on his knees. Free hand reaching down to unzip and pull his half hard cock out of his jeans, hissing at the cold. Shifting his hips so he can rut against your thigh, brows furrowing at the feeling of your pillow soft skin.

The sound of Eddie's jeans ruffling against your sheets fill the room along with the quiet squeaking of your bed as he rubs himself against your thighs. Eagerly tugging up your top to reveal your chest, he leans down and presses sloppy open mouthed kisses all over your stomach. Hunched over your body, covering every possible inch of skin with his drooly kisses, slowly making his way up your chest and around your nipples. Flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud and moaning at the taste of your skin.

"Hold on baby, sorry, gonna rearrange you a bit," he shuffles around so both of your legs are to the left of him and pressed together, trapping his cock between your thighs ",there we go. Fuck…"

Eddie slowly starts to pump his cock between your legs, squeezing his eyes shut and tossing his head back. Imagining how much better it would feel to actually be in you.

"No no no, not yet. Want you awake when I finally fuck you. Wanna watch you struggle to take my cock, gonna stretch you out so fucking good. Its tempting though, fucking you awake. Watching that peaceful face turn to shock when you realize what's going on. See those pretty eyes roll back when you feel how good I am to you, that I'm doing all of it to make you feel good." He rambles to the ceiling, hips slapping against your thighs and making them jiggle with every thrust. The mental image of you spread out on his dick causing the knot in his stomach to tangle even further, bolts of pleasure running through him as sweat starts to form on his hairline.

Jaw dropping as he tries to bite back his moans, whines and hushed whimpers still escaping. Wanting so badly to be able to moan out your name like a prayer but knowing it wouldn't end well if your parents found the town freak corrupting and using their child's body for his own sick desires. The thought of them, and the whole town, knowing that you're his nearly sends him over the edge. You'd be branded with the mark of the beast in their minds and so he'd get you all to himself for whatever he wanted.

Eddie yanks your underwear hurriedly, holding up one of your legs against him so he can tug on his weeping cook. Gripping himself, he quickly begins to fuck his fist. Pressing kisses to your calf that's resting on his shoulder, the knot in his belly finally snapping as he cums all over you. Thick white spurts coating your precious skin as his whole body shudders. Hips pumping into his slick fist so he can give you every drop of his cum as he pants.

"Fuck, take it. Take it like a good slut for daddy. That's it baby, that's it…" He rasps out with closed eyes before gulping and beginning to adjust your clothes. Rubbing your underwear into his cum to make a nice wet spot that you'll get embarrassed about in the morning.

Eddie takes a moment to make sure his knees won't give out as he's climbing back down your lattice paneling, watching your chest rise with every breath. Thinking about how tomorrow during lunch, you'll tell Robin that you think you might need to see someone for leaving such a large wet patch in your underwear over a dream. Not knowing that the town freak, Eddie munson, was the cause

#eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson headcannon #eddie munson imagine #dark eddie munson #dark eddie #stalker!eddie munson #dark!eddie munson #kinktober 22 #stranger things hc #stranger things x reader #stranger things blurb #stranger things vol 1 #stranger things #stranger things x y/n #eddie munson x reader #dark!eddie munson x reader

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samstree · 3 years ago

Text

when the gusts came around to blow me down

Jaskier’s painful realization that he’s getting old. (explicit ☆ 3.5k, just sex shenanigans and old men being sappy ☆ AO3)

Jaskier is getting old.

It’s a gradual process, one that he doesn’t realize at first. He tends to forget about time when traveling with his witcher, years after years, but time catches up with him.

First, it’s the specs. He finds himself holding his notebook further and further away from his face, until his arm is stretched straight but the words are still blurry. Geralt has that look on his face, like he’s trying to say something but doesn’t dare. He ends up sighing heavily, wordlessly taking Jaskier to the shop where he got reading glasses for himself a few years ago.

Jaskier sulks once he steps into the door, going on about how the whole trip is unnecessary because his eyesight is perfectly fine. The whining stops the moment he has the specs on his nose.

Jaskier blinks, and digs out an old notebook from his pocket. He oohs and ahs for the rest of the day, marveling at the wonder that is being able to read his own writing. The good mood almost makes him forget he can no longer make fun of Geralt when wearing those half-moon-shaped reading glasses. He will have to find another way to joke about being married to an older man, now that he matches his husband.

He puts a beaded string on his glasses, just so he doesn’t lose them.

And then comes the insomnia.

The sky barely shimmers with the faintest morning light, and Jaskier would wake up, his back soaked with sweat despite the cool weather. If they are camping outside, Geralt often starts awake with him, mistaking Jaskier’s panic for a potential threat.

He tries to keep Jaskier company in hushed conversation, the whispered exchange like a soothing balm. They talk about everything and nothing at all, inconsequential stories, strange dreams, but sleep pulls Geralt under quickly enough. No matter how much he fights sleep for Jaskier, the witcher falls asleep too easily these days—his insomnia has long since been cured by Jaskier’s presence next to him.

The unfairness of it all causes a pang of loneliness. Jaskier doesn’t have the heart to keep Geralt up for his sake, so he develops a habit of walking. The moon calms him enough for a short nap before dawn cracks.

But when they find themselves in a small inn room and a smaller bed, where Geralt reaches out in sleep subconsciously and uses Jaskier as a cuddle toy, there’s not much to be done. With his husband snoring peacefully, Jaskier can only count the hours until daybreak.

Standing in front of a mirror, with dark circles under his eyes, Jaskier finds silver streaks peppering his beard and lines deepening near his temples. He could have dismissed Yennefer’s snarky comment about his crow’s feet back then, but years have passed, and even he can’t deny it now.

He traces those lines when Geralt comes up behind him. A gentle kiss lands right where the wrinkles are, and Jaskier turns away from the mirror, away from the brief moment of self-pitying.

After that, it’s the slowing of everything.

It happens to all that he adores, from writing to dancing, to the wild gestures of his hands, and his pace next to the man he follows.

So Jaskier copes. He pours more hours into music when inspirations are few and far between. He books performances at courts all over the north, hoping his feet will remember the steps with practice. He finds a horse, and with Pegasus, he copes.

The road between Lyria and Vengerberg feels twice as long compared to when they covered the same distance ten years ago. Jaskier hurts all over from the long day of travel, his mind numb and hazy, but stubbornly, he brushes off Geralt’s concern and tells him to keep going. Midnight has passed but they are nowhere near any inns at the edge of the city.

Jaskier’s bones grow heavier. He feels like falling apart at the next jostle, his limbs only held together by sore muscles and sheer spite. He nearly falls asleep on top of Pegasus. When Geralt points it out, all the frustration bursts into annoyance. The next thing he knows, his voice is raised and venom is spewing out of his mouth.

Snapping at his husband sobers Jaskier up instantly. Guilt churns in his stomach, silencing him for the next hour until the first farmhouse appears on the horizon. Despite his earlier tantrum, Geralt still catches Jaskier when he nearly falls off Pegasus in a poor attempt to dismount.

“What is with you lately?” Geralt settles Jaskier on the straw mattress to unlace his boots, messaging the cramping in his legs. Tension hangs in the air, and tiredness bleeds into Geralt’s voice. “You were never like this.”

No, he wasn’t.

Jaskier used to compose through the night and not need a break, and he used to walk for days and days on end without being overtired. He used to stay up when nightmares plague Geralt, singing soft lullabies that eased his dreams. Now he sits through the night in silence while Geralt sleeps on. He puts away his lute while Geralt earns their keep. He rests while Geralt moves forward.

Geralt will always be moving forward. It’s a witcher’s path.

And Jaskier will not be able to catch up one day.

He swallows the lump in his throat, and keeps his back to Geralt for the rest of the night, leaving the space between them empty.

Being back in Kaer Morhen in the summer is a rarity, but Geralt insisted on making the round trip.

Jaskier knows it’s for his benefit, with him being so wound up lately, but neither of them points it out. His husband is sweet with his clumsy love, his eyes soft and pleading, so Jaskier can only answer with an equally soft yes.

Kaer Morhen stands tall, ancient and unchanging. The air is crisp up in the mountains, all the summer heat left in the world below, far away from the brief respite of home. Jaskier cradles a book in his lap, whiling away the day on their shared bed, burrowed into the softness of his favorite pillows.

The sun sets late in the evening, painting the entire bedroom in golden orange. When Geralt walks in, his eyes are warm with desire.

Jaskier giggles into the first kiss when his glasses get in the way. He folds it up and places it on the nightstand carefully. The next kiss leads to another, and another.

Soon, Jaskier finds himself under Geralt’s body, pressed comfortably into the mattress. He tries to untie his husband’s shirt with fumbling hands, but only ends up making the knots tighter. He laughs, and feels the deep rumbling of Geralt’s laugh in return.

Everything is right, every touch, every kiss.

Geralt has learned all the tricks of Jaskier’s body, mapped out every spot of pleasure in his memories. He removes Jaskier’s clothes with single-minded attention, taking time with every inch of exposed skin. He treats Jaskier like a present to be unwrapped, and in the process, his own pleasure builds in those little gasps and moans against Jaskier’s skin.

There’s just one problem—Jaskier can’t seem to get it up.

“Alright?” Geralt checks before pressing another open-mouthed kiss at Jaskier’s pulse point, teasing the way he knows can drive Jaskier crazy. It should light up all the nerves in Jaskier’s body, making heat coil in his lower stomach. It doesn’t.

“Geralt…”

Jaskier tries to voice his confusion, but Geralt’s hand reaches down and wraps around his cock, his kisses peppered across the expanse of Jaskier’s chest. “It’s okay, take your time. You are doing so well,” he murmurs. “Beautiful. Jaskier… My Jaskier.”

Geralt is doing everything right—his gentle praises, his mouth, his fingers, stroking Jaskier without hurry, trying to build pleasure in him. It takes a painful stretch of time for Jaskier to realize he is still soft in Geralt’s palm.

“Wait,” he says, breathing hard but not from lust, but the frustration growing in his chest. “Geralt, love, I don’t think it’s happening.”

Geralt hums before pulling away, just a little, enough for Jaskier to see how utterly bestowed he is. Hair messy and cheeks flushed, Geralt’s want is clear as day, and Jaskier wants him in return. Gods, Jaskier wants him.

If only his body can just…listen to his heart.

“I got you,” Geralt kisses Jaskier’s hair sweetly. He takes a pause, threading their fingers together and giving Jaskier space to breathe. “We have all the time in the world. I got you, Jask. Just relax for me.”

Jaskier tries, but a sense of powerlessness weighs on him, bordering on panic. He hikes a leg higher and feels Geralt’s erection against his thigh, but Jaskier remains pathetically soft himself.

“I don’t know what is wrong with me.”

“Nothing is wrong with you. Hush, just let me.”

Geralt’s lips trace the fragile lines of Jaskier’s collarbone, sucking gently, trailing down to kiss Jaskier’s sternum, his ribs, and then lower. Callused hands steady Jaskier by the hips. When Jaskier looks down, his husband’s eyes are dark, his tongue sticking out to wet his lips.

Realizing Geralt’s intention, Jaskier lets out a yelp. “Darling, you don’t have to—”

“Swore to take care of you, didn’t I?” Geralt whispers, a brow raised.

His mouth trails lower, ready to take Jaskier in, and suddenly everything is too much. All the patience, all the tenderness, Jaskier is painfully aware of how he doesn’t deserve any of it. Geralt has been nothing but lovely about his aging body, his desire never diminishing as the years pass by, but here Jaskier is. He can’t even get properly hard for his husband.

“Geralt,” Jaskier breathes, his face pinched. “Geralt, stop.”

Geralt pulls away immediately, silent at the interruption.

Jaskier covers his face with an arm, hiding from a whirlwind of embarrassment and shame. He curses himself inwardly as Geralt shuffles between the sheets.

Geralt rests his head in the crook of Jaskier’s neck, his chest rising and falling, his breaths fanning over Jaskier’s skin.

“It’s alright. It happens.”

“No, not to me,” Jaskier argues stubbornly. “I’m me.”

A huff tickles Jaskier’s chest hair.

“The bard and all his fame. Who would have thought?” There’s a tiny smile in Geralt’s voice. “There would come a day when you can’t keep up in the bedroom.”

Jaskier’s heart drops, a cold, empty feeling spreading through his chest.

He’s known it for a while now, but hearing the words spoken out loud is still a blow to his ego. He can’t even keep up with his husband in the bedroom, how will he keep up anywhere else?

It suddenly feels too vulnerable, with Jaskier’s naked body on display, all the signs of his age exposed—every wrinkle, every strand of grey hair, the soft skin over thinned muscles. He turns away from Geralt and finds one of the blankets to cover himself up.

Geralt rolls out of the bed slowly, leaving Jaskier be. There’s a small basin in the room, so he washes up there, splashing water on his face. Jaskier remains still, and when Geralt rejoins him, he burrows his face further into the blanket.

“Jaskier?” A hand shakes him by the shoulder. “Don’t hide from me.”

Geralt’s weight settles behind Jaskier, dipping the mattress, so he shifts away a little.

“Not hiding,” Jaskier lies.

“Was it something I said?” A trace of fear shifts into the beautiful baritone of Geralt’s voice. “Did I do anything you don’t like?”

He flips Jaskier over gently and peels away the blanket despite the bard’s struggling. With the help of cold water, the blush has receded from Geralt’s face, wetting the stray hair around his face, curling it to frame his face nicely. With the glow of the setting sun, Geralt is as beautiful as the day Jaskier met him all those years ago, his eyes warm like honey, patient and free of judgment.

“Not your fault.” Jaskier’s chin wobbles. “You were perfect. You are perfect, and that’s the problem.”

His answer does not lift the concern on Geralt’s face, so he explains.

“It’s me. I can’t keep up with you anymore.”

With that, Geralt rests his head on the pillow so he’s at eye level with Jaskier, who shifts on his side so they are face to face. When Geralt speaks, his words are hushed as if it’s just another late-night conversation between them, an exchange of secrets.

“Is this why you’ve been acting differently?”

“Yes? No? I don’t know.” Jaskier winces at the guilt of making Geralt worry. “Should I? I feel different.”

“And what about it?” Geralt asks gently. “Why are you hiding it from me?”

Jaskier sighs, letting the tension in his shoulders drop. His hands find Geralt’s to keep it at his chest, pressing Geralt’s palm against his heartbeat.

“In case you didn’t notice, darling, I’m getting old.”

To Jaskier’s surprise, a tiny smile tugs at the corners of Geralt’s mouth, his face lighting up, full of wonder and happiness.

“You are,” he echoes, reverently.

Jaskier’s breath catches, his heart quickening.

“I don’t know how you can be so nonchalant about it. I’ve changed so much already. I can’t travel far in one day. I need many breaks because I’m tired all the time. My eyesight is poor and my wrists hurt if I so much as write for too long. Now I can’t even…”

“I don’t mind.” Geralt tries to intercept but Jaskier ignores him.

“I can’t even take care of my husband, my loveliest, most wonderful husband, even though I want you so much. You must know I do! I’m just not young like I used to be.” Jaskier huffs. “And by the gods, I was young back then, thinking I could just follow you forever and nothing could stop me. But now, it’s just time. Not monsters and villains, or even those damned wars. Time. It’s going to defeat me, slow me down to the point where I have to…”

Jaskier’s vision blurs. The bard sucks in a shuddering breath, lowering his eyes, reluctant to finish the sentence.

“Have to what?”

Jaskier chuckles wetly, bitterly. “I have to let you go.”

Geralt looks crestfallen. “That’s not true—”

“You are being kind because you love me. It took me time to believe it, but I won’t doubt that you do. Still, you need to admit I cannot be on a witcher’s path forever.”

“You are my husband,” Geralt says in all seriousness, cradling Jaskier’s face in his palm. “I made a promise to take care of you.”

“And I promised the same. Tell me, how will I be able to do that now that I’m growing old and weak, while you are still the same witcher you’ve always been? I’m... I’m falling behind. I’ve felt it for years, this slowing of all things. It’s gradual but it’s there, and it’s not to be reversed. One day I may be too slow for you, dear.”

Geralt looks pained, unsure of himself, but he remains gentle. He’s always gentle these days, even when they are arguing, even when Jaskier is being his stubborn self and won’t be convinced.

“Did it ever cross your mind,” Geralt pauses, “that I could just... wait for you?”

Jaskier stares as Geralt brushes his hair away, playing with the curled strand behind his ear.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” Geralt tilts his head. “You’ve been so obsessed by your idea of what I need—no, what you assume I need—that you never noticed my willingness to simply slow down for you. Yes, you don’t walk as fast as you used to, but that’s why we have Pegasus. That’s why I spend more time making sure you are comfortable on the road. You have trouble sleeping. I don’t mind that either. You used to help me with my insomnia. It’s time I returned the favor anyway. And if you get tired, can’t sing or write that much, just rest.” He shrugs. “I’ll provide for us.”

Jaskier’s eyes sting with tears, his throat constricting, not being able to tell apart the storm of emotions in his chest. “We’d be broke on most days,” he teases.

“I’d still keep you fed and clothed. Everything I have will be yours.”

“You’ll be doing more heavy lifting in this relationship, while I grow old and grouchy.” Jaskier pouts. “Sounds like a lot of work.”

“As if I don’t do it already.” Geralt boops Jaskier’s nose. “Besides, I signed up for all the work when I married my grouchy human bard.”

Jaskier huffs, remembering all Geralt’s old flings who were way more than just breakable flesh and bones and could match a witcher’s life span. Maybe they all would have been the easier choices, he thinks pettily.

“It could have all been avoided if you hadn’t married a human bard. Maybe you should have sailed into the sunset with one of you many, many, many sorceress friends,” Jaskier mumbles, his nose wrinkling.

“You know there weren’t that many.” Geralt sighs long-sufferingly. “Are we still jealous, after all these years?”

“Not jealous. Just a sense of lacking, somehow. A poet is allowed to brood over his mortality, you know? You are supposed to be the expert of this particular art form.”

“Hmm. There’s also an easy cure for brooding, one that you are the expert of.” Geralt’s eyes crinkle. “May I kiss you?”

“Oh,” Jaskier says. “Yes, you may. Always.”

The kiss draws out in a languid rhythm, not demanding anything. It lightens Jaskier’s heart, and does end up lifting his spirit tremendously.

A simple cure, for an old man’s weary heart. Not too song-worthy, but it’s something.

Geralt hums proudly. The sun is nearly lowered into the mountains, but his joy is bright.

“I just wish you’d told me sooner, so you didn’t have to spiral in silence. It worries me.”

“You worry, and I overthink. What a pair we make,” Jaskier sniffs.

“Yes.” A grin is back on Geralt’s face. “And we get to grow old together. It’s the closest I can get, at least. That makes me the luckiest witcher alive, so thank you, Jaskier, for marrying me.”

Something flutters in Jaskier’s chest, and the urge to marry his husband all over again is overwhelming. Perhaps he should. One day, he shall take Geralt back to the edge of the world and pledge his vows once again. It’s going to take a long journey in his current body, but now that the idea has sprouted, Jaskier knows the flowers of Dol Blathanna are waiting for their return.

But that’s a thought for another day.

“Any time,” Jaskier answers. “Still, today’s performance cannot happen again—well, the lack thereof. I’d like to make love to my husband at some point. Can’t let him stray from my bed. I’ll never find anyone as sweet as him if someone else catches his eye.”

Jaskier’s hand moves up to Geralt’s shoulder, where his silver hair pools on one side. He cards his fingers through the knots, untangling them carefully. Geralt watches him, content and full of love.

His eyes—caught by Jaskier, completely and unreservedly.

“What?” the bard jokes, so he doesn’t end up crying. “Falling in love with me? It’s a common ailment, I heard.”

“I’m sure it’s fatal.” Geralt deadpans, tugging Jaskier into his embrace. “Just shut up and come here.”

They lie back against the pillows, with Jaskier gathered in Geralt’s arms. The witcher buries his nose in Jaskier’s hair, right where the grey streaks are.

Jaskier finds a comfortable position for himself, putting his weight on Geralt and resting his ear against his husband’s chest, listening to the slow beating of a witcher’s heart. He tangles the wolf medallion around his fingers, and untangles it.

“Good?” Jaskier asks. “I’m not too heavy?”

“Just right.” Geralt hums, pleased. “And I can’t, you know?”

“Can’t what?”

“End up in someone else’s bed. Don’t want to be anywhere if it’s not you. Your presence, it’s all I want. It settles me, keeps me grounded. I’d stay in your bed even if we never get up to anything more than this, I promise. Besides, we can try some new tricks, take some time. We’ll need to be careful of your creaky joints while doing it, but we can figure it out together.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm. I have ideas.”

“Oh?”

“Later. For now, we can just… be.”

Jaskier’s eyes flutter shut, letting Geralt’s presence ground him in return. “Yes, let’s nap under the sun like all the old couples do. I’m seeing the appeal of it recently. Naps are truly what life is about.”

“Hmm, perhaps.”

“Of course you know already. You are a hundred years old, and life has no more mysteries when you are practically a fossil.”

“If I am, what are you? We might just turn into fossils together.”

The sunlight paints the back of Jaskier’s eyelids pink, and he lets out the longest purr, his soul coming apart in the place where he feels most whole.

“We might,” he agrees, loose-limbed and smiling, “but not now. Now, we have time.”

#ignore that i try to post it yesterday #geraskier #geraskier fic #old jaskier #bad sex #sex troubles #and all the sappiness

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rouge-variant · 2 years ago

Note

Hello, I have yet another request! So Cold Captain Levi X cadet reader where they don't know each other well (pre relationship) but he finds out she's been having trouble sleeping because of her lagging in training and late night trips to the mess hall so he orders her into his office and he lets her use his bed whilst comforting her to sleep. Fluff, angst and hurt/comfort as always. Hope that's okay, thanks :)

I'm so sorry this took so long! I love these pre-relationship ideas...might continue this later if I figure out how! Thanks for your request and I hope you enjoy!

Levi Ackerman x Reader: Late Night Comfort

"I'm not telling you again. Get that-" he pointed to the teddy clutched against your chest.

"-Off my bed" Levi crossed his arms, glaring down to the little black beady eyes of your plush. It set him on edge for some reason. Just unsettling but you found it hilarious.

"Captain...are you afraid of Tuffy?" You asked, biting back a giggle. He gave you a stern look in response. Currently, it was near midnight and you're in the private barracks of Captain Levi. You're in your sleepwear and stiffly sitting on the edge of your Captain's rarely used bed. Levi's standing at the foot of the bed back at you with an unamused expression on his face. This arrangement was something strange to the two of you, something made up on the fly and something unexpected. You've been falling behind and training moving slower and in your technique became sloppy. It wasn't difficult for Levi to figure out that this was due to exhaustion and the dark circles growing under your eyes only help to support his suspicion. Sure you weren't exactly the best out of everyone but you were a strong fighter. The minute you started falling behind in the simplest of tasks of, course it was going to draw attention to you.

You've been with the Scouts for over a year and a half now, and unfortunately night terrors and intrusive thoughts have caught up to you. You've heard stories of other Scouts waking up in the night from their nightmares, trembling out of fear only to relive it the next day. You heard that their night terrors come early on but yours have varied. You started with the Garrison once you graduated from the Cadet Corps and served there for another two years before transferring over to the Scouts. You were there fighting during the Battle of Trost, where is Sector Commander Hanji and you teamed up to protect a group of kids trapped by the rubble from the wall and surround by Titans. They took note of your skill and were further impressed when you place yourself on the front lines to help make sure that Eren could seal the hole and save Trost. It wasn't long until the enthusiastic scientist told the commander about you. Erwin was impressed by your reputation and quickly scheduled a meeting with with Commander Pixis to see if transferring you to the Scouts was an option.

So now you find yourself with the Scouts. You were placed under hanji supervision, joining their squad much to the brunette's excitement. Your first expedition went smooth. Your skills were impressive to everyone and help to settle anyone's doubt about you. It wasn't until your third Expedition that things became a living nightmare. You witnessed what was the cause of other Scouts night terrors. You saw things that never should be seen and heard things that never should be heard. You had lost friends, hearing them call out to you seeing they're scared and mad looks. Those images were burned into your brain but there was more to come once you returned inside the walls. Having to tell friends and family about what happened, returning nothing more than just the patch on their jacket sometimes. Their expressions, words, and actions hurt just as much as what you witnessed on the battlefield.

All of that has led you here, back inside the dark room of the raven-haired captain. The way you to see him after dinner scared you. You didn't remember doing anything that could have landed you in trouble. But then again your mind was foggy due to lack of sleep. You run your hands out nervously as you knocked on his door and he called you inside. The only thing he said once the door closed, was to dress in something more comfortable and bring a pillow and anything else that you might want to sleep with. Then he dismissed you and you left following his orders and returning moments later. He helped him work through paperwork, hardly saying anything to each other. Minutes grew into hours and finally when the stock was low almost touching the desk, he opened the door revealing his attached bedroom.

Levi's eyes were fixated on the small teddy. It's black beaded eyes were off settling to him but if it helps you sleep then so be it.

"I'm not afraid of a small toy. But if this is the thing that's keeping you up at night, I'm throwing it out the window" he scoffed. His tone was playful not matching the annoyed look of his eyes. You relaxed a little bit more and scooted further back up the bed. Your exhaustion was evident, part of the reason why Levi showed you to the bedroom. The chamomile tea that he had prepared for you while you both worked through his documents has started to take effect now. You were hesitant to lie back and get comfortable. He knew that Levi hardly slept as it is and you didn't want to be the reason why his precious few hours of sleep were interrupted.

" I'll be back in my office for the night. I still have work to get done and you have sleep to catch up on" he says before going to go back to his office. You call out to him and he stops, turning back to look at you with his eyebrow raised. Words died in your throat, you wanted to tell him that you were worried about sleeping, about the night terrors that haunted your mind as you slept. But it seemed pathetic. You're soldier for crying out loud, you fought Titans for a living and yet, you're afraid of the dark. Levi waited patiently for an explanation from you, he could tell you were distressed by your body language. As moments past and you still weren't able to say anything, Levi shut the bedroom door and moved to sit on the foot of the bed. You looked up at him, eyes on his face for a few seconds before they return to your lap and you played with your shirt. Levi sighed, breaking the silence and his posture relax slightly.

" What's going on Kid?" He asked. The harsh bite in his tone was gone. He had a good suspicion but he wanted you to confirm it first.

"The night terrors have started and...I-" you started before your voice failed again.

"Scared?" He finished for you and you nodded. He didn't laugh, he didn't smirk, he didn't do anything to make you feel embarrassed. Instead he seemed to understand.

"You keep reliving it don't you? You see everything again. Some things are how you remember it, other things are a mash up of memories" he described it and it matched exactly how you were feeling. It was like he was able to go into your mind and see the things you were seeing. But he's been a Scout longer than you, this isn't new to him. Everything that you've heard and seen is something similar to what he experienced.

"Does it get better?" You ask quietly, hoping that he would tell you the lie that you keep telling yourself. That everything gets better. But maybe if he said it, it wouldn't be a lie. It would be the truth. Levi stays quiet for a few moments. Searching for the right words, he doesn't want to give you a false hope but he also wants to do something that will hopefully ease your mind.

"It will become easier to endure if you have people to go to. I've tried keeping this to myself. I've tried ignoring the dreams, I've tried avoiding sleeping which isn't that hard to do but I don't want you doing that" he emphasizes that point. He pauses again. When he speaks, his voice comes out quiet. "I can be someone you can talk to about your nightmares" he looks at you.

"I think I like that plan" You smile a little and lay back under the cover. You're tense posture has relaxed and you feel comfortable. Levi isn't as scary as everyone paints him out to be.

"You're going to sleep now right? I still have work to do" he teased lightly.

"Maybe" you yawned a little, shifting onto your side but still facing him.

"You don't need to keep looking at me. If it'll make you feel better, I'll stay here until you fall asleep" he offered and you nodded. You closed your eyes and your hand rubbed your teddy's paw as you tried to ignore that dread slowly building in you.

"I told you, that toy will go out the window if you keep playing with him" Levi's voice appeared again and you relaxed again. Hearing his voice was very comforting and made the dread fade.

"Not playing. It's a calming thing" you respond and he scoffs. He had picked up on your distressed behaviour again which is why he started talking. He hated sleeping when he was younger but if he heard his mother's voice, talking about everything and anything, he would be out in seconds. So he figured he would try it out with you.

"Next time you see Connie, I need you to send him to me. We've had a bunch of stray cats coming here. I have a feeling he's been feeding them" he continues talking about random snippets of things he did earlier or what he witnessed.

"Four-eyes has a butterfly land on them today and they lost their crap. I don't know how the little creature was able to be around them for so long"

"Sasha's going hunting tomorrow. There's a good chance that there will be a little bit of meat for dinner tomorrow night"

You slowly felt yourself falling asleep to his voice. You smiled softly, curling up into your sleeping position as his voice faded and you were pulled into a peaceful sleep.

"Thank you Captain" you murmured and he smiled a little.

"Anytime kid. Sleep well" he waited a few minutes to make sure you were sleep before going to finish his work.

Before he was going to try and sleep on the couch, he came to check on you. You were still sleeping away peacefully. He left the door open a crack then settled on his couch.

If this arrangement worked for you, he wouldn't be opposed to continuing it. If any of your night terrors were to happen, he would be there to help you. He enjoyed your presence so it would be a win on both sides. Who knows...maybe you could help him sleep better too.

#aot x reader #levi ackerman x y/n #levi x you #levi ackerman #levi x reader #aot x y/n #levi ackerman fluff #rouge thoughts #drabbles

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sukirichi · 4 years ago

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earned it [01]

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

request. (mafia au, sugar daddy au) + (dumbification, praising kink)

cw. smut, overstimulation, slight dumbification, praising kink, slight degradation, spanking, belt whipping, explicit murder, rough sex, shower sex, oral (f receiving), multiple sex scenes, riding, slight angst, veryyy unedited, sex when standing up, sex in pretzel position, dom! gojo, manhandling

notes. 🦋 anon, thanks so much for the request! i hope you love this one, i absolutely poured my heart and soul into this! minus the effort to edit, i’ll just edit this when i’m no longer sick lol

series masterlist

There he was again.

Working in a high-class restaurant located in the heart of the city meant you were no stranger to seeing people of power and titles, but he never failed to make everyone stop in their tasks every time he came around.

You don’t know his name, much less his usual orders since his usual table – middle 98 – wasn’t in your rotation. But you’re held captive in his presence, attention drawn to his broad shoulders clad in what seemed like a hand-stitched three piece suit, his striking white hair falling down in smooth tendrils. There’s something about the way he walks – confident doesn’t begin to describe it – that makes everyone surrounding him feel like they’re merely spectators to the enigma that was him, and he carries this observation proudly in his shoulders, that mischievous smile never absent from his face.

Your co-worker tugs at your sleeve, nearly knocking the empty wine glasses away from your tray. Barely catching them as you falter, you bow down to them in apology. No matter how intriguing the mysterious midnight comer was, you were still working. You needed to keep your head focused and in the game.

Hours pass by of shifting from one table to another, your hands beyond cramped from scribbling down such intricate orders. It’s a miracle you were hired in a place as luxurious as this in the first place when you couldn’t pronounce, much less spell the main dishes, but you proved through determination and hard work that the miracle was also accompanied by your grit. It didn’t matter that you were the youngest part-timer with little to no experience – unexpected things always happened when you’re backed in a corner, leaving you with no choice but to follow through.

This corner was nothing less than the struggle to make ends meet. While you’re lucky to have gotten accepted in one of the top state universities, there still came the issue of tuition fees, plus dorm occupations.

You don’t have the privilege to complain or whine that your experiences are probably not on par with what they expect of you, so you have to do your best; you have to keep pushing no matter how hard it gets and you’re barely awake for class the next day.

Clocking out, you bid goodbye to your co-workers and thank them for their hard work, about to leave through the back door when you hear his voice.

Your gaze lands on him from outside the kitchen, body twisted in the direction of where he sat, long legs crossed one another. He’s thanking the waiter for the wine, and you wince, because it isn’t just any wine. That’s one of the drinks locked in the special cellar because of its hefty price, yet there he was, swirling the red liquid around in his glass as if the amount of zeroes never bothered him. He’s reading something from his tablet, head tilted to the side as he drinks, and that’s when you see it.

It’s so miniscule you would’ve believed it’s just your eyes playing tricks on you, but you’ve seen in this class during one of your laboratory practices, the burn marks on your wrist a painful reminder of your carelessness.

Your boss’ shouts of warning fall onto deaf ears as you push past the double doors, feet moving on its own. The edge of the glass makes contact with his lips, gray lashes flattering across his cheeks, while time and sound becomes nothing but background noise to you. Your cry is inaudible when your hand pushes the glass away from his grip, the sounds of it shattering into pieces like a wake-up call to both of you.

For the first time since you’ve met him, the faintest look of surprise crosses over his face. His hands remain into a reflexive hold of the now missing glass, azure eyes cutting through yours.

You bow down to apologize – you can’t believe you’ve just done that and how his suit was stained and his pants soaked – but the words that left his lips stun you beyond disbelief, effectively freezing you in your state. His voice holds the same iciness as the blue of his pupils, but to you – just for you – there’s a tinge of awe behind them.

“Odd,” he says, “To think my life would be saved by you.”

You wake up with a gasp, hands clutched on the blanket covering your bare frame. There’s sweat forming on your hairline as you look around, wincing at the sliver of light passing through the curtains. Silver, ceiling length draperies obscure the view of the city skies outside, a huge reminder of where you are now – somewhere between the past and the future that’s about to come – and the king-sized bed you lay on almost feels like a dream.

Right. It’s been two years since you’ve met Satoru, the once mysterious customer turned into lover, an arrangement between financial aid and companionship solidifying your relationship with him now.

Your face burns at the sight of your clothes scattered all over your shared room. Your lace panties somehow end up on the chandeliers, the expensive material of your silk dress about to slide off the humongous TV and your bra hanging off the doorknob.

The light ache between your legs does nothing to appease your embarrassment. Even after two years of being with Satoru, it’s still difficult to believe he’s chosen you of all people.

He could’ve had anyone he wants. Not only is he beautiful, young, successful, and smart, he’s also an absolutely god in the sheets, your throbbing core attesting to his never ending array of his skills. Truly, Gojo Satoru was perfect, so much so that you pale in comparison to him no matter how much he’s assured you you’re the only he has eyes on.

It doesn’t make sense to you, but does it have to?

Love never required a logical reason for it to blossom, and you left it at that, fearful that it may just ruin whatever happened between the two of you. Besides, if Satoru wants you, then who were you to question that?

You swing your legs off the side of the bed to make him breakfast, but your legs shake upon contact to the floor, still very much sore after last night’s events.

Satoru’s been away for work for three days, and even though it wasn’t that much of a distance, he still acted like it’s been forever. He sure took his time with you, making you cum three times just with his tongue and fingers alone. He’s a cheeky and mischievous man; there’s no telling whether his words are just sweet lies or plain facts, but if there’s one thing you’re sure of, it’s that Satoru keeps his promises to heart. If he says he’s going to fuck you until you can’t walk the next day, he means it, and now you’re left groaning back onto the bed.

You’re thankful that it’s a weekend. Had it been a school day, it’s going to be an absolute pain in the ass. No matter how much he’s covered your school fees, you still won’t risk missing a day.

The door swings open, revealing your boyfriend clothed in nothing but his boxers, the smile on his face huge at seeing you glare at him. “Aw, baby,” he coos, sliding himself next to you, carrying a tray of pancakes topped with blueberries with him. Satoru wraps an arm around your shoulder and laughs into your air when you grumble at the soreness, which he tries to kiss away. “Sorry not sorry for last night. It’s not my fault I’m so addicted to you.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, fighting back that stupid fluttering feeling in your chest. Your attention is diverted to the luscious, fluffy pancakes, and your brows furrow at the sight. “Did you make this for me?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

You roll your eyes at him; his energy was always off the charts even after fucking you into oblivion. Thanking him under your breath, you reach for the breakfast, eternally grateful that it’s breakfast in bed because you can’t walk anywhere right now. However, Satoru pries your hands away from the fork, making you lean back instead as he spoon feeds you.

It’s a little humiliating – and he’s basking in this judging from the smirk he wears – but you give in anyway. Unlike him, your stamina isn’t monstrous. You’re still a human and you’re utterly tired, the glare endless through mouthfuls of the pancake. “I’m not a child, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’re my baby,” he retorts, smacking a kiss right at your lips.

You complain harder, ever so annoyed that you could never seem to throw him off guard and have the upper hand for once. Satoru eases the frown on your face by kissing you harder, his hand cradling your neck. He’s a fucking tease; his tongue languid and sensual as he tastes the honey coating your lips, sucking your bottom lip inside his mouth before nipping at it.

At the back of your mind, you’re wondering how each moment with him results into touching. Not that you really mind, of course, your stomach only flares up with heat at the thought he wants you just as much as you crave him.

Breakfast is soon forgotten right after seven bites as Satoru leans back against the headboard, thumb soothing circles at your hipbone to guide you on top of him.

He pulls away to breathe, a thin thread of saliva and honey between your lips present, and it’s so erotic that his eyes darken with lust, hands gripping a little tighter. You’re still bare on top of him, hardened breasts on display, but he holds himself back with heavy breaths, not wanting to ruin you further than he already has.

Satoru’s lips lands on your shoulder instead, thumb grazing under the weight of your breasts. He’s kissing you everywhere, almost as if he expects the flutter of his lips to heal you. You gladly let him taste you as he pleases, neck tilted to the side while you catch your breath.

The transition of him from an absolute freak in bed to the caring, compassionate boyfriend he is never fails to give you whiplash.

“How’s your studies?” he murmurs into your skin, his touch feather-like in caressing your back. You feel the hairs stand up at where he grazes them, shivering at the sensuality and tenderness he holds you with. “Doing good? My sweetheart still top of her class?”

“Hmm,” you hum back, planting yourself firm in his lap. He’s already hard under you, his cock twitching when your bare cunt presses on top of his tip, but he controls himself, focusing on your state instead. “My grades are tip-top, all thanks to your support,” Satoru smiles when you’re the one placing kisses all over his face this time, his giggles almost child-like.

Time flies by as you lay there in his arms. You’re lulled back into sleep at the sound of his heart beat, and just as you’re dozing off, Satoru pats your ass. “Baby,” he calls out, “Let me wash you first, then we’ll cuddle afterwards. What do you think about that?”

“That’d be great, I feel sticky.”

Satoru laughs, pulling panicked squeals from you when he suddenly hoisted you in his arms, carrying you bridal style. He kicks the door open before turning the heater on in the Jacuzzi, placing you under the shower first.

You close your eyes under the sprinkle of water, hands splayed all over his chest. Your legs are still wobbling, no thanks to him railing you as if there was no tomorrow, but he holds you upright, kneading his hands into your hair then washing every crevice of your body. When you open your eyes, you see him kneeling down to rub the loofah all over your legs, a slight pinch in his brows from sheer focus.

Your heart beats loudly on your chest, unable to process that the Gojo Satoru is on his knees, his touch nothing less of worshipping as if you were a divine being in his eyes.

It makes you breathe sharply as his face comes up before your core, his tongue darting out for a moment before he looks away, focusing on cleaning you up afterwards. His control and care for your well-being leaves you speechless, leaves you breathless, leaves you wanting him more and more and more that you’re kissing him again the moment he brings you both to his Jacuzzi.

He’s taken his boxers off to enjoy the feeling of skin brushing against skin, the fuzz of bubbles foaming up at your breasts only enticing him to kiss you with equal fervent passion.

You’re grinding down on his dick, his length encased between your lips that are extremely warm in comparison to the cool water. Finally, Satoru is stuttering beneath you, little whines leaving his breath as he kneads your ass, resisting the urge to slap the smooth flesh.

“Satoru,” you moan, “N-need you now, please.”

Fuck, his name on your lips mixed with your moans are enough to make him want to lose his restraint and just fuck you hard and deep there. He growls at how unaware you are of your effect on him, and he’s nothing short of starving in his kisses, never getting tired of tasting you over and over again. He wants to keep kissing you until your scent and taste is imprinted on his skin, to carry you around with him even when you’re not there, because he loves you, and he’s never loved anyone this much before. Especially for people like him, love was nothing but a myth.

Everything is a fantasy with you, a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. If you were to ask him to give up everything for you this instant, he’d do it in a heartbeat.

His heart is enslaved by your existence, and he nods, helping you lift your hips up to align his cock to your entrance. He takes note of your soreness as you slowly sink down on his cock, swallowing your whimpers through open-mouthed kiss. You’re shaking inside his arms, tiny scratches mixed with mewls making its way on his chest, further adding to the litter of scars already painted on his body.

Your head lands on his shoulder the second he bottoms out. Satoru groans at the feeling of your walls fluttering down on him, so warm and so tight that he has to lean his head back on the headrest just to catch his breath.

“You ride me, baby,” he manages through pants. “I’ll let you set the pace – do what’s comfortable with you.”

Your jaw clenches at the same time you clamp down on him one more time, eliciting another sinful moan from your lover. A lazy smirk graces your face as you ride him slowly, the image of the almighty Gojo Satoru falling apart at your ministrations burned at the back of your mind. You’ll replay this memory every time he leaves for work again, and the dreadful thought of having to watch him leave one more time fuels you to bounce on him harder, nails dug into his shoulder.

Satoru winces at the slight sting but doesn’t stop you anyway; he’s no stranger to pain. In fact, he’s a master of that and many more in more ways than one, though you didn’t know that – and he’ll never let you know that.

His eyes snap open at the sounds of skin slapping against skin, the water sloshing out the Jacuzzi. He’s met with the sight of you clutching the edges of the tub, bottom lip caught between your teeth as you fuck yourself harder on his cock. Your breasts bounce right in front of his eyes, tempting him to latch a mouth around it, which he does, the sudden flicking of his warm tongue on your nipples driving you to the edge.

Your soreness becomes a hazy memory of the past with each slide down his dick, thighs burning from the exertion. Satoru is lapping up your breasts and palming the other expertly, his breath hot on your skin.

Something familiar coils into your lower abdomen with each hard thrust, and you throw your head back, moaning his name as if it’s the only thing you’ve ever known. You’re growing tired; he can tell from the way you’re barely lifting your hips, but you’re so close, so near, that Satoru takes it upon himself to push you both right where you wanted to be.

Your moan comes out breathless the moment Satoru grips at your hips, snapping his hips upwards at the same time he guides your body to crush down on him. He’s the one controlling your body, but you’re falling on top of him with no reserve, your weight slamming down to his groin in full force that he’s faltering. Satoru is entranced by the motion of your hips gyrating around the head of his cock, the wavering grin on your face a telltale you’re enjoying the act of destroying him, but he lets you – it’s only fair after the countless times he’s done the same with you. But oh, he’ll have you again and again, and he proves his endless desire for you by forcing himself deep to your most sensitive spots, the glimpse of your mouth hanging open as you come making his cock twitch.

Satoru squeezes your hips as he situates you flat on his cock, groaning as he came in thick spurts. You mewl, scratching at his chest as he rides his high out with a few more sloppy thrusts.

“I know, baby, I know,” he whispers at the top of your hair, well-aware that your oversensitivity is clouding your mind. But he can’t help it, not when you feel so good around him like this. “Just a little more, I’ll be – fuck – right there, oh yeahhh,” he drawls out breathlessly, his cock twitching with the last strings of cum until he grows boneless inside you.

Satoru pulls his cock out, chest heaving up and down from that earth-shattering orgasm. In all honesty, he’s confident he could give you an even better one, but your lids are already fluttering close that he chuckles, pressing a kiss on your temple as a silent you did well.

Somewhere through your half-awake state, you manage to card your fingers through his hair, voice small and weak as you ask, “Don’t you have to go to work?”

Satoru’s eyes lour with something unreadable, and he’s thankful you don’t get to see the sudden glooming of his face. He gently pushes your head to rest on his shoulder, his eyes narrowed at his rippling reflection in the water. In his eyes, he sees the truth – he sees a monster holding an innocent angel he lives to protect – the truth he wants to conceal. He can’t even fathom the possibility of you finding out about who he really is, much less what he does that enables him to provide you with everything you need.

He’s the demon himself, caressing someone as pure as you in his arms, his eyes and true self sinister except for the gentle kisses he leaves at the shell of your ear.

If it keeps you safe, he doesn’t mind becoming even more of a monster if it means keeping you safe.

So he keeps you right where you can’t witness the slight moments of vulnerability in which his horns reveal itself, hugging you tight and possessively in the fear he’ll lose the only thing that matters most to him.

“I have a meeting tonight,” is all he says, is what he always says.

He’s mysterious and aloof, too vague every time you inquire him about what he does for a living. Usually, you’d feel worried or even wary that maybe he doesn’t trust you as much as you originally thought, but you’re too tired to question him further, and he takes advantage of your weakness wholeheartedly. All to keep you safe.

Satoru closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath, no longer bothered by the fact each step he took is getting him closer and closer to a point of no redemption.

He’s not worried about that anymore, not when his salvation is right in his arms, wrapping him with your love and false sense of safety that it becomes the lie he feeds himself every night just to keep going on.

“I just want to be with you a little longer.”

This time around, Satoru tells the truth.

The rust of blood dripping off the concrete walls is as normal to Satoru as breathing is for everyone else. He doesn’t falter in his movements, doesn’t scrunch his nose at the stench, and he doesn’t waver from swinging his arm back, the heavy weight of the wrench already wielded in his hand.

Someone dared come up to their base to face him head-on.

He has to admit, he was impressed with their guts, but now he feels empty save for a slight sliver of irritation at the man’s bloodied face. He’s panting after coughing up blood so much, his face unrecognizable after the beating Satoru gave him, teeth splattered on the floor. Satoru’s right hand man, Geto, stands at the side, silently inspecting his nails.

They’d been going at this for hours now, yet they seemed to be right where they were at the beginning. Torture was usually an effective method of gathering information, but this hostage seemed to be on the same par of monstrous as Satoru from his unyielding nature, even had the audacity to laugh.

Satoru stops in his tracks, a brow raised at what seemed to be so funny.

“Everyone spoke highly of you,” he spat his blood out, his busted eye twitching under Satoru’s stone cold gaze. “They told me you were barbaric, ruthless, the most feared mafia boss out here, but you’re pathetic now, aren’t you? You’re not the same Six Eyes who sees all they claimed you to be,” Satoru watched warily when his hostage smirked, the same one he always wore just moments from bashing the skull out of someone. It’s because he’s so familiar with it that Satoru immediately puts up his walls, Geto stepping beside him with his gun gleaming under his coat. As expected, the man does not falter, his laughter merely increasing in volume. “You’ve grown soft, Gojo. Your little lover is your weakness, it’s written all over your face. Tell me, what’s stopping you from ending my life already? Afraid that if she finds out, she might push you away?” When Gojo doesn’t answer, the man clicks his tongue. “I fucking knew it.”

Geto moves quicker than his boss. He draws his gun and aims it right between his eyes, only to be stopped by Satoru’s indifferent tone. “Stop.”

“But boss-”

“Why did you come here?” he stabs the man in the thigh with a knife, his screams of pain alleviating enough to distract the painful clenching of his chest. “I don’t believe you came here just to prove the rumors true. Now you tell me, why have you come here?” Satoru slams his fist down on the knife, the blade pushing past through muscles and hitting deep to the bone. “Answer me.”

“Th-there’s a drive in my pocket. Open it and you’ll see.”

The man doesn’t stop squirming as Geto rummages through his jacket, nodding to his boss once they got hold of the slick black device. Geto immediately plugs it to the monitor, several photographs popping up in a few seconds, and those few seconds were all it took to bring the infamous mafia boss down.

Because they weren’t just photos, they were photos of you.

Of you laughing with your friends, of you hugging Satoru’s arm in one of your dates, of you kissing him under the streetlight and even an intimate photo of you going down on him while he’s driving. It must be taken from a street cam judging from the blurry quality, but it’s crystal clear to him anyway, and Satoru’s mind muddles with thoughts darker than he once believed he’s capable of. He feels his anger bloom like fire licking up at his skin, his nerves bursting through, and he’s so obvious, so predictable that his hostage guffaws.

“I was right, I was right-!”

“You mean her?” his voice drips down with so much indifference, it shocks even he himself. His hostage shuts up at the sudden change of Satoru’s aura, that dark, fearsome aura that had people begging him to kill them as an act of mercy coming back to life. The man clamps his mouth shut, chills running down his spine because it’s no longer the same Satoru he mocked pulling the knife out from his thigh.

No, this is the Gojo Satoru, the devil incarnate himself, and he’s made the huge mistake of believing he would be affected by a mere woman. Satoru reads the fear on his face too easily, not bothering to hide his sigh as he twirls the bloodied blade between his fingers.

“She’s nothing to me. She’s just another bitch, another paid pussy. Favorite of the month, you could say, but nothing of worth to me,” he announces, ignoring Geto who’s stiffened up at the corner. “Did you really come all the way here just to see if you could find my weakness? If so, then your organization is a lot dumber than I thought, and I hate people who waste my time.”

“No, no, please, I was just jok-” his eyes widen when Satoru snaps his fingers, and Geto rushes to his boss with his gun. “Please, no, I didn’t think she was just a bitch-”

The man never got to finish his words.

A loud ‘bang’ echoes around the room, followed by a slight snap when his head falls backwards. Blood drips from the hole sitting in between his head, the aim perfect and flawless even with Satoru not looking back. He’s still Gojo Satoru, leader of the Gojo Mafia Clan, and he’s not the most feared leader in history for no reason. He’s always been blessed with a physical prowess and fighting abilities that allowed him to take on other clans by himself, but he’s changing. There’s now a chink in his armour, and people are starting to notice.

If he doesn’t do anything about it soon…

“Sir,” Geto begins, following the rushed footsteps of Satoru outside the hall, where his security is lined up with guns poised and ready to risk their lives for him. This was his power, this was his legacy – and this is who he was.

A killer. A monster. A demon – he’s everything you wouldn’t love.

“I know, Geto, I know,” Satoru says through gritted teeth, his bloody hands clenched into fists. He already knows what he’s supposed to do; he doesn’t need another reminder of it. “You don’t have to tell me anything I know of already. Now send that body back as a warning. I’m going home for tonight.”

Geto is stunned, and he’s got every right to be. After all, in his boss’ 28 years of existence, not once has he called anywhere or anyone home.

He’s always claimed himself to be irredeemable, to be unworthy of love and forgiveness, but slowly yet surely, he was beginning to look at life differently after meeting you, after loving you. The word ‘home’ was never in his vocabulary, and yet, every time your face comes up in his mind, it’s the only word he can think of.

He came home a lot earlier than you expected him to. You’re hunched over the table, legs swinging back and forth as you finish your school packets when the door chimes with the familiar beep. It’s only midnight and he’s already here, the excitement manifesting in you as you jump off the stools, running to greet your beloved.

Satoru ends up as a blur of frantic hands tugging his tie off, his scowl seething with anger and regret pouring off of him in waves.

Before you could say anything, he has you pinned on the wall, one knee inside your legs to keep you upright. Satoru is kissing you, hard, one hand raised to keep both your wrists planted above your head. You’re moaning at his aggressiveness, the sounds encouraged by his erection poking at you from your silk robe.

It’s not rare for him to come home in need of a fuck to clear his head, but…something feels different this time around. He feels different, almost like an entirely new person.

Satoru pulls away to press his forehead to yours, his eyes hooded with lust and lips bruised from the kiss. You’re confuzzled; your lover is the exact same person standing before you, the same person grazing at your breasts until your nipples harden at his touch, so then why does it feel like the person who left and came back are entirely two different people.

“Can I fuck you, angel? Please?”

Your words die down your throat.

Satoru’s never said please before, much less look this devastated as he asks to have you. He always says it with exuberant confidence, his present frown usually a smile. There’s no trace of happiness or even playfulness in his eyes this time around. Instead, they’re filled with fear – desperation, even.

You say yes before you realize it, but it’s enough for Satoru. It feels like he’s only been waiting for that word before he goes on a rampage, for his lips are on yours again, patting your thighs as a silent command to jump. You follow his orders and kiss him feverishly until it becomes a battle for dominance, tongue and teeth clashing against the other. Your hands are tugging at his hair from how rough he’s grabbing at your hips, spanking the sensitive flesh that draws a whimper at you.

You don’t know how Satoru manages to find his way to the leather couch even with his eyes closed, but he takes you there, no longer gentle as he throws your weight down. You’re falling, falling, falling as your knees hit the material, cheeks pressed against the headrest. You turn back to kiss him one more time, but Satoru keeps you down there, the sound of his belt unbuckling reaching your ears.

Satoru wraps the leather around his palm, kissing you flat on the lips just as he slaps the material to your ass. He’s pushed your robe to bunch up at your waist, groaning into your mouth upon the realization you’ve been walking around the house butt-naked.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he nips at your lips, feeding off of the pained moans coating his senses at each whip of his belt. “No underwear while I’m gone – you’re begging to be fucked, angel. You’re so filthy,” he swings his arm back to extend the length of the belt, squeezing your ass before he whips it harder against your flesh. You scream at the contact, nails ripping the leather couch and a slight puddle of drool on your lips.

“S-Satoru!”

“What?” he snaps, gripping your jaw, his eyes replaced with something animalistic as he stares at you. The love is gone in his eyes, your lover almost unrecognizable from the way he whips you again. You jut forwards, arousal pooling and dripping down his sofa. His eyes trail down your gushing pussy, nostrils flared before throwing his belt to the other side of the room. The buckle hits one of his expensive vases until it comes crashing down, the sound of it nostalgic to the first time you met him. “Can’t talk, huh, baby? What do you want? Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck me,” you blurt out, wiggling your hips sensationally at his already throbbing dick. “Please fuck me.”

You suppose you should’ve been more careful with your words, because Satoru lives to please, and if you tell him to do something, you can expect he’ll give his everything.

He knocks the wind out of your lungs by squeezing your waist, sliding himself into you one, full thrust. You’re wet enough that he slides in easily, but it’s too fast, too early, that the sudden stretch is painfully pleasurable. Satoru delivers one more smack to your flesh that makes it bounce, his growls loud and ragged as he pounds into you.

You’re clutching at the backrest, eyes shut tight as all your attention diverts to the heat in your core. You wish you could see his face, hold his hand or see the way he admires you while he fucks you, but you can’t see anything. Tonight, you could only feel.

Each thrust sends the couch a little ways forward, his balls slapping against your ass. He’s cursing left and right, more focused on getting his anger out his system than pleasuring you. It’s a drastic change to your lover’s behavior in bed, yet you can’t find any muscle in your body that denies this. Satoru can be rough, but he never really goes all out. One way or another, he manages to hold back for your sake, but his mind’s a mess, the voices in his head screaming louder that it drowns out the need to make you cum first.

He’s relentless, grip bruising the harder he fucks into you. You know you’re gone in the instance Satoru plants one foot beside you, the angle causing him to hit deeper.

Satoru ends up fucking into your cervix with each hard thrust, fisting his hand under your robe while he slams forward. It’s so intense that your vision blurs, a faltered grip on the couch. You’re falling limp under his ministrations, his dick successfully hitting that spot that has you seeing white. You’re screaming, babbling nonsense while Satoru uses you as his own fuck toy, pushing past your tight walls and relishing in the way you hug his cock snugly.

He came first, his thrusts growing sloppy and stuttering for a moment. Satoru pulls out so quickly from you that you’re left gasping for air at the sudden emptiness, and that’s when you feel his cum landing on your lower back.

You’re too slow, too weak – or perhaps he’s too strong, too fast – to react properly to his movements.

Satoru doesn’t let you catch your breath as he throws you over his shoulder, your face nearly smacking his ass. You feel dizzy at this position, and the voice in your head tells you that you should be scared he’s manhandling you like this, but seeing him this way – so reveled, so angry, so out of control – has you rubbing your legs, core dripping at the thought of how he’s going to use you tonight.

Your eyes widen when he doesn’t head for the bedroom. You were so sure he’d take you there, but Satoru lays you flat on the marble countertops of the kitchen, the cold biting into your skin.

Satoru doesn’t waste another second before he spreads your legs open and dives into your cunt. You squeal, legs instinctively closing around his head when you feel his tongue lick a flat stripe at your pussy, but he only pushes them apart, encircling your ankles hard to keep you open.

You know he’s strong, but you’re still surprised that he’s capable of rendering you motionless, powerless like this. Your mind wanders off to a dangerous path in wonders of how else he’s hurt someone like this – whether intentionally or unintentionally – but he immediately pulls you back to reality when he sucks your clit, his eyes direct with yours.

His hands trail upwards to squeeze at your breasts, the immediacy of it all firing up that tight knot in your stomach that he failed to snap a while ago.

Satoru’s nose rubs at your skin the harder he sucks at your clit, tugging it upwards until you’re whining around him. It’s always so erotic to see his pretty face buried in your cunt like this; you’ll never get used to him eating you like you’re his last meal. He laps up your juices like a starved man, his tongue prodding between your lips and slurping everything you offer him, one of his arms retracting to slide two fingers inside your sopping hole.

You moan at the sudden intrusion. The sounds of your moans mixing in with the lewd squelching of your dripping pussy is extremely embarrassing, even more so because you’re actually gushing down his palm.

Your juices spread all over his face, and Satoru is greedy, thirsty for more. He pumps harder into you, curling them against the ridges of your walls, and finally, finally you’re there. Your orgasm washes down on you violently that Satoru has to keep a palm flat down on your stomach, his tongue not ceasing from lapping up your juices. You’re convulsing from his hold, stuttered moans rewarding to his ears.

He doesn’t stop coaxing your wetness out of your cunt, his fingers working you out and easing the previous pain of when he entered you without warning. Satoru leans up to help you sit up, his lips colliding with yours for a much gentler kiss this time around.

You cup his cheeks, feeling him slide your body across the counters. Your arousal that he’s failed to clean up remains there until it spreads all over the back of your thighs, the feeling sticky and uncomfortable, but you’re more focused in his tongue dancing with yours. He tastes sweet – like mint and sugar – but his moans are sweeter, the sound dulcet and making you weak on your knees as you taste yourself on him.

Satoru tugs you forward, panic flooding you when you feel nothing under you. You feel like you’re falling again and you immediately encircle your arms around his neck, but he chuckles through the kiss, quick reflexes put into work as he carries you.

The kiss is sloppy yet heated, both of you unable to focus properly when he’s growing hard again. You expect him to take you to the bedroom to finish things for once and for all, but he’s impatient – this much you know the moment he walked in, but somehow keep forgetting – wrapping your legs to his waist instead before slipping inside you.

You mewl into his mouth, eyes snapping open to look at him nervously. His legs are slightly bent as he bounces you on his cock like you weighed nothing.

In this position, he’s hitting deep each time you slide down his cock. Unable to help it, you graze your foreheads with his to stare him deep in the eyes, the usual passion in them slowly returning with each thrust. The work is placed on his shoulders as he holds you close to him, the mind numbing sensation of your erect nipples grazing his sensitive skin enticing him to rut harder into you, all to enjoy the way you fall apart above him.

You’ve been rendered speechless, mouth fallen open to release breathy gasps. Hell, you’re unable to moan, not when his cock is sliding in and out of you so lusciously that you feel every vein protruding from the base of his length. How he manages to walk while fucking you is beyond your comprehension by now, but he seems to be having the time of his life based on his grunting, continuously fucking deep into your pussy so much that he refuses to let you go. Satoru kicks the door to your room open and places you gently on the bed this time, trapping you in his arms but with enough space to let you crawl back up on the bed. You stop as your head hits the pillows, and the mood immediately changes.

Satoru stays still inside you, his large hand cupping your face while you both catch your breath. There’s something unreadable about him. He feels young yet old at the same time, giving you the impression that perhaps he’s still just a child trapped in an old man’s body.

There’s so much fear swirling through the blueness of his eyes that you frown, marveling about what happened to him.

In the intimacy of the moment, you swipe the stray tear that had fallen down his cheek, smiling up at him in hopes he’d realize you’re always there for him. “Satoru,” you whisper, breath hitching as he starts to move. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Satoru props you sideways, your leg flat on the bed while he hooks the other one over his thigh that is spread beside your body. You have to tilt all the way to the side just to see his face, your hand now bent in an awkward position. Although he doesn’t answer vocally, his gentle thrusts are enough to tell you he doesn’t want to talk about it – he never does, and he never will – so you shut your mouth, focusing on the pleasure of him hitting deep.

Your heart aches for him. You wish he could tell you everything, to share you his worries, and you can’t enjoy him fucking you too much because you’re crying, chest clenching that he’s growing distant no matter how close he is.

You don’t want to lose him.

“Hey,” he easily reads you, leaning down to flutter his eyes at you. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired, okay, angel? But you’re making me feel good, you always do, so let me do the same for you,” Satoru kisses your tears away, the saltiness of it making him fuck harder into you, all to ignore the screaming inside his head.

He wants to hold you, he wants to kiss you, he wants to keep loving you like this, he wants to be with you, he wants to touch you – but it’s not that easy.

It’ll only keep getting harder in the future, but the future isn’t now. Today is the present, and it’s even more precious because you’re there with him. Right now, you’re untouchable by anyone but him, and it’s only him that gets to fuck you like this, only him who gets to see you whimper under him, only him who gets to kiss you hard while he fucks you deep.

He wants to fuck you hard enough that you never forget the feeling of him inside you.

Maybe he’s selfish, maybe he really is demonic, because he wishes that after this you won’t be satisfied with anyone else. He wants to fuck you hard enough you’ll keep wishing it was him, that it’s him who’s hitting your sweet spots and making you see stars, that it’s only him who can make you feel this good.

Satoru interlaces his hand with yours as he feels you tighten around him, the clamping down of your walls a telltale you’re near. You’re moaning, eyes dropping to where your bodies are connected. His cock is slicked with your arousal and he’s still thrusting to passionately, his hands touching you everywhere with the same ardor and impatience one would have when they know time is limited. And Satoru knows better than everyone that no amount of money can buy enough time in this world, because if such was a case, then he’d have done so long ago.

He silences his demons with the only way he knows how to; by kissing you and burying himself deep inside you, snapping his hips angrily as if they would counterattack his fears. Your hold on him is slipping from the sweat dripping down your bodies, but he doesn’t stop, his cock further stretching you out because he’s growing impossibly bigger.

Satoru’s cock twitches inside you, the motion pulling a gasp from you. He bites down on your shoulder, one hand gripping your other leg open as he grunts into your skin, his thrusts focused more on power than speed. He hits deep each time, the sensation of him sliding out slowly only to push back in vigorously to make your pussy throb too intense for you to even form proper sentences. He’s getting nearer, his thrusts growing more fervent and impatient. Satoru thumbs at your clit to coax you into following him, and with his thumb rubbing your clit and flicking it side to side, you end up finishing before him, your moan high-pitched and broken. He eagerly swallows the sound by releasing after you, refusing to pull out even as he feels both your cum trickle afterwards.

The sensitivity is too much for you that you have to push him away, and he complies, falling at your side but not before wrapping an arm around you first. His heartbeat is pumping under you, your hands tracing circles at his chest while he holds you impossibly close, littering kisses at the crown of your head.

It’s clear that something is wrong, but he won’t tell you no matter how much you ask. You know firsthand how annoying it is when someone can’t respect your space, so you close your eyes and let sleep overtake you instead, basking in the after sex glow and relieved only by his touch.

Hopefully, you think to yourself, he can tell you another time.

“Satoru,” you murmur seconds before falling asleep.

“Yeah?”

“If there’s something wrong…you’ll let me know, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he lies through gritted chest, pushing your head deeper into his sweaty chest. He has a habit of doing this; of pushing you close so you don’t see his face, so you don’t see the tears streaming down his face that are soon lost in your hair. You think that maybe he’s just breathing hard after work and fucking you, but he’s torn inside, feeling too broken that not even you could help fix his heart.

But you’re still there, and that’s enough for him. So he keeps his lips planted on your forehead all the way until the first sliver of light extends its fingertips over the horizon, the orange glow bathing you in an ethereal light while his body remained in the darkness.

It serves as a painful reminder that he’ll never be worthy of your love, that he’ll never earn the blessing that is your heart, that you’ll never truly love him the way he’s always wanted to be loved. Maybe now you think you do, but it will change once the darkness reveals his true nature, and the thought of you pushing him away hurts a lot more than having never been loved in the first place. To him, it’s a thousand times worse when you get a taste of something, only to have it pulled away from you.

And the longer he stays there next to you, he can’t help but picture your smile soon turned into a look of fear, your body bruised with marks and blood instead of his love bites.

They call him the notorious mafia leader who bows and yields to no one, but it’s not true. Gojo Satoru most definitely has his weakness, one that came into a form of his lover, and he can’t handle that you’d get hurt because of him someday that he believes it’s just better to let things be this way.

He’s silent from when he leaves the bed, refusing to look at you one last time as a final resolve of whatever is left in his strength. He quickly dresses himself and picks up your discarded robe on the ground, folding it and leaving it on the counter before shutting the door, the sound of his footsteps mute compared to the frantic beating of his heart.

Geto is already there at the lobby, his face empty yet eyes filled with sympathy. He opens the door for Satoru who slides in wordlessly, his lips pulled into a thin line while he punches in zeroes upon zeroes.

The words transaction complete flashes before him, and for a split second, he gets the urge to run back inside to hold you. But Geto clears his throat from the passenger’s seat, nodding at his phone that Satoru visibly deflates. His hands are numb the whole time he deletes your photos, your videos, and erases your contact, but it only hits hard that its over once he chucked the phone out the window, watching through his sunglasses as the device is crushed under another speeding car.

Its over, its over, its over – it keeps chanting at his head, and he wants to punch himself, wants to never see another daylight again every time he imagines you waking up alone and unable to find him. He wants to be sad, and he is, but there’s that relief blossoming inside him anyway that whispers its over, you’re safe that he can’t help but think…its okay, its over.

With that, Satoru rolls up the windows and nods at the driver who’s been waiting for him the whole time. He makes eye contact with a proud Geto from the rearview mirror, concealing his heartbreak with a laugh as he crosses his leg over the other.

“It’s over,” he says more to himself, “Let’s go.”

Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. That’s the reason he got this far in life in the first place, he’s got his tenacity and dedication to thank for. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins as well, and he also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.

And the punishment of loving you – only to have you slip from his arms – is a punishment he’ll wholeheartedly accept.

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