#how awful must your life be if that's the way you think?

[jocelynscrazyideas]

Frosty Night || ❄️☃️

John Marino x fem reader

-a ficsmas fic-

(Not proof read)

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The warm breeze hits my face. I’ve lived up north all my life, I’ve never had a Christmas with no snow. It’s wierd to me now that I don’t have to shovel before I leave for work, or heat my house up before going to bed.

It’s never occurred to me that people live this way. Hot Christmas mornings, no hot chocolate to warm you up after a snowball fight, and most importantly there aren’t any snowmen.

John and I are still getting used to Utah. I think I liked New Jersey more, but I think I could get used to this.

“Hey y/n! Come down here please!” John calls for me from downstairs in the kitchen. I almost feel his excitement from upstairs in our room.

For your information, John and I have been dating for two years and six months. I can tell you what John is thinking about, or if he is mad/sad. He’s a pretty easy going guy. Not too difficult, not too easy, not too middle. He’s just right.

My footsteps get louder as I run down the stairs to meet the 6”2 man. He, of course he has his grey beanie on. I’m guessing he didn’t take care of his curls. John turns around from the kitchen island, his toothless smile glimmers from the overhead lights.

“Aw how cute!” I giggle, running up to John’s chest.

John has this cute white pj set in his hands, they have green Christmas trees printed on them, and have the words, “ho ho ho” on them. I take them and set them to the side. He must have matching ones in the room for later. I peak over at our small-empty room we call our living room. We haven’t lived in this home for a while, but it’s starting to feel lived in. Lots of memories-just not a lot of life. Even our Christmas tree is dead.

The small fake tree is shinning a warm yellow light, illuminating the darkened room. Only a few presents are visible under the tree, our kitchen is filled with Christmas decor, and secret unwrapped gifts for eachother.

Good thing our home is pretty empty, because John and I are hosting the team Christmas party. John bought alcohol, and ingredients to make eggnog, I baked a few delicious treats and made some homemade gift bags for everyone. I made sure the WAGs had personal hygiene products and my favorite picture of the women all together.

John helped me finish decorating the house, and we waited for the team to all make an appearance. The first couple ti show up were Sean Durzi and his girlfriend Sadie. They brought in a fresh apple pie and their gifts.

“I know you said no additional snacks, but I’m sure the other guys are bringing their favorite holiday food.” Sean walks over to me, he hugs me hard. He twirls me away from John. My back now facing my boyfriend and Durzi’s face is probably making a weird grin-trying to make John jealous.

John pulls Sean off of me, and holds me in his arms. John has rather large biceps, in fact they make me feral.

I hold onto John’s arm, “hey baby? Can we play some music. It’s too quiet in here for a party.” I look up at John and John kisses my forehead.

“Sure.” And he leaves me alone with Sadie and Sean. Within a few minutes we hear music flood the house.

The house has built in speakers, they run through almost every room, and we can even isolate the sounds. John played a classic Mariah Carey tune, and I greet the new incoming guests.

~

My cookies were a hit. Many people took them, and lots of people took John’s eggnog. Unfortunately, more people took Durzi’s apple pie.

The party is coming to a chill relaxing night. People are sharing stories, the ladies are getting to know eachother. The boys are being stupid and discussing crazy plays they’ve seen in their career.

Sadie mentioned Sean needing pre-game cuddles because he has bad anxiety, “yeah. His anxiety is super bad. Sometimes I have to calm him down by driving him to the rink, and if it gets worse I have to hold him down. I also have to cuddle him to bed for his pre-game naps.”

All of the girls giggle and stare at Sean. Honestly, I can’t see him the same. He just looks like a big cuddle bear now. Almost gives me the idea of cuddling John right now.

We exchange our Secret Santa gifts.

I had Sean. Sean had Keller, Keller had Nick abd Nick had John. John had Maverick, and Maverick had me.

I got a super cute camera and a bag of candy. Really affordable and practical. What a sweet kid Mav is.

~

John is getting pretty tipsy off of his alcohol he bought earlier. I told him I want to go to bed soon, and he needs to “kick them out” and John immediately kissed my cheek and grabbed the pj set he suprised me with. I ran to the bathroom to change into them. They feel so soft and comfortable. I come out to the living room expecting everyone to be there on the couch.

No one was there.

It’s not just an idea now, it’s a desire to cuddle my cuddle bear.

All of the cars were backing out of the driveway. Our porch light was off. The door was locked. Music off.

The only person in the living room was John. He’s wearing matching pajamas to my set. Cute!!

“Hey baby.” He walks up to me. Rapidly he pulls me close. We dance to no music. Just the sound of love. He laughs as he pulls me in for a kiss.

I stick my tounge in his mouth. As a joke I tickle the spot his tooth is supposed to be. Unfortunately he pulled away and slapped my ass. He walks to the kitchen to clean up. Watching him put the food and desserts away makes me feel so maternal.

“Johnny?” I sat down on the blue velvety couch. “I love you.” I smiled, not just sitting on the couch now, but laying on my back. I cover my face with my hands in embarrassment.

*It’s not that big of a deal. We’ve been together for a while. It doesn’t matter. -I tell myself.*

“I love you back.” He drunkly answered. He smiled and sucked on his teeth. I see him trying push his lips together, pursing them forward- alsmot like he’s puckering up. He stops smiling, making it seem like he’s not getting butterflies.

I sit up and walk over to him. My pj shorts ride up my ass. I forgot to mention I don’t have anything on underneath.

I hug John from behind as he wiped the kitchen counter off. The house looks like it did from before.

Clean, empty, lifeless…. bland.

John walks to the trash. Throwing away the wipe he used, he waddles over to the sink, at a pace for me to follow behind him as I am still wrapped around him.

I kiss his back- because that’s as far as I can reach. He shakes his shoulders out as he gets tense. My hands trail lower, making a path to his cock. But I pass it. John washes his hands, and he starts to make a little noises, like he’s anticipating that I turn him around and starts sucking on him.

I don’t.

I get up from my position, and walk away. John runs after me, turning the lights off and double checking the door is locked. “Y/n!” He calls after me. I make my way up the stairs to our bedroom.

I flip the blanket over on our bed, and jump into it, “come lay with me.” I slap John’s side of the bed. John’s matching pajama pants flail all over the place while he makes and effort to jump over my legs.

My back is pressed up against our headboard, John’s head is laying in my lap. A pillow in his arms. He just wants to warm up. I play ‘Home Alone’ on the TV we have on our dresser. The room is dark. The house is empty. The only source of light that floods our room is the TV.

John’s beanie falls off. My lap catching his warm hat, I throw it over to his nightstand. He rubs his hands on my knee. He aligns to my sitting position. “I love you more.” He kissed my lap, he crawls to my chest as my back slides down the headboard. I lay horizontally across the bed. My feet hanging on my side of the bed and mh head at John’s side. Stretching across the bed too js my sweet boy. John crawls up to my chest, facing me.

My boobs fall out of the small pajama tank top. John forces his face into my chest, my boob as his weird pillow. I play with his hair. And he falls asleep first. His soft skin as precious lips melt in my hands. I kiss him and whisper how much i appreciate him.

“Goodnight my love. I love you to the moon and back.” I whisper while I turn the TV off. John rolls in closer to me. The blanket on John more than it is on me. For some reason I’m okay with that for tonight.

I fall asleep to his natural scent.

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Fem!Reader : Forged Of Fire Chapter 28

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Story Summary: Raised under the tiranny of your own family, and forced to steal to earn your keep, you struggle to survive. Born from a Fey mother, and a Manblood father who wanted only sons, you are forced to hide your Fey side. When you are ordered to steal from Father Carden by your half-brother, Cassian, your life spirals out of control and you find yourself at the mercy of the Weeping Monk. The life you knew changes drastically when Cassian betrays you in the cruelest of ways. A trade is made, a promise is broken, and a debt must be paid.

Chapter Title: Face The Raven

Notes: /

Warnings: Angst. Hurt. Trauma bonding. Intrafamily violence. Depression. Self-harm. Suicidal thoughts. Violence. Torture. Gore. Pining. Trauma. Self-Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc. Lima/Stockholm syndrom-ish. Childhood trauma.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forced Marriage. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn. Found Familly-ish. Comfort. Fluff. !SMUT and SPICE!

Word count of this fic: +250K

Chapter:  28/47

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You stopped fighting, your body came to an abrupt halt and it made him move his hand away from your mouth. In the darkness you could not see his eyes past the gap in the helmet he wore, but he stood so close that your nostrils vaguely caught his scent. That awful plant’s effect had also been weakening your heightened sense of smell. “Lancelot?”

Those candle holders proved to be an enemy to him when they stood between you and him. The sight of one in your hands made his head hurt at the memory.

He nodded, his hold on you changed drastically, he cupped your cheek and rubbed your arm. “Are you hurt?”

“You’re alive…” Seeing him alive and well had a strong reaction in you, you threw yourself into him, embracing him with all your might. First you felt him tense up, but he quickly relaxed and brought his arms around you to reciprocate.

He knew he should make haste before they found the dead guard down in the dungeons. But this… was hard to deny himself of.

It felt so serene to hold him in the dark, to feel his chest move with each breath he took, if only it had been in a different location.

“I’m so happy to see you.” you murmured against his shoulder.

Slowly he began to loosen his hold. “I feared the worst…”

So many scenarios had run through his head whilst searching for you. He feared Aldith had taken you to the paladins, or worse, Abbot Wicklow.

“Please, Lancelot, don’t let go of me yet.” Your hold on him got tighter, you didn’t care that it would betray how vulnerable you felt in that moment.

His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, what you had said must have meant more to him than you had expected. That light scratching at your scalp of his fingers was ridiculously comforting, it was such a good feeling especially when he included the back of your neck.

You forced your wandering thoughts back together. “They have Percival, they’ve been keeping him locked inside the dungeons. If I didn’t obey Lord Leoric, he said he’d hurt him.”

“He is safe.” he hushed. “Percival has never set foot in this castle.”

You leaned back to look at him, ignoring the urge to rip that helmet from his head. “What-… he was never really here?”

Lancelot shook his head, understanding why they had wanted you to believe this. “He was with me. Currently he is waiting for us outside.”

“They lied to make me obedient.” you scoffed bitterly. “But I am glad that it was a lie. Unfortunately they used that lie to make me drink some of that plant’s sap that they used on me before.”

“What?” he grew gravely concerned, just days ago it had nearly killed you. “Are you ill? What is it doing to you?”

“It’s to make me too tired to use my magic.” you explained. “My father learned about my ability to create fire, but I don’t think they know just what that green fire truly is.”

“He is here?” he asked, “Aldith is here?”

It was a sickening thought that you were in the same building Aldith was in. “Yes. Ravenwick is no longer safe. After your indiscretion towards the Church, the Trinity Guard went to Ravenwick, no doubt to see if we would show up there.”

“My ‘indiscretion’?” He was smiling under that helmet.

Hearing that slightly playful tone was like a salve to your mind. “You know, that time you humiliated the Trinity Guard in front of Abbot Wicklow.”

He nodded a few times, chuckling warmly, then pointed at one of the chairs. “I found your clothes by your scent, they are over there. I believe they will be more comfortable to ride in than that dress.”

You were sure glad to hear that. They had found and taken your clothes away even though you had hid them. And a dress was not very handy if it would come to battle, you didn’t want to trip over the fabric of it. “How did you even find me?”

He sounded like it was such a normal thing to remember a small detail like that after so long. “You told me once that Aldith knew someone here in Morrowstead who was interested in you, I simply sought out the wealthiest person here.”

It left you near speechless. “You remember that?”

He nodded, then steered you by the arm towards where the clothes were. “We should leave. Percival is waiting by the horses in the forest. Go and dress yourself.”

That was a risky thing. “They could find him!”

“He’s not alone.” he said. “Fear not. The boy is safe.”

Who was with him…? “Not alone?”

The sound of footsteps approaching the door made your heart jump into your throat. “Dammit. You need to hide!” You quickly grabbed the stack of clothes, pushing them into his hands, then took him by the arm and rushed him towards the bathing area behind the curtain, whispering, “Don’t come out until he’s gone.”

That curtain was only just closed behind him when the door opened and Lord Leoric walked in, looking a bit surprised to see you there.

“Still awake?” he questioned out loud and placed the candelabra he carried on the table. “That spares me the trouble of waking you. Come here.”

You feared what would happen if Lancelot was found, this place had to house many guards and no one could fight off such a large group of them if they were to attack, not for long at least.

Lord Leoric watched you approach and made you halt when you were halfway there. “Did you bathe tonight?”

That answer came fast. “Yes.”

“Good.” he said, getting closer. “I could not sleep. My study keeps me awake. I came to find answers to some of the questions I have yet to solve.”

Gods… what did he want now? More Fey Fire? Or were you going to have to drink more of that plant’s sap?

He stopped a few steps away. “I see no Fey marks on your face, while the Weeping Monk apparently had ones beneath his eyes. How come you do not have them?”

Your back was facing the direction of the bathing area, and you could only hope that Lancelot was staying hidden. “Mine are different. They are hidden.”

“Hidden where?” he asked.

You dragged a finger from beneath your eye and over your cheek. “Here. Sometimes they show themselves. But I have no control over it.”

You considered it unwise to give him too many details about the Ash Folk. An Ash tree was one of the things that would certainly cause your markings to appear. Why? you did not know. And you certainly didn’t want to be experimented on to find out.

Lord Leoric hummed pensively. “Are there other places where they would show?”

“No.” It made you wary.

“I should not trust you to speak the truth. You would lie to spare yourself.” He crossed his arms. “Take off the dress and then turn slowly. I want to see if what you say is true. You can dress again once you have done that.”

There was absolutely no way that you were going to oblige, and he couldn’t use Percival to blackmail you to do it. “No.”

The reaction was expected, but he was displeased nonetheless. He grew agitated quickly. “Must I call upon my guards to help you?”

Something dropped to the floor with a loud metal sound in the bathing area and caused you to jump a little. Your reaction to the noise may have been what made Lord Leoric not view you with suspicion. The Hidden’s whispers warned you of the storm about to break loose from behind the curtain. And in that moment, you were counting on it. This sadistic bastard asking you to undress was the last straw. Study or not, this was madness.

“Go and sit on the bed.” Lord Leoric commanded as he drew his sword. “Do not move from there!”

You walked to the bed as he approached the bathing area and sat down, with patience and odd curiosity you watched him move the curtain a little and step behind it. Somehow you weren’t worried, not even when more sounds of falling items reached your ears. That Lord was not a good swordsman, he held his sword wrong, you knew because Lancelot had told you many times when you did it yourself. The bathing area grew eerily silent and only then did you feel how your heart went a little faster. The curtain opened and Lancelot stepped out, taking off the helmet and putting it down on the dresser. Even as he stood in the shadows you could see that his hands were unsteady. You rose to your feet, it was all your legs managed at the sight.

He tapped the top of the helmet with his finger once, fixing his eyes on it. “That shard was meant for him, was it not?”

“It was.”

“Good.”

Slowly you approached him, feeling the adrenaline radiate off of him. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” He turned his eyes to you. “Did he behave this way towards you before?”

You knew what he was worried for. “I’m quite certain that he was only interested in studying me. But he went to cruel measures to do so. He even made me bathe constantly, like I was drenched in something vile. Like he wanted me to be just perfect for him.”

“The only one bathing now is him, in his blood.” He deadpanned, not caring if the jest was inappropriate. That bastard had been inappropriate too.

Hearing him speak of the dead in such a way was not what you expected, your mouth was a little agape. “Lancelot.”

He bit his lip for a second, but knew you did not expect for him to feel regret for saying it. “I will not pretend to have respect for a dead man who locked you away in here. I have been here for hours, I have heard the guards speak, I know he was trying to learn all about our clan through you.”

Seeing him so protective, and knowing he went through the trouble of even coming here to help, had made your heart wrap him inside of it warmly again. As he continued to quietly utter his dismay over what he had heard about your treatment there, you reached out and took hold of his hand, cradling it inside your own. He fell silent mid-sentence, his hand was completely still.

“Are you certain you are well?” he asked, worried by the gesture.

“I am now.” Your eyes met his. “I was just thinking how grateful I am to know someone like you. Not many would do all that you have done for me. I am a little overwhelmed by that knowledge.”

He felt his heart increase it’s pace. Drawing air into his lungs felt suddenly quite a task. This was not the time to let himself be distracted and risk making a mistake.

His free hand closed what was the entanglement of your hands together. “Even if you were not my wife, even if you still hated me, I would still do it all for you.”

“I know.” Even to you, it was freeing to admit it.

His voice was somewhat unsteady. “We need to leave. I have found a path we can take. One moment, I will fetch your clothes.”

He went to get the clothes and handed them to you. You would have went to the bathing area behind the curtain to change clothes, but…

“Could you… uhm…” You made a circling motion with your index finger.

He immediately turned around and took some steps further into the room to give you the space and privacy. You changed into your clothes quickly, then grabbed your boots from where they stood at the end of the bed.

After you were done, you approached his side. “Back in my ‘filthy’ clothes.”

He frowned. “They are not filthy.”

You could not resist. “Did you sniff them to be sure?”

He had walked right into that one and rolled his eyes a little, shaking his head at the blatant attempt to get under his skin. “No.”

Why had that sounded like a lie?

“Ready?” he asked.

You nodded and allowed him seize your hand to guide you along. He picked up the satchel from the bed and handed it over, giving you a moment to put it on.

And so began the journey through the castle together, his more advanced sense of smell worked to his benefit. He was so calm and calculated, so certain of what he was doing. You trusted him effortlessly because of it. He only let go of your hand when it was necessary, then blindly fished around for it again until he found it. Just once did you mess with him a little by moving your hand just out of his reach when he was blindly fishing for it with his, near instantly he turned his head to look at you, worried until he saw the little grin on your face. Your hand was caught by him in a demanding way after that and it took everything not to laugh at his response. It was clear to see that he was once responsible for protecting Father Carden, he knew where to stand and how to walk in a way that shielded you the most from the threats of potential danger.

Almost did you come into sight of some guard patrolling, but he was quick to move you into the shadows again. The guard had noticed a shadow moving on the ground and drew his sword, he called out a name that you assumed belonged to one of the other guards. Lancelot moved his arm, maneuvering you to stand back and against the wall behind him. If he drew his sword, the guard would hear. He reacted when the guard came to pass the corner you both were hiding behind. Lancelot immediately tried to disarm the guard, but the man was build much broader than he was and managed to slam him with his back into the wall. Lancelot sank to the floor down to one knee, he was disoriented.

You weren’t going to stay in the shadows and sprung to action. The guard was broad, but that didn’t stop you from coming up behind him and grabbing hold of his helmet to yank him back with it. He angrily stumbled backwards until the helmet came loose and in a spur of the moment you struck him in the face with it. The guard bled from his nose but it was not enough to knock him down. There, on one of those fancy low pillars, stood a candelabra. You grabbed it and used every bit of your strength, that the plant still allowed, to hit the guard over the head with it. The force of the blow had even you stumbling to the side, the guard fell to the ground with a loud thud, he was not getting back up any time soon after that. You hurried over to Lancelot who had tried to stand but sank back down again.

You rubbed his back and realized that the scars must have been hurting after he hit the wall with his back. “Lancelot, are you alright?”

He winced a little, taking a few deep breaths. “Just a moment.”

When he sat upright a little more, stretching his back, you cupped the side of his neck, it instantly made him fix his attention on you.

Worry flooded your eyes. “Do they hurt?”

He knew what you had meant. “It will pass.”

You let your hand slip down to rest on his chest while he took a brief moment to recover.

His eyes fell on the candelabra, then back on you. “Thank you.”

You withdrew your hand. “I wasn’t going to let that bastard murder you.”

His features softened, a gentle smile played on his lips. He rose from the ground and collected your hand in his own, then started to walk with you through the castle again, resuming the path to freedom.

“We are almost there,” he whispered.

And then a bell rang through the castle, followed shortly by more of them. They must have found Lord Leoric and sounded the alarms. Lancelot walked faster, leading you hallway to hallway until you reached a door that was easily overlooked if one did not know it was there.

He had to duck to pass through the doorway and after you did so as well, he made certain that the door was closed. A narrow stairwell led down into the catacombs beneath the castle, it was unnerving to be there but the Ash Man paid no mind to those long dead. A set of very dusty old stone steps led up to a trapdoor, it’s lock had been forced open by him earlier. You followed him closely up the steps at his request because he feared someone might come and steal you away from under his eyes again. The moonlight that met your face held the place under a mystical glow. He supported you by the elbow as you stepped out from the trapdoor and unto the grass.

“We need to make haste.” He looked in the direction from where the bells sounded.

With that, you agreed. Together you hurried towards the forest, it was necessary to get out of the open grass field fast, those keeping watch on the castle’s walls could detect two people rushing towards the woods at any time. The sound of galloping horses was heard just as you reached the trees. Lancelot came to a sudden stop and pulled you with him into the narrow open space of a rock formation that was overgrown by moss and ivy.

“We are close. But I believe the guards saw us heading here.” he whispered in a nervous manner. “We wait here for a moment.”

Just as he had spoken you could hear horses slow down behind the rock formation. Lancelot’s hand went to the pommel of his sword, his other took hold of your lower arm, but his eyes were fixed on where the enemy could appear from. The tension of being caught had you breathing shakily, if they found you here… after that… Aldith…

Lancelot turned his head to face you upon feeling the tremble in your arm, his hold on it changed to a comforting one. He spoke with his eyes in that second, telling you that it was alright, you managed a small smile that lasted only a blink. He listened intently to his surroundings, and then the horses galloped away again. A breath of relief was released by you.

“Come.” He gave a soft tap against your arm with his fingers, urging you to follow.

The small stop in the running had given you some time to catch your breath and now you walked through the forest at just a slightly rushed pace. The walk did not last long anymore and after a few minutes Lancelot came to a halt at another rock formation. He took off the plated piece of armor that had been part of his disguise and discarded it.

“Born in the dawn?” he spoke in a normal tone.

Percival darted out from behind the rocks, saw Lancelot, saw you, and a blink of an eye later the boy was embracing you. “You’re alive!”

You knelt down to his height and reciprocated the warm welcome. “It’s so good to see you. I was so worried about you.”

The view behind Percival caught your attention, a man dressed in armor came from behind the rocks, holding the reins of Goliath and two other horses. Percival stepped back and saw you look at the man.

“Lancelot? Who…” you looked at him to see how he reacted to this man’s presence.

“He’s the Green Knight!” Percival announced with a hint of pride. “He’s my friend.”

Lancelot walked over to the knight. “Lord Leoric is dead. Her father is here and I believe he forms a threat. There are guards scouring the woods for us.”

“Then we should leave before they find us.” the knight said, handing the reins to Lancelot. The man approached you and introduced himself to you formally. “The name is ‘Gawain’. You must be y/n, friend of Percival?”

You watched him give a polite inclination of the head. “I-… yes. I’m y/n. I’m sorry, but I thought the Green Knight was captured and killed by the paladins.”

Gawain could hear the confusion in your voice. “I was.” He looked down. “A dear friend of mine gave me a second chance at life, one I will not waste. But that is a story for another time, because we do not have time right now.”

From the corner of your eyes, you could see how Lancelot seemed to be rather relieved that this man was here, as if he had already formed a strange bond of trust with him. It greatly confused you how this knight, Gawain, did not seem to have ill intent towards Lancelot. You could tell that Gawain was Fey, Sky Folk by the scent of him if you really focused. And somehow you got the feeling that he looked a bit familiar, but you couldn’t recall ever even meeting him before.

“Percival, ride with me now.” Gawain beckoned for the boy.

Percival walked over to him but he did not reach the knight, an arrow flew just passed his head and the next moment Lancelot had grabbed him, shielding him from the threat with his body. There was barely a second to react when another arrow planted itself into a tree just beside you.

“We are under attack!” Gawain shouted.

All began to try and run from the direction the arrows were coming from, moving between the rocks to reach a more densely grown part of the forest. That chance was taken from you when the face of the one who had been a part of those abducting you appeared in front of Lancelot and Percival, bow in hand and aiming right at them. Percival had ran a bit up ahead of Lancelot.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you.” Kazamir mocked them, then looked at you and Gawain. “That goes for you as well. Move and an arrow goes through that boy’s skull.”

Lancelot and Gawain were examining the situation, but their plan to defend themselves evaporated when they saw that others were walking up to Kazamir. Aldith walked into sight, along with some of his men that you recognized from Ravenwick. Lancelot was visibly trying to resist the urge to grab hold of Percival and get him out of harm’s way, but Kazamir was clearly hoping he would do so, it would be the reason to send an arrow through him. All four of you were kept under the threat of an arrow being send through you, bows and arrows where being aimed at all.

Aldith looked towards Kazamir, fury blazing in his eyes. “I thought you said the Weeping Monk was dead, Kazamir!” He noticed how the sellsword was trying not to look at him. “You were going to sell him to Lord Leoric behind my back, were you not?!”

Kazamir gave up on pretending. “I am a sellsword, Aldith. You of all people must understand that coin speaks loud. And Lord Leoric would have given me more coin than you could.”

“And now?” Aldith demanded to know.

Kazamir held no shame. “Lord Leoric is dead. Your offer is highest again.”

You were not surprised in the slightest. Aldith was no saint and neither were the people who he chose to surround himself with.

Aldith gave Kazamir a nod and got closer in your direction, sword in hand, your sword. He commanded one of his men, “Grab her,”

The sellsword grinned at Gawain as he walked past him to reach you. You saw Lancelot take one step when the sellsword roughly grabbed you by your arm and twisted it behind your back, a sword was held to your throat.

“If he moves again. Kill him.” Aldith had seen the Ash Man’s reaction and spoke to him, “I would say you did me a favor by killing Lord Leoric, now I can sell her off a second time. You however, are too much of a risk to be left alive.”

Percival had a murderous glare, much like the ones Gawain and Lancelot had. The sellsword returned with you to Aldith, and you couldn’t bear to look at Lancelot or the others, knowing what they may witness from your father’s behavior.

Aldith moved past his men to reach you. “After all these years, you should know by now that you cannot run or hide from me. Did I not teach you this?”

You forced your eyes away from him and to the grass beside him, a response he did not like and it made him grab you by the chin. He held the point of your own sword against your throat.

“You will choose in what order they die.” Aldith found joy in his sadistic ways. “Name the first.”

You spat in his face, not caring about the retaliation that would surely follow from him. And indeed his favorite retaliation towards you came in the form of a hard slap across your face that send you straight to the cold damp ground. The taste of blood filled your mouth and you spitted it out, your teeth had broken the skin inside your cheek. Aldith reached down to pull you back to your feet, undoubtedly to just send you back to the ground again.

His hand never got close enough.

An intensely bright green fire erupted from all around. Had the plant’s sap worn out? No… no this couldn’t have been your doing. This fire was brighter, stronger and more ruthless than it had ever been. The Hidden let their presence be known and it seemed even those of Manblood heard them now. Chills ran over your spine, your markings rose to the surface of your skin. Chaos erupted, steel collided with steel.

Percival ran over to you, shaking your shoulder, and helped you up from the ground. “Get up!”

The flames were everywhere, two of the sellswords were rolling over the grass in agony to extinguish the flames who only engulfed them more violently. It was hard to see who was where, and even Percival had not let go of your hand as he struggled to see through the bright flames that contrasted against the darkness of the night.

And then you saw Lancelot, fear slammed into your heart at the sight of him in a viscous fight against Aldith. His markings were glowing a deep fiery crimson beneath his eyes. Percival saw it too, then spotted Gawain fighting two of the remaining sellswords. What neither of you saw was Kazamir approaching fast, you barely had enough time to avoid being grabbed. And as if it was instinct, you pushed Percival out of harm’s way. Kazamir lunged at you, aiming to hit you just as Aldith had done but you evaded it. Suddenly he sank to the ground, yelling in agony. Percival stood behind him, the small knife in his hand was bloodied from stabbing Kazamir in the buttocks. You reached for the knife, Percival already anticipated it and handed it over quickly.

You send that knife deep into Kazamir’s eye and swore to remember getting Percival a new one instead. “That’s for murdering Amelia, you scum!”

Kazamir fell face first into the grass and you ignored the sick feeling it caused in your stomach. Percival was looking at you with wide eyes, you on the other hand were looking where Lancelot and Gawain were. Gawain was fighting the last sellsword standing. Lancelot was still in combat with Aldith. Through the Hidden’s whispers you could sense his rage, the uncontrollable fury that was causing him to be reckless and unfocused. They were warning you of the danger that the Ash Man refused to acknowledge.

You picked up Kazamir’s sword and handed it to Percival. “Stay here!”

Percival nodded, then looked rather impressed with the blade he had been handed, it had been quite some time since he had held a sword.

Aldith was taking advantage of the blinding rage Lancelot was in, he even laughed as he parried the attacks. Aldith drew a dagger as he locked crossguards with him, your dagger. You foresaw what he intended to do and grabbed Aldith’s arm, preventing him from sinking the dagger into Lancelot. Lancelot was quick to steal the sword from Aldith’s grasp and discarded it to the side. Aldith tried to grab you, to use you as a shield, but that attempt received a gruesome reaction. A bone cracking sound sounded as Lancelot twisted Aldith’s arm and then dragged him away from you by the limp hanging limb. Lancelot threw Aldith to the ground and took one step back, trying to regain control over the storm raging inside of him. Two seconds passed and he kicked Aldith back to the ground when he tried to get up. He briefly looked at Gawain to see if the knight needed aid, but Gawain was just pulling his sword out of the sellsword’s guts.

“Lancelot.” You stepped to his side, holding up a hand to make him halt. His eyes were so dark and intense that you feared he would not listen.

Instead his eyes fixed on your face right away, before you could say a word to calm him and make him regain control over his anger, he reached out and cupped the side of your neck. His markings returned to their ashen-like state.

He was trying to see the damage that Aldith had done to your face. “I am sorry.”

He swore to protect you against him, that Aldith would never lay a hand on you again, and he had failed.

You were trying to understand what on earth he was apologizing for.

Aldith scoffed, mocking him as he tried to get up from the ground. “Pathetic fool.”

Percival pointed the sword to Aldith’s nose, Gawain proudly stood beside him and kept a watchful eye on it.

“Aim at his eyes, boy.” Gawain encouraged and saw Percival follow the given advice. “Good lad.”

You took Lancelot’s hand from your neck. “I need your sword.”

Lancelot did not react, not knowing why you were making that request. You reached for it and took it from his hand, slightly surprised by how he did not prevent it. Aldith watched you get closer to him, the sword restless in your hand. You hated how your hands were unsteady, it shouldn’t have been so hard to do what had to be done.

Aldith saw the doubt in your eyes. “First you kill Cassian, your own brother, and now me?”

Gawain tugged at Percival’s jacket, moving him out of the way. Lancelot did not take his eyes off of the threat on the ground for even one second now.

“You sold me. You sold me.” you gritted out, tears burning in your eyes. “After everything I did for you and Cassian, after all I suffered through at your hands, you sold me! You hounded me through the lands when you could no longer lay claim on me and you’ll try to do it all again and again.”

“You owe me a debt!” Aldith spat out. “My son is dead because of you!”

You refused to let him put the blame on you again. “He would have been alive if he didn’t treat me like I was cattle to sell!”

“You are nothing more than cattle to sell with that filthy blood inside of you!” he shouted back.

Lancelot took a step forward, you stopped him by holding a hand in his path. This was not his duty or responsibility, this was you taking back the control over your life that had been stolen from you.

Your grip on the sword tightened. “I am Fey. I am Fey! I won’t hide my nature any longer. My mother was of the Ash Folk, her blood runs through my veins, and I’m proud it does!”

Aldith began to get up from the ground, Gawain wanted to stop him but you gestured for him not to do so, he had no weapons in reach anymore. “Your mother was weak, just as you are!”

Inside you had shut down any form of bond there may have been to this monster. All you could see was the threat he posed, to you, to those close to you and to all the Feys unfortunate enough to cross his path. He was the darkness suffocating the light out of you, leaving you in ruins over and over again, haunting your dreams and poisoning your days.

“Enough of this.” you adjusted your hold on the sword. “If you reunite with Cassian in the burning pits of hell, tell him I hope he burns as well as your sellswords just did.”

The cold comment took even Percival by surprise, the boy looked at you impressed and approvingly. Lancelot’s eyes were different now, his gaze swiftly moved over you.

“You!-” Aldith moved fast.

But the steel in your hands was quicker, it was just as you had imagined it happening. With one swift swing of the sword, the edge of the blade cut through Aldith’s throat. Aldith stumbled to the side in shock, his hand flew to his throat, he tried to speak but all words drowned in his blood. He stumbled all the way to a tree and leaned against it for support until his legs gave out under him. His body shocked a few times, then he was completely still. Lancelot was looking at it happening, processing how quick that had just all played out before him, as were Gawain and Percival. You walked over to Aldith, breaking your wrist free from Lancelot’s hand as he tried to prevent it. Aldith laid facing away from you and you walked around him to see his lifeless eyes. You need to see them, to know that it was truly over, that fleeing from him was over.

“It’s over.” you quietly spoke, hearing how monotone your voice was.

Lancelot had picked the sword, that had been stolen from you, up from the ground and walked over to you with it. It was Gawain who found the dagger that had been dropped to the ground in the chaos of the fight, he gave it to Lancelot who brought both weapons over to you.

“It is over.” he agreed, offering you the weapons.

With unexpected steady hands you took them, handed him back his sword, and returned your own sword and dagger to the belt at your waist where they belonged. The flames had almost completely extinguished, another proof that they lived only at their creator’s will. You were quiet when stepping away from Aldith’s corpse and going into the direction of the horses more.

Gawain was the first who dared to ask, “Are you alright?”

“I just killed my father.” you told him.

The knight send a sympathetic look. Percival came to your side, standing a little against you but not fully daring to intrude on the silent air you kept around you now.

Lancelot stepped to your side as well. “You made the right decision.”

“I know.” But learning to live with it would take time.

“We should go.” Gawain looked at Lancelot. “The fire will have drawn attention from afar.”

Lancelot noticed that questioning look the knight send him and knew he would have to explain himself later. The knight tapped Percival on the shoulder and gestured towards the black stallion with a small white pattern on it’s back.

“But we have three horses. I rode the mare here.” Percival scrunched his nose.

Gawain sighed and steered the boy towards his horse. “Y/n will ride the grey mare. We have Gringolet to carry us.”

Percival sighed in defeat, grumbling his inaudible disappointment. Gawain took the sword from the boy and helped him up on his horse making sure that the boy was seated safely. You went to the grey mare, brushing a hand along her neck. Lancelot stopped close at your side, again trying to see if your face had sustained damage from being hit. You didn’t feel very alert or present, it was a quiet state of shock that you hoped to hide. But it seemed that by hiding it, it got more obvious.

“It will just be a bruise.” you did not make eye-contact with him.

He was forward with voicing his concern, “I worry most about the state of your mind right now.”

You shook your head, taking in a deep sharp breath through your mouth that filled your lungs to the brim. “It should not have been so simple for me to make the choice to kill him, and yet it was.”

He spoke quietly, seeing how Gawain and Percival were waiting. “Aldith chose to keep hunting you and you had the right to react to it. You were defending yourself, he was always the one attacking.”

That was true… Aldith wouldn’t have mourned you or felt sorry for your death for even a second.

“You have a conscience.” Lancelot said. “And compassion. There is no shame in feeling it.” He patted the saddle of the grey mare. “Go on.”

As you hoisted yourself into the saddle, he stood near in case you would accidentally misplace your foot in the stirrup. It was a small gesture, but it once again showed his caring nature. Such a small thing and still it was enough to feel a bit better, to allow yourself to feel that all would be well again in time, maybe not now, but it would be. By reaching down just a little, you were able to touch his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. The moonlight touched his face when looking up at you and you couldn’t deny that that sight made the beat of your heart change it’s rhythm. The Ash Man snapped his eyes away, quickly moved to Goliath and hoisted himself into the saddle. Lancelot shared a look with Gawain, who nodded in return. Together you began to ride through the forest, away from Morrowstead and to a destination no one was certain of yet.

Taglist:

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Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story. Using this old list from the previous fic.

[winn-schott-throughtheheart]

I am a truther of Winn with disabilities like hearing loss, POTS (reflecting onto him from myself hehe), chronic pain, uses mobility aids n stuff, stuff like that!!! Do u have any headcannons like that? :33

for continuity's sake i won't be including specifically autistic headcanons in here even though it is a disability, just cause I already answered an ask about autistic headcanons :33

(also I realised I misread the original ask so it took me a hot minute lmfao)

POTS:

• i think I put in the post this ask was about about him leaning on the solid mass of kara or mon whenever he feels faint or dizzy and just. yeah that's good stuff. monwinnara my beloveds

• he Will steal salt packets whenever he can. they're fucking everywhere. if you put your hand into any one of his pockets in any item of clothing, there will be a salt packet.

• which also works in warding kara off eating his food, and also anyone else in the break room

• he Will fall if he stands up too fast.

• Floor Time is a must. when he gets home it's Floor Time.

wheelchair/mobility aids:

• The way I imagine this one is the explosion at the funeral in 3x14 injuring his back. maybe it doesn't paralyse him fully, but he spends a lot of time in a lot of pain and it takes a long time for him to get around on his own.

• he uses crutches on good days, but can walk short distances without them, he's just a little wobbly because his legs are weaker

• he's just overcome with fresh hatred for his father, because he's spent literally his whole life doing things on his own and refusing help, and now he's constantly relying on other people just to move around, and he hates it.

• "do you know how pathetic this makes me feel?"

• it takes a long time for him to get used to it, but the anger he feels towards his father never really goes away.

• under no circumstances is anyone allowed to push him. at all. he needs to maintain some kind of control and independence

• James is awful at acknowledging this

• as he gets more used to it the more comfortable he gets using his wheelchair. he decorates it with stickers

• he mostly uses his crutches at home, since the distances are shorter and it's bulky and frustrating having to maneuver a wheelchair in his apartment

• he hides it well, but he's always in some kind of pain. it's worse when he pushes himself, even though he won't admit it, because winn schott is a stubborn bastard.

• it also very much impacts his autism- he's a lot more aware of everything now that he has to be so aware of his body, and he gets overstimulated (and melts down) a lot more easily as a result of that.

• maybe he has a cool cane too- it takes him a while to get round to using it, because it's a lot more obvious he's chronically disabled using a cane than using crutches

• a part of him hates all of it because he doesn't like drawing attention to himself especially in public (he will around the people he trusts, when he feels safe)

hearing loss:

• in my mind this might go hand in hand with the wheelchair one, the explosion at the funeral damaging his hearing

• maybe it takes him a while to notice. as an autistic person, I personally have SUCH a hard time recognising patterns in real time- stuff like taking medicine making me feel better, specific things causing allergic reactions, etc etc, so it might be similar for winn. takes him a while to notice that, no, this is wrong

• if it's enough for him to need hearing aids, once he's used to it, he'll just take them out whenever he needs a bit of peace and quiet like when he's working

• and then he'll get in the zone and won't notice people trying to get his attention, which makes him a hell of a lot more jumpy

service dog! :

• autism service dog? maybe pots? some kind of fainting spell service puppy? ptsd?

• kara is utterly enamoured immediately. it takes SO much of her energy not to distract the dog.

• mon-el had to have a very stern talking to about how to act around the dog because he'd never met a service dog before

• he was very understanding but it took a while before he felt comfortable petting her or anything when she was off duty just in case he hurt winn by distracting her

• man I want to come up with a cute name and everything.

• im gonna go with mable mable is cute

• with the amount of times the deo gets attacked on the regular, it does make winns anxiety spike at the thought of bringing her to work

• they manage to train her to run to a specific place when the alarms go off so it's easy to find her- this actually took a while because she was very reluctant to leave winns side in an emergency

• im imagining cat not being all that happy about having to have a dog in the office lol. of course she allows it without question, but she is pleasantly surprised/relieved at how she will just stay put and sleep under winns desk unless she's alerted to something

• i SO need to draw this

• it took a while for his cat to acclimatise to the dog. winn felt bad so he made sure to pay extra attention to him to make sure he didn't feel left out

Fibromyalgia/chronic pain:

recently learned that this can be caused by significant mental trauma, so thought it'd be interesting to explore for whump reasons

• like the hearing loss one, it takes him a long time to notice something is wrong

• maybe it starts to manifest after the events of 1x10- I mean the guy was kidnapped, drugged and bound by the person he despises most in the world, and then forced to almost kill someone, I would count that as significant mental trauma

• he thinks he's just tired and sore because he's overworking himself. he's struggling to sleep and the nightmares get worse because of it, making him reluctant to even try

• particularly because it hurts most in his neck, back and hips, he thinks it's because he's spent too long slouching over a screen

• he starts declining invitations to go out on the weekends because he just needs to rest and recover, literally just lying in bed or the couch for days. it's like this for months before he realises this is probably not normal

• the fatigue and the brain fog start impacting his work and the first time cat sends him home because of it is the wake up call

• eventually he learns to hide it, because it just isn't going away no matter what he does, so he's gonna have to learn to live with it

• when he moves to the deo and starts spending more time around j'onn, there's something that's about winns mental/physical signature that j'onn notices is different from every other agent

• it takes him a while to realise that it's pain, winn is just in pain all the time, and had he not been psychic he literally wouldn't have known, because winn just buckles down and gets on with the tasks he's assigned, usually going above and beyond, without so much as a sigh

• not that he was hard on him before, but j'onn goes easier on him after he realises this. when he notices winn rubbing/massaging his neck or trying to stretch his back more often than usual, he'll make up a task for him to go do that lets him relax for a little while

• sometimes he stops by and does some dishes or some laundry when winn physically can't bring himself to get out of bed and there's stuff that needs doing, which he is infinitely thankful for. winn schott x healthy father figure my BELOVED

anyway ill stop here for now, but please let me know if you want some more/specific conditions to project onto him ! i want to draw winn and mabel like as soon as humanly possible oh my god. also I feel I should clarify just in case this isn't meant to romanticise or sexualise or villainise disabilities!! this is only meant to explore different conditions using my fav blorbo as the test subject <3

[kentucky-daisey]

Dear lady i angered in the line at the grocery store:

Me asking for a little space had nothing to do with your disability (was entirely unaware you had one until you brought it up) and everything to do with the fact that you were standing so close to me i could feel your breath on the back of my neck.

[hecksupremechips]

Girl like. The reason he said "this is how it should be" and faced death with a smile....is cuz he wanted to die. For 2 years he sat there thinking he was worthless and deserved to die. If he hadn’t be shot, his death would���ve been suicide, he was fully planning to die in a gutter somewhere undetected. When saying "this is how it should be" hes literally saying "don’t cry because I’m dying, my death is a good thing actually because I fucking suck and you are better off without me". I don’t think that’s badass even slightly, it’s actually really sad and really shitty. Shinjiro is so convinced that he deserves to die and hates the idea of anyone giving a shit about him because he literally can’t wrap his mind around the idea that he will be missed when he’s gone, that his death is a bad thing actually. And his last words were meant to be comforting because he fully did not intend for anyone to be there when he died, he intended to die alone, so he says them as a reminder that he’s not worth crying over

Personally, if it were me, if I was holding my dying best friend in my arms who was deeply depressed and suicidal and he said "this is how it should be" uh. I wouldn’t admire him for it??? Like am I losing my mind when I say the way this game handles Shinji is bad or is anyone else seeing this too 😰

[textualviolence]

well. i DO know how joan of arc felt.

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

literally any romance trope is made better with monsters but unrequited romance specifically... gets me

[magnus-and-the-dragon]

one time the silt verses said “you can never really overreact to a parent; you’re just yelling back through the decades making up for lost time”

and i literally had to pull my ass over while driving to jot that shit down

and i’ve been thinking A Lot about my dad lately and i put on my next episode in my silt verses relisten today and, coincidentally, encountered that quote Again

and i’m just. over here Dwelling. pls don’t contact.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ how long does it take to fuck your brother's best friend? (four whole days)

synopsis. suguru comes home to visit from college at the same time you do—except he brings satoru along. this is going to be a long break

word count. 8.5k (i am tired of this tomfoolery)

contents. college! au, brother's best friend! satoru, fem! reader, minors do not interact, three-year age gap (you're both early twenties), slightly mean satoru (when you’re kids), slight enemies to lovers, jealous! satoru, mentions of reader having an ex-bf, male masturbation, satoru is taller + carries reader, cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, unprotected sex, brief mentions of alcohol (satoru), creampie, pet names (baby + sweetheart), not proofread i could not be bothered i’m sorry

notes. this was not supposed to be this long bye i am embarrassingly down bad for the blue-eyed freak

everyone knows that where there is satoru, there is suguru—and likewise, where there is suguru, there is satoru.

they’re a bit of a packaged deal, really. satoru befriends your brother in what you think must be some twisted stroke of luck—there is no way suguru would lower his standards for some rich bastard who’s had life made for him since the day he was born. but apparently, he does, and you’re stuck with a white-haired nuisance in your house at least once a week. for years.

you’ve known satoru since he was a whiny, snot-faced, and spoiled little brat. back then, he used to call you toothless—you were six, it’s normal for children at the age of six to lose a few teeth. just because satoru is nine and has grown his teeth back doesn’t mean he escaped the toothless phase himself—but satoru is just a jerk like that, pushes your buttons, and calls out your insecurities to get a good laugh.

you don’t smile with your mouth open even once around him that summer, not until suguru assures you that regardless of how many teeth you have, you have a lovely smile.

when you’re twelve, puberty does its thing, and now you’re stuck with acne-prone skin—also a normal occurrence for people your age, but satoru makes sure to point out the giant pimple on your forehead every time he sees you. you make sure to let him know his haircut is as awful as his sense of style, and suguru tries his best not to choke himself with his charger as you both bicker.

satoru is gone that entire summer for a family cruise that you’re sure costs double your house—he comes back frighteningly taller than you remember him within the span of just a few weeks.

it’s been like that since you were kids. he comes over, finds a new thing to pick on through his smug grins and smooth chuckles, and you fume as you bite back with just as snarky rebuttals. he makes sure to never cross the line of going too far—it’s more for suguru’s sake, you’re fairly sure—but stays right on the dot of getting just under your skin.

he’s annoying. a jerk. a rich snob. a privileged dickhead. he’s rude and disrespectful, with no tact, let alone any semblance of respect. you don’t understand what could possibly make suguru want to hang around such a douchebag, but suguru cares about satoru—and satoru has always been there for your brother.

you don’t understand it, but you respect it. as long as he doesn’t wet your entire bathroom sink and mirror in the mornings after he stays over, you suppose you can coexist.

but you haven’t seen him in ages—not outside of suguru’s instagram stories and posts. it’s been a long few years since the two of them have left for college, and by the time you leave too, life has its funny way of working, and, well…you don’t bump into him anymore. it doesn’t occur to you that satoru is not the same guy you used to know until you come back home to visit after your second year of college.

“suguru,” you call, “i borrowed your hoodie. but you can have it back—”

you cut yourself off when you open the door to your brother’s room, and lo and behold, stands a very shirtless gojo satoru, the white-haired and blue-eyed asshole you’ve had to deal with since childhood. except he’s way taller than you remember him—just how much does this guy grow, exactly? his shoulders are broader and….and since when did he have abs? there’s a small tattoo just under his collarbone—when did he even get that? his hair is also longer, just enough to fall over his forehead and curtain those striking blue eyes of his.

he looks…well, handsome. very handsome, in fact. dangerously handsome that it catches you by surprise as you blink.

he’s still shirtless, holding his t-shirt in his hands as he grins.

“hey, toothless,” he greets, voice deeper than the last time you heard it—but it still sounds relatively the same. you think you’d always recognize satoru’s voice, whether you’d like to or not. and, of course, he just has to still use that ridiculous nickname after all these years. “long time no see.”

“i have all my teeth now—i have for a long time, y’know. and put a shirt on, you freak,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “where’s suguru?”

“what, you don’t enjoy the view?” he motions at his bare torso, like the shameless bastard he is, “most girls love this view—”

“and yet, you’re still single,” you cut him off, staring at him pointedly.

he grins impossibly wider, tugging his shirt over his body swiftly—you have to exercise all ounces of control not to gulp as you watch his biceps flex.

“keepin’ track of my love life?” he wiggles his brows, “i know older men can be appealing but have a little class. your poor brother would lose his shit if you went after his best friend—”

“satoru,” you sigh, pinching your nose, “do you age backward or something? how are you still this obnoxious after so long?”

“i practice in the mirror,” he winks, “it’s my charm.”

“that’s hardly charming,” you roll your eyes, “anyway, whenever suguru comes back, let him know i left his hoodie, yeah?”

“sure,” he chuckles.

and then you close the door as you leave—right before you stop, pause, and open it up again as you’re sticking your head back in when you make a shocking realization.

“wait, how long are you here for?” you ask, eyes wide.

he has the audacity to look smug as he taps his chin and pretends to think—“oh, y’know. just the rest of break. my old man took my mom on some trip, so i’m killing time here,” he shrugs.

great. lovely. wonderful. just what you needed.

you wish he’d drop dead—maybe suguru will finally be forced to go outside of his one-man circle and actually befriend some respectable people.

“you can’t just stay at your place?” you hiss, “it’s certainly big enough.”

“well, why be lonely in an empty home when we can have fun here?” he hums, “consider yourself lucky—you get to be housemates with me for a—”

“keep to yourself,” you warn, cutting him off again through narrowed eyes and a dangerous glare—satoru only looks more amused, raising his hands up in surrender.

with that, you turn again and almost shut the door when he calls for you—“hey, toothless,” he says lowly, making you pause before turning to him with a raised brow. he smiles—it’s so unlike that usual smirk of his…somehow this one is a bit gentler as he murmurs, “you look good. grew up well, y’know.”

you blink. you’re not ready for that…didn’t expect a compliment from gojo satoru himself—especially not after all this time of throwing mediocre insults your way.

you decide he must be messing with you, so you purse your lips as you click your teeth in irritation. “yeah, sure,” you say dryly.

you can hear his chuckles as you close the door again—this is going to be a long break.

—————

just as expected, the house is simply not big enough for you and satoru.

the first time you run into him happens to be first thing after waking up—you’re walking up to the door just as he twists the knob and opens it, walking out shirtless. again.

this time, however, he’s got beads of water rolling down his skin from his shower, right between his pecs, as a towel hangs around his shoulders. you can see his tattoo from up close now, a small infinity sign right under his collarbone that contrasts against his pale skin.

how tacky, you think—just as you’d expect, even his choice of tattoos is questionable.

his hair is wet—it’s sticking to his forehead instead of the multiple directions it usually scatters around in that messy way it always does. you’ve only felt satoru’s hair once—when you were fifteen, and you’d hit him in the back of the head as you walked past him at the breakfast table. he’d made a jab at your dark circles. tests were around the corner, and unlike satoru, your grades actually mattered. you didn’t expect his hair to be so soft, but it is, and you almost itch to twirl the strands around your fingers for a quick feel.

instead, you scowl and stomp off to your room as soon as your dishes are washed.

his hair is probably just as soft now—maybe even softer now that he actually probably cares to look after it. you’ve heard suguru grumble about using two-in-one shampoo too many times when he comes back from spending the night at satoru’s. for a second, your fingers twitch to reach up and brush through a few strands on his forehead—just to feel them because they look soft. nothing else.

the urge is quickly killed as soon as he opens his mouth, however.

“oh, hey there, roomie,” he grins, “you’re really doing all you can to catch me half naked, huh?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you grumble.

“i’m just sayin’,” he chuckles, “that’s twice now. if you ask nicely, i might walk around like this just for you.”

it’s way too early for this.

by early, it’s actually late noon. now that finals aren’t killing your free time, you stay up until ungodly hours to catch up with your social life—and it doesn’t help that you can hear satoru and suguru stay up playing video games the next room over, either. suguru is probably still sleeping.

that’s a bit of a shocker, in fact—usually, it’s satoru that has to be dragged out of your brother’s room to have breakfast (or brunch, really) before the kitchen is cleared up. why satoru is up first is beyond you.

maybe it’s just a cruel way for the universe to enjoy watching more of your veins pop.

“does that apply to asking you to leave? because then i suppose i can ask rather politely.”

he grins, eyes sparkling with amusement as he shoots you that smile with those pearly whites that irritate you to no end. you’re not sure why, but something about his smile looks so much different nowadays—something about it just seems so….mature.

that’s a word you didn’t think you’d ever use to describe satoru.

“mm, not quite,” he hums, “you’re still stuck with me.”

“whatever,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “move, i want to shower before suguru wakes up.”

“you have time,” he steps to the side, letting you enter the bathroom, “he’s probably not waking up anytime soon—woah.”

satoru’s shirt is on the floor—why, you may ask? because he’s an annoying idiot who doesn’t have to clean up after himself when people have always been around to do it for him. he never has to care to aim and toss his clothes into the hamper because the maids will pick up after him anyway. old habits die hard, you suppose—you’ve listened to suguru complain about satoru’s messiness not improving even after being his roommate for the last few years. it’s never been your problem, but you don’t appreciate it now that you’re slipping over the fabric on the tiled floor, falling backwards with a squeal.

but satoru’s quick—he catches you with those strong arms of his and wraps them tightly around you, keeping you securely in place as he steadies you against his chest.

his bare chest, in fact.

you can feel the slight dampness seeping into your shirt, and you can feel his hot breath on your neck as he exhales in relief once he makes sure you’re safe. you almost shiver—almost, but you manage to scrape together enough self-control to stay painfully still in his grasp.

“you okay?” he murmurs gently, voice a low whisper against your skin. there’s no bite to his words. no amusement or teasing or even smugness. it’s genuine, the way he checks on you.

this is…new. very, very new.

“yeah,” you breathe, letting out a sharp breath. and then—“maybe keep your clothes in the fucking hamper next time, though.”

“sorry,” the smile in his voice is almost audible—you can’t see it from where you are, but you can hear it in his voice. you roll your eyes, and satoru makes no move to loosen his arms around you. for some reason, you don’t move.

you’re not sure why, but you just don’t.

“you’re still just as messy, huh?” you roll your eyes—he laughs, and it’s a smooth, boyish chuckle that almost makes you wonder for a moment if this is why girls seem to love satoru so much despite his god-awful personality.

it’s a pretty beautiful sound—you hate that you have to admit that to yourself.

“yeah,” he admits, “it drives suguru nuts.”

“yeah, i can’t imagine why,” you snort. it’s like that for a moment—satoru’s muscled arms around you and hard chest pressed against your back. finally, you clear your throat. “you can let go now, you know.”

“right,” he mumbles, slowly pulling away—and when you turn to face him….is that disappointment? on his face? you don’t get a chance to be sure because then he’s bending down to pick up his shirt before he’s standing—he’s already wiped the expression from his features completely by then. “sorry about that, toothless. i’ll keep my shirts off the floor next time.”

“that would be so kind of you,” you smile sarcastically.

and then you shut the door in his face and exhale as you lean against the wall.

this is going to be a longer break than you thought.

—————

the next time you run into him, it’s late at night. everyone is asleep—even your brother and his headache of a best friend, if the silence tells you anything. you can’t sleep, though, so you make your way to the kitchen to hunt for snacks. you’re skimming through the pantry before your eyes land on a surprise—a box of strawberry pocky sits nice and enticingly, right there for you to open and devour.

you grin, reaching over when—

“those are mine,” satoru calls, stepping into the kitchen, “brought them over myself. you should ask before touching people’s things.”

“you literally ate my leftovers the other night,” you say incredulously.

“those were yours? i thought they were suguru’s.” he raises a brow in surprise, making you click your teeth in irritation.

“the principle of asking still applies,” you purse your lips. and then defiantly, you open the box and grab a pack right before his eyes.

he scowls—but you know he doesn’t actually mind because he waits for you to finish grabbing yours before taking the box and grabbing his own pack and a coke from the fridge. you both take a seat at the kitchen table, across from each other, as you open the packaging and silently eat your newfound snack.

it’s satoru who breaks the silence first.

“do you still throw away the ends of these?”

you huff indignantly, not meeting his eyes as you take a bite off the strawberry-covered end, stopping at just where the cookie portion is uncoated. “yes. i’m eating these for the coating—not the bland biscuit part.”

“what’re you, five?” he snickers, earning a glare from you. defiantly, you pop the end of the pocky stick into your mouth just to prove a point—and then the look of distaste makes him cackle louder. 

“shut up,” you hiss, “you talk too much.”

“the ladies love it when i do,” he bats his lashes—you stare at him blankly, unimpressed.

“yeah, as if.”

“hey, my ex-girlfriend totally did,” he defends.

ex-girlfriend? that’s a bit of a shocker—you didn’t know satoru dated anyone in the last few years, you haven’t seen or heard anything of it through suguru’s end. in all realness, you didn’t even think satoru was the boyfriend type…but then again, he’s not really the anything type. he just kind of exists to take up space and be the bane of your existence. 

“i hope the poor girl is recovering well after dating you,” you shake your head, feigning a concerned look on your face that makes him roll his eyes—they’re still disturbingly bright even in the dark kitchen, dimly lit by the slightest bit of moonlight pouring in through the small window.

“i dated her freshman and sophomore year,” he says casually. you also didn’t expect that—that it lasted that long. something about satoru doesn’t strike you as the long-term relationship kind of guy. something about him doesn’t seem like the relationship kind of guy at all. not because he’s the type to mess around casually, but because he seems the type to seem disinterested all around—he’s snobby like that. “she was…alright, i guess.”

yeah. very snobby.

“you are such a sick bastard,” you spit.

he snorts, taking a bite of his pocky as he shakes his head in amusement. you’re as feisty as ever—it’s always fun riling you up, even if unintentionally.

“hey, it’s not like she was bad. she was just…well, she wasn’t interested in me like that either,” he shrugs, “i think it was just the sex. it was good, can’t lie there.”

“you’re so gross,” you roll your eyes, “have some decorum.”

“what, you’re still sixteen?” he raises a brow, lips curling into a smirk as he reaches for another pocky, “can’t say the word s-e-x?”

“i don’t broadcast my sexual activities out in the open,” you shrug.

satoru chuckles, taking a bite that more or less finishes the entire stick in one go before he presses a finger to his lips, “shh. don’t say that too loud—suguru will come chase you from his room if he hears.”

“suguru,” you groan, “he’s such a pain to have around sometimes. y’know i dated this one guy last year. i think suguru might’ve paid him to dump me.”

“i know. he definitely thought about it,” satoru hums, “he used to go off about it all the time. he was right, though—that guy was a total prick.”

something about you is mildly shocked that satoru knows about your private life—sure, it’s not outrageous or even the slightest bit unlikely that suguru mentions you. satoru and suguru are best friends, and you happen to be suguru’s sister—of course, suguru is bound to mention you here and there. it’s just the fact that satoru even pays attention to anything to do with you that surprises you—although you suppose it would be a good way for him to find his next source to push your buttons.

“i’m not surprised you think he’s a prick,” you nod, “it takes one to know one, after all.”

“oh yeah?” he snorts, waving you off, “i do, in fact remember anniversaries, y’know.”

“okay,” you sigh, defeated—your ex-boyfriend is admittedly not at the top of the list of your brightest choices. not even up halfway on the list. in fact, he’s so low on the list of good choices you’ve made, that willingly choosing to interact with satoru feels like an exceptional decision in comparison. and that’s saying something. “he was pretty bad. but he was really hot. when a guy looks like that, his values are the least of my worries.”

it’s a joke—you’re sure he knows that. but satoru takes a long sip from his coke, silent for a moment. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious, especially so suddenly.

“he can’t be that hot,” he mutters.

“oh he was really hot. probably the hottest guy i’ve ever talked to—” satoru bites his pocky a bit aggressively at that, “and he was so tall. maybe taller than you—how tall are you again? anyway, he was pretty enough to overlook his shortcomings.”

“he’s probably not taller than me,” he grumbles, frowning. you snort—men and their fragile little egos, you think in amusement.

“he was,” you tease, “he was so tall, i’d let him do whatever he wanted.”

“that’s a terrible way to look at it,” he scrunches his brows, “you shouldn’t let some guy walk all over you because he’s tall and his face is a bit easy on the eyes—”

“i know you’re not talking—”

“i’m serious,” he cuts you off. something about him reminds you of suguru for a moment—like he cares who you’re with because he has a reason to. as if you mean something to him, as if knowing someone who doesn’t deserve you has you in their palms is upsetting.

but then you shake the thought out of your head—satoru doesn’t care. he’s never had a reason to, and you don’t exactly plan to give him one, either.

“okay, dad,” you roll your eyes, “i learned my lesson. i have standards now.”

“good,” he nods—and then, as if to keep himself in character, he adds, “because i don’t want to help suguru kill someone, and it’s over something lame like forgetting his little sister’s anniversary. i’d like to go to jail for something more badass.”

“you and badass don’t belong in the same sentence,” you raise a brow. “let’s be realistic.”

“oh yeah? that’s rich coming from—”

“guys, it is five in the morning,” suguru grumbles, throwing a water bottle at satoru’s head. you glance at the kitchen entrance, eyeing a half-asleep and very irritable suguru as he crosses his arms, “can’t you idiots fight over who’s more of a loser at reasonable hours? some of us like to sleep.”

“want one?” you offer your pack of pocky, holding it out to him.

suguru blinks, contemplating for a second before sighing and trudging over.

“yeah,” he mutters, flicking your forehead. “gimme that.”

you watch woefully as suguru takes the entirety of your pack, swiftly sitting next to satoru and leaving you empty-handed. satoru snickers obnoxiously at the deflated look on your face—and then he holds out his pack to you.

you look between him and the pack for a moment before giving him a genuine smile. it’s a rare sight—he drinks it in as you carefully take one and bicker over something with suguru.

you’re pretty when you smile, he thinks—pretty enough that if you had horrible values (which you don’t), he might feel inclined to understand your (awful) reasoning for a moment.

and then he blinks and shakes the thoughts out of his head—it’s going to be a long break.

—————

satoru meets you when you’re six. 

he’s nine at the time, and he feels on top of the world knowing he’s three whole years older than you—in hindsight, three years is not a very large gap, but to nine-year-old him, it feels like centuries. he’s remembered you as the fun little drama queen that’s too easy to poke fun at for years—that’s all you’ve always been: suguru’s younger sister who puffs her cheeks out and scowls way too often to be normal, the girl that’s way too easy to tease than should be standard. 

somehow, he wasn’t expecting for you to come back so grown…and so hot. suddenly, it really hits him that you’re not a kid—have not really been for a long time now. he’s always treated you like you’re way younger than he is, way too little to be in his presence and be worthy of it—but you’ve really become a fine young woman.

a magnetizing one, in fact.

it’s now his third night at your house—your parents are as lovely and welcoming as ever, and suguru is always a good time to be around. but somehow, satoru is not satisfied. not anywhere near sated by the few, minimal moments of contact with you. 

when did you get so pretty? although, as much as satoru has always liked to poke fun at you, you’ve never been ugly. not even a little—but you’ve grown into your features better, outgrown the awkward teenage era of your life, and now present yourself with a newfound confidence that just looks…so good. satoru doesn’t see his best friend's kid sister anymore—no, there’s something so alluring about you now.

the nail on the coffin that solidifies he’s officially screwed is when you mention your ex-boyfriend—why would your dating life make him this irrationally angry? why is the thought of someone being on the receiving end of your praise (and shameless heart-eyes) so aggravating for him? 

he doesn’t know—but what he does know is that the raging boner has been killing him all morning ever since he woke up from…well, less than proper dreams about you.

so now he’s here, forehead pressed against your shower wall as the hot water hits his back, swollen cock in his fist as he thumbs at the tip, teasing the slit just the way he likes. he thinks about you—how he’d show you what makes him feel good, how you’d probably learn fast and take care of him just the way he needs. 

your hand would look so much daintier compared to his—smaller, but he’s sure it would still feel infinitely better. 

he bites his lip, fighting back a moan as he strokes himself slowly, pre cum smeared along the length of his hard, aching cock—red and angry at the tip, leaking with more pre cum no matter how many times his thumb collects every drop. 

“f-fuck—” he breathes, and his voice lets out a shaky, breathy little call of your name—he’s screwed if anyone hears it. he’s sure you and suguru will both band together to kill him, but thankfully, the words are lost in the sound of the shower running. “fuck baby,” he says hoarsely, voice cracking ever so slightly as he whines. 

it’s soft and quiet, the noises he makes—careful and deliberately hushed to make sure no one hears the improper way he’s thinking of you right now. but fuck, your tits are so pretty when you walk out of your room in a t-shirt in the mornings—he can just tell you’re not wearing a bra. he can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop trying to picture what they’d look like uncovered and bouncing.

“jus’ like that, baby,” he pants, whimpering softly as he squeezes around his tip, teasing himself with that slow, painful pace of his. 

satoru is sure that if it were you, that if the hand stroking his cock right now was yours, you would never let him cum so easily—you’d drag it out just like this, pump him slowly and twist your hand around him in a pace that’s painfully not enough before ever thinking about letting him come undone. 

it’s just the way that you are—never ready to back down from a challenge, unwilling to go down without a fight. but he loves it, he thinks—lives for the way you keep him on his toes and work for the satisfaction. 

“more,” he gasps, “n-need more—gimme more, sweetheart.”

he imagines it—the way you’d kiss his jaw, maybe even the corner of his mouth, as you hum. say please, toru, you’d probably say—and fuck, he’d kill to hear you say toru. 

“please,” he rasps, “please, baby. d-don’t tease.”

he can practically hear your light giggles, the sweet, okay, baby. no more teasing, that you might whisper. he’d also kill to hear you call him baby—he’s almost nauseous at the idea that some other guy must’ve heard the pet name from your lips before him. and then he lets himself pump his erection faster, squeezing tighter as his thighs quiver while he stands in the shower. 

fuck—you feel so good. you’re not even here, but he’s sure you do, and he’s desperate to envision it. it practically hurts—the way he’s so hard and swollen and ready to release. just for you, he wants to tell you, he’s going to cum all for you. 

“baby,” he whimpers, “‘m so, so close—fuck ‘m gonna cum. ‘s for you—gonna cum for you—ngh, sh-shit.”

and then there’s cum on the tile walls, on his hands, on his abs as they flex with every labored breath. satoru cums—hard. his eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted with a silent cry as he pants and strokes himself through his high. you’d kiss him, he likes to think, on his jaw and cheeks and maybe the tip of his nose as you sit on his lap and work him through his orgasm. you’d watch him closely, take in the way he comes undone for you, maybe even call him your pretty boy as he paints your hand white with his seed.

would you praise him? murmur softly into his ear and seal the gentle words with a kiss to his skin? would you stroke his hair from his face as you admire his blissful, fucked out little expression? maybe he’d ask you then—maybe he’d ask you to admit he’s way more handsome than that douchebag you dated as your hand holds his softening cock, sticky with his release.

god, what he wouldn’t do to see your hands coated with his cum—did you do this for your ex? did he look as hot as you claim he was when he came for you? the thought makes him sour—he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw at the idea, panting and catching his breath as he stares down at the mess he’s made.

he should feel bad—this is wrong. so, so wrong—suguru would kill him if he was aware satoru was lusting over his little sister. but it felt so fucking good—he’s never cum as hard as when he’s pictured cumming for you. 

it can’t be that wrong, if that’s the case—can it?

——

“suguru,” your voice is shrill, deadly—like you’re out for blood. “next time you jack off in the shower, maybe clean the fucking wall? are you joking?”

“wha—i definitely cleaned that,” suguru defends. 

oh, fuck, satoru thinks—he forgot to clean that. so he makes himself very scarce and stays within the confinements of suguru’s bedroom—his messy habits are starting to really catch up to him. if his defense, he really would clean that up…it’s just that he was a bit distracted. 

“so you admit you jack off in our shower? our shower?” you sound inconsolable, downright devastated, and borderline hysterical. having siblings seems like a lot of trouble, he thinks—but then again, sometimes satoru is jealous of your bond with suguru. it’d be nice to have someone in his family he can actually depend on. “keep that shit for your bedroom, you jackass!”

“well, how am i supposed to do that when satoru is there? you tell me.”

“i don’t know! figure it the fuck out—you guys probably jack off together anyway.”

“what?” suguru sounds appalled, “we do not—that’s outrageous.”

“whatever,” you say—you sound almost murderous as you warn, “next time you better clean up your fucking mess, you asshole.”

satoru can’t help but smile a little—your pointer finger is definitely held up as you scold suguru—you’re so cute when you’re mad, he thinks. he almost wants to step out and catch a glimpse, but he decides against it for now.

silently, satoru thanks his best friend for taking one for the team—even if it was unknowingly.

—————

it’s night four. 

satoru has surprisingly kept to himself—he even promptly looked away after meeting your eyes in the kitchen yesterday morning as you walked in for breakfast. that’s…new. a lot about satoru is new. 

he’s taller and more muscular now—at one point, suguru used to tower over his scrawny little form. now he’s seemed to grow into his body, seemed to learn how to style himself better, and actually do his hair a bit. it’s still messy now that he’s just lazing around in your home—but it’s oddly handsome. 

scarily handsome, in fact. 

you don’t enjoy the idea of thinking about the jerk of your childhood like that—but ever since you felt the hard press of his chest against your back, sometimes you wonder what it’s like to know satoru outside of just your older brother’s obnoxious friend. 

maybe, somewhere along the line, had you put your pride aside and actually tried to get to know him, maybe you both could at least be friendly. but then again, there’s never been any real animosity between you two—you can share a lighthearted talk from time to time, like that night in the kitchen. 

you decide not to dwell on it too much, decide that he’s not really worth your thoughts when he’s just a guy who’s always been a bit too spoiled to learn how to be humble. instead, you go down to the kitchen to grab another pack of strawberry pocky—satoru will just have to deal with it. if he doesn’t want his snacks eaten, he shouldn’t keep them in the pantry where anyone could stumble across them.

you walk into the kitchen until—oh. it’s satoru. again.

“oh, hey,” he grins cheekily, taking a sip of his coke—he needs to break the habit of having so much sugar this late at night…but then again, why would it matter to you? “stalkin’ me?”

“for an unwelcomed guest, you sure do talk a lot,” you roll your eyes, making his lips curl into a smug little smirk. 

“i don’t know—your parents seem to love having me over. what if i become their newest son?”

“i doubt my parents are looking to adopt you,” you raise a brow, slightly amused. 

he hums, sipping his coke before blinking at you through those long, perfect lashes of his. “well, there are other ways to blend into a family. marriage, for example, is a great way.”

“you and my brother might as well marry each other,” you snort, “no one else will do it.”

“who said anything about suguru?” he winks, chuckling when your face twists into an exaggerated look of horror—always as dramatic as ever, you are. he can’t help but find an endearing side to it now.

satoru stands, walks over to where you are and stands in front of you as you scoff, shaking your head as you huff out a disbelieving chuckle. 

“that’s pushing it,” you muse, “marrying you would be the last open option i’d have left—and even then i doubt i’d ever take it.”

“yeah?” he raises a brow, leaning in so close, you can practically feel his breath fan over you. he smells like expensive cologne and your shampoo—why is he using yours instead of suguru’s? before you can even ask him what he’s doing, he throws away the empty can of coke in the trash can behind you, eyes bright with amusement as your breath hitches.

it’s like he knows—the fucking asshole.

“yeah,” you breathe, “you don’t deserve me,” you try to say matter-of-factly. it comes off a bit more breathless than you intended—the air feels suffocating. maybe because satoru is so close, maybe because his breath is on your face, maybe because all you can smell and feel and hear is him. 

you can’t find it in yourself to pull away—why aren’t you pulling away? it’s just like that day he caught you, when his arms wrapped around you and all you felt like doing was lean into his chest. what about satoru and you has shifted so quickly to make you want to do that? what makes him so easy to fall into when all you’ve always known was to shove at him?

he hums, leaning in closer and closer until his forehead touches yours. “you know who didn’t deserve you?” he asks, “that shitty ex of yours.”

you look up at him with wide eyes, speechless as his hands find purchase of your hips, grabbing them and pulling you closer—and against better judgment, your hands lay themselves across his chest. it’s as firm as you remember it. 

“how would you know—”

“heard suguru rant about it all the time,” he murmurs, “how he forgot your dates. got you a shitty birthday present. didn’t show up to your anniversary. made you hang out with his friends and didn’t even meet half of yours. you’re tellin’ me he deserves you more than me?”

“he was hot—”

“yeah? and i’m not?”

he’s cocky—you hate that about him. always did. but he’s so close, so intoxicating, so irresistible, and fuck, he is hot—so incredibly hot, you’ve been losing sleep over it the last four nights no matter how hard you try to deny it. 

“satoru, what are you—”

“y’know, i’ve been helping suguru pick your birthday presents since you were twelve. i’d pick you the best gifts,” his nose is brushing against yours now, lips just millimeters away from his as he speaks—“and i never forget an important date. i’m very punctual too, believe it or not. i’d meet your little friends—show ‘em what a catch i am when you introduce me.”

“and what am i supposed to do with this information?” you ask defiantly.

it’s a last-ditch effort—you both know this. you know exactly what he wants you to do with this information. 

“i don’t know, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “what do you think?”

and then you’re kissing him—because fuck, satoru is right there, and how could you not? his chest is under your palms, his lips are right against yours, and you can feel his thumb rub circles into your hips. 

so you kiss him—loop your arms around his neck and tug him closer and press your lips to his. he groans, responds almost instantly as his mouth molds against yours, kissing you deeper as his hand moves to cup your cheek.

your lips are softer than he thought, and his hair is silky against your fingers. you tug at the strands, grab a handful, and feel them against your fingers like you’ve wanted to for so long. and when he nips at your bottom lip, who are you to deny him? your lips part, letting his tongue slide in and taste you with a breathy sigh that makes your knees wobble. 

“s-satoru,” you stutter, whispering between kisses, “suguru might come in like last time—”

“god,” he groans, head burying into your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the skin, “don’t fucking talk about your brother right now. please.”

“my room,” you say urgently—it’s all he needs to hear before his hands are on your ass, grabbing you as you wrap your legs around his hips. it’s urgent, the way his mouth is back on yours—he doesn’t pull away even once the entire walk to your room, not even when he lets your back fall onto the mattress as he hovers over you, pressing kisses along your collarbone. 

no bra, he notes happily, his hand sneaking under your shirt to toy with your pert nipples. 

“god, you’ve been driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles, tugging the hem of your shirt over your arms and tossing it over his shoulder. he stares, takes in the sight of the same tits he’s been fantasizing over for the last few days in awe. “you know that? been thinkin’ about these for days,” he says lowly, cupping your tit and massaging as he presses a kiss to your jaw. 

“you’re shameless,” you mutter, snorting before you cut yourself off with a gasp as he squeezes your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers and pulling a soft whine from you.

“shhh,” he chuckles, tilting his head toward the wall next to you, “don’t want suguru to hear, do you? that wouldn’t be nice, would it?”

“it’ll be worse for you than me,” you grin, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, indicating you want it off. he grins widely, wiggling his brows and making you purse your lips.

“wanna see me shirtless again, huh? third times the charm, as they say,” he winks. you would retort with something as witty, but then your eyes fall on that tattoo again—right under his collarbone, making your hand reach out to trace it with your thumb. 

“what compelled you to get this corny little tattoo of yours,” you grin, giggling as you trace over the small infinity sign. 

for the first time, you think you witness satoru shy, blushing as he rubs the back of his neck and chuckles awkwardly. “that…that was an accident. when i got drunk for the first time.”

“oh,” you snort, “you’re so weak, satoru—”

“do me a favor, sweetheart,” he hums, cutting you off, “as much as i love when you say my name, say toru for me, yeah? i wanna hear it.”

you roll your eyes, huffing as your hand finds the back of his head and pulls him into another kiss, moaning into his mouth as he grinds the throbbing erection in his sweats over your heated core. 

“toru,” you say breathlessly, “more.”

that’s all he needs to hear—satoru doesn’t waste a second before he’s crawling between your legs, sliding your cute little pajama pants down your legs before meeting your dripping pussy.

it’s wet—so wet, he almost wants to chuckle and tease you a bit. just for old-time's sake. but the ache that shoots down to his cock reminds him that he’s in no position to tease you when he’s not faring any better himself. so he spreads your legs, kisses lightly at your clit in a feather-like touch that has you whimpering and clutching the sheets in anticipation.

“how pretty,” he mumbles, “been hiding this pretty little thing all this time. what a perfect pussy.”

“satoru,” you gasp in embarrassment, hands reaching for his hair and tugging him closer to where you need him most—equal parts because you really need his mouth on your cunt and equal parts because you really need him to shut up. 

but he chuckles, takes his time to spread your folds open with his thumbs, and watches in wonder as you flutter around nothing, arousal dripping and leaving a mess. it’s perfect—you’re perfect, and he wants to take his time with you. 

“god, you’re soaked,” he groans, chuckling as he murmurs, “that’s fuckin’ cute.”

before you can even whine at the way his words are shameless, his mouth is back to kissing your clit, lips wrapping around it as he sucks and rolls his tongue along the sensitive bud. his fingers sink deep into you, pushing past your folds and slowly bullying into you until the tips of his fingers curl and brush against a spot that makes you squeal. 

you gasp a breathy, “fuck, toru—” before he hums around your clit, vibrations making you whimper as he thrusts his fingers back in to hit that spot again. it’s sensitive, the way he makes you feel—your nerves are on fire, and your head is light, and fuck, it feels so good you can’t help but sob brokenly and squeeze your thighs around his head. he moans against your cunt, pulling his fingers out before letting his tongue lick a stripe along your slit, tasting you with a sharp inhale. 

“f-feels good,” you whimper, biting your lip as your eyes crinkle at the corners from squeezing shut.

“yeah?” he hums, kissing your inner thigh, leaving a wet little sheen of his spit and your arousal on the skin, “that’s a good girl—just keep telling me how good i make you feel, kay?”

he could stay buried nose-deep into your pussy for as long as you let him—tongue alternating between fucking into you and rolling over your swollen clit, hearing the broken little gasps and whines of his name as you repeat toru over and over again like a prayer. his hand grips at your thigh, sinking his fingertips into the plush skin and rubbing soothingly with his thumb as you rut your hips and grind against his face. 

satoru has half a mind to watch it again—to lick and suck at your core again and again just so he could burn into his mind what you look like when you cum. it’s divine—like he’s halfway to stepping into heaven and has to pause just to admire the sight before him. 

your hips leave the mattress as your back arches, and your fingers tug relentlessly at his roots as your walls quiver, letting satoru taste every drop of your release as you press a palm to your hand and try to keep yourself from squealing at the pleasure.

suguru is right next door. you can’t wake him—can’t let him know this is what you and his best friend get up to in the late hours of the night. 

it’s not until satoru pulls away, catching his breath as he wipes the wet trail on his chin does he realize how hard he is—how badly he’s aching as his cock strains against his sweats. he hisses as he frees himself; ridding his sweats and boxers and wrapping a large hand around the tip of his erection and smearing the leaking pre cum along his length. 

you watch in awe, reaching over and replacing his hand with yours. satoru was right—your hand is infinitely smaller than his, and yet, it feels a great deal better. so much better, in fact, that his arms shake as he hovers over you, burying his head into your neck and groaning as you slowly stroke him, squeezing at the tip and rolling your thumb through the slit.

he didn’t even have to show you what he wanted, what makes him feel good, what makes his mind fog with pleasure and burn through every nerve. no, you figure it all out on your own, pulling strangled moans and hushed gasps from him that make your clit ache once more. 

“fuck, baby,” he pants, “can’t last long like this—c’mon, g-gotta feel you.” gently, he pries your hand from his thick, pulsing cock, laying it against your stomach as he peers down in fascination. “i’ll be right here,” he hums, drawing a line on your skin right where his tip ends, “see that? that’s where you’ll feel me, sweetheart.”

“then let me feel you,” you murmur, cupping his cheeks and brushing a thumb over the skin, “fuck me, toru—wan’ it so bad.”

so he does—drags his tip along your folds and collects the slick pooling at your entrance before pushing his tip past your folds, splitting you in half as he slowly buries himself to the hilt. his jaw is clenched, breath labored as he waits for you to adjust, lets you kiss his cheeks and nose as you murmur how handsome he is, how perfect he feels, how good is to you. 

“that asshole ever make you cum?” he asks lowly, “he ever eat your pussy like that? make you cum hard enough you had to cover your mouth so you’re not screaming his name?”

“no,” you breathe, quivering as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles, still painfully still as he stares down at you, “n-no, never. just you—only you—”

“good,” he grins, “that’s what i like to hear. and when i make you cum on my cock, make sure to tell me he’s never done that either, yeah?”

“you’re full of it,” you scoff, “always have been.”

“and you’re full of me,” he says cheekily, chuckling as you glare half-heartedly. “can i move, baby? please? need more, ‘s not enough. n-need more—”

“yeah,” you whimper, pulling him closer, chests brushing against each other as your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, “yeah—need more too, toru.”

satoru, in all his years of knowing you, has never seen the side of you that could be this gentle. the side that glides your hands over his back, feeling every flex and every pull of his muscles, gently caressing the skin like it’s holy, like it’s not worthy of marks—instead to be worshipped and revered with thoughtful touches. your lips sear into every part of him they can find—his lips, his forehead, his nose, his hair as his face digs into your neck. even your voice is a gentle whisper of his name, so soft and careful, it’s like saying it wrong could break him. 

your hips buck up in tandem with his, meeting his rhythm as he slams into you, his balls slapping against your skin as he buries his cock into you as deep as it’ll go with every harsh thrust. you can feel his tip kissing against that sweet spot in the back of your walls, your abused cunt sucking him in and hugging around him as he groans. 

the friction feels sickening, like he’ll pass out any second, like he’s floating between the precipice of pleasure and the edge of consciousness. 

you do that to him—he doesn’t know how or when or why, but you make him feel like he doesn’t have a grip on his own senses. he doesn’t mind it so much, he thinks—doesn’t hate the idea of letting himself fall into your palm and wrap around him. it feels nicer that way, like it’s where he belongs.

“fuck, ‘s so tight,” he rasps, whining into your neck as your hand cups the back of his head, holding him in place. his hips are rutting into you sloppily now, barely maintaining the rhythm from before as he nears his high—but that doesn't stop him from angling into you perfectly, slamming into your sensitive spot every time without fail. “c-cum—’m gonna cum. cum with me, sweetheart.”

“‘m so close, toru,” you sob—and then, just as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing harsh, desperate little circles to get you over the edge, you cum again—harder than the last time, spasming around his cock and pulling him in as you squeeze around him. “t-toru,” you gasp brokenly, “fuck, ‘s good—so good.”

“baby,” he moans lowly, “fuck, you’re so perfect. prettiest thing ever—prettiest pussy ever. i, sh-shit—” your orgasm quickly has him falling into his own, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling into you with every twitch of his cock, sweet little noises pulled from his throat that he sings into your neck, fucking his load into you. 

it’s messy, the way cum spills out of you and coats his cock—but it’s perfect and feels so, so right. you can’t help but think how perfectly satoru fits against you as his body slumps on top of yours, panting and spent as he cages you in his arms.

your hand doesn’t leave his hair—now that you know how it feels, you don’t think you can stop threading your fingers through it, ever. 

“wow, toothless,” he chuckles after a bit, “you’re seriously obsessed with me, huh? i mean, how long have you been nursing this crush on me, hmm? thinking about your brother’s best friend, you naughty little thing—”

“satoru, would you shut that mouth for once,” you hiss, rolling your eyes—still, there’s an affectionate grin on your lips this time as he chuckles into your skin. 

“oh baby, i’m afraid this mouth never shuts, so you should get used—”

suddenly, you both freeze as you hear suguru’s voice through the door. “you two better not be fucking doing what i think you’re doing,” he seethes, making your jaw drop and satoru’s eyes widen.

fuck—that was never supposed to happen. suguru was never supposed to hear, let alone know.

“hey,” satoru starts, “if suguru kicks me out of our place, i can come be your new permanent housemate, right?”

do not comment about a part 2

but yeah he can come live with me any time and as long as he pays by sucking my tiddies i shall provide all food and utilities and everything

[katakaluptastrophy]

The thing about having read our way through two previous books full of necromancers and weird eldritch shenanigans is that the absolute horror of what happens to John as a person doesn't quite register.

John's own glib, matter of fact narration tells the story as an apotheosis. He was doing great. He'd have fixed everything if only people had listened.

But reading between the lines in the John chapters, you glimpse something rather different.

John basically spends the first half of the Jod chapters sitting in the dark with his creepy yellow eyes, not eating or sleeping, literally stroking his favourite corpses and coming out with chill and fun statements about how he can feel their skin when he's away from them and he's 'waking up'. Cool, cool.

Passing swiftly over the cow dome, Presidential Puppet Pals, and the suitcase nuke, day to day life in the cow dome must have been fun... You're all on the Interpol watchlist, the Vatican is asking a lot of questions, the police are outside and John - who hasn't slept in a week and doesn't eat anymore and is probably wearing some kind of weird novelty tshirt - comes wandering past while you're eating breakfast, followed by a dozen silent, dead-eyed corpses like some kind of mother hen. He makes a cow joke, and then zones out because he got distracted by listening to the bacteria in your gut.

And then some guys die accidentally and it turns out he can eat death energy. So now he's got creepy Twilight eyes, an entourage of corpses, a cape, some very dodgy eyeliner, and he's barely breaking a sweat as he instantly kills over 100 people, says it was an accident, and then, dead serious, tells his followers to drag dead UN peacekeepers inside to add to his 'skeleton army'.

By the end, he's not slept or eaten in weeks, is tweaking his own bodily processes on the fly, is puppeting the dead US president and possibly an army of over a hundred corpses, monitoring G- in Melbourne, carrying on at least two conference calls, and helping to build barricades out of chairs.

And I just keep thinking how weird it must have been for his friends. How sometimes he would have seemed like the man they'd known and loved for so long, and sometimes he would seem different. Did they ever find themselves mourning the man he was? Did they ever stand there as he tuned into something they couldn't fathom, staring at them with those yellow eyes, and feel some awful, uncanny valley terror? Did he ever feel like he was losing himself? At what point did the cow jokes stop feeling like oh, classic John and start to be a reminder that his desire for vengeance and the scope of his powers were outstripping his remaining...perspective?...restraint?...humanity?

[theroundbartable]

Arthur is used to the comments about him taking a servant along wherever he goes, he really is, but usually people talk about how he's needlessly risking Merlin's life. About how dependened he is, how smitten. And really, he's used to it, patially because it's true.

This is different. These new knights are taunting Merlin.

Knight A: Wow, the King must care very little for you

Merlin: *raises brow*

Knight A: Risking your life like that just for a little comfort. Do you even know how to wield a sword?

Merlin: I manage just fine, thanks

Knight B: Now, why so moody? We're just concerned for your wellbeing.

Merlin: ... I have work to do

Knight A: Are you afraid you may not have enough underwear with you, in case we run into bandits?

Needless to say, Arthur is fuming. But he decides not to interfere. Merlin can take care of himself. In fact, during the next patrol, they'll see. They'll fucking see.

I takes more than one hunting trip and loads of patience, but eventually it pays off.

Merlin: *raises hand*

Arthur, alarmed, does the same. The knights halt.

Arthur: Merlin?

Merlin: There is something in the forest

Knight A: aw, is our dear little servant scared?

Arthur: *about to snap, despite the fact that he usually says the same things-*

Suddenly, an arrow flies past Knight A's face and is stuck in the bark behind him.

Knight A, young, inexperienced, swallows hard.

Merlin: *louder* Bandits!!!

A fight errupts in which Merlin grabs a sword, but not to the confusion of the Knights, but as their sign to defend themselves. They seem awfully lost and unsure what to do. Hesitant, as they have the chance to kill a bandit, Merlin steps in and does it for them. Arthur will never forget the look in their eyes.

Much later

Knight A:...

Knight B: I feel sick

Merlin: *quietly hands them some stew*

Arthur: The first kill is always the hardest. Give it some time and you'll be ready to face sorcerers with us.

Merlin: *twitches*

Arthur: Merlin, stop being such a worryward. You've faced dragons with me, you can handle little sorcerers.

Merlin: Sometimes I wonder if you're doing this on purpose.

Arthur: if you don't like it, you can always stay home in Camelot

Knight A & B: *surprised*

Merlin: and who, pray tell, is supposed to protect your royal arse? If you stayed home, I wouldn't be in half these situations!!!

Arthur: *rolling his eyes fondly* Will I ever be rid of you?

Merlin: no, don't think so. Stew? *Hands Arthur the plate*

Arthur: yes, thanks.

Merlin: prat

Later

Knight A: did... Did Arthur teach you how to fight with a sword?

Merlin: he tried, but I'm stoically allergic to improvement

Knight B: but... You killed that bandit

Merlin: ... He would have killed you. Bandits don't exactly hesitate the way you did

Knight A: we're... Sorry

Merlin: no, it's fine. That you hesitated means that you have some morals. Also, because of your irritating insults, Arthur listened to me for once

Knight A: what?

Merlin: yeah, he wanted to prove something to you. I don't exactly know what tho.

Knight A: you mean... When you made us halt... You always do that?

Merlin: and I'm usually right

Knight A: ... Is the King a fool?

Ah yes, Arthur thinks. That's more like it.

[valsverse]

𐑺 ˖ ࣪ ࿐ྂ I WANNA BE YOURS | percy jackson x gn!reader

percy jackson looks at you like you were the one who put the stars in the sky.

the son of poseidon gazes at you with so much awe and admiration in his eyes that most people would think you had just defeated a minotaur with your bare hands, or cured cancer or saved the world from total destruction, something that would be remembered for centuries to come. but in reality, all you did was toss a few nuts to the squirrels that scurried around camp. percy jackson looks at you in such a way that even aphrodite herself would point and squeal.

though, he'd never admit to that. the only telltale sign of his infatuation is the rosy tint that creeps up the tips of his ears every time you you pass by, and his lips that struggle to stay in a straight line whenever you flash him that smile—the one that makes his heart leap up and into his throat. even after four years of friendship, percy still hasn't figured out how to sit next to you and not be totally in love with everything you do.

it's as though you have some sort of magic power over him—a power that he's powerless to resist. and as much as he'd like to deny it, he secretly revels in the feeling.

but percy jackson would never confess his desires for you—not when kronos is still actively seeking to wipe out the demigod population. he can't afford to display any signs of weakness.

but it's worth it, he thinks, to risk everything just to wrap his arms around you and plant a kiss on your lips that would set the world on fire. yet he knows he can't—not without endangering you. not without putting you in harm's way. so why is it so unbearable to imagine life without you, when you were never really his to begin with?

and in those moments, when his mind is consumed with thoughts of you, memories of your touch and your gaze playing on repeat in his mind, he's left thinking, 'did i imagine it?' did he dream up the way your touch lingered on his arm as you adjusted his armor? the way you looked at him across the dining pavilion before turning away, as if you'd been caught in the act of something secret and sweet? he must have, right? because you would never look at someone like him with such tenderness. not at someone hot-headed and impulsive, someone with so many rough edges. no, you couldn't have looked at him like that. it must all be in his head.

you couldn't have looked at him the same way he looks at you.

despite his best efforts to conceal it, percy's convinced that everyone can see right through him. he knows that everyone can see right through him. the teasing from his fellow campers has been relentless—nicknames hurled his way, each one more unflattering than the last. romeo, hopeless romantic, loverboy..

loverboy.

he's no loverboy. not some kind of lovesick puppy at the mercy of some unattainable crush. no, that nickname is only reserved for the truly whipped, those who are wrapped around someone's finger, glued to their side at all times. he's no..

and then his head snaps up at the sound of your voice, suddenly alert. and there you are, all dazzling and gorgeous, a beacon in a sea of identical orange t-shirts and jeans. you stand out as though a spotlight has been trained on you alone. which is weird because to most people you're just another camper. albeit, an incredibly beautiful camper, but still, just a camper. so why is he so infatuated with you, specifically?

maybe he is a loverboy.

the realization hits him like a ton of bricks, and he almost groans out loud. can't he just carve his heart out and be done with it at this point? isn't that what the poets do?

but since he never really cared for those dead old men taught in school, like edward allan poe or whatever his name was, he'll settle for just daydreaming now. he'll settle for stolen glances across the room and the brush of your hands as you reach for a book. he'll settle for relishing in your little touches and how your lips shine in blueberry chapstick until he's ready. he'll admire the curve of your nose and the triumphant hugs you give him after your team wins capture the flag. he'll settle for it until it's not enough anymore. he'll settle for it until he needs more.

[babyleostuff]

― FIRST SNOW

there is a superstition that if you witness the first snowfall with the person you like, true love will blossom between both and it will be long-lasting.

𝜗𝜚 THEME: fluff, cuddly and in love love gyu 𝜗𝜚 PAIRING: idol!mingyu x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT: 518

💌 natalia’s note: ik it may be a bit early for winter fics but recently we had first snow in poland and i just had this urge to write something about it [edit: and now korea also had its first snow so yippie]

“look!” 

you hummed and nodded weakly, though instead of opening your eyes you snuggled further into mingyu's warm chest, basking in the softness of his sweater and the steady beat of his heart underneath your ear. 

days off were the best. 

“baby,” your boyfriend murmured excitedly against your temple and ran his cold finger along your cheek. “it’s snowing!” 

with mingyu’s arm holding your waist in a tight grip; not that you complained, the afternoon teddy bear cuddles, especially in the colder weather were the best, it was a bit difficult for you to actually move to see the supposed snow. 

“it’s so pretty,” he said in awe, as if it was his first time seeing it. “look, look!” he said and pointed at the window that was behind you.

“gyu?” you mumbled and propped yourself on his chest as much as you could. “i’d really love to see it, but you’re holding me hostage and my neck is too sore to turn it all the way around”. 

mingyu’s eyes widened, and a small pout appeared on his face. “oh shit, right. sorry.”

you cupped his chin and placed a kiss at the tip of his nose. "'s okay," you said, before sitting all the way up and turning around towards the window.

and your boyfriend was right. even though your view of the city below was very blurry due to mingyu's apartment being on a high floor, you could still imagine how pretty the streets must look now, covered in the white fluff. 

“i can’t wait to beat your ass in a snowball fight,” you said and turned back to your boyfriend. 

you weren’t sure if it was due to the bad lightning, since mingyu insisted on turning all the lights off and lightning some candles, but you could’ve sworn he was blushing, but before you could ask him about that he took a hold of your hand and pulled you back to his chest. 

“you know what the first snow means, right?” he asked after a beat of silence. 

nodding, you couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on your face. 

“we’ve been together for five years, gyu. i don’t think that superstition counts for us anymore.” 

he hummed and nuzzled his cheek against the top of your head. “maybe,” he said. “but i like to believe that every first snowfall we witness in this life will allow us to meet our next ones,” you felt his hand brush the hair from your neck in a gentle manner, “and i hope to witness as many of them as we can.” 

not really knowing what to say, because who the hell says things like that, you lifted your head from the crook of mingyu’s neck and looked at his ruffled dark hair and shiny brown eyes that were looking at you with more love than it should be legal. 

“you’re impossible, kim mingyu,” you shook your head with a laugh. 

all you got in response was an irresistibly devastating grin, before he leaned in and sealed your lips in a kiss that could melt any amount of snow.

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[piggycyberwarrior]

Task Force 141 with a Reader that grew up in a ‚be an independent woman and never rely on a man‘-household >>>>>>

They immediately love you- such a pretty thing, always working hard, beautiful smile on your lips and so so kind.

They have enough money (a reward for putting their life on line) so why not spend it on you? Of course their wallet gets lighter when your gaze lingers on an absurdly priced jewelry. How can't they shower you with gifts, when you deserve this and so much more?

Buying you this, that- things you threaten to kill them over if they buy you a $2000 purse- because thats just so absurd- yeah you liked the design, but thats too much money for a piece of leather.

Their cash is yours now- even though you do not accept that fact. Green paper traded for clothes, accessoires, food, shoes, lingerie- oh how they love to buy you lingerie…

Always paying for your meals- snacks, getting pouty when you give them the glare while pressing your card onto the terminal, a tad faster than them- paying the food.

You were raised like this- to pay for your own things- standing up for yourself, never rely on men and that you don't need any gifts from them. They know that but oh boy- they do not care. In the end- they shower you with money because they love you, not because they want you too love them.

Soap and Gaz are the ones who do it the sly way.

Let me explain.

They shop with you- making you try on all different kids of clothes- because you just look so pretty in them :( ... how can you not say yes to their begs and pleads.

pretty pretty please with sugar on top..?

Seeing how your eyes light up in the mirrow- Soap and Gaz share a glance- an unspoken promise. (One slowly getting up- making his way through the endless option of clothes- softly talking to an employee, pointing at your happy form- and everything you seemed to like is bought in a matter of seconds.)

"Are you serious??" "Aw- do nae be like tha', bonnie" Soap laughed quietly- carrying the shopping bags with such a proud smile. "Yeah, we had to buy you them, you looked so good, sugar" Gaz said- pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before his warm hand on your lower back pushed you foward gently. "But-" you tried to reason, being shut up with a tut from the two men. "Just accept it, baby, yeah?"

You don't even argue when it comes to Simon. He just buys it- and when you try to obliege- one of his intimidating looks is enough and you fold. You tried outsmarting him by not going shopping with him but the gifts just stack to the ceiling in your home so you stopped that aswell..

So when you did go outside with him you had to literally threathen him "Simon, I am going to staple your large intestine to your nose if you even think about buying me that" you growled while looking at some mannequins while strolling through the city.

"but do you like it?"

yes "No, its ugly"

He doesn't buy it then and there but again- he has enough money so why not spend it on you? yada yada yada- in the end you have some strange bag that you do not recognize on your bed- with that ugly pretty dress you saw while walking with Ghost.

Stubborn man

The worst one in the group must be price tho- he never and I mean neverrr lets you pay for anything. The others gift you many things, but this man? When he is around you don't even have to bring your wallet with you of course you do because fuck them (...please)

You‘re struggling to pay rent? Paid. Wanting to relax? Spa Appointment booked. Feeling hungry? Meal's already on the way. Flat not that cozy? Lets go shopping decor, love.

This man can read you so good- its creepy. And he won't accept a 'no'"

He randomly transfers money onto your bank account- "Luv, I have enough" "John.. I cannot accept that! Thats too much"

-

Oh yes you can. They will make you accept it all...

Everything.

!please do reblog!

My mutuallsssss ✨🌷: @stargirlstabber @cricricorner @captain-of-caption @enfppuff @missroro @peachy-aisha @thelrina @gaiagurl05

[anantaru]

EX HUSBAND WRIOTHESLEY

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — ex! husband wriothesley headcanons

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ex]plicit, fem! reader, reader is referred to as "wife", a little sad, unprotected syx, hitting it raw, very rough fucking lmao, love sick & feral wriothesley, very messy too

ex! husband wriothesley who will hesitantly accept your upsetting decision to file for divorce, and to nullify your earnest promise— nonetheless, it's evident that it was crushing him through the very inside, the pain your words caused had invited him to explore the enormity of sorrow. however, do not be fooled because he won't show it to you, meaning his pure and real emotions, instead wriothesley will decide to verbally jester around about the current happening to brighten up an otherwise daunting interaction between two past lovers.

it was to no avail, the agony festering on his facial expressions and there was nothing in his life worth remembering other than you and a concealed shade of his past— yet, the last thing he'd want to happen was to lose you entirely, signifying that if he was to put his foot down and tell you that he doesn't want the divorce to happen, it probably doesn’t mean much after all.

ex! husband wriothesley who will reminisce about past events in front of you, your first kiss or that one particular date where he asked you to marry him, just small, little details about you that only your ex husband knew of— but, he'll do it in a subtle way, sneakily sprinkling it into a conversation in hopes you'd get a dash of sudden yearning as well— the same he did whenever he casted his mind back towards the good, old days.

ex! husband wriothesley who will speak in riddles to you, keep his quick-witted demeanor in order to fool you into thinking that he was doing quite well after the divorce was fulfilled— and his intentions weren't in wanting to make you feel bad, sorrowful or even jealous. no, not at all. in fact, he thought that if he was to hide his raw emotions and genuine feelings in front of you, you wouldn't feel awful about your decision and were able to continue living a normal life, yet without him.

ex! husband wriothesley who promised you that he will take off the ring that symbolized your once passionate marriage— but will behind your back grab a necklace to loop it inside the precious metal, so he could always wear the ring around his neck, secretly hiding it from your eyes to see while holding on to it whenever he found himself in trouble, or saddened.

ex! husband wriothesley who feels helplessly confused still, harshly drawing back for air as he let a brittle thread of a nervous laughter go when you suddenly ask him if he wanted to remain friends with you, which— in truth, he didn't, and the second after you proposed that insane idea to him he thought you must be joking, or that you surely must've lost your mind (which would make the divorce explainable).

it goes without saying that the real reason as to why the duke didn't seek out to befriend you, had nothing to do with the feelings he harbors towards you suddenly dissolving, it's quite the opposite because he was so helplessly in love with you, archons, he was bloody obsessed with you.

certainly, he thought that such friendship between two past lovers would only cause injury to you both in the end, for the main part to you who he cared the utmost about.

aside from the fact that even now, when he notices how you steadily keep your distance from him, at all times, it breaks him from within.

how cold it was when all ex! husband wriothesley sought after was your gentle caress and delicate kisses, he longed for an opportunity to just swiftly hush you with one step, raw and earnest trapping you against his strong arms while pressing his lips on top of yours when— oh, he does it again, he was indulging in fantasy, gradually yielding to an alternative version of you two ending up together.

in the duke's own words, he believed that love should be warm, a sweet addiction, a magic gifted by the universe, so why— just what had went so terribly wrong that he was struggling to understand it? you should just say you do not care for him, tell him you feel nothing so he can walk away, or maybe, regardless he will stay.

ex! husband wriothesley who despite you both being apart now, remains faithful to you, protective and nurturing to your every needs— because it was simple as that— for the duke, you are his shining sun, and will still remain it to his dying day.

to his crushed and painful body, your caressing trace was his only medication, and your smile? it was the light to his broken heart, for that is what he had called a warm love.

ex! husband wriothesley who noticed how the natural warmth surrounding his body had but faded completely as his mind began to gather around great negativities— perhaps he was flawed and that's the reason you left him all along, cursed to feel the deep sadness slither through his veins like a freezing liquid conquering his body as he shuts himself off for a while, until he can recollect himself again that is.

ex! husband wriothesley who had inappropriate thoughts enter his mind whenever he thought about you— here is to note that he utterly disliked the way his brain just so happened to work and how he wasn't able to shake off those strong and vivid fantasies playing in his mind on repeat.

but how can he not dream about his wife? well, ex-wife, which in his memories was pressed under his large figure exposed with your breasts on full display, his hips working constantly to please you just the way he knew you liked it.

because you see, the duke knew your body, in and out, one might even assume he knows it better than you do. and he still has a couple of your panties left in his drawer— in fact, he wanted to return them, please believe him, but he found himself to be quite busy these past weeks that he must've simple forgotten to do so.

ex! husband wriothesley who at some point, cannot live like this anymore and was desperate to see you again. after your marriage had crushed, you weren't visiting the fortress of meropide anymore and as the duke was rarely leaving it himself, it could've been the perfect situation to move on from each other, yet he simply could not do that, not when you were constantly on his mind.

ex! husband wriothesley who will find courage and leave the fortress to visit you at your new place, in fact, the mere sight of the duke exiting the underworld was rarely seen, so the guards figured that it must be of graven importance— as invisible and weightless as your love for him might be for now, in the middle of the night he walks out to find you, taking in a last view at the fortress  before an itching impatience got the better of him. 

he just had to see you, now.

ex! husband wriothesley who will show up at your doorstep and suddenly admit that he cannot do this anymore, that he felt incredibly miserable and heartbroken, confessing his undying love and affection towards you, using words he had once spelled out to you the night you had gotten married.

"night and day, i dream of you," wriothesley yells, as if there had been nothing left to his choice, the sight of your glowering eyes and those soft, frowning lips he just misses to kiss.

"and there is not one corner on this world that you could possibly travel to in order to free me from this torture," he adds forbiddingly.

through dark eyelashes, wriothesley stares at sudden tears welling up in your glassy eyes, a sharp amenity invading your cheeks as he places his palms on top of them in order to brush your warm tears away. "you're mine," he said, the corners of his mouth slightly quirking upwards, his hot breathing lingering around your gasping lips, "and not even a divorce can change that."

ex! husband wriothesley who places a delicate splatter of warm and passionate kisses on top of your lips the moment you pull him by the collar of his shirt, his surprised growl turning into a stifled cry when you wrap your arms around his neck in order to keep him close to you, together stumbling into the coziness of your home as one hand was firmly placed against your back, his mouth eagerly parting as your lips welcome the teasing slide of his tongue lapping across your own.

ex! husband wriothesley who will hiss upon revelling in your soft fingers tracing over his twitching muscles when you undress each other, his disheveled hair accentuated with a fond smile as his hands trail down the sides of your face, leaning his hungry lips against yours again, the lingering, familiar scent of your fragrance penetrating his nostrils turning him needier, on the brink of passing out.

ex! husband wriothesley who loves hearing you only reply in soft and crumbled whimpers of his name slipping past the edges of your tongue as he cannot wait to feel you— fuck, and neither can you wait to feel him again, a clashing pressure on your hot core narrowing the space between your bodies as he lines himself up with you, your nails slithering down his chiseled back as he slides into you abruptly, your neglected cunt instantly welcoming him.

and you squeal out in pleasure as he thrusts into you, the maddening scent of his musky perfume persisting around your shivering frame as wriothesley hooks one leg over his shoulder, the squelching sounds of your wet sex echoing throughout the entire bedroom just signalizing how much you must've missed him as well, his addicting gaze always flickering across the way your body reacted to him.

ex! husband wriothesley who shoves himself further into your soft cunt— and you're just so unbelievably cute and adorable at your desperate attempts to silence those candid whines and mewls of his name. one of his hands was now placed on the headboard for additional support as to not suddenly suffocate you with his large body towering above before he increases the pace on your cunt, setting for a deep and fast rhythm that would surely stay engraved in your walls even after he's done.

ex! husband wriothesley who kisses you like a starved animal as your tears tickle the soft features on his face, your hidden emotions running wild at the sheer passion he unlocked in you, his erection throbbing harder as he groans into your lips, triggering every last one of your nerves in your body and infusing them with persisting vibrations— now, you're gasping at the lack of oxygen in your lungs as his constant thrusts into you drove you deeper into the mattress, if that was even possible, considering the fact that your whole body had been caged in between your bed and wriothesley's frame towering on top.

ex! husband wriothesley who chokes back a desperate growl as he sought out further friction, growing feral, then hissing sharply as his sensitive cockhead reaches into your deepest parts, his shaft all the way sucked in by your used pussy lubricating him so he can ram himself in and out of you harder, slick pooling out of your hole whenever he pulls out only to press back inside with one quick snap.

ex! husband wriothesley who worships your body, making you feel every thick vein as it throbs violently against your walls, your thudding hole making him lose his mind on how you're convulsing while he curls into you— your swollen cunt tensing and releasing, grinding up a little as thick, white cum gathers at the base of his cock, his mesmerizing eyes glued on the creamy spot that was showing him just how much you enjoyed this too.

ex! husband wriothesley who resumes his fast tempo, your teeth rattling with every new impact of his hips bouncing against your flesh blanking your mind into pure paradise— your moving bodies couldn't stop anymore as you're fucking each other well over the limits of your endurance, drool dribbling down the corners of your mouth as wriothesley was fucking your cunt desperately, unhinged and making it a point to rock your hips in and out along a particular angle that you'd always squeeze over the rigid veins prancing on the underside of his shaft.

ex! husband wriothesley who exhales heavily when you tell him that you're close, his hips pressing and digging into your sensitivity once more before lifting you off the mattress, chasing your relief like a wild beast that he so graciously wanted to see unfold— low profanities and fast tumbles of his name falling from your lips as your thighs begin to shake and ache, your throat turning dry— you're done for, and wriothesley just fits so perfectly in you, into every curve, every spongy spot and every bump inside that you're so painfully full, crowded and overflowing of his thick shaft.

you're hiccuping due to the pressure he presses into your sensitivity as you're way beyond your own limits now, at last feeling a twitch and quake as your body pleads to cum, his grueling thrusts aiding you when you violently convulse around his length, a sharp intake of breath breaking every other noise in the room when you cum all over his cock, your orgasm hitting you hard, wriothesley continuing with slow, language thrusts until you've rode out your high.

the duke was being eager to watch it all happen, something primal at the back of his mind manifestikg when the sudden constriction of your fluttering hole made him grunt lowly against your ear, rolling his hips nearly painfully hard between your legs before dragging himself away, cumming inside of your walls and marking you up for good with his warm, sticky cum.

ex! husband wriothesley who watched you being short of breath, and couldn’t resist looking at the mess between your legs, your abused cunt twitching around his girth as your pussy flutters around nothing, your legs were quivering with a combination of your essence and his seed oozing out of your hole, staining the silky bedsheets.

ex! husband wriothesley who'll press himself back into you with one sharp snap, leaving his cock in so you could clench and throb, small thrusts turning sloppy and sticky with his dampened bangs glued on his forehead as he kisses the tip of your nose before embracing your pouty lips again, your mouth partly open as you whine out, your sensitivity spiraling of his cock still being nestled in you, his shaft already hard and thick again, your battered cunt jolting underneath him.

wriothesley smiles, "it is maddening, how much you consume my very being, my love." and speaks through his heart.

© 2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[rottiens]

How often do you think Neuvillette makes love to reader in his dragon form? And how do they prepare for it all?

⊹ tags . . 18+, neuvillette in his dragon form, monsterfucking, established relationship, female reader.

⊹ wc . . 1.4K

⊹ notes . . didn't expect to write so much for this lol but, as always, I really enjoy the ideas you put in my head and ily.

Neuvillette is very shy at first about his true nature. Very withdrawn and perhaps ashamed of his original form. He has spent so much time among humans, understanding them and being part of them, that being with you, he forgets that this non-human part is still kept inside him.

You know the Chief Justice of Fontaine and the way he presents himself to others, you know how respected he is, how loyal he is; you know your husband and you have no doubts about him. But you don't know the Dragon Hydro. So, it is understandable that he feels shy to show his true nature before you.

Your sweet words gradually encourage him to trust you and what you assure him. You promise him so many times that no matter what you see, nothing will make you turn away from him— you do this by kissing his hand, pampering his neck, adoring his body that eventually, Neuvillette decides it's time.

As expected, his dragon form is as majestic as you had imagined. The imposing Neuvillette appears before your eyes, a being of breathtaking beauty and mystical presence. His winged figure combines the grace of an eagle with the strength of a dragon. His plumage is a symphony of colors that oscillates between deep blue tones and brilliant azure hues, creating a visual effect that evokes the power and serenity of the ocean.

You witness the magnificence of his transformation, a sight that takes your breath away and fills you with awe. As you approach, his eyes, deep and full of centuries of wisdom, look at you with a mixture of vulnerability and trust. You are honored and amazed by the faith he has placed in you, knowing that now, more than ever, you must keep your promise to stand by his side, accepting and loving every part of him, human and non-human.

His wings, broad and ethereal, appear to be sculpted from liquid light, adorned with undulating patterns reminiscent of gentle ocean currents. Each feather is outlined with silvery sparkles, giving the impression that a piece of the starry sky has been caught in its wingspan.

Neuvillette's head is noble and distinguished, with piercing eyes that sparkle with ancient wisdom. His silver mane flows back like a cascade of liquid silver. His words echo throughout the room, and he lovingly rests his forehead on yours, speaking to you through your thoughts. All the energy that fills the room bristles your skin, electric sparks that make your fingers move with a life of their own towards his face. Neuvillette drops into your hands, gazing intently at you with narrowed eyes.

Watching him, you can't help but feel that you are in the presence of an entity that transcends the mundane, a living connection between heaven and earth, the ethereal and the tangible.

"You are so beautiful, Neuvillette," you confess quietly to him. He lets out a sort of purr that fills the cave where you are, his tail visibly vibrating a tender blue, tossing back and forth like the waves of the sea.

The passing years have made him more comfortable at your side in his majestic form. You snuggle next to his body as he curls up next to you, his purrs like whispers on the wind lulling you into a placid slumber. But it is not until mating season that he realizes that opening up more with you has been both a blessing and a danger.

In that period, his desire becomes uncontrollable and his dragon nature intensifies. Neuvillette struggles to maintain control, but your gentle words and the trust you have placed in him give him the security he needs to fully embrace his true nature.

The mating gifts he has brought to you —pearls that glow even in the dark, coral crystals, jewelry created from sapphire— were now accompanied by something else. Something he considers terrible and carnal. Grunting, touching more than usual in public, slightly more possessive grips. It's second nature for you to join together in bed, to merge your bodies as one, to sink into you and make love to you all night long until you're both exhausted. But this season, there's something about Neuvillette that has him all the time with his pants tight, his hands sweating under his leather gloves and his boot clacking against the floor, he needed to be back home soon.

. . . He breathes heavily as he holds you against him. Your forehead rests on his as he recites one of the ancient poems stored on scrolls. His mouth is open, salivating, his majestic body jerking with every touch of your delicate fingers on the scales of his face.

"What's wrong?" your tone is almost pained, as if you are hurt. With a frown. Neuvillette hates himself for making you worry.

His whole body shudders as soon as your fingers tangle in the mane that hides his sharp eyes.

"My body doesn't seem to listen to me. I'm sorry, I'm burning up."

Your countenance softens, a tender smile tugs at your lips and Neuvillette jerks away from you, but you are quick to act and reach out your hands, stopping him in his attempt to escape.

"It's okay," as always, you encourage him. "I love you. In this and all your forms, Neuvillette. You have nothing to hide from me."

You prompt him, urge him to follow and explore his desires. It hurts his chest to see you so beautiful for him, to see you covered by a thin transparent cloth that barely covers your nakedness; your erect nipples are visible in the moonlight streaming through the cave and he pauses to think how firm they would feel under his tongue, your thin cotton panties soaked by a sticky layer of your arousal that provokes him just and only to push them with his claw and watch you squirm beneath him. Neuvillette suffers from not being able to control himself. But seeing you ready for him makes his animalistic senses fill with adrenaline.

Soon, he leaves the comfort of your warmth to push his face against your small body. You are so fragile, and he watches you carefully. His nose sniffs you, his scales tickle you, and you laugh. But Neuvillette is so focused on what he wants that he pays no attention to anything but that smell.

He descends under your body, determined. His face pushes the fabric up while he stands on all four paws so as not to crush you. His teeth tear at the fabric and you groan in surprise, for you have never seen him so desperate. Quickly, his long tongue darts out, cuts through the moonbeam and sinks between your thighs, exploring your slick folds with ferocity.

The dragon growls hungrily, devouring everything he can reach with his insatiable tongue. The split tip of his tongue does a dance on your clit, and you raise your hips in search of that pleasure, clinging to the silken sheets as waves of pleasure lash you. Neuvillette grunts, salivates and devours you as if for the first time. You melt with each lick until the impending end of your orgasm hits you.

Even after, he continues to lick you slowly, still greedy, still hungry.

Adoringly, his nose is wet from every trace of skin he gets, worshipping you like a deity.

After this, shame consumes him, so embarrassed to let this barbaric behavior that he has shown to no one else come to light, those instincts that make him lose his composure. Yet, with you by his side, promising him that everything is fine, that you are fine, Neuvillette allows it to happen a second time and then a third. How often? I think it happens spontaneously, but especially when he is in heat, he can't help but take you in his original form, in fact even if he won't admit it, in this state it is his favorite way to make love to you. Although he may lose control of his thrusts, he always tries to be gentle with you, always leaving a mark or two after the session.

These always start with him first in his human form, stretching you with his fingers, making you cum several times with them, then with his split tongue. Finally, when you're ready, one of his two cocks slides into you smoothly, so deep you don't remember how to breathe. Deep inside, he longs for the day when you can take both at the same time.