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bnpd · 3 months

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❝ LONG SHOT ! ❞ ; 001

❝ PROFESSIONAL BASKETBALL PLAYER!GOJO SATORU X PHYSICAL THERAPIST!READER. ❞

SYNOPSIS: After an unexpected encounter with the infamous Gojo Satoru at a local convenience store at 3 A.M. You're given the opportunity to worm your way into his life, but not without a personal invitation from Gojo himself. One thing leads to another, and you're the first person they call when he gets a career-threatening injury, forcing both of you to spend day and night together, but not without some obstacles of course: your cousin.

WORD COUNT : 8K SERIES MASTERLIST : ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . NAVIGATION : ꩜

PT. 1 : PT. 2

Your days start off simple. Wake up at 5 am. Shower at 5:05. Get ready at 5:30. Breakfast at 6:30am. Leave your cozy city apartment at 7:00 am –sharp– to make it to work.

“Good morning Miwa,” you greet politely, walking past her desk and she scrambles to gather her clipboard. Hot on your tail, she frantically looks over her notes. “What do you have for me today?” You ask.

“Doctor, your first consultation of the day is waiting for you in your office! And your regular patient called to let you know that those exercises you suggested are working wonders!” You nod and hum occasionally to inform her that you’re listening as you maneuver through the rest of the doctors, stopping momentarily to encourage a patient lifting weights. She speaks quickly. “And Doctor Shoko called to ask if you’ll be going to…” she pauses and you figure she’s looking at her notes again. “The basketball game,” and she's quick to add “ —the Jujutsu Sorcerers are playing tomorrow night.”

You stop abruptly outside of your office door, feeling Miwa lightly bump into your back before she mutters a swift apology. You turn around, raising a questioning eyebrow. “She called about that? Tell her I’m bus-”. Miwa’s quick to intercept. “She insists! Plus, I thought you loved the Jujutsu Sorcerers?”

You think it over.

You did like them. No. They were your absolute favorite basketball team. Besides, you could never turn down a basketball game.

“Fine. I’ll see her tomorrow night. Thank you Miwa.”

“We have just minutes to go here in the fourth quarter of the season opener at the Sorcerer Stadium. The Jujutsu Sorcerers are up by ten over the Special Grades, thanks much to the tremendous effort of the star point guard, Gojo Satoru.”

Inside the stadium is loud, as fans cheer on their favorite teams. It’s a full game tonight. A completely sold out stadium with all the people that showed up to praise their favorite players. The energy is loud, and fun. As people stand, and others sit in their seats in a stressful manner—mostly the losing team.

The two kids behind you wear matching Jujutsu Sorcerers jerseys. One boy is sporting a 01 while the other sports a 02. One for the infamous Gojo Satoru and the other for Geto Suguru. You’re happy to admit that you too are sporting a number 01 jersey.

“Gojo Satoru, one of the best point guards in the league. Living up to his reputation and title of the ‘Chosen One’, tonight.” You listen, and watch intently as the announcers speak of Gojo. As he dribbles left, dodging every player in his way, bypassing their attempts to stop him. He’s unstoppable.

“He looks inside. And he’s got nothing there.” The announcer anticipates. The crowd stands up from their seats eager to watch his next move. Their anticipation is intense as everyone in the stadium witnesses the Gojo Satoru work up close.

“He’s gonna take it himself!” The announcer exclaimed in disbelief, he himself could not believe this. “Behind the back! He puts it up, and it's good” The entire stadium puts their hands up to cheer, and scream. You see a mix of colors in the crowd, mostly a light blue in support of the Jujutsu Sorcerers.

You tune out the announcers as Gojo Satoru is celebrating his team's score. He’s sweating so much his jersey sticks to his chest and stomach. You can faintly make out the outline of his abs. His muscles flex as he lifts his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his forehead, his abs on full display. You grin at how hot he is. Anyone with eyes can see it. You swear you hear the girls cheer louder at the display of skin. Even if you were still here for the game, you were still a woman after all.

“You’re drooling.” Shoko points out beside you, and you almost reach your hand towards your mouth to check before you playfully narrow your eyes at her. “Please,” you say dismissively, “What’s the correct way to react to a court full of sweaty hot guys? Watch the game?”.

Her eyes roll dramatically before sporting a playful grin, and you bump your shoulder against hers to bring out a full smile from her. You succeed.

Shoko continues to cheer on the team. This is the most excited you’ve seen her since she found a remaining cigarette in her car after she’d just ran out. You were so distracted by the cigarette addict beside you that you almost missed the foul they gave the other team as Gojo Satoru stands on the free throw line.

“Gojo Satoru shot 95% from the freethrow line last season, but he’s been 100% tonight.” The announcers go back to bickering about the game, praising Gojo’s in-game scores. “Let’s see if he stays on his hot streak tonight, and for the rest of the season–”.

Gojo dribbles the ball, and the stadium remains silent. The tension thick in the air as they hold their breath–even you, who leans forward in anticipation. He locks his knees, and shoots straight into the basketball hoop. The ball never even touches the rim. He makes both shots. Gojo smirks cockily as he slaps Geto’s hand twice in celebration.

“-And he’s done it! It’s 12 in a row, for Gojo Satoru. Geto Suguru–number two–has 10 tonight. Quite a duo on the court. I would say.”

Shoko and you cheer on the team as they celebrate the win themselves. The kids behind you scream so loud your eardrums almost pop, but you can’t find it in yourself to mind.

The energy in the stadium tonight reminds you of why you loved going to basketball games in the first place. The excitement in the court, and in the entire stadium is something no one can miss.

The kids behind you are so excited that it spreads to you, and you jump up to celebrate with them. Their toothy smiles are so big and bright. They warm your heart. The moment is quickly ruined by the woman sitting on the other side of you, opposite Shoko.

“Look at that!” Your cousin harshly tugs your arm, pulling you down to reach her seat. “The player’s wives section. Full of snobby bitches.” Her fingers frantically shake to dramatize how much she wants you to see. “I’m looking.” You reply exasperated before rolling your eyes. “She has a custom Birkin! Do you have any idea how expensive that is?” She asks, and you reply with a muttered response “A house mortgage loan, I assume.”

Your cousin was—to put it shortly–spoiled, but you respected her views on someday marrying a rich man. The only problem with that is that she even uses the good ones.

She was a model. Not a well known one, but a model nonetheless. She was gorgeous, and everyone knew it. Even the men you dated. Most of them had gone as far to tell you. But you never let it deter your self-esteem. Men are a defective species and that has nothing to do with you. You choose to push that thought aside before it can develop into a mental breakdown in the middle of a basketball game.

The children screaming behind you interrupt it before it can. “Look, look!” The kids behind you frantically poke at you to look.

“He just made a three-pointer,” the boy lisps a little, and you swear you feel the saliva hit your face.

More than half of the game is just Gojo Satoru stealing the ball, and making countless scores.

You look up at the clock and see the time as it read ten seconds on the board.

“Gojo Satoru again with the ball!” You watch as he steals the ball and dribbles all the way across the court. Five seconds on the clock. He jumps up, and slams the ball directly into the basketball net with both hands still hanging onto the rim. “Anddd Number 1… brings the game home!” And the final buzzer rings across the court, calling the game. Zero seconds on the board.

The announcer makes one last comment, “Unbelievable performance by Gojo Satoru.”

Gojo is instantly swarmed with reporters in hopes of getting a word with him. But he’s fine with this. He loves the attention. He loves it when all eyes are on him. He thinks it’s how it should always be. A cocky man at heart.

“Tremendous game tonight Gojo Satoru.” The reporter speaks, and she’s too close for any regular reporter, and Gojo catches onto it quickly. “Thank you, thank you.” He responds in an airy flirty tone.

He scans the stands, and his eyes catch onto a woman helping two kids from their seats—they wear the number of his jersey, and Getos. His eyebrows furrow, and he tunes out the reporter subconsciously. The mysterious woman laughs at something her friend says—and his eyebrows lift up in surprise at the recognition of his friend, Shoko.

“Almost a decade with the Jujutsu Sorcerers, the only franchise you’ve ever played for…” a male reporter takes a lead on his attention as Gojo turns his head over to talk to the male reporter. He smiles into the camera, a radiant smile.

A player from the opposing team passes Gojo before patting his back, and cheers at him for the good game.

“...But you’re a free agent at the end of the season. The question everyone wants to know… will Gojo Satoru re-sign with the Jujutsu Sorcerers?” he asks as he shifts the microphone from side to side at the question, urging Gojo to answer. The reporters surrounding him, too, lean closer into him.

Gojo licks his lips before responding. His chest breathing erratically from the previous game, “I prove myself night in and night out on that court. I’m the best in the league right now. Of course they’ll sign me. I’m the best.”

He winks at the female reporter after his proud admission as her face turns bright red at the display of flirtation. She lowers the microphone to say something to him personally before his manager comes disrupting the flirty exchange and drags him away from the reporters as their distant shouts begin to fade, entering the locker room.

You’re exiting the stadium before one of your cousin’s friends invites herself into the conversations. Completely interrupting your rant about how horrible the injury a recent basketball player received.

“Girl, I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” You turn around at the sound of the high-pitched voice, and see a woman dressed in all black, some large classy sunglasses, and a dark cherry red lipstick. Her aura emitted elegance, and high-class.

“Hey,” she greets you in a monotone voice before turning over to your cousin again and her excitement seems to be shot back into her system as she begins to ramble to your cousin. Your head tilts at her attitude. Disbelief is clear on your face.��It is so packed in here, it is so gross.” She comments with an undeniable hint of disgust in her voice as she clutches her mini purse closer to her.

“But anyway!” she dismisses, “Gojo Satoru… is having a birthday party Saturday night at his house, but we don’t have the tickets yet, sooooo we’re going to an after party tonight, and see if we can worm ourselves into getting some tickets.” She picks at her nails before grabbing your cousin's hands to shake them in an urging manner. She takes her glasses off to show her a pleading look.

Your cousin lifts her eyebrow in question, “Where’s the after party?”

“The Shibuya Hotel.” Your cousin thinks it over before nodding, turning over to you. “You don’t mind do you?”

You smile at her, “No, not at all. Do your thing.”

“K-K, bye!” Her long slender fingers moving back and forth in a quick and dismissive goodbye.

The bells above the door jingle to announce the presence of someone entering the convenience store. The sudden sound of them has you looking up.

After the game ended you went home and locked yourself up to finish some remaining paperwork, before checking the time and deciding to grab a snack at your favorite corner store.

You glance up at the clock in wonder. It’s currently 3 a.m, and the convenience store tucked into the sketchy corner of the city is always empty. It’s quite a walk from here to your apartment, but a welcomed one. Especially at this time. You always found yourself making late night trips to the store for a midnight snack. They were just something you found quite peaceful. A walk in the dark as you play your favorite playlist, finding a chance to lose yourself in your own head.

You were close to the owner, an old sweet man that conjured a liking to you because of how much you resembled his daughter that was currently deployed overseas.

You spare a glance at the hooded figure that steps into the store, their back turned to you, but you note how tall they are. A shiver runs down your spine as the opened door allows cold air to rush into the tight space.

You’re not sure if the shiver was a cause of the gust of wind that slithered its way inside or the new presence of the looming figure. You don't like to ponder on the possibility that it might be the latter.

You continue to browse through the mochi flavors, looking for your beloved one. It’s unusual for them to be unstocked around this time, considering how cold the weather is. And how empty this side of town finds itself to be. You sigh as you bend down to get a better look.

You feel a presence behind you, and you stiffen at their closeness. A masculine, slender hand, comes into view, as it reaches for the exact flavor of mochi you so happened to be reaching for as well. You both freeze at the sudden, and unexpected contact before both releasing a nervous laugh.

But neither of you find it in yourselves to retract your hands. You clear your throat before speaking.

“Listen…It’s been a rough night,” You start, and turn to face him, but pause mid sentence at the look of what he’s wearing. A black face mask, a black hoodie with the hood of it over his head, and some sunglasses?…At night…and indoors? Not only that, but the man in question was insanely tall. Taller than any regular man you’ve encountered. He had the height of a basketball player.

“Never mind,” You suddenly find yourself not in the mood to argue with a suspicious stranger at 3 a.m. in a sketchy part of town.

Your mother always taught you that as a woman being careful with who you piss off, especially a man that could bring you harm, was important. You wish you had the confidence to defend yourself physically, but you’d rather never have to take those chances. That was the reality of it.

“You can keep it.” You mutter before gathering your things, and speeding over to the cash register. You watch him scan your items, but you can’t shake off the feeling of two eyes burning holes in your back throughout the whole ordeal.

You pull your scarf tighter against your neck as you speed walk in the direction of your apartment. The cold of the fall and lack of sun always make your entire body quiver. You thank your past self for wearing thick layers of clothing, knowing you wouldn’t be able to handle the freezing weather.

You never could handle the cold.

Your senses heightened when you heard steps approaching behind you, quickly at that.

You clench your first in your coat jacket, readying yourself for anything. The steps get closer, and you wait until you feel their presence closely behind you before swinging around, surprising him with a amateaur punch. “Ow!” the stranger winces. “What the fuck!” He chokes out in surprise, holding his face in shock.

You bring your hands up to your mouth in a gasp. “Oh- My-God!” A frantic apology is quick to escape your lips. “Why would you do that?!” You question the stranger exasperatedly. “Don’t–sneak up on a woman like that!” Your hands move around to signal the obvious, it’s dark.

“Well, fuck!” He responds, “I was just trying to give you the mochi,” His hand extends to reveal the truth. A mochi sits in his grasp—not just any mochi—the one you abandoned back in the store for the sake of it. He chased after you to give it to you.

Your body deflates at the realization, and it makes you feel a tiny bit sorry. Not for long when you realize he's most certainly at fault. He should’ve known not to approach a girl in the dead of night.

A few feet of distance separates you both, but you can’t help but release a tiny embarrassed laugh at the comedic situation. Your contagious laugh seems to transfer to him because he releases a small huff of amusement under his breath.

You’re both standing under a streetlamp a few feet away from the convenience store, in a defense mode. The stranger in front of you still holds onto his face in an attempt to relieve the pain.

The physical therapist in you kicks in, and you step closer towards him to inspect the damage. He’s reluctant to let you approach him, tensing is evident in the way his shoulders square up. But you reassure him. “It’s okay,” you softly comfort, “I’m a physical therapist, I just want to see that it won’t bruise or anything.”

Your words seem to help because his guarded shoulders deflate a little.

“Let me see,” you murmur into the dark, reaching over to remove his hand. He watches you intently through his glasses, and you realize he’s wearing a lot to protect his face. You take the time to study his remote way of dressing. His attempt to hide himself, you reason within yourself. His hair is covered by a black hood, paired with a black beanie, a black face mask that covers his lips and nose, a light blue sweatshirt that brings some color, some gray sweats that cover the entirety of his long legs, and a black puffer jacket to help keep the cold out. He looks warm, yet cold at the same time.

You wonder why he’s deliberately trying to hide who–or what—he is.

You find out soon enough because when you peel off his hand, and later his face mask to get a better look at his cheek you blurt out the first thing that crosses your mouth.

“You’re Gojo Satoru.” It’s spoken in a whisper, he almost doesn’t hear the acknowledgement with how soft your voice travels. Your eyes are wide with surprise, and a bit of elation. It felt like a caress, he notes.

A choked gasp almost leaves your lips when you take off his sunglasses and find the most unreal set of blue eyes stare back at you.

“The one, and only.” His response doesn’t come out as confident as he planned. Instead it came off shaky, and unsure. Breathless even. He blames it on the look on your face, and the way you stare intently into his eyes, seeing straight through him. His lips crack into a smile, and the amused look in your eye caused by his cheesy line.

“You sound more confident on TV.” You retaliate. He’s quick with a witty response, “Maybe you just make me nervous.” He wets his lips with a swipe of his tongue, taking you in. You’re illuminated by the streetlamp.

You laugh at his stupid attempt to flirt with you, playfully dismissing his advances.

Bringing your focus back to his cheek you inspect it before speaking, “It won’t bruise,” He looks like he’s ready to speak up but you interrupt him by finishing your sentence, “But—you’ll still need to ice it. At least for tonight.”

Of course it wouldn’t bruise, you’ve never taken any lessons on how to properly hit—let alone land a punch. You punched him in hopes of catching him off guard before he could surprise you, giving you the chance to run for the hills, not because you knew you’d be able to take a stranger in a fight.

When your fight or flight response kicked in, you didn’t even ponder the possibility of punching a professional athlete, let alone a professional basketball player. One that played for your favorite team. Quite frankly you were starstruck, and the fangirl in you was having an entire party. The Gojo Satoru was here. Right in front of you. He was even more gorgeous up close—taller too.

The cameras did indeed do him justice, but nothing ever compares to the real thing. His bright blue eyes, and snow-white lashes were straight out of a magical fairytale. As much as you’d like to jump up and down, and then hug him, you knew you had to contain yourself. Otherwise you would scare him away. Or he would feel too uncomfortable to engage in casual conversation with a crazy fan.

But you were more of a basketball fan than solely a Gojo Satoru fan, and that fact alone was keeping you at bay. Your early childhood years of having a basketball coach father always kept you engaged in basketball in general.

After going back inside the convenience store to grab some ice from the ice machine—with Gojo trailing closely behind you—you both now sat on the edge of the sidewalk right in front of the convenience store, talking amongst one another about nothing in particular. The only source of lighting being the lit up convenience store, and the streetlamp hovering over your seater figures.

Gojo sits beside you with a hand holding the ice pack to his face, while another is used to reach into the bag of mochi to grab some more. But your mind can’t seem to ignore how close you two sit against one another, your thighs are almost touching from your close proximity.

“Thank you.” Gojo’s hushed voice cuts through the silly conversational atmosphere, and turns into a semi-serious one.

A tiny toothless smile spreads across your face, “You can thank me, by winning the championships.” Your knee knocks into his in an attempt to bring back the playful mood, and he takes it gratefully. He responds eagerly by knocking his knee against yours in response. His touch shoots a tingle up your spine.

Your smile must be contagious because the cutest lopsided smile makes an appearance on Gojo’s face, “Oh, so you’re really a die-hard fan?” He teases.

“Ever since I was a little girl.”

“How so?” He asks, his eyes never leaving your face as his hands reach into the bag of mochi to munch on.

“Well,” You think about your next words as you gesture for Gojo to move the bag of mochi closer so that you can grab a piece, “My dad was a college basketball coach—still is—and all through elementary to middle school I would often sit on the side of practices and watch them play. So I kind of developed an interest in watching the sport. I find it nostalgic—in a way. My dad and I just bond over it.”

You mention how you were looking to become a professional NBA physical therapist. It had been your dream ever since you were a little girl. And it still is. Though you’re a current sports physical therapist— the best in your field—you want more.

He’s silent as he reflects on your response. You take this as your chance to bite into your mochi, humming contently at the yummy taste. The chewy texture is satisfying against your tongue, its sweetness seeping into your mood.

“That’s cool,” he replies after a moment of silence. “I grew up watching—and playing—basketball too.” He pauses, and you patiently wait as he collects his thoughts.

“But mostly because our family has been professional basketball players for generations, and I just kind of fell into that.”

You nod your head in understanding. You wonder if he’s playing because he genuinely likes the game or because it’s expected of him to continue the tradition. The legacy.

You knew about the Gojo family being generational professional basketball players. Every single one of them have played for the Jujutsu Sorcerers, and because of them they’ve always been an outstanding basketball team. Some consider them to be reincarnations of each other, but that’s just silly internet theories.

There’s numerous articles about the Gojo family, a lot of them highlighting the way they dominate almost every industry. Their wealth, and worldwide superiority is insanely known. It went beyond just Gojo’s direct family playing professional basketball, their entire family tree is gifted with various qualities.

You can’t imagine the burden he must carry.

One thing is certain and it’s that you’re genuinely delighted in his presence. You realize he’s silent before looking over at him, and you frown at the unreadable look on his face. “What’s wrong?” You probe.

His gorgeous bright blue eyes look all over your face in an analytical kind of way, before a ghost smile grazes his features. “Nothing,” he says softly, his eyes staring softly at you, “Nothing at all.” He turns back to bite into his mochi, chewing on it before contently humming to himself.

A familiar tune, you realize, and you gasp before hitting his arm, “Is that the Digimon tune?” His eyes twinkle in surprise, and something like eagerness—before he takes off into another excited rant. Telling you about his favorite digital pet model toy he used to own as a kid, and how he still has a collection of them at home. He tells you about how he wishes to find a rare one. His descriptions are so animated, and you can’t help but stare fondly at his features.

Though you weren’t a huge digimon fan, you don’t bother telling him in fear of breaking through his elation.

How the corner of his lips turns up in excitement or how his hands are used to animatedly demonstrate what he is trying to portray. Often used to wave them around. Your favorite feature would have to be his eyes, and the way they sparkle when he talks about something he's passionate about. Even in the darkness his ice cold blue eyes find a way to look so warm.

You like the bubble you’ve both created for yourselves. Time feels unimportant, and worries feel so far away.

After his rant you fall back into a comfortable silence. The ambience around you does a good job at filling the silence. The crickets hidden in the grass sing as the wind blows, swaying the trees. The moon lightens up the world to the best of her ability. But the city is alive, it always is. New York never sleeps, even at night. It’s probably the time it’s most awake.

Gojo breaks the comfortable silence,“What are you doing Saturday night?”

You make it back at 7 a.m., (with the help of Gojo driving you home), and thank the gods that you didn’t have work today. Shoko would’ve pestered you about your late-night whereabouts.

You’re welcomed by the sight of your cousin sitting on the floor by the coffee table surrounded by numerous magazines scattered around the living room. Her concentration prompts you to raise a skeptical eyebrow.

Cautiously walking into her space to not cause a disturbance, you ask her why she has a mess in your living room.

“I’m researching.” What could she possibly be researching in a magazine?

She notices your confused silence, and heavily sighs before putting her pen down. “I’m trying to figure out how to marry a professional athlete so that I can leech off him, and live a happy–rich–life. A girl doesn’t just become the wife of a NBA franchise player by accident.” She takes a moment to apply lip gloss before continuing.

“It takes strategy, good intel, and vision.” She finishes off before grabbing the poster board sitting next to her, showing you a pin board with various different basketball players. Thankfully, a certain bright blue eyed player is absent.

Next to each of their pictures is their name, age, birthday, interests, basketball team, and other miscellaneous facts. Her entire pin-board looks like an FBI investigation wall.

“Modeling only pays so much. Especially as a model who isn’t a Super-model.” An exasperated breath leaves her lips as if she was exhausted from just explaining the obvious to you.

“I mean look at this!” She says, frantically showing you the magazine. You lean over to get a better look as you read the title.

‘PROFESSIONAL ATHLETE, NANAMI KENTO’S WIFE STARTS BRAND NEW BAKING TELEVISION SHOW.’

“These women get fragrance deals, shoe lines, clothing lines, like; Oh.My.God! Even shows!” Each admission becomes more passionate than the last. As she continues to rant to you. “I’m almost 30. I need to start thinking for myself, and my future. Like, now. I’ll find a man, and use him.”

You laugh at her crazy talk, you start putting fingers down as you list her current struggles, “You’re crashing in my guestroom.” One finger down. “Your BMW got repossessed because you stopped making payments.” Two fingers down. “You haven’t been able to hold a steady job.” Three fingers down. “And you don’t even help clean the house.” Four fingers down.

You wave them in front of her face to try and get your point across. “Look, I’m all for you finding a rich man in the future, and living off of him—that’s fine. But for now, at least help around the house when you can. I work lots of shifts at the clinic, the least you could do is help at home—”

“Especially since you don’t help me pay any bills.” She’s ready to protest, and cut you off. You make sure you get the last word in. “I don’t care because I get paid enough to cover this nice apartment in the middle of the city. Just, take some stress off my shoulders.” You smile kindly at her.

She lets out a huff of annoyance before turning back to her magazines, and ignoring you. A tired sigh escapes your lips. Her gloomy mood makes you feel pitiful, but thankfully you remember what Gojo said to you that night.

“Besides, how are you gonna get an NBA husband, if you…” You grab your phone, and tap on the screen before showing her the details for Gojo Satoru’s Saturday birthday party, “Don’t go to the gatherings?”

Her eyes grow wide with excitement, and she jumps up to hug you. “How did you do that?” She questions in disbelief, as she grabs your phone to see the tickets. “Well, I bumped into him in the street, and one thing led to another so he invited me.”

She squeals before hugging you again. “I need to figure out what I need to wear. No—I need to figure out what I need to buy to wear.” She runs to your guest room in excitement, muttering to herself as she begins to move further and further away from you. The door slammed shut as an indication that you’re now alone in the living room.

You choose to keep the details hidden of how exactly you met Gojo because of how personal they felt. It felt like something sacred that should be kept between Gojo and you. You didn’t want to let anyone inside your little bubble. As selfish as that sounded.

What happened earlier this morning felt so refreshing. You softly smile to yourself before walking to your room to rest your eyes before the party.

Your mom has always believed in destiny. That the universe worked in mysterious ways. She liked the idea that everything was meant to be. People were at a certain place, and time for a reason. Even if you lose something—whatever it may be— the first time, it’ll always come back someway, somehow.

You believe it now as she enters your old adolescent room before you, holding a box in her hands. You had decided to get ready at your parents house because of how convenient it would be, considering how Gojo’s house is closer to your parent’s house compared to yours.

“You are going to find a husband tonight.” Your mother laughs. You playfully roll your eyes at her admission. “Mom… don’t start.” You half-heartedly warn before she goes off her lovesick rant, placing the box on the table next to you.

“Honey, I married your father, and he still can’t believe his luck. I mean I understand, I am beautiful, and so is my gorgeous daughter—”

“—and niece!” Your cousin adds before going back to the mirror, touching up her eyelashes.

Your mother and you sweetly laugh before continuing, “I mean, when I first met him, it was like love at first sight.” You can’t help the frown that overtakes your features at her admission, a certain white-haired blue eyed man coming to mind.

“Anyway,” Your mother says before waving dismissively, “I have a surprise.” She smiles, before opening the box she had brought with her. You gasp as she pulls out the most gorgeous set of earrings you’ve ever laid eyes on. “Are those��?” You trail off in question.

“Your grandmother’s diamond earrings.” Your mother confirms before gazing softly at them. “She wore them the night she met your grandfather, and I wore them the night I met your father. And now I want you to wear them.” She tells you.

“They’re beautiful!” Your cousin compliments, quickly picking herself up from her seat and making her way over. “They are more than beautiful,” Your mother responds in agreement.

“I don’t think those will suit her Auntie, but they will suit me!” You glare at your cousin. Your mom smiles at your cousin before handing them to her. A look of betrayal paints your face. “Then I think you should wear them.”

Your heart drops at the admission, and before you could protest. The earrings are already on her before you could blink. “What do you think?” She asks you. Ugly. You think.

“I think I need a shot.” You mutter.

“Oh my god.” Your cousin says in amazement. “This is beautiful.”

You can’t help but silently agree with her. Gojo’s house was beyond gorgeous. The house was elegant, simplistic, yet lived in. It was decorated enough to uplift the house, rather than outshine it.

You walk through the main entrance, and see a lot of faces you’d usually see on TV, magazines, and billboard signs. Lots of Gojo’s teammates scatter among the crowd. They’re easy to spot considering their height.

The music is played to a low volume. The atmosphere emits one of class, tranquility yet fun, and livelihood. People chatter away, immersed in their own worlds, without a care in the world. You suppose that people who have the privilege to attend a Gojo gathering can afford to live without a care in the world.

As you enter the main living room, you hear a voice command the room. Perfecting timing.

“I’d like to make a special toast, for a special birthday boy.” Geto grins, lifting his drink to cheer, before grabbing Gojo by the neck and continuing with what you suspect is a birthday speech. As if on queue the people begin to gather around Geto and Gojo.

“I’m sure you’ve all heard this before,” Geto pauses before continuing, “that when some people become rich and famous they turn into pricks…” He looks back at Gojo, “But Satoru’s always been a rich and famous asshole, so it doesn’t apply to him.” He laughs before receiving a shove from Gojo as they share a hearty laugh together.

“Point is, he’s still the same guy from high school…minus the stickman legs, and high-pitched voice.” The crowd joins in on Geto’s laughter, “To my one and only best friend, happy birthday.” The crowd cheers, and a chorus of ‘Happy Birthday!' ring throughout the room. “Thank you Suguru.” You watch as Gojo and Geto prepare themselves to do a load of shots. As the music begins to pick up again, and the crowd disperses.

Your cousin taps your shoulder, and you look over at her, “I’m gonna go explore okay?”

“Oh! O–” You turn around to find her already gone, “--Kay.”

You find your way to the bar, as you sweetly greet the bartender. “Can I have a glass of champagne?”

You’re waiting patiently against the bar when you feel a tap on your shoulder, and a look of surprise crosses your features at the sight of Gojo’s beaming smile. “You made it.” He says happily, eyeing you with a dopey smile.

“Happy birthday!” You tell him, and his hand rests beside your waist against the bar, slightly caging you in. “I got you a card!” You say, reaching into your handbag for the Digimon themed birthday card, and a breathy chuckle leaves Gojo’s lips at the sight of it.

His eyes twinkle when he looks back up at you, “Aw, come on,” He says before continuing with a fake pout, “No surprise punch?”

You laugh at his lame teasing, but play along with him anyway. “Maybe next time, if you decide to run up behind me in the middle of the night, I’ll give you two.” His lips set on a teasing yet flirty smile, raising a questioning eyebrow, “Next time? With the way you look tonight, there will definitely be a next time—”

“Oh god!” A frantic voice interrupts you both, and you’re not surprised to find out the culprit is your cousin. Although you’re happy that she found you again, currently her presence is an unwelcome one. Her hand rests on your shoulder as she looks into your eyes. Your annoyance is quickly replaced with worry as it immediately overtakes your features. “There you are! I am so sorry, but I need to leave.” Your cousin says.

“What? Why? Is everything okay?” You ask, quickly scanning her for any physical injuries. “Everything is okay! It’s just that I got a call from the non-profit I was working with, and they need me to come in immediately.”

Non-profit? Working with?

“What? You don’t–”, She gives you a look that causes a realization to wash over you. She’s lying to make a good impression. With a roll of your eyes, you clear your throat to look back at Gojo but find that he is already fixated on something. Or more like someone.

Your cousin. The look on his face causes a sinking feeling to settle in your stomach. “Hey.” He says.

“Gojo, this is my cousin.” You tell him her name before continuing, “We grew up together.”

Your cousin barely glances at Gojo before realization dawns on her about who he is, and a flirty smile graces her features. “Oh, hi. Nice to meet you.” She says, before slipping back into a false indifference. Gojo’s eyes never leave her figure, but your cousin has a game to play, and it’s her favorite one. Unfortunately for Gojo, he’s playing right into it.

“One of the volunteers at the homeless shelter I help out at, just called in sick. So I need to go.” She begins to walk away, but Gojo stops her before she can. “You know, I volunteer too.”

“That’s cool," she says before turning to you and perking up again, “I have to stop by the store to buy some games for the kids, okay?” You couldn’t believe her. Her head tilted to one side while listening to him, a hidden sheen of interest coated her eyes.

You think you might have to kill yourself after this.

Gojo’s eyebrows raise once again in a curious manner, “You two…live together?”

“If by living together, you mean she free-loads, then yeah! We live together.” That earns you a gentle elbow in the stomach. “How can I get in touch with you?” He persists with an unrelenting stare.

“Oh…Gojo…It’s Gojo, right?” You feel your eyes roll involuntarily,” I’m sorry I’ve tried the whole ‘dating an athlete thing, and…it’s not my thing. But it was really nice talking to you.” She turns to you once again, and you swear you see a menacing glint in her eye. “Are you ready?”

To jump off a cliff? Absolutely.

Your cousin walks away, and anger overtakes your entire body. You turn to look at Gojo, and deflate at how his attention is solely on her, and the way she confidently walks away, catching the eyes of many men. Unaware of the attention you hinder as well.

You feel sick to your stomach. You should’ve asked the bartender for a round of shots.

Gojo’s friends watch as you walk away with interest in their eyes. “You know, the objective is not to make them leave.” Geto speaks up. Entranced by you.

But Gojo’s eyes stay focused elsewhere, before looking at Geto, “I think this worked out just great.” He trails off.

“What the hell was that back there?” You interrogate in a tight voice as soon as you shut the car door. “Oh. Come on.” The tone of her voice has you reeling back. You watch in disbelief as your cousin reapplies her lipstick through your car vanity mirror. She pops her lips before continuing, “Was he looking at me when I walked away?” Her eyes shine with a gleam of deviltry.

A scoff leaves your lips, and you look away from her. “Yes, he was.” Sadly. “You do realize, you don’t work—let alone volunteer—for a homeless shelter, right?”

“Obviously,” she counters, “But he seemed like the kind to fall for that kind of stuff. So I gave it to him, and it worked. I won’t even need to work a job anymore when I get to live in this big house.” Her hands gesture back to the direction of Gojo’s house before continuing to fix her makeup.

“You don’t even work a job now.” You emphasize with raised eyebrows, and a tilt in your head. “Besides, you rejected him.”

“Yeah,” your cousin responds in a ‘duh’ tone, “That’s probably the first time that’s ever happened since…forever. Trust me…” She trails off while fixing her hair, “I’ll be hearing from him.”

And she did.

The next morning you’re almost leaving your apartment for work when you hear a knock, and find a well dressed Gojo before your eyes. You raise a questioning eyebrow at the sight of his presence.

He eyes you for a little before clearing his throat. “Is your cousin here?” A hesitant tone overtakes his features, studying you for a reaction.

Your heart threatens to drop, but you clear your head before it can. “Yeah.” You respond somberly before continuing, “She’s in her room. I’ll go get her.” You turn around to fetch your cousin but pause mid-turn as a sudden question sweeps into your head. You turn to face him once again in clear confusion.

“How did you know I lived here?” You ask skeptically. Gojo grins confidently, a lazy smile gracing his features, “I know people.”

“That’s reassuring.” You drift away from him after curtly inviting him inside your home, and you watch as he studies your cozy apartment. Zero-ing in on the personal pictures of you you’ve hung up on your bookshelf. A faint hum comes out of him as he studies your pictures intently, memorizing them.

“Aren’t you nosy.” You quip at him teasingly. He turns to look at you with a playful expression. “Well, I find you interesting.”

“Well not interesting enough,” you say, muttering to yourself. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” You say walking away from him to get your cousin.

Everything took off from there. One dinner turned into two, then three, and then more than you could count on two hands. It’s like their love came easy for them, and you could tell by the countless tabloids covering their every move.

From Gojo’s ravenous yacht dates with your cousin, to endless shopping sprees. Everyday a new magazine feature was released to keep the public updated on their love story. But you didn’t need to read them to know how good they were to one another. You could tell by the way they’d gaze at each other, more on Gojo’s part.

She’d come home countless times, with something new to share. Whether it was a new expensive necklace Gojo had bought her, or he took her overseas on a spontaneous trip. You sat there and took it. You were helpless, and all you could do was blindly support her. Encourage their relationship.

And Gojo? He became unstoppable. It was impossible to believe how much better his life got—considering how great it already was. He was amazing on the court, and off the court (so you’ve heard). Your cousin got her wish granted. She could finally sit in the basketball wives section, sporting a new exclusive purse every game. She got the brand deals she always wanted, and a feature on a well known magazine. The paparazzi were so obsessed with them. Oftentimes photographing them on outings, whether it was an exclusive club, or a sweet night out together.

Headlines often portrayed their relationship as anything short of wonderful.

“PACKING IT IN: Gojo Satoru ushers his precious girlfriend into his Mercedes after spending an exhaustive day buying up boutique Manhattan.”

“LOOK OUT!: Gojo Satoru and girlfriend share a sweet kiss at a beach in Bora Bora.”

She got everything she ever wanted, and Gojo wasn’t an exception.

At first it felt like you were drowning. Like you couldn’t escape them, but then acceptance began to settle in.

You were aware of your brief interaction with Gojo. Though it felt like more than that, you realize maybe you’d jump the gun too fast. The way you both clicked that night, maybe you’d imagined his interest in you. Maybe you’d wish so badly for it that it twisted your reality of things. You’d wished to have swept him away the way your cousin did. It hurt to see the man you’d ever truly had a faint interest in slowly fall in love with your cousin. They were just so in love. At least, he thought he was.

But it didn’t matter anyway, it’s not like you knew the guy–beyond just a conversation that lasted hours. Vulnerability leaving you both bare to one another. Gojo wasn’t yours. And now he’ll never be.

You weren’t bitter. No. On the contrary, at first you were upset—granted—, but then you were happy for her. How could you be bitter? You had your own thing going on. It was going to take far more than this to hurt you. Besides, you could just avoid Gojo Satoru, right?

feel more than welcome to submit a request <3 ᥫ᭡ join my taglist :

TAGLIST : @luvwithau @sugacor3 @seajunie

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 3 months

Note

😴😴😴 (to find later) AITA for putting sleeping pills in my boyfriend's drinks without him knowing?

I know this sounds absolutely awful, but please bear with me.

Basically, me (27 m) and my boyfriend (26 m) have been living together for around five years, meaning we usually also sleep together. Or at least we try, since my BF suffers from terrible insomnia and reoccurring nightmares so bad sometimes he wakes up into a full on anxiety attack. He does go to therapy and has prescribed sleeping pills, but he hates taking them because he's always afraid that when he does fall asleep he's just going to have nightmares, (which also just makes him avoid sleeping in general even not including his insomnia).

Usually I try to help him by staying up with him, watching his favorite show while cozied up on the couch under a bunch of blankets and with a hot coco, or we do something else that he likes and helps him relax. I really don't mind, I love him and I love spending time with him. However, it used to be that he would fall asleep at around 3-4 AM, but as time went on he started staying up longer and longer, until at a certain point I literally had to start leaving for work in the morning while he still hadn't gotten any sleep.

This was an issue for two reasons: 1. Obviously, without me there he felt even less comfortable and had an even harder time falling asleep, sometimes staying up for even 48 hours (or maybe more, I'm not sure) just to wait for me to come back home so I could help him unwind again. 2. He actually started lying to me about sleeping while I wasn't home, so that I would go to sleep normally and let him stay awake because "he wasn't tired" even though I could clearly tell he was.

That's when I started getting seriously concerned and questioning him about how much he actually sleeps, especially since I could see it was affecting him more and more both mentally and physically. He was avoidant about the topic but I pleaded with him to talk to his therapist about it, to try and find anything else to help him. Apparently his therapist just told him to keep using his sleeping pills to help with the insomnia, and if they're not working she'll look into prescribing him stronger ones. Yet despite that he still insists on not taking them and just going to bed normally even though it's clearly not working.

To clarify: as far as I'm aware, he has no negative side-effects from these sleeping pills, he's never complained about feeling any pain or feeling worse after taking them or anything like that. Literally he only doesn't want to take them because he's just that afraid of going to sleep.

That's why whenever we stay up nowadays, I always add a small dose to his cup of coco, which thankfully has a strong enough taste to cover the pills (I've tried a small bit myself and couldn't tell a difference). Since I started doing that, he's been regularly falling asleep before 2AM and even though the nightmares still sometimes wake him up or make him feel a bit tired in the morning, overall he's been doing much better.

Still, I do feel bad about putting stuff in his drinks without his knowledge even if it's for his own good. I really wonder if I should stop, but I'm really scared that if I do, he'll start spiralling again. I want to help him and be there for him but I've already tried talking about it and it never worked. So, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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rboooks · 1 year

Text

The Adoptive Son. Part 3

A pair of large, cornflower blue eyes stare across the living room of a luxurious penthouse at a nervous-looking man. The pair belong to a young teenager named Tim Drake, who, for the past few weeks, had spoken only a handful of words with Dick since Operation Honey Pot had begun.

They were waiting for Crowne to go get the surprise he had special ordered for Drake from an acquaintance

He tended to stare at him whenever he was around. Sometimes Dick didn't think Drake would even blink. It felt a little like Drake was starstruck by Dick- but he couldn't figure out what he had done to earn such rapture from Drake.

Other times, Drake would study him the same way a scientist would study a newly discovered bug- fascinated but weary, as though he didn't know if it was dangerous. So the scientist needed to pin the bug to a board and take it apart to understand it.

It sort of made Dick uneasy.

The night Crowne had brought him back, Drake happily played some video games while his babysitter- a sweet college student named Nancy- had been working on her assignment at the table.

Drake had turned to greet Crowne and had promptly choked on his own spit at the sight of Dick. Crowne had run off to cook them a meal, insisting Nancy finish her homework and not worry as he cooked.

She had smiled gratefully, turning back to her books while Drake had been rooted by the tv, with the most awe-struck expression Dick had ever seen.

Dick is a little surprised by how well Crowne treats Nancy Salazar.

Nancy is studying to be a pediatric occupational therapist. She adores children and is fascinated by the physical therapist aspect of the medical field.

Dick had learned that Nancy had been struggling to pay her Gotham University tuition after losing her job to a rouge attacking her workplace and the company deciding they needed to make budget cuts to complete the repairs.

She had also fallen behind on her bills due to her father suffering a medical emergency and the family pooling together what little they had to help him get life-saving surgery.

Her dad had been the family's primary provider for as long as Nancy could remember. Since neither of her parents could speak English, they had limited employment options. Nancy's siblings were all younger then than her, so they couldn't help much with the bills.

She had tried to take over as the eldest daughter, but soon it became apparent she was close to losing the house her parents had left their home country for to build a better future for their children. It devastated her.

She had been on the brink of becoming desperate for any job when she had run into Crowne at a wifi-cafe shop. She had seen Tim struggling to get through the door with his wheelchair and had gone to help him. (the child had seen internet videos of parkour and chosen to attempt the tricks himself. He had broken his leg from jumping from one roof to another.)

Her kind actions got Crowne attention, and he invited her to sit with them, then witnessed her have a meltdown when the owner of the cafe told her he had just filled the barista position she had come for an interview for.

It must have all piled up until Nancy couldn't hold back.

Crowne and Drake had consulted her, listening to her woes. After she calmed down, the two adults exchanged contact information to get to know each other. He had offered a babysitting job with complete benefits and a full-ride scholarship. Crowne had even gone far and beyond, paying off all her father's medical expenses and debts.

Dick knew all this because he had done a background check on her to see if she was involved in Crowne's schemes. Her story felt just a tab bit too far fetch for all the good fortune of meeting Crowne that fateful day.

She even admitted that she was sure she would have resorted to a life of crime with how desperate she had been back then.

When she came back clean- just the eldest daughter of immigrants trying to make it in this hellish city- Dick had thought Crowne was infatuated with her.

Nancy was a very attractive young lady, and it would not be the first time a rich man took advantage of a woman in finical distress. He hadn't found evidence yet, but Dick would keep an eye on her to ensure she was safe.

Her involvement was a lot easier to dismiss than it was for Drake.

"You and Danny are dating. He told me last night." Drake says after about half an hour of Scientist-looking-at-bug staring.

Dick throws on his best Wanye smile, making sure it's both charming and besotted. "Yes. We've agreed to become official. I hope you don't mind."

Drake tilts his head, looking ironically enough like a bird. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On what your intentions with Danny are." Drake puts down his Crowne laptop, which Danny had been programming and designing back when they started talking. The design is still the slimmest Dick had ever seen, small enough that it sat comfortably in Drake's school back and robust enough that it worked for all his gaming and photo developing.

It took Crowne about two months to complete what he called "modern," but it wouldn't be out to the rest of the public until Christmas when Crowne planned to reveal it to raise profits as high as possible.

The only reason Drake was allowed to have a model so early was simply that Crowne obviously saw him as a younger brother and sometimes maybe even a son. Dick certainly pick that up in the two-month undercover mission.

He must win over Drake as soon as possible for the sake of the mission. So far, he's come up with nothing incriminating, but more kids have disappeared. If the other boy can't stand him, it will seriously risk his access to Crowne's home and any clues on the missing children.

"I want to give him the life he deserves." Dick settles on. He's noticed that Drake is crazy intelligent. There was no reason to outright lie and get caught if the boy was smart enough to connect the dots.

"Danny deserves the world." Drake nods, stating the words like a fact. "Whatever you searching for, you won't find here."

What?

"Do you not want me to date Danny?"

Drake pauses, carefully turning the question in his head before answering. "I want someone to date Danny because they like him"

"I do like him."

"Do you?" Drake's eyes are practically ice, and Dick gets the sense he just walked into a trap. Carefully, he double-taps his left belt loop sending a warning sound to the Batcave. They won't pull him out yet, but it will have either Babs or Jason nearby in gear, just in case.

A soft click is heard from his right earring, and he knows Alfred is listening.

"I really do." He says in a warm voice.

Drake seems skeptical.

"Danny always had people falling for him. I had to tell him Jenny Wilson wasn't asking him for a private tour of his kitchen when she tried to get him to bring her back to the penthouse. He honestly thought she cared about his grape peeler. He's like that, you know? Though thoughtful, caring, kind, intelligent, and strong, Danny can't see that people generally think he's what they would want in a romantic partner. I think he was bullied a lot as a kid before his adoption, and it's ruined his ability to see his worth."

Dick tries not to scowl. Yes, he's suspected the same thing. He just hopes it's not why Crowne has inflicted so much pain.

He can't stand people who use bullying as an excuse. It doesn't justify anything they do, it also demonizes the victims, and they get too scared to report what they are going through. ''I can't claim to not be like the other people because I don't know them. I know myself, and I can promise that every inch of me wants to see Danny living the life he deserves."

Whatever Drake is going to say gets cut off by Crowne walking back from the elevator carrying a box. "Tim, come look!"

He settles the box on the coffee table, so Drake can reach over and open it. There is a small gasp of delight from the boy as he pulls out a well-done Robin hoodie. It's not over the top like most Robin merch, but it's not subtle either. It's so nicely done. Dick can even tell it's based on Jason rather than him.

The second Robin is Drake's favorite. The teen prices it by holding it up and cheering, "Oh my gosh! I love it, I love it! Where did you get this!?"

"One of Nancy's friends is majoring in fashion design. She overheard me say I wanted to get the second Robin merch that wasn't a blatant grab for money, and she had her friend draw up some designs. I will sponsor her and sell her work in our stores."

Crowne is wearing a Robin hoodie of his own, but this one is based on Dick, and for a moment, his heart soars at the sight of Crowne in his family colors. It's a dangerous thing.

He knows one of the pitfalls of undercover work is getting too attached to the lies. He couldn't allow himself to actually fall for someone like Danny Crowne. Nothing good would come out of it once he saw him jailed for everything he's done.

He hasn't gotten anything to show Crowne's crimes, but Bruce had enough proof for the shell companies doing strange and dangerous experiments.

They needed to figure out what the experiments were attempting to do. Still, they found small clues: systematics showed weapons that didn't intend to harm humans, half-erased research on "eco-energy," what looked like machines attempting to rip holes in reality, and glowing green liquid that made Bruce pale when Jason brought back a simple.

It made Dick angry that the liquid prompted his ex-mentor to contact Talia al Ghul to ask, but she claimed to know nothing of Danny Crowne. Bruce felt she was lying, so after asking Wonder Woman and Superman for help, the big three went to Nanda Parbat to look for clues.

Dick wasn't sure what they found, but Bruce had a surprise for him back at the cave once he finished visiting his "boyfriend."

They could take down Crowne Co. with what they did have, but there was a chance Crowne could claim that his scientists went rogue and let them take the fall. Also, they didn't have any names of the scientists. It was like the invisible man was conducting them on his own.

Dick had to wait a little longer. See the big plan and unravel it so everything can never be rebuilt.

Yes, he's only seen a good man who may be socially awkward once you get past his regal composure, and his speech may be a bit too formal. A passionate inventor who always tried to find a new ways to improve people's lives, especially in medicine.

A man who cooked because he liked feeding people.

A man who offered a helping hand because his parents were often mocked for their careers- Dick suspected they may have been prostitutes based on the small comments of people thinking "it wasn't real jobs and they should be ashamed for themselves"- but most of all, Dick found a man who seemed lonely.

Someone lost after life displaced him, desperately trying to find himself again. It made Dick feel better knowing someone like him was doing the same.

"What is your opinion, Dick?" Crowne asks, doing a slight turn. Dic can't fight the urge to lean in for a quick kiss, telling himself it was all for the mission and the butterflies he felt in his stomach were terrible indigestion.

Crowne smiled into the kiss, pressing a second one on Dick's lips before leaning back, looking a little flustered still, and over his shoulder, he saw Drake's eyes narrow.

Maybe the kid was jealous?

He didn't know, but he better keeps an eye on Tim Drake. Something told him not to underestimate that boy.

"I got you a Nightwing too. The first Robin and Nightwing are one of my favorite heroes. They make me feel safe. I know I shouldn't worry with them guarding me at night." Crowne says, and Dick fights hard not to flinch.

You have no reason to feel guilt. It's for the mission.

He hopes he finds proof soon.

(Part 1), (part 2)

#dc x dp crossover #The adoptive son #Part 3 #Death Defying #Tim is catching on that Nightwing may be playing with his brother's heart #Nancy is just another person luckly enough to be under Phantom's protection #Can you guess what bruce found?#Dick is starting to catch feelings

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spiderboogie · 2 days

Text

eleven pm.

kenji sato. (+ female reader)

---

watched ultraman: rising and now I'm here (help).

p.s. this is unedited and unserious. also, this isn't, like, an intense romance story? (oops). it's kind of a slowburn? any feedback is appreciated!

---

“Hold still.”

It’s eleven in the evening, and, unfortunately, you’re still on the job. Since the season’s just kicked off, you’re in for a ride. Practices to monitor as early as five in the morning, check-ins to do with each player in the afternoon, paperwork to fill out, coaches and doctors to meet with, and now, apparently, on-call work. How many hours has it been since you had a cup of coffee? Or even a real meal? Regardless, the caffeine’s definitely worn off now.

You sigh as you rummage through your backpack of supplies. As your tired eyes search for what you need, another pair follows your every move. Your patient sits in front of you on his large couch as you examine his injured shoulder. In pain and restricted to sitting still, his only option is to watch you work.

He didn’t mean to call you here, especially so late. After the Kaiju attack, as Mina diagnosed, his rotator cuff was in bad shape. Although he insisted he was okay, Mina was quick to suggest calling for help. You have a game tomorrow, Ken. Although I can diagnose you, my robotic arms can only do so much. I’ll call the physical therapist. Ken protested to no end, and continued to, until you arrived, standing on his doorstep, ready to help.

As he opened his door, he prepared himself to politely refuse your help. It’s a mistake, he’d said. One of my buddies was just playing a prank, he nervously laughed. As if. After hearing his obvious lies, you gave him a curt bow and agreed to assist him as quickly as possible before asking him to lead the way. Out of options, Kenji opened his door and led you to his living room.

Now, you’re here. After finding what you need, you carefully apply ointment to his shoulder. Your touch is soft, cautious. Not rough, not inappropriate. Careful. Caring. He almost falls asleep right there. Unlike Mina, you’re warm to the touch. It’s weird.

You feel his eyes on you as you spread the ointment on his shoulder. It’s a little pressuring. Ken Sato, the newest member of the Giants team, a world renowned baseball prodigy, in all of his glory, sits still, quiet, under your hands. It’s different from how he was when you first met--a flashy smile and a confident laugh. He was a talented, self-assured man. He never bothered himself with others, not even his teammates. You’ve never spoken to him properly, despite being his physical therapist, up until this point. Even if you were called here, you don’t think he really remembers your name.

His house is quiet. All you can hear is his slow breathing and your concentrated breaths. The lights in his living room remain low, and you can see the moonlight reflecting off of the floor. It’s quiet, it’s intimidating, it’s oddly…intimate.

You finish applying the ointment over the injured area, and move to work on bandaging it up. As you begin to wrap his shoulder, you see his brows furrow in pain before he moves to hang his head to the side.

“...Sorry. It’ll be a minute,” you mumble, wincing internally at the sight of his pain.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says,”I’m good.” He whispers the last part, a little strained.

You continue to wrap his shoulder with the bandage, tight enough to be secure, but not enough to be uncomfortable. When you’re finished, you feel him let out a breath. Without thinking, you pat the bandaged area softly,”All done. I’ll get your compression sleeve on and then you can rest.”

At that, Kenji lifts his head to look at you.

For the first time, you look at each other properly. Your eyes widen slightly at the sudden eye contact, but Kenji doesn’t waver. His eyes, lidded and tired, stare up into yours with odd intensity. You’re still holding onto his shoulder when you realize that you’re almost nose to nose with him. You pull back slightly, slipping your hand off of his shoulder, and almost tumble backwards. But before you think of falling, Kenji grabs your wrist and pulls you back into place. He doesn’t linger, removing his hand as soon as you’re safe.

You look at him, he looks at you. You look away, he doesn’t.

You gather yourself as quickly as you can, lightly clearing your throat, before you look through your bag for the compression sleeve. You feel a little uncomfortable, but there’s something else. It’s probably the lighting or the silence or the proximity at which you sit from each other. A strange feeling creeps up on you, but you can’t identify it.

You’ve found the compression sleeve, tucked towards the bottom of the bag. While you bring it out, the short silence between you breaks.

“I’m…sorry.”

Immediately, you lock eyes with Kenji, confused.

“What for?”

He looks to the side and falters before saying,”For calling you out here. It’s really late.”

Your confused expression doesn’t leave your face. Instead, it deepens. Was he that worried about bothering you? That’s a surprise. If anything, you thought he was annoyed with you for being here. And, anyhow, regardless of how irritated you may have been when you first arrived, you know it’s a part of your job. It’s your job to take care of the team, overtime pay or not.

“Don’t be sorry, Sato. If I seemed irritated, I apologize. It’s my job. You have a game tomorrow, so I understand.”

You then try to brighten the mood, just a little. “Besides, Shimura will have my head if you’re not fixed in time. I already don’t get paid much as is.”

You can see some of the guilt leave his eyes as his eyes twinkle in slight amusement. You smile slightly, lopsided. You resume your task, fitting the compression sleeve onto Kenji’s shoulder, securing it tight against his frame.

“Take these painkillers and ice the area when you feel discomfort. Try not to sleep on your injured side, and let me know if something comes up,” you say, as you pack your things back into your bag, preparing to leave. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” you check your watch,”in about, uh, six hours anyway. Any questions?” You feel bad about the little time he has to rest.

Kenji slips his shirt back on, careful not to move his shoulder too much, before giving you a small smile. “No questions. Thanks…uh…”

He pauses to look at you, a questioning expression, before you realize. You look to the side in slight disbelief, although you kind of already expected this. He doesn’t remember your name. In slight exasperation, you tell him your name, softly, followed by your title, with a little more confidence.

“If you can’t remember, just call me ‘physical therapist’. Or PT. For short, I guess.” You try to give a small laugh, even though you feel weirdly hurt by the suggestion (despite making it yourself).

“No, no. I’ve got it. I’m sorry for not remembering.” Kenji purses his lips and gives you a serious look. For some reason, you believe him. You hold on to his unofficial promise, and you give him a small smile.

“Alright, then. Since you’re good, I’m off. I’ll see you.”

You stand up, backpack in tow, and make your way to the front door. Although his house is impossibly large, it’s not hard to miss the enormous front door that’s a few steps past the living room. As you slip on your shoes and grab the door to leave, Kenji calls your name.

Surprised, you turn to face him. “Yes, Sato?”

One hand scratches the back of his neck, while another’s tucked into his pocket. He looks at you with an expression you can’t read.

“I’ll see you later.” He bids you farewell, your name hanging off his tongue. It’s tender, the way he says it. It’s not overly affectionate, but not formal either. You smile at him one last time and head out.

You hear the door close behind you, and you let out a breath. It’s well past one, you’re exhausted, but, you think, the drive home won’t be that bad.

---

#ultraman rising #kenji sato #ken sato #kenji sato x reader #ken sato x reader #kenji sato x you #kenji sato x y/n #kenji sato fluff #ultraman

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mejomonster · 1 year

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Chapter 150. So secondly, so much info on Fei Du. He disassociates so much from his own feelings, he's very numb to his own feelings. It's interesting, in that he thinks he operates completely on logic but emotions clearly influence his choices and actions its just he is barely even aware they ARE influencing his decisions. I do wonder if someone asked him why he doesn't kill, what he thinks the reason is. While I do THINK there's a reason and so far I don't personally think it's solely Luo Wenzhous influence as far as why he didn't become like the Zhou or Wei kids... I also think Fei Du might not be aware of why emotionally he is so driven to revenge for people who were harmed, to help protect people, to not harm others. But obviously he's driven to not harm, something possessed him to want to self harm to such an extensive degree as to Try and condition himself to respond with nausea and fear of pain when contemplating hurting someone or something. He must be really terrified of indulging such innate desire to be cruel, to go to such awful lengths to Try and train himself to NOT be that way.

Luo Wenzhou asked fei du why he saved Luo wenzhou. I should go back to that conversation. But like... despite whatever he answered, I wonder if fei du really realizes the depth of why he saved Luo wenzhou from the bomb. Of how deeply he does Care. It's like a cop said once of worrying fei du was the type with such a Strong sense of justice he'd go vigilante kill, and it's like Xiao haiyang being That Type and paralleling him... fei du does Care strongly, but he's not even fully aware of how much that influences his actions. Strangers can pick up on it even, but he can't. He's so disconnected from himself. You don't self harm in such intense fear of yourself hurting others, unless you're terrified of hurting others and terrified of losing control of yourself. He doesn't touch that Terror in his conscious thoughts, thats How terrified he is of it. Terrified enough to convince himself such actions are rational and logical and don't imply something seriously emotionally fucked at play spurring the action. Terrified enough his mind blocked out bits of that basement. There's a lot of trauma he copes with by being numb to his own feelings so he isn't overwhelmed by that Terror and feel of lack of control over who he is, over his impulses, over his past still haunting him. But it also means a numbness to the current present emotions that Are driving him but he just isn't really able to fully notice Because he copes by staying out of touch with his feelings. So even though they do affect him, he can't address it much. I thought at one point in his pov parts in the novel that maybe he just chose to ignore acknowledging the emotional aspect driving him, but now at chapter 150 I think he's actually just really unaware of it. I mean, makes sense, I was that way at 21-22 too. Took a lot of therapy to even know what i felt again. And his self harm and traumatizing himself more with that, to punish himself painfully FOR what to him was an instinctive trait from young to harm others/be okay with cruelty, is definitely feeding into the whole aspect of him afraid of himself. Enemies with himself. Unable to grasp which self is the self he feels is him now, that it's the same self actually and that the abuse at himself is self hatred and fear. There's just... so much to go into.

He was terrified of losing Luo wenzhou, and recently of losing Tao Ran, and he isn't able to recognize his emotions enough to know that. He's too disconnected and constantly reinforcing the disconnection by doing what's logical when any event happens, ignoring if he responds emotionally at any point, and insisting to himself he does not have those emotional internal reactions (that do occur). I wonder to a degree, if partly he cuts off his own awareness of his emotions because he's terrified of feeling loss again (his mom), terrified of feeling trapped again (his dads comtrol rhen becoming who his dad wanted and desiring things like his dad did), terrified of feeling weak again (at the Mercy of being what father wanted and now at the mercy of rhe shadow org that killed his dad and many others), terrified of being outside his own control (when he does enjoy cruelty or feel an urge to harm does he feel like his father is Still controlling him since he turned him into this), terrified of his own passion (his mom abused because dad "loved" her and his father "loving" cruelty and power getting him killed and fei du fearing if he feels love and desires power he'll do something just as fucked up and lose his loved one and lose his own power and life). There is SO much fei du fears will happen if he feels emotions, so he does as much as he can to ignore when he does feel them, convince himself he doesn't feel any, and numb himself to whatever he does feel so he can't recognize it.

(I do think personally fei du Cannot feel empathy for others, that angle he often argues... though you could argue he's wrong and his dad made him just think he couldn't understand others emotions. But if we believe fei du is right, and say he's like the protagonist guy in Flower of Evil kdrama, that doesn't mean he can't feel internally his own shit. The not feeling internal stuff is his own numbness and dissassociation to cope. That also doesn't mean he can't choose to want to help people, which he clearly has decided to do now although I'm still debating when and why he came to such a decision. Even if you argued he helps people out of selfish motivation, he said something to convince the people in his own secret organization that he would get revenge for them, enough for them to want to die for him. I think he does have some kind of sense of vigilante justice at least to a degree to convince people to his mission so thoroughly.)

Anyway my point is. Fei Du dissassociates and numbs from his own emotions. And the chapter 150 scenes are really fascinating in seeing a moment in time when he isn't quite Aware he's feeling stuff and that affects his actions, but the fact he IS numb and doesn't notice his emotions driving him causes HIM a blind spot. Just like Luo Wenzhous part of the chapter is about his blind spot of trusting people he loves to not do harm, Fei Du has a blind spot of not noticing when his own emotions affect his actions and decisions and memories. This chapter is the "blindspot" chapter, you could perhaps say. Fei Du draws a graph to try and figure out what's going on in his own mind, unaware of his own feelings so struggling to be able to map all of the factors affecting his own dreams and memories. With the help of the graph and thought process, recognizing at least that SOMETHING terrified him. Something terrified him in the memory he can't recall, and Tao Rans accident reminded him of it.

(Which like it's a sad scene and all but also it's kind of funny to me like... fei du you are THOROUGHLY motivated by Terror. Honey... you could've used a therapist to maybe recognize this in the many years you went ToT instead I'm guessing you just found ways to better numb yourself to your own emotions, thereby making the blind spot worse. I know you're afraid of your own feelings and the huge loss of control you fear happens if you feel them but baby... you can't make them Stop scaring you until you can... process them and work through them. And you just delayed all that until idk you finally decide to. When you had a good therapist ToT. I'm gonna go on a limb and assume his dad was very ANTI trauma therapy, and very PRO operant conditioning and abusing literally everyone. Fei Du baby I'm sorry you had to deal with that. Anyway.... my point is Fei Du is very motivated by his fears, it's one of the easiest ways until I'm proven otherwise to track his motives. Beginning of the novel, why the fuck would he seriously pursue Tao Ran when he doesn't love Tao ran, doesn't "love" anyone, is a playboy, isn't even marriage age, wants to infiltrate the cops but there's SO many easier ways like the university plan which he does later and Tao Ran is STRAIGHT. Logic would dictate pursuing seriously Lang Qiao, or Luo Wenzhou if he could get away with it, or just doing his intern plan. But he's afraid of exactly what he told Therapist Bai: losing what he considers his approximation of a family now that he's setting his secret plot in motion. Tao Ran and Luo Wenzhou are that family. Luo Wenzhou only fights with him, and fei du likewise only fights back and fears Luo Wenzhou will abandon him SOON and partly out of self sabotage and partly out of desperation to be worth Luo wenzhous trust, fei du keeps hinting his plot RIGHT AT LUO WENZHOU. That's sure not logical! That's dumb as shit! But fei dus emotions want him to be worth Luo wenzhous trust, and want Luo wenzhous approval and "family home connection." And in contrast his intense self hatred wants Luo wenzhou to abandon him sooner. Judge him asap. He cant just bite his tongue and fully lie to Luo wenzhou. His emotions are too desperate. Then comes Tao Ran: he's a way to maintain closeness to fei dus "family" he doesn't want to lose, Tao Ran won't date him either so it won't risk getting too close emotionally which fei du fears, and fei du can enjoy Luo wenzhou competing with him and not Only rejecting him, for a few more months. Pursuing Tao Ran is very emotional fear motivated. Logically it wasn't needed. Logically every single dumbass fight with Luo wenzhou was a bad idea (and fei du knows Luo Wenzhou is good at making him open up and be vulnerable so it was extra stupid to KEEP talking to him).

But emotionally fei du wanted to be near them until his plan ruined those connections. Just like emotionally, one of my favorite scenes, fei dus fear is why he grabs Luo Wenzhous hand in the car and holds it. He turns it to a flirt ploy later, but ultimately the reason he grabs Luo Wenzhous hand is emotional support. Is a rare moment he let the emotions go and let them be soothed, with the only person he feels safe to let them out with. Maybe he feels Luo wenzhou can hold him and his terrors and help him ride though them, maybe he feels in a self hating way that the awful fears he can't ultimately control will destroy their relationship and he lets those fears come out to get that self fulfilled abandonment. But Luo wenzhou never does abandon him. (And oh that's a rich area to explore... fei dus emotions when he held Luo wenzhous hand).

Fei du is absolutely driven by fear, of himself and his own feelings and what they'll cause. He clutches onto his loved ones because he's also contrastingly very afraid HE'S going to be the reason he loses them. He doesn't realize he has loved ones (and maybe that's also out of a fear if he Loves them consciously he will hurt them like his dad hurt his mom so he tries to disconnect from love too), but his desperation to have them and protect them From himself drive him. His fears about his own past, who he was, who he is now, who he might he if he doesn't beat himself brutally and torture impulses he's scared out out of himself and constantly crush down any emotions he notices and constantly FEAR when Luo Wenzhou makes him open up and feel vulnerable and Constantly put on an act and Put Up Walls both to others and inside himself against himself. Its just. He is only vaguely aware Terror drives his nightmares (and this Tao ran nightmare is far from the only one he has... he has nearly constant nightmares). Even though its a huge factor in everything he does.

Quotes below:

He was the one who’d bought it, not expecting that he’d use it only a couple of times before it became the tool of an individual surnamed Luo.—Before, Luo Wenzhou had simply been long-winded; now, in the midst of his jabbering, he also wanted to sum up all the trifling analyses in that jabbering, hanging them up on the whiteboard, accomplishing an omnidirectional exhortation directed at Fei Du’s eyes and ears; it was very deranged.

Luo Wenzhou really had been a little fretful that night, Fei Du had felt it, but it hadn’t amounted to anger. But in the end Fei Du hadn’t clearly worked out whether he’d really coaxed him out of it. Because of this, perhaps he’d kept thinking it over in his dream, and his dream for some reason had made a big fuss over a minor issue, enlarging this slight concern.

People’s consciousness and memories hid very complicated projections and very subtle distortions. Surface logic and unconscious logic seemed to use different languages. Although Fei Du considered himself very open towards himself, it was still hard for him to objectively decipher that day’s series of dreams, which was stuck like a fishbone in his throat.

Generally speaking, a dream that could startle someone awake must have touched some deep-seated anxiety and fear.

But Fei Du had examined himself, and he believed that he didn’t have anxieties; fears were out of the question. For him, “fear” was like a celebrity on TV—he knew such a person existed, could see them every day on the screen, but as for how they looked in reality and what their temper and disposition were like…he had no way to judge.

He hadn’t felt that he’d been in any way not calm when he’d heard the news of Tao Ran being taken to the hospital. The car crash had already happened, and only the doctors could remedy that; it had nothing to do with him. Fei Du remembered he had only spent the whole journey considering the sequence of events.

Could it be that “Tao Ran being injured” had been a huge source of stress for him, going so deep that it had touched some deeper and more intense thing in his memories?

In his dream, Tao Ran, who had been hit by a car, had appeared with his face showing signs of asphyxiation. So following that line of reasoning, an asphyxiated face was something else in his memories…but where had he seen it?

He’d determined to return to his old house to have a look at the basement. He had passed a lightless childhood there, borne the correction of electric shock and medication countless times, even witnessed his mother’s death. Fei Du truly couldn’t understand why there would be a flaw in his memory of the time he’d snuck into the basement.

#silent reading #modu #lb #meta #fei du #its funny like me and fei du age 22 wouldve absolutely fought each other to the death but ALSO it wouldnt have mattered #cause both of us would be fighting Ourselves to the death and thats way worse ToT #fei du is constantly internally and literally physically externally trying to fight and defeat himself and #of course thats an impossible task #its funny that like. luo wenzhous pov will omit things sometimes or shit talk fei du #but then later you find out lwz is emotionally mature and fully aware of what he omitted earlier and very thlughtfully #contemplating it level headed. and that for all the fei du internal talk its just shit talking exageration #but then u go into fei dus pov parts of the novel #and its like damn... oh no son... u literally also arent aware #u didnt just OMIT it. you full on do NOT know ToT #(he knows about his plot he omits of course. but not his own feelings)#and its like thank fuck you met luo wenzhou whos got the emotional knowledge to deal with you and talk you through shit #and whos way more insistent and aware of you then ur therapists

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antianakin · 9 days

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Regarding Codywan; which one of the pair do you think would be more likely to fail at self-care, forcing the other to get them into bed, insist they take a break from the planning table and so on?

Cody. 1000% Cody.

For one, Cody is simply younger than Obi-Wan and so is going to have less experience in general, but he's also led an IMMENSELY sheltered life that was full of lots of strict routines that didn't allow him to do much of anything beyond what the Kaminoans allowed him to do. And there is no indication that one of those things the clones were taught was good mental health practices. In fact, you could argue that we have evidence they were explicitly NOT taught mental health practices since I think they tell us in TCW that the clones were told they'd had regular stress somehow engineered out of them. If the Kaminoans believed that, then presumably they wouldn't have felt the need to teach the clones how to effectively HANDLE stress beyond just... pushing through it to complete the objective/mission.

Cody is an incredibly competent person who seems to be pretty steady in a crisis, for sure, but I think he's primarily steady IN SPECIFIC SITUATIONS, all of which relate to battles and war and dealing with authorities. Take him out of that situation and he's probably going to struggle a little more with understanding the parameters of what's expected of him. He'd pick that kind of thing up VERY quickly, but it seems like something all of the clones would have to learn after leaving Kamino. Basic things like how to go shopping or going out to eat, even going to a club and the expectations for the social interactions in those places is going to have a learning curve.

I also think that the clones are probably going to be fairly good at managing physical health because maintaining their ability to do their jobs in that way would likely be something the Kaminoans would have kept in mind, but managing their emotional and mental health would be something entirely new. Like I said, they have been led to believe they don't experience stress and all of its related problems, so understanding what they feel and the best ways to handle it are going to be completely beyond them.

And this is where the Jedi can come in. They're literally intergalactic therapists, this is their bread and butter. Helping the clones understand what they're feeling and how to best manage what's happening to them would likely be one of the first building blocks of trust between the two groups. But there's obviously one Jedi among potentially THOUSANDS of troopers, so they probably start by passing along advice to a few of the higher ranked troopers and hope that it trickles down through the other men. And this could easily lead to some bonding between Obi-Wan and Cody, with Obi-Wan recognizing when Cody is pushing himself too far for too long and learning his tells for when he's tired but can go a little longer vs when he's basically dead on his feet and SHOULDN'T go any longer, or when he's in a mood to listen to advice from someone about getting rest vs when he's in a mental place where that's just not going to be taken well and might actually cause Cody to push himself even harder.

I'll also point out that, despite popular fandom characterization, Obi-Wan really doesn't show any inclination to push himself beyond what he can handle in canon. In what I think is season one of TCW, there's a moment somewhere between Obi-Wan and Anakin where Obi-Wan asks ANAKIN if he's slept and can tell that Anakin hasn't, implying that Obi-Wan probably HAS slept despite the stress of the situation. And then there's Landing at Point Rain where Obi-Wan gets badly injured and proceeds to sit through the majority of the battle. He only gets up ONCE, when it seems like their defenses are about to be broken and he has absolutely no other choice but to fight, and then as soon as reinforcements arrive he immediately sits back down again and STAYS seated even through Anakin and Ahsoka arriving, their mission debrief, and being treated by a medic. Everyone else literally has to gather around him because he refuses to move from his seated position. He never tries to get up and fight when he doesn't have to nor does he seem to avoid or refuse medical aid once it's available. At the end, he keeps leaning on Anakin and Ki-Adi-Mundi as he is led to a ship that will take him away from the field so he can get MORE medical aid and doesn't seem to be refusing that, either.

Even in the context of the films, during the fight with Dooku where he gets badly injured, he stays DOWN after that and lets Anakin handle the fight instead because he knows that trying to get up and keep fighting would just be a distraction. And it isn't that he CAN'T get up, we see him stand up and limp away later, but that there would be very little point in him trying to do so. And he doesn't seem to be trying to hide his injuries after the battle's over, either, he's very obviously limping and holding his arm.

Which isn't to say that Obi-Wan couldn't occasionally choose to pull all nighters if he felt it necessary for one reason or another, or that he would NEVER push himself through pain or exhaustion in certain situations, but I don't think that the fandom characterization of him as someone who can barely take care of himself and constantly hides injuries and avoids medical attention to the point of literally causing himself further harm is consistent with how he's actually shown in canon. We don't ever get to see Cody react to being injured, but given what we know of the clones' upbringing, it just makes more sense to me that Cody would struggle with pushing himself beyond what he SHOULD and with managing his own emotions.

#star wars #commander cody #obi-wan kenobi #codywan #jedi #clone troopers

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live-love-be-unique · 6 months

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Misery’s your master

Summary: After an emotionally and physically draining mission Ghost finds you alone at the barracks.

This is my first attempt at writing angst, please be gentle!

Parings: Ghost x f reader

Warnings: mentions of death.

The mission should have been routine. Except intel had mentioned nothing about hostages; women and children that the cartel had locked in the warehouse. You’d tried to open the door before Gaz had shouted that it was rigged with explosives, and someone grabbed you, pulling you away just before the explosives were detonated. Killing all inside.

You’d been back on base for over a week now and everyone was treating you with kid gloves. Soap had tried to check in with you but at that point you were so sick of everyone asking how you were that you took a swing at him, after that Price insisted it was time that you speak to the base therapist. It wasn’t a bad idea, you hadn’t eaten or slept in days; the nights were the worst, you stayed awake replaying scenarios in your head, hearing the explosion over and over again.

For the first time in a week you had left your room, making your way to the mess hall and taking a seat as far towards the back of the room as you could find. Pulling your hood over your head and trying to eat something, anything that you could keep down, you felt the eyes of your teammates burning into you.

The hall suddenly became too much. The lights were too bright, the sounds and the voices overlapping each other was overwhelming. Your blood pounded in your ears, heart thudding in your chest. You had to get away. You couldn’t stay in that damned room anymore. With your breath heaving in your lungs, you push your way through the door and make your way towards a terrace at the end of the hallway. Standing in the open feeling the cold air against your skin you gasp, visions of civilians; of the women and children you couldn’t save replaying in your mind. Your hands trembled as you pull your lighter out of your jacket pocket. Clicking the lighter as hard as you can, it wouldn’t light. Frustrated, you sigh around the cigarette between your lips.

“Thought you didn’t smoke” a deep voice came from beside you. Glancing over you spot Ghost leaning against the railing, holding his own lighter under the cigarette still dangling from your lips.

“I don’t, generally” you mutter, inhaling and blowing the smoke into the night air. Watching for a moment, the way the smoke rings curled through the sky.

“How are you?” He questioned, pocketing his lighter.

“Nothing a shower and a good night’s sleep can’t fix” you shrug, avoiding his eyes.

He stared at you, “I’m going to ask you again how you are and I would like you to answer me honestly”

You don’t answer, turning your eyes back to the stars as you take a shaky breath. A warm pressure settles across your hand, looking down you see Ghost’s gloved hand resting atop yours. You let it settle there, his thumb tracing circles on your skin, anchoring your body as you took a shaky breath “I can’t get it out of my head, I can hear them screaming for me to help them. I should have…”

“Come on” He grunted, stepping back from the railing.

“What?”

“Hit me”

“I’m not going to hit you”

“You wanted to take a swing at something. You took a shot at Soap the other day” Ghost shrugged.

You stared at each other for a moment before you balled your fist and struck Ghost in the chest. “Again” he said.

Ghost kept saying “again” as he let he you hit him until you were gasping for breath and fat, heavy tears streaked down your face. You drew back your fist for one final hit but Ghost easily caught it; pulling you close against his chest as he held you tight, one large hand securely against your back holding you firmly against him and the other cradling the back of your head.

“The door was rigged. You were never going to get it open, the cartel had eyes on it the whole time. They wanted us in the warehouse when they blew it up” his voice was low and deep, you could feel his breath against your ear. “You tried to free them. Remember that, hold on to that”

You don’t know how long the two of you stood there like that. He let you cling onto him like a life raft as you cried out everything you had.

“…Thank you” you mumbled, pulling away whipping at your eyes with your sleeve. A door opened and the two of you watched as a group of recruits spilled out of the doorway.

“Don’t blame yourself for what happened” Ghost said, his eyes boring into yours.

“I’ll…I’m trying”

Ghost’s eyes soften at your response, you can hear him breathe out one word, with all the kindness in the world.

There is something so comforting about the simple phrase.

“Good,” he says quietly.

His hand moves to your face, to gently trace the skin on your cheek. A tiny muscle by Ghost’s jaw twitches as he watches you.

Almost as if he is suddenly realized what he was doing, his hand drops from your face and he steps back, glancing towards the door where the recruits came from.

“Make sure you eat something” he said before turning and heading towards his room. You stood alone in the dark for a moment before returning to the mess hall, a small plate of food in front of you almost as if Ghost’s words were the balm your soul needed.

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod ghost #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader angst

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kiwanopie · 2 years

Text

Physical Therapy

boyfriend!kiyoomi part V!! smut smut smut but also fluff and a little bit of dom!reader. mommy is used (1) once but not by kiyoomi. minors do not interact.

Your voice comes out airily. A little frayed, a little frustrated.

“Thank god for HIPAA laws because I swear,” You run your fingers through Kiyoomi’s hair. “These mothers wouldn’t know autonomy if I smacked them in the back of the head with it.”

“Mhm.”

“I mean, one of my clients’ mother’s been mass emailing all week trying to get me to hint to her ‘troubled son’ that his panic attacks have been putting a “massive strain” on her recently-“

“Hm…”

“Like no wonder these kids have such a hard time opening up at home, their - ah - parents have a skewed understanding of what real priorities are!”

“Hm- Mhm.”

You scoff. God, he loves it when you get all psychiatric but there’s like no blood flowing to his head right now. “I swear, It’s like some of these parents drop their kids off at my office and expect me to program them into becoming… hm… be-…coming their ideal child…! My best guess is half of these adults should consider - fuck - seeking out a therapist themsel- ohh my god…”

Your hips drunkenly rock into his face from where he’s got your hips all but pinned against him. Rough fingers gripping so tightly into your work skirt that they audibly creak against the fabric, and if not for the running volleyball game playing on half volume behind you, you’re certain that the room would be filled with the sodden sounds of his sloppy tongue; digging you out while you complain about your workload this week. Kiyoomi was already springing into action the moment he saw you slump your way out of his genkan and straight to the ice cream stash in the kitchen. So quick on your heels that he could barely bother to pause the game he was re-watching.

Call it a love language. After last month when he moped his way into your humble flat to complain to you about some contract changes with his current sponsor. Something about more media interaction, that and he was gonna have to DIY a few ads for them on his social media. He could barely get a few words out before you were nuzzling your nose against his zipper. Lovingly rubbing up his thighs as you insisted he got all his frustrations out.

“A-All my frustrations out? You want me to…?”

You guide his hand until he’s grazing the short hairs on the top of your neck. “Be as rough with me as you need, baby. I’m here for you.”

Kiyoomi’s moans are muffled by the squish of your thighs. Who’s getting more out of this? He couldn’t say. But if the way his eyes roll when your fingers dig into his scalp should say anything, he might be safe calling it 50/50.

Your lips part as one of his free hands pull at your blouse until the buttons are popping, roughly palming your tits through your bra as you whine against him. “It’s a… good thing I took this pediatric job. If not for a - godd, oh fuck - difference in perspective.”

Kiyoomi answers you with a sound that’s more of a groan than a dutiful hum. Raising his hips like it’ll give him more friction where he wants it, but like the godsend you are you reach behind yourself to rub him through his sweats.

“‘Least I know… that if we had kids I’d be a half decent mother…”

You must feel the way his cock needily twitches under your palm at the sound of that because your voice evens in a way that makes him goosebump. “You like that, huh? Oh don’t tell me Omi’s really been dying to make me a mommy?”

The vibrations of his broken groan makes your thighs tighten over his ears.

“Ah - You wanna fuck me full? Fill me up till I’m brain dead?”

His tongue rolls over your clit with just enough force to have your voice pitching. He tilts his chin up just to make sure it’s his tongue you're clamping around when you start to cum.

Although with what you all but hiss next, grabbing a rough hold of his scalp and pressing his head back like he’s just a warm mouth to fuck. “- Or, would you just be satisfied with blowing your load into my hand, you fucking slut.”

Kiyoomi cums so hard he thinks he may have gone deaf.

Because he barely hears the pathetic whimpers he lets out in your spasming cunt as he starts to hump into your hand like a dog. Lilted voice breaking off into a gravelly groan, so cum-drunk that he keeps at it even as his seed wets a dark spot in sweatpants. For a moment, he can’t even register the sound of your broken - clearly overstimulated mewls.

Kiyoomi reluctantly lets you go when you finally climb off of him.

“You okay?”

“Mhm.”

You giggle a little before pecking him on his wet mouth.

Kiyoomi’s a little sluggish in his attempt to scoot his large body to the side to make room for you to lay comfortably beside him. Pressing his back into the head of the couch even as the springs quietly creak, but any room you don’t have to be completely sunken into the sofa he makes up for by using his arm to belt you against him.

He sighs.

“Move in with me.”

“Hm?”

Biggest Fan

#boyfriend!kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa smut #haikyuu!! smut #hq smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#hq sakusa #hq x reader #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa fluff #sakusa x reader #hq fluff #x reader #hq

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strawchocoberry · 1 month

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CAN YOU LICK THE TIP THEN THROAT THE DICK OR NAH?

CAMGIRL SERIES PART 3

୨୧ featuring: itoshi sae x fem reader

ଘ cw: smut, jerking off/masturbation, dubcon, faux blackmailing, public sex, blowjob, throat fucking, fingering/masturbation, spanking, orgasm denial, car sex, rough sex, dacryphilia, breeding kink, creampie

୨୧ synopsis: his favourite camgirl turns out to be his senior’s younger sister

ଘ wc: 1.9k

Sae knows he should be sleeping right now. Yet this sleepless night finds him stroking his hard cock, as he watches your livestream. You always keep him company during these difficult nights. He can’t say what it is that’s captured him, but he knows one thing for sure; after cumming to your live, he gets to peacefully sleep for the rest of the night. And that’s all he wants.

After finishing in his hand, groaning your name, Sae takes a quick shower before going to bed. It’s currently 4 am. Thankfully for him, tomorrow he only has an interview and a meeting with his physical therapist and nutritionist scheduled. He just needs enough energy to get through them and then he’ll be back here, sleeping like a lodge for the rest of the day.

His appointments pass by relatively quickly. He can finally go home. Closing the door, Sae walks down the corridor. He stops, seeing Leonardo Luna approach him. His eyes though don’t focus on the professional football player, rather on the young woman clinging to his arm; the girl who kept him company last night. Though now instead of an oversized t-shirt and cute panties, you’re wearing a pair of black trousers and a plain white t-shirt with sneakers and a black messenger bag.

“Oh, Sae, it’s been a while,” Leonardo greets him. “How have you been?”

“Good, same as always,” Sae nonchalantly replies, averting his gaze to him. “Congratulations on winning your game last night.”

“Thank you.” He smiles. You tug at his sleeve and Leonardo turns to look at you, pouting. “Well,” — he turns to Sae — “I promised my sister to spend time with her today, so we’ll be taking our leave.” He waves, as you two walk past him. “See you at the party on Saturday.”

Sae is left looking at you walking away with Leonardo. Sister? You’re Leonardo Luna’s sister? His favourite camgirl is the younger sister of a professional football player in his team? “Interesting,” he mumbles, as he continues down the corridor to the lift.

Saturday arrives in the blink of an eye. Today it’s the anniversary of Re Al’s formation and there’s a party for all the players. It’s also a way to bring closer the players of the youth team with the stars of the professional team. As expected, the prodigy of the youth team attracts the attention of the stars, who find themselves flocking around him. Sae pays attention to what Leonardo and the others say, yet his eyes are focused on you.

You came to the party because your brother insisted. And if you’re honest, you did want to spend some more time with him. Your older brother is quite busy and though you talk every day through calls and texts, you rarely get to spend some time together. Like a few days ago. Leonardo had promised to spend the day with you after finishing up his meeting with his physician.

You have heard a lot about this Itoshi Sae, the boy genius from Japan. Even your brother speaks highly of him. Yet for some reason, whenever he looks at you, you feel a bit uncomfortable. There’s something in his gaze you cannot quite put your finger on. You decide to ignore him and instead chat with your brother and his teammates.

Sae has been watching you the whole night, his mind going back to your livestream the previous night. Your lithe form panting under the dim light of your room, bouncing on your dildo while playing with your tits and moaning ever so deliciously. The mere memory of it makes him hard. “Fuck…” he groans under his breath, his eyes travelling back to you. Now that you’re so close to him, he can’t possibly let you off so easily, can he?

When Leonardo is called along with the rest of the team to take photos, you rest in a corner for some momentary peace and quiet. You notice Sae standing next to you and turn to him with a smile. “We meet again. Sorry about the other day, I was quite rude. I just wanted to spend some time with my brother.”

“Don’t worry. I can imagine that it’s not easy for the two of you to see each other often.”

Your smile brightens at his words. Maybe you had misunderstood him after all. You and Sae spend some time talking about Leonardo and football. The more you look at him, the more attractive you find him. And you can tell he’s also interested in you.

“You know, I wonder…” Sae trails off, leaning to your ear. He smirks as you shiver due to the close proximity. “What will your older brother think about you if he knew you are a camgirl?”

Your blood freezes on the spot. Looking into his dark, lustful eyes as he straightens his posture, you know that you cannot lie your way out of this. And finally, the missing puzzle piece falls in place; he’s a fan of yours. Carefully taking a quick glance around you, you grab his wrist and drag him out of the reception hall, in the corridor, pushing him against the wall.

“From your reaction, you don’t want him to know,” Sae says, his voice sounding menacing.

Of course you didn’t want him to know. Not only it will ruin his career if the media find out that his younger sister is a camgirl, but it will destroy your relationship with him. And that is something you don’t want to happen. At any cost.

Sae cups your cheeks, leaning closer to your face. “I promise not to tell him anything.” He slowly pushes you down, until you’re kneeling in front of him. “If you do me a small favour.”

You don’t need him to say anything more for you to understand. Casting a quick glance around, you bite your lip as you unbuckle his belt and pull down his trousers and underwear enough for his cock to spring free. Your mouth waters at his size, as you wrap your hand around him. He’s already hard, a bit of precum leaking from his tip. You smear it all over the crown, before you wrap your lips around it, swirling your tongue and tasting him.

You take him in your mouth and start sucking him, eliciting a few groans from him. You use your hands to stroke the part of him you can’t fit in your mouth and massage his balls. You look up at him with your big eyes and Sae almost loses his mind. God, you’re more gorgeous sucking him off than he has ever fantasised you to be. You pay special attention to the vein on the underside of his cock, which only makes him go feral.

Sae grabs your head, halting your movements, and before you can react, he starts thrusting into your mouth. His cock hits the back of your throat and you gag on his girth, tears welling up in your eyes. “You look so gorgeous,” he coos, wiping away your tears with his thumbs. As he keeps fucking your mouth at his own leisure, you’re slowly giving in to the pleasure, forgetting that someone might catch you if they walk out of the reception hall.

Your hand slides underneath the dress of your skirt, pulling your panties to the side and thrusting your fingers inside your dripping cunt. You moan on his cock, the reverberations of your voice bringing him closer to his orgasm. Thrusting and bottoming out in your mouth, Sae lets out a strained groan, as spurts of his cum drip down your throat. He waits until you’ve swallowed it all before he pulls out, leaning against the wall. He chuckles seeing your ruined makeup, as well as the lipstick stain on his cock.

If you thought he was done, you’re more foolish than you seem. Sae grabs your arm and pulls you to your feet, slamming you against the wall, your breasts flattening against the surface. His hand cups your arse underneath your dress, caressing it, before he spanks you. He barely manages to cover you mouth before you scream, your body jolting in his arms and your arse cheek stinging from the pain. “Quiet now,” he whispers in your ear. “We don’t want your brother to come running after hearing you screaming like that now, do we?”

You nod, your scream muffled by his hand, as he spanks you again. He presses your upper body to the wall, while pulling out your hips, making your body arch. Sae thrusts inside you, your velvet walls clamping around him. One hand covers your mouth, while the other caresses your reddened arse, slapping it from time to time. His thrusts are relatively slow, yet they shake your entire body with their force.

You’re thankful to the loud music inside the party, otherwise you’re certain your muffled cries and whimpers would have echoed in the empty corridor, along with the sound of skin slapping against skin. You whimper against his hand, as Sae bites down on your neck from behind. His nails scratch your arse, his fingers dig into your flesh to engrave his marks. Your body shivers and trembles in his arms and he feasts on the wanton need sparkling in your eyes.

Sae abuses your g spot, loving how your pussy clenches around him, barely letting him move, and how you moan against his hand. Yet when you’re close to your orgasm, he pulls out and tucks himself back in his trousers, leaving both of you unsatisfied. Without a word, he drags you outside to the parking lot and inside his car. He thought he would be satisfied with just that, but he isn’t.

Throwing the seat back, he sets you on his lap and you haven’t realised when he’s slamming your hips down his cock, his hands kneading your arse. Your moans are intoxicating him, making him want even more. He doesn’t stop, not even when your phone starts ringing, your brother’s name illuminating the screen. You ignore it, but Sae wants to torment you a bit more, wanting to see your glossy eyes fill with fear. So, he answers the call for you, placing the phone on your ear.

“Hey, everything alright?” Leonardo asks, worry lacing his voice. “I don’t see you at the party.”

“Ah, y-yeah, um…” You can barely think as Sae thrusts up in you. “I-I’m tired, so I took a cab home. I-I was about to go to sleep.”

“Oh, okay,” he replies, sounding relieved. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Alright, goodnight,” you barely manage to say, before Sae ends the call and throws the phone on the passenger seat.

You wrap your arms around his neck and rest your forehead against his, as he thrusts harder. You whimper and mumble incoherent nothings, as your orgasm floods you, creaming around him. Sae cums a moment later. You’re panting as you rest on top of him, feeling your heart beat like crazy. He never planned to tell your brother about your dirty little secret, he just wanted to experience this. Yet the fear in your eyes turned him on, so he is going to keep that a secret for now.

You whimper when he pulls out, making him chuckle at the complaint in your voice. “Don’t worry, I’m not about to end our night so early.” Sae smirks.

#୨୧｡˚₊♡꒰ strawchocoberry ꒱♡₊˚｡୨୧ #blue lock #blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #itoshi sae #itoshi sae x reader #itoshi sae smut

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readychilledwine · 9 months

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Fours Company - Part 1

Everything is below the cut because this is just pretty much going to turn into porn. -Minors DNI

Summary - After hearing about Lyria and Azriel's agreement and arrangement with Feyre and Rhys, Nesta and Cassian are desperate for a taste.

Warnings - its long.. Smut. Fingering. Choking. Dom/sub dynamics. Fxf briefly, mxfxfxm dynamics play. Cassian is a switch. Subspace. Voyeurism. Degradation and praise. Free use mentioned.

A/N - I plead the 5th. Part 2 will be up soon. Also, peep "Slow Hand" link in my masterlist to learn about our dearest Lyria Vanserra.

Word count- Over 4k

Update:

Part 2

Lyria stretched her sore fingers, silently praising the Mother that her appointments were all finished for the day, and that she had opted to take a night off.

She loved Velaris, truly she did, and she was beyond thankful and blessed Rhysand had brought her here after her father had publicly disowned her Under the Mountain.

He had purchased her that very night to protect her, bringing her into the small sanctuary his chambers would become for the two of them down there. She cannot freely touch you anymore. You are safe here, he had held her against his chest, allowing her to cry and be angry.

She had nothing to repay him with, but a gift that the Cauldron, Mother, and love of research had bestowed on her. And the second night she spent in Rhysand's chambers, she had spent it working every ounce of tension the High Lord held out of his body. It became their routine. She'd play the part of his eye candy, never to be marked or touched by another, and she'd repay him by ensuring he was at least out of physical pain and discomfort.

Maybe that was why she was suddenly the most popular massage therapist in the city. Who wouldn't want to pay for the time of the female the High Lord and Lady, along with their Inner Circle, all go to and rave about so loudly in public? She loved Velaris, she reminded herself again, and Gods did she love money and all the expensive things that came with it.

It had been the massage on Lucien that did her in tonight. Her poor older brother was not even a client or booked, but she had found the knot while stretching his neck trying to help with a headache he'd told her he had for days. She'd asked him to lay down and worked his back, shoulders, and neck until it finally came out. It had taken 2 hours. 2 hours on top of the 15 massages she had already given today.

But she didn't regret it, she didn't regret a single thing as he thanked her and placed a soft kiss on her temple, promising her treats from every court he could manage to get to.

She didn't even regret it now as she rubbed the cream Madja had made into her own skin, eyes fluttering shut as the pain relieving ointment worked its magic as she slid her hands under a heat pack.

She could have slept like that, curled up in her soft bed, hands being warmed and relaxed as she used her magic to create the sounds of a forest in her dimmed room, but a knock on her door pulled her from the sleepy blissful state.

She got up, knowing if it was a knock this late, it was a member of the Inner Circle, and she'd never deny them, no matter how tired or aching her hands were.

Cassian was leaned against the door frame and she moved to welcome him in, immediately noting the casual sweatpants and t-shirt he wore. "Foxling," he said casually, taking a seat on the new couch Azriel had insisted on purchasing.

"General," her tone was questioning. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" She didn't miss the twitch in Cassian's lip. Mentally noting it for later when Azriel would get here.

She watched him lean forward, eyes locked on her. "Nesta and I know about the situation with you, Azriel, Rhys, and Feyre." Heat filled Lyria's body as she nodded, immediately feeling a flush hit her face. "We want a similar one."

"You're very blunt tonight, Cassian." Lyria refused to meet his eyes. The discussion of the agreement with Rhys and Feyre had been done with Azriel present as Rhys approached you. "I would be more comfortable with my mate here."

Cassian smirked again as if he had prepared for that answer. "Azriel is currently in discussion with Nesta. I said "similar", little fox, not the same." He watched as she bit her lip. "We know you and Feyre swap. Rhys takes you out, plays with you with no actual sex, then goes home to his pretty little wife and family to fuck her brains out. Azriel takes Fey out, plays with her, and comes back here to rearrange your pretty little body. Nesta and I don't want to swap or to court. We just solely want to fuck you two. Whenever we'd like, wherever we'd like. With or without our mates involved. Do you understand what I'm asking for, doll?"

Her breath stilled in her throat and she nodded. "I would need to talk to Azriel." Cassian stood, coming over to her and backing her into the wall. "I can tell you right now, he's already agreed. He has conditions, just like he had with Rhysand." His arms came up, caging her between him and the wall. "The first of which is I do not get to be daddy, or sir, or show possession of you, and that's fine. The second is you had to offer submission willingly without him pressing you."

She nodded, they were similar rules to the ones he had with Rhysand. "I still need to talk to him before I agree."

"I know, princess," he was ranging pet names with her, she quickly figured out. Trying to see which one his brothers had not taken to ensure he had his own name for her. That one struck, he scent her arousal immediately. Cassian leaned forward, his mouth near the soft shell of her ear. "Don't make me wait too long, Lyria. I'll see you tomorrow for our session."

He pulled away from her, walking out the door with a soft goodnight. Once the door clicked shut, Lyria sunk against the wall, arousal flooding her mind. Her hand quickly found her heart, feeling it beating erratically as she took long deep breaths.

She had not noticed her mate appear until he was in front of her, ripping her leggings down and the tank top from her body.

Azriel quickly sunk two fingers into her soaking wet heat, making her back arch as he rested his forehead against hers. "I got you, babygirl."

He began pulling her apart. Lowering her completely to the floor. His hand found her throat as he pulled his fingers in and out of her the way she liked. "Does the idea of having Cassian inside of you turn you on, Lyria? Hmm?" He smirked as she whined, back arching as shadows began to play with her nipples and hold her hands down. "Or is it knowing Nesta wants to lick this pretty pink cunt until she's drowning that has you pent up?"

Lyria felt heat filling her body again as shock set in. Cassian had not even mentioned the possibility of Nesta touching her. Of gorgeous, gorgeous Nesta with her long hair buried between Lyria's legs. "Oh?" Azriel teased, slowing his fingers down. "Did Cassian not mention Nesta wants you, babygirl? Did he not mention how Nesta has started buying toys to fuck you with?" Azriel felt feral as he watched her writhing on the ground. "I can see it now. Cassian and I sat in chairs with whiskey in hand, watching Nesta dominate you while my shadows hold you down and keep you vulnerable to her every whim and wish. Her making you cum again and again and again until your squirting and begging for a break." He could feel his cock struggling, aching to be freed from his pants.

"Or imagine this for me," his fingers picked up pace again, hitting the spongy part of her walls and making her cry out. "Me with you naked in my lap, only letting you cum when Nesta thinks Cassian is being good enough. Or her forcing him to eat you out while I fuck her and he can only listen."

The deep growl in his voice had her tightening around his fingers. He groaned listening to the wetness of his fingers inside of her. "So delicous, babygirl. Making such a fucking mess on the floor. Should I make you lick it up while I fuck you? Do you want daddy to fuck you?"

Lyria nodded desperately, "Please daddy, Gods please!"

Azriel wasted no time, ripping his own clothing at the seams. He flipped her to her hands and knees and buried himself deep inside on his mate. He pushed her head down to where a small puddle of her slick had pooled on the floor. "Clean it, little whore."

He fucked her brutally. Holding her head down and watching as she licked her arousal and essence up. He immediately looked to find his and her high as quickly as possible after Ness had riled him up, whispering in his ear all the things she wanted to do to Lyria. All the things Azriel would now be stroking his own cock picturing until they came to life.

Lyria was just as desperate. The tension between her and Cassian had built when she was teaching him how to dance. She was attracted to the male, his hands, his thighs. She was attracted to Nesta. Her aura, her body, her quick wit. Her mind snapped back to her mate as that coil began to threaten to pop, but she knew better. She knew better than to cum without his permission. "Daddy, can I cum please?" His hand found her throat again, growling in appreciation for her submission.

"Cum on my cock, babygirl." She soaked him, screaming his name, chanting it over and over like a mantra as she milked him. He fell over the edge quickly after she did, collapsing onto his forearms on top of her.

The room was filled with the sound of their labored breathing and with the scent of sex. She opened the windows using her magic, knowing she'd have to air out her home before clients came tomorrow.

Azriel pulled out of her, falling to his back while pulling her on top of him. "You are under no obligation to say yes, Lyria." He stated as his hands began to run through her hair. He kissed the top of her head. "Your hands have been hurting today, I felt it through the bond."

Lyria nodded, lifting her hand that hadn't tangled itself in Azriel's dark hair. "I might need to take a week off," she admitted softly. "It's just so hard to say no. I've been working with anywhere from 8 to 15 clients a day depending how much time they book."

Azriel hummed, his chest almost vibrating with the deep sound. "Maybe we could go to Dawn for a week. Rhys has a cabin there near a river. Whenever my hands start to bother me, I go there and lay in the river."

"Cold therapy?" Azriel nodded at the question, admiring his mate's intelligence once again. "Do you want to?"

Azriel knew it was a double question. He looked at her, raising a brow. "Of course I'd love to sit naked with you in a river."

She shook her head, smiling. "Do you want to have an arrangement with Nesta and Cassian?"

He had already brought it up to Rhys and Feyre after talking to Nesta. The two of them did not care. They were as eager to share Lyria and Azriel's love and devotion with Cassian and Nesta as they were to take it for themselves. They just wanted a rotation and schedule worked out between the 6 of you to ensure Rhys still got his time with Lyria and Feyre her time with Azriel. An easy task in all honesty. "I am not against the idea. But it is your comfort level, my spark." He kissed her lips before moving to stand up with her and carry her to the bedroom. "Just let Cassian know tomorrow what you decided or if you need more time."

Lyria prepared the room for Cassian, her last client of the day. She switched to the custom table she had made for him and Azriel a few months ago, heating it with her magic before adding on the soft coverings and lighting Cassian's favorite candles that he said reminded her of a rainstorm in the mountains. She created that atmosphere with her powers and then waited.

She had Cassian for 2 hours. He had booked a longer session knowing that this would be his first massage since coming home from a 4 week trip the training camps. She had been working with Madja on a special oil and lotion for massages and was excited to use it for the first time on Cassian, knowing the general was open to anything when she had his muscles bending to her every will.

It was made with a certain herb she and Madja kept quiet from Rhysand due to its taboo nature. It had been shown time and time again by countless healers to aid in stopping inflammation, provide pain relief, and it's a wonderful moisturizer, but for some reason a certain High Lord, her father, refused to see use in allowing easy access and regulation to it despite seeing how it had saved Spring's economic state.

A knock pulled her from her thoughts of Beron's stupidity and went to the door, opening it for Cassian with a smile.

"Hello gorgeous," he smirked at her, "what do you have planned for me today?"

She lead Cassian down the hall. "I was thinking we'd do a deep tissue with hot stone mixed in since it's been awhile. I have you down for 2 hours and if we need longer, that's totally fine since you are my last one for today."

Cassian was thrilled with the idea. Silently thanking the Mother that Lyria always seemed to know what her clients needed. "Sounds good, princess. Azriel said you had a new oil you wanted to use today?"

Lyria nodded and bit her lip. "You can say no," he nodded and raised his brows. "It's made with mirthroot. You won't get high from it, but it has so many benefits to the muscle system regarding swelling, inflammation-"

"Princess, I've been using mirthroot off and on since before you were born. I am perfectly fine with you testing it on me. So would Rhys and Azriel."

He smiled as she squealed and bounced in place. "I'll let you get comfy then! You can pick which side we start on or if you just want to do your back today!" He watched her practically skip from the room with a small smile and shook his head.

He laid on his stomach, covering himself as he got comfortable. He had hoped she'd be willing to focus on his back, but knew from Azriel her hands had been killing her the past 2 or 3 days. Rhys wanted to take Lyria on a little vacation, all three couples, as did Azriel. Rhys was hoping on that vacation he'd be able to convince her to cut herself back to 5 to 8 clients a day with a few days off throughout the week instead of just evenings off. They, as selfishly and selflessly as possible, did not want her to have to stop her little business.

Rhys has spent years trying to find a massage therapist as skilled as she is. He'd have to spent a millenia trying to replace her.

She re-entered the room, dimming the fae lights. "Just your back today then?"

"Yes please."

Lyria knew Cassian was asleep 30 minutes into the massage, he always was. He has told her once it was that special time during the week where he could just focus on himself, on his body, his spirit. It was his self care time, and that had always been a high compliment for her. She worked his shoulders, feeling knots she had previously gotten out trying to form again and sighed as she realized she needed a better angle to get them out.

The professional line between her and all of the Inner Circle had blurred when Azriel and her were officially known as a couple. She was given liberties and consent with their bodies and with them topics of discussion with her. She climbed on Cassian's back, not fully setting her weight into him, to dig as gently as she could into the spot between his wings that was getting tense again.

All three of the males had this problem. It was just worse for Cassian for some reason. It was an area the two of them focused on intensely in their sessions, sometimes to where Cassian told the female she was a tiny torturess and terrorist. "Cassian," she stroked his back lightly to wake him.

"Oh top of me already, princess? Could have at least let me roll over." His deep voice was laced with sleep causing it to be slightly gritty. "It's back, isn't it?"

"Mmmhmm," she confirmed while rubbing his back. "If I get it now, it won't be as bad as if we wait again."

He groaned, wings falling in a little temper tantrum, "Fine. Just, get it over with. My safeword is pineapple."

She laughed as she got started. "Does Nesta make you use your safeword a lot?"

Cassian chuckled below her. "No. Your mate used to though when he, Rhys, and I all used to fuck around." They both tensed at the quiet confession. "I didn't tell you that."

"Oh yes you did." Lyria dug into the knot, rolling her elbow in it. "Tell me Cassian."

He let out a slightly pained moan, "We used to bring a single female back to Rhysand's mom's cabin and take turns with her or fuck her two at a time with the third brother shoved down her throat. If it was just one at a time, while one of us was enjoying the fairer sex, the other two would be enjoying each other."

"Oh?" Lyria was blushing. "And they enjoyed this?"

Cassian would have looked back at her offended if her elbow wasn't currently dug into the sole source of his discomfort the past few weeks. "Lyria, I have never failed to make a female cum at least twice in all my sexual interactions. Of course they enjoyed it." She released the hold in Cassian, rubbing the area gently again to feel where the knot had broken into small pieces. "Azriel used to be rougher than I think he is with you. Especially with Rhys and I because he knew we could take it."

"I've told him to stop holding back," she confessed. "I figured he wanted more."

She mentally cursed herself as her hand made contact with the leathery membrane of Cassian's wing as she reached for the oil. "Lyria," Cassian growled in warning.

"I'm sorry I-" She couldn't respond quickly enough, Cassian had somehow found a way to turn with her on top of him, setting her down directly on his hips and holding her there with his hands. "It was an accident, I swear."

Cassian's eyes were animalistic as he studied her. "I need your answer now."

Her hands had fallen to his chest, her eyes had gone wide. "Lyria. I was told I do not get to come home until you say yes. Give me your answer now so I can argue with you and change your mind if I have to."

The word fell from her mouth with hesitation. "Yes." Cassian's head fell back as he groaned, gripping her hips tighter. "What are the rules?"

"Only that we have to keep the bonds open." Cassian was eager to start playing with Lyria immediately. He began to grind her core against his hard length with a groan. "Azriel already told me if you agreed I could have fun with you today. Nesta just wanted me to tug the bond twice if you agreed so she could come watch."

"I don't know if I want to do anything today. This is supposed to be me massaging you and taking care of your body." Cassian smirked. Her words said no, but the faint wetness he could feel from her said yes.

"Are you sure? I can roll back over, princess. We can plan an official start date and sit down. Or I can give you a fun quick ride. Your choice."

"I'd like talking to Nesta first more." She hadn't even gotten to see Nesta yet to speak to her friend about this agreement. She understood why. The dynamic between her and Azriel was clear as day. That daddy babygirl dynamic showed them the control he had over her sexually. "I want to talk to Nesta first."

Cassian smiled and nodding. His respect for the youngest Vanserra grew, as did his adoration of her, at the respect she was giving his mate. His Ness. "Then let's get this wrapped up so I can fly you to the house, princess."

The flight to the House of Wind of the fastest she had ever taken. Cassian strolled in the doors, still carrying her. "Ness, I'm home momma!" He walked through the entryway, smiling as he got to the living room. "And I brought a snack."

Lyria waved at her friend, laughing as Nesta began to snicker. "The snack's mate is upstairs in his room. You should leave her here with me and go get him." Cassian set her on the sofa opposite to Ness before bounding up the stairs.

For the 3rd time in under 24 hours, Lyria was under the gaze of a predator waiting to make her it's next meal. Ness moved to the sofa with her. Almost cornering her between the arm of the furniture and her own body. "Don't you just look," Nesta paused, looking her over, breathing in the faded scent of her arousal. "Tasty today?"

She tucked a long red strand of hair behind Lyria's pointed ear. "I've missed you."

"I missed you too," Lyria admitted. "I wanted to talk." She became distracted quickly as Nesta trailed a long finger down the column of her neck. She raised a perfect arched brow waiting for her to continue. "About the arrangement."

Nesta's eyes sparkled with something Lyria instantly realized was arousal. "What's there to discuss? You are free use for Cassian, Azriel, and I. The bonds stay open at all times."

"What about boundaries?"

"Do you have boundaries, pretty girl?" Nesta began to kiss her throat. "Anything you don't want us to do, you just say the word and we stop." Cassian and Azriel had come back downstairs. Sitting across from them and watching as Nesta kissed up and down her neck, nipping along the way. "What's her safe word, Azriel?"

Her mate was smirking, shirtless in his sweatpants as he leaned back. "It's a color system. Green is good, yellow is slow down, orange for when she needs praise to continue, red for stop completely."

Lyria knew she was drenched at this point. Falling into that safe place and haze she always did with Azriel. "Fuck," her mate groaned as sensed it down the bond. "Free use, Nesta." He reminded the oldest sister.

Her hands were squeezing Lyria's breasts, playing with her peaked nipples through the fabric. "Cassian, undress my toy for me."

"Yes, mistress." Cassian pulled Lyria up, forcing her back against his chest. He had started to lift her shirt until Nesta tutted.

"Rip them off of her. She made us wait. She doesn't get fully gentle." Lyria whimpered as Cassian grabbed the tanktop she was wearing and tore it, then her bra, pulling the fabric from her body. "Just the seam of her leggings, they're wet enough." Nesta commanded as she removed her dress. Cassian's hand trailed from her collarbones down, stopping to pinch both of her nipples and making moan. Nesta was bare on the couch, legs spread wide as she began playing with herself.

Lyria gasped as Cassian reached her soaked core through her leggings. Both hands tore the ruined fabric with easy. "Play with her but don't let her cum. I want her punished for making us wait."

"Of course, mistress." Cassian forced her into his lap on the chair, forcing her legs to be spread wide for Nesta to watch.

"What a pretty pussy, Azriel. No wonder you've kept her to yourself." Lyria watched as her mate moved behind her and Cassian.

"You were given an order, general. Do not disobey your mistress. We do not want to have to punish both of you." Cassian's calloused fingers immediately found Lyria's folds, gathering her wetness before circling her clit and making her moan out. "Good boy," Azriel praised. His hand found Lyria's chin, ripping her gaze away from him and forcing her to watch Nesta. "She's been dripping like that for you for several days, Lyria." His mate whimpered. Drool forming as she saw Ness gather her own juices and squeeze her breasts with the other hand. "I expect you to lick her clean when she's done with you, babygirl. Do you understand?" Cassian chose that moment to push a single thick finger into her, making her cry out and wiggle against him.

Azriel watched, a smirk building on his face as he realized slowly they may get to truly punish Lyria. "One," Azriel began to count. Cassian curled a finger into her gspot, and Nesta picked up speed with her own teasing touches. "Two," Lyria's brain was screaming for her to say "yes daddy," but she was too lost in the feeling of Cassian pushing in a second finger, stretching her cunt. "Three," Nesta's smirk had grown feral, her moans picking up as she grew excited about them getting taken to Azriel's dungeon. "Last warning, babygirl. Four," Cassian curled his fingers again, stopping any thoughts she had other than moan and panting. "You asked of this, baby. Remember that."

Azriel walked to Nesta, darkness surrounding them first as Cassian chuckled behind her, his fingers still playing in her sloppy cunt. "I can't wait to see you, dripping, chained, and bruised by my mate." He whispered as he kissed her neck. "Be a good girl and cum for me. Cum on my hand, princess." His palm pressed down on her bundle of nerves and she screamed Cassian's name. He groaned at how tight she became, at how her sweet cunt milked his fingers as her release coated his hand.

He took his fingers from her drenched core, raising them to her mouth. "And you've broken two rules." A deep timber came from behind them and Lyria stiffened her eyes going wide as Cassian pushed his fingers into her mouth and gagged her. "I hope you mentally prepared for this, angel." And darkness surrounded them.

#acotar #acotar x reader #azriel acotar #azriel #azriel x reader #cassian acotar #cassian x reader #nesta x cassian #cassian x Azriel #nesta x azriel #nessian x reader #nessian x oc x azriel #nesta x cassian x reader x azriel

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cuubism · 1 month

Text

I kind of just forgot to finish this fic - whoops!

physical therapy - the final installment

Hob helps him put all his books and things away. It gives his flat slightly more color and life. Dream still feels his lost art as an aching hole in his chest but at least he has this, Hob and these incremental improvements.

When they’re done he orders takeaway, and over his lo mein he mulls on what happened, on what he said. Hob didn’t actually say it back. But it— it’s fine. Even if Hob doesn’t say it aloud, it’s okay. Dream knows that Hob loves him. He shows it. He doesn’t need to say it. Dream’s ex-lover had, after all, said that he loved him frequently. “Come on, you know I love you.” But where had it shown up? That was not love. It was the opposite of love.

So he doesn’t need Hob to say it back, it is enough that he—

“Hey, Dream?” Hob says, interrupting his thought. His smile is warm, successfully banishing any hope of Dream finding his line of thinking again, as sunlight does to shadows. “I love you.”

“You were just thinking that now?” Dream asks weakly.

“Well, yeah. I didn’t say it before. I was too startled that you did.”

Dream supposes he had said it somewhat… fast. He has often been too fast in relationships, but he means it this time, in a different way than before. This love is fast but it’s real. It’s not just infatuation, or, as he’s slowly realizing some of his past relationships may have been, simply desperate bids to feel loved.

“I’m glad you were my physical therapist,” he says, and Hob laughs. I’m glad that we found each other.

“Me, too.” He takes Dream’s hand, the mostly-fixed one. “And I’m glad you got out. That was really brave.”

Dream scoffs. “I do not see how being so afraid could be brave.” He had never felt brave. Only terrified.

“That’s exactly why it was brave,” Hob insists. “You were scared but you didn’t let it stop you. And you didn’t let it stop you from creating art again, either.”

Hob seems to believe it quite fervently. Perhaps… Dream can try to believe it as well. “Maybe,” he concedes.

“Definitely,” Hob says.

Dream decides not to contradict him this time. He just eats his food, and basks in Hob’s company, coming back again and again to the fact that Hob went to get his things for him, defended him. Every time he thinks about it, he feels warm inside.

And later, when he curls up with Hob in bed, he thinks he feels… good. And safe. And maybe hopeful.

—

Several weeks later.

—

Dream has taken to spending more time in Hob’s flat than his own. Though his flat feels slightly more homey with the addition of his books and other things, it’s still not quite right. And he can’t shake the habit of blocking the door when he’s home alone. He still feels safer if he’s in Hob’s space, if Hob is around.

He doesn’t realize Hob knows that until he pushes aside the shelf he’d shoved in front of the door to let Hob in one night, and Hob looks from him to the shelf and back and says, “Are you still doing that?”

“What,” Dream says, eloquently.

“I can hear you,” Hob says, with a sad little smile. “Just didn’t want to make you feel awkward about it.”

“Oh,” says Dream, suddenly embarrassed. He— he should be more confident, shouldn’t he? And yet.

“You can come to my place if you want?” Hob says. “Even if I’m not there. I’ll give you a key.”

Dream goes to turn him down out of hand, he doesn’t need Hob to do that for him—

But. He wants it.

“Hell,” Hob says, and now he’s the one who seems nervous, scrubbing a hand through his hair, “just move in if you want. I like having you there.”

“You,” Dream says slowly, “would let me move in? Already?”

Hob gathers his confidence, taking a deep breath. “Why not? If you want to.”

Why not, indeed.

The more Dream thinks about it, the more he finds he likes the thought. He does not know if he can transition his entire life into Hob’s flat, not yet. Perhaps he’ll maintain his own flat as an art studio, or as a sort of… escape route, for he does not think he can handle having to flee his own home with nowhere to go ever again. But, on a regular basis… he thinks he might like simply being with Hob. It feels easy. Is it alright for it to just feel easy?

“…Okay,” he says, at length, and Hob beams. If he had smiled like that from the beginning, Dream might not have paused to think. He would do anything for that smile.

“Okay!” Hob echoes, still with that beaming smile that makes Dream feel like he’s standing directly in the sun. “I’ll get you a key.”

Dream smiles back, and his smile feels almost as easy as Hob’s.

—

The night after moving the last of Dream’s things in—he has, in fact, maintained his flat as a studio, but has moved everything else—flush with rather too much wine, they find themselves sitting in bed, having made the dubious, intoxicated decision to break out Hob’s barely used finger paints.

Giggling drunkenly, Hob dabs some blue paint on Dream’s forehead. Dream goes cross-eyed trying to look at him.

“You are bringing your meager finger painting skills to bear to paint me now?” he says.

“Is there a more perfect canvas?” Hob traces a star shape onto Dream’s cheek. “Besides. I’m no good with the canvases. You’ve seen it.”

“Your skills lie elsewhere, I think,” Dream agrees, and Hob laughs. “But they are many. However. Since you’ve started this, you should know—” Dream’s lips twitch in amusement like he's about to start laughing over something he knows and Hob doesn’t. "This is not body paint.”

"So? It's just tempera paint, it's not dangerous."

"No," Dream agrees, trailing his fingertips across Hob's chest, "but it is going to stick in your hair."

Fuck.

Dream giggles, then slathers a whole palm full of orange paint across Hob's chest, truly coating his chest hair in it, tracing a heart pattern in its wake. God, he's a menace.

"Oh, no," says Dream, deadpan, "now you will have to soak in the bath for hours to get it all out."

Hob dips his fingertips in the blue glitter paint and smears it over Dream's temple, tangling his fingers in the longest strands of his hair. "Now you'll have to be there with me."

"Horrible," Dream says, giggling again. “How will I survive it?”

Hob draws a heart shape on his chest, then kisses him, getting paint on his mouth. It tastes horrible, but he doesn’t care, because he’s kissing Dream. It’s always a marvel.

Dream curls his hands into Hob’s hair, making it all tacky with paint. He kisses Hob’s cheek, leaving a painted mark. “I think you are a lovely canvas,” he says. “Perhaps the loveliest. Should I paint you? I think you would look gorgeous.”

The thought of Dream’s delicate fingers all over him as he makes his paintings makes Hob shiver. “Paint me all orange? I’m sure it’ll be flattering.”

“Orange, and red, and yellow,” says Dream. “The colors of the sunset.”

Hob feels unexpectedly sentimental about it. “I’d think an artist like you would be using words like ‘ochre.’”

“Unfortunately,” Dream says with utter seriousness, “finger paint does not come in ochre. Though it would certainly complement your skin tone.”

Hob laughs. Resolves to try to find finger paint in ochre just to make Dream smile.

“You’ll just have to make it with the primary colors,” he says.

Dream grins, caught immediately by the paints, and sets to painting Hob how he sees fit. Hob submits to the treatment. Tries to cope with the feeling of Dream’s fingers all over him without having to put the paints aside and initiate another activity entirely.

Later, buzzing with the feeling of Dream touching him and sticky with paint, he finds himself in the bath, Dream lying against his chest and dragging his fingers through Hob’s chest hair, leaving eddying swirls of orange paint in the water as it slowly washes off. Dream’s own hair is still clumped together with blue glitter.

“This is slower to come out than I even anticipated,” Dream observes, still lightly touching Hob’s chest. “Perhaps next time you might acquire actual body paint.”

“Maybe next time you’ll just make a painting of me instead of painting me,” Hob suggests, chuckling.

“It was your idea,” Dream reminds him.

He lays his cheek on Hob’s shoulder, smearing more of the wet paint. “This was fun. I always enjoy the time I spend with you.”

Hob runs a hand through his hair, dripping water and streams of blue. It’s worth any and all mess to see Dream smile the way he had. “Me too, love.”

“Being with you makes me want to make art again,” Dream says. His lips quirk in amusement. “And not only on you.”

It’s really all Hob had ever wanted.

“I’m glad, sweetheart,” he says, holding Dream close, “I’m so glad.”

—

A few months later.

—

Hob is so proud of Dream for deciding to exhibit some of his art again. Hob’s always thought Dream’s new art was lovely, but he knows Dream didn’t always feel the same way. And still, his new art doesn’t look the same as his old pieces. But he’s putting on an exhibition anyway.

Hob might have taken him out for an embarrassingly extravagant dinner to celebrate the announcement.

Now he’s reaping the rewards—the reward, of course, being gazing at Dream in his formal wear. He looks incredibly elegant in his glittering black suit. It had taken Hob a while to get his mind back online after first seeing him, and he’d had to dip him into a kiss before they left the flat.

Now that they’re actually at the show, he’s managing better to keep his thoughts suitable for a public space, but mainly because he’s more focused on how Dream is feeling. And on keeping any unsavory characters away, should they dare to show up.

But as they stand in the corner of the room, watching the people milling about and studying the paintings, Dream is fidgeting. Shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet, rubbing his fingers together. Hob watches him do it for a few minutes before finally saying something.

“Are you worried he’s going to show up? Because I’ll throw him out.”

“I know you will,” Dream says. Still, he keeps watching the room nervously, all the people meandering around, chatting amongst themselves. “It’s not that. It’s… what if they all hate it?”

Hob takes his hand and squeezes it. “Did you used to get nervous before?”

“Sometimes. But I knew, at least, that I felt confident in what I had made. What anyone else thought of it was of less importance.” He looks up at the painting they’re closest to, a large, cool-toned piece. “I still feel sometimes that it is not right, now.”

“Maybe it’s right for now,” Hob says, and Dream looks at him questioningly. “Didn’t most famous artists have seasons? They didn’t always work in the same style for their whole careers.”

“I suppose that’s true.” He sighs. “I am still getting used to it.”

“You also don’t have to sell them, if you don’t want to,” Hob points out. “Remove that whole bit from the equation.”

“I want to know that I can,” says Dream. “That this, as a career, is not hopeless.”

“I’ll buy them,” Hob swears.

“One, that would result in a net of zero money coming in. Two—” his lips twitch up— “you can’t afford me.”

“You’re right, I can’t. You should have tipped your physical therapist, then maybe I could.”

“I’m already sleeping with my physical therapist, now I have to pay you as well?”

“Sex can’t buy paintings, Dream,” Hob says sadly. “Well, unless...”

“Hmm. Perhaps I’ll just do a portrait of you for my next exhibition,” Dream muses. “A nude one.”

“Hell yeah,” Hob says, and Dream, evidently anticipating a no, starts giggling. “Just don’t sell it. Makes me feel weird to think of some random guy with one of my nudes above their mantlepiece.”

“One of your nudes?” Dream asks, raising an eyebrow. “There are others I’m unaware of?”

Hob just winks at him.

Dream studies him, intrigued, for another moment, tongue running over his lower lip. He’s learned what that sort of look does to Hob.

Hob swallows hard. “Could get started on it now?”

Dream chuckles. “Later. For now—” he straightens his shoulders— “I must try to sell this art.”

In the end, Dream did manage to sell a few paintings. Hob didn’t even buy any, though he was tempted to. Even without his interference, Dream left the exhibition flush with cash and, more importantly, pride.

Hob knew he hadn’t really believed he could do it: make art again in the first place, and especially not of a quality that someone would buy. But he’d done it.

He’d insisted on taking Hob out afterwards, rather than the other way around, and now Hob is shepherding a rather drunk Dream back to their flat.

“They actually liked it, Hob,” Dream says, and hiccups. He leans heavily against Hob’s side as Hob tries to maneuver them up the stairs to the flat. “The new art. They liked it.”

“I know, sweetheart, they did,” Hob agrees as he somehow gets them both through the door. He tumbles them into the bedroom and sets Dream down on the bed. Dream flops backwards, lying on his back on the mattress.

“It’s allll because of you,” he slurs, staring up at the ceiling. “You fixed…” he waves his hand vaguely.

Hob gets Dream’s shoes off, and then his own, and crawls into bed beside him. Their nice jackets and shirts crumple but he pays it no mind. “Oh, yeah? What did I fix?”

Sober Dream, he thinks, knows that this wasn’t really Hob’s doing. That no matter what Hob had contributed in terms of rehabilitating his hand, it was Dream who still had to put in the work to get back here. Dream knows that, usually.

Drunk Dream is trying to tell him something different, he thinks.

“All of it,” Dream insists. He lays his limp hand over his heart. “Me.”

“Aw, sweetheart.” Hob leans over him to kiss him. Dream hums in pleasure and twines a hand in his hair, tugging him down.

“I love you,” he mumbles, lips smearing against Hob’s. He sounds so happy. Very, very drunk still, but happy. Hob remembers the caged, nervous Dream he’d first met, who’d barely wanted to let him see his hand. Maybe he has managed to fix something, after all.

“I love you, too, baby,” he says, unexpectedly choked up. Dream cuddles him close, burying his face in Hob’s neck, worming his limbs around him so they’re all tangled up together. Hob holds him like that until he falls asleep, resigning himself to their ruined formal wear, basking in the fact that Dream is happy.

It’s all that matters to him, in the end.

#brief yet very sappy ending #physical therapy fic #my writing #dreamling

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1-ker0sene-1 · 4 months

Note

God your blog is fucking SCRUMPTIOUS. If you’re willing could you do something with a reader who has POTS? Much love ❤️

{Thank you so much ♥️ Apologies this took so long! Requests are starting to come out again! I lost all my drafts due to my laptop breaking and had to rewrite 🥹}

Gaz

Honest to god. This man would probably be the absolute best partner for someone with POTS. Whether he was there for your diagnosis or you already had it when you started dating, he wants to help and accommodate the best he can. Kyle would hate for you to feel isolated, trying to match and normalize your routine so you're not alone.

Definitely got you both massive water bottles, the ones that have at the very least sixty ounces. So you can keep drinking and sipping all day and stay hydrated. If you don't feel comfortable going out to a physical therapist? Kyle is researching ALL night how to do gentle therapy at home with you.

Taking care of you is second nature to him. He's constantly thinking about you. When he leaves for deployment he has small meals already prepped in the fridge for you, cleaned the whole house.. leaves sweet notes all over the place reminding you to drink water, get some electrolytes, cool off and get plenty of rest.

"I'll be home soon baby ~K"

"Don't forget to drink your water! Love you pretty girl ~K"

"Rest for me lovie, we'll be doing plenty of 'exercise' when I get back ;) ~K"

Price

Prepared. That is what John is. He wants to be ready if you have a bad day, so he can pamper you as much as he physically can if he cannot immediately whisk away your pain. John definitely moves fast in a relationship, especially if he feels an immediate connection. You're telling him he can take care of you? Of course it's not that he likes that you struggle with the condition, but his love language is definitely acts of service.

" 's no trouble love, house feels empty when you aren't in it anyways. Might as well just stay full time."

You're moving in. He's installing a nice and sturdy shower bench, he's got snacks all around the house for you, he's mixing electrolyte powder in your water. John wants you to thrive more than anything, you're his girl, going to be his wife one day. He still wants you to feel and be independent, if you need he'll go with you to get a mobility aid so you can comfortably go out more.

He's set in his military ways so.. He's somewhat blunt with scheduling. Little reminders all day to drink your water with a kiss to your forehead. When you go out together, he's stashed some instant cold packs and little salt packets in your bag. John often lifts your hand to check your BPM tracker, once he's done he'll kiss your knuckles.

"Look at that darlin' .. Takin' care of yourself so well for me."

Soap

Johnny had quite the habit of being a bit lazy when home from deployment. But then you wandered into his life, he didn't know about your POTS at first. Just figured you also had a busy life and preferred nights in for dates. Then you got more serious in your relationship and opened up to him about your condition. It was an immediate flip of a switch, Johnny became your Johnny.

He wants you to be able to spend your energy doing the things you love, not the simple tasks, especially when he can take care of it. You practically gained a Scottish housewife. He'll shoo you softly away from the dishes, insisting you enjoy your hobbies or rest up so you two can have a nice day out. Laundry, cleaning, making the bed. Bathing you even though you're perfectly capable, definitely not to touch you and get a little handsy-

"I can take care of ye bonnie.. believe me tha more I do the more I fall for ye."

Would say the only somewhat struggle, is overheating at night. Cause you cannot tell me this man doesn't run hot like a heater. And he loves to love you, hold you, touch and feel you. But there's work arounds, a nice AC, and cooling blankets. Besides he sleeps like a rock so once he's out, if you get too hot you can give him a little push off you. Rarely he'll wake up and drawl out whines.

"..miss ye lass.. my arms are useless without ye in them.."

Ghost

Simon never thought of himself as a worrier. He's been through hell and back and not much phases him. But the first time he saw you faint nearly sent him to an early grave, threw whatever was in his hands to dart over to catch you. This was definitely before he really started to understand the seriousness of POTS. Now it's constantly on his mind, especially the moments in the day when he's not right there with you.

He doesn't want you to feel guilty about his panic, so he's pretty stoic and calm when face to face with you. Definitely goes in with you to every doctor's appointment now, asks questions, how he can help, what to do during your flare ups. You best believe he is taking everything your doctor suggests to heart. Buying you a BPM monitor, knowing Simon he'll probably figure a way to connect it to his phone. So even when he's not with you he knows a little about how you're doing. Statistically it's his most used app now. Once in a while you get a blunt-

"Go rest."

-text from Simon as soon as it gets too high for his liking.

Simon is very adamant that you take plenty of breaks throughout the day, if you're overexerting yourself he's right there with you. An arm winding around you, kissing the nape of your neck after gently brushing your hair aside.

"How you feelin' doll? Let's get you some water and we'll take a break for a while yeah? Put on that show you like and I'll take care of this.."

#cod x reader #disabled reader #call of duty x reader #cod mw x reader #johnny mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #kyle garrick x reader #john price x reader #taskforce 141 x reader #cod ghost x reader #cod soap x reader #cod gaz x reader #captain john price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #johnny soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #tf 141 x reader

212 notes · View notes

whiskeynwriting · 1 year

Text

Recovery

Simon “Ghost” Riley x OFC “Bones”

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Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Trauma, physical therapy, some reader descriptions (strong/muscles), dirty talk, size kink, grinding/dry humping, mentions of male masturbation, spanking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, mentions of smoking, tattoos.

◆

A/N: Hope y’all aren’t getting sick of Ghost x Bones because they’re not leaving anytime soon lol. Also this gif has my HEART, baby has some makeup in his eye lol

ALSO also, thank you to @thesleepingmusicneek for honestly just being an amazing fucking friend but for helping me SO much with my writing 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

◆

Simon “Ghost” Riley Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

◆

Nothing but scribbles stumble across the page, now disfigured with angry wrinkles. And the writer, no more frustrated than he is stubborn, sitting with the pencil’s tip just at the paper’s edge. What’s worse than watching him struggle, is knowing there’s little to nothing you can do about it. This journey is up to him; his progress, his growth, his recovery, it’s all in his hands.

“This is bullocks.” Finally, he tosses the pencil down with an aggressive huff. “Never even was a lefty.”

“That’s not the point.”

Looking away with a frown, he mumbles, “I know.”

Simon’s physical therapist tries his best, he really does, but his patient is stubborn, and these injuries are unforgiving. Having you here is the main thing that keeps Simon going, out of both pride and general encouragement. In the therapist’s eyes, your open sass doesn’t help. But hey, it’s how the two of you bond.

“Try it this way, Ghost.” He then offers, speaking into the growing silence.

“I’ve already tried it that way. Fuckin’ hurts!” His left hand wasn’t ever his strongest or most favored out of the two, but practicing his writing skills is a step in the right direction in regard to his healing.

Sometimes, this was embarrassing for him, having you watch him struggle. But even through the bad days, and the really bad days, he insisted that you come. Your support meant more to him than anything, and you were glad to tag along. He found great offense in the mere offer of you leaving, which was suggested many times by his therapist. They claimed he’d focus better without you there. A fucking distraction.

“She’s my doctor,” He’d state firmly, eyes burning holes into his PT. “Not you.”

And this was true. Price had allowed you to be Simon’s main physician, figuring there really wasn’t anyone better. You had both personal and professional reason to be here. So, Simon’s physical therapist can suck it.

“Perhaps if we had some privacy, maybe -”

“This again?!” Ghost shouts, and you try your best to hide your chuckle. He should’ve known better than to bring this up now, when Simon is most frustrated. “Bloody fuckin’ hell, how many times do I have to tell you?!”

“Hey,” Laying a hand on his forearm, you request gently, “Take a breath.”

Regardless of his deep inhale, Simon’s dark eyes continue to glare at the physician. Though, as irritated as he may seem now, Ghost truly has come a long way. He’s gotten a lot of feeling back in his feet and legs, and can even wiggle his toes and feel pain. On this area of his body, the therapist has moved onto moving his entire foot.

“Why don’t we try the lower extremities?”

“‘S difficult, too.” Glancing away, Simon focuses on the view past the windowpane. It’s a sunny day, soon to rain but nice enough now.

The soft rub of your thumb on his forearm is what pulls him back, nodding with a sigh. “Alright, fine.”

Redirecting his focus to his feet, Simon concentrates, determined to do… something. He’s been instructed to wiggle his toes, which he does successfully. And the gentle squeeze you give him offers the slightest bit of encouragement.

“Alright, now let’s try your ankle. Start with the right one.”

“Rotate it fully?” Scoffing, he raises a brow.

His therapist shrugs. “Any movement at all.”

Narrowing his eyes, Simon zones in on his right foot, doing anything he can to make it move. A twitch, a wiggle, anything. But by his quick yet shallow breaths, his small grunts, you can tell he’s becoming agitated again.

“Be patient with your body.”

“My body can do so much more than this.” He spits out in return.

“Yeah?” You return, not one to take his sass. “Then show me.”

There was nothing more motivating than your snarky remarks, always ready to challenge the man you love. And wouldn't you know it, a small shudder runs through his ankle. The way Simon’s head immediately snaps up toward you makes you grin, his eyes wide with little crinkles on the side, evidence of his eager smile. It's like he himself was surprised by it, and to say you’re proud of him would be an understatement.

“Way to go, big boy.” With the widest grin, you congratulate him. “You’re making progress.”

And even though he doesn’t respond, he keeps his smile. He’s proud of himself, too.

Subtle glances, small brushes or touches, cheeky grins and flirtatious laughs, that’s what accounts for your interactions. And while your exchanges have been sweet, they’ve also been dulled, in a way. The fire doesn’t seem to be there anymore. Your love still grows, is still everlasting, but the desire you had for one another, it’s faded.

Or at least, it seems that way.

The first few months of Simon’s recovery were the most difficult. Getting him stable was more important than anything, and you were by his side through it all. You weren’t thinking sexually, those thoughts weren’t anywhere near your headspace, not when you were so worried. But the more Simon healed, the more touchy he should be, right? It makes sense in your head. Going so long without so much as kissing or even hugging you, you’d assumed he’d want to put his hands on you as soon as he got the chance.

The injuries on Ghost’s face and head have healed, externally, at least. So, he’s been lifting his mask more around you, but only to the tip of his nose. And you wonder if he regrets showing himself to you. But even with that thought lingering heavily in your head, you also wonder, why hasn’t he kissed me yet? Why hasn’t he initiated anything? A small hug? A peck on the lips? Anything? Honestly, it feels like you’re losing him all over again.

Simon has shown his love for you through his actions and words. The two of you don’t often say it, but it comes up every now and then. His physical intentions, though, those were much more prominent. They came in the form of voicing his requests for you to stay, whether it be at his therapy sessions or just throughout the day. He wasn’t shy about that. Occasionally, he’d compliment you, call you smart and sweet, call you his doctor, his girl. But nothing more, nothing even remotely sexual. And it’s strange because Simon used to be so sexual. Even when he couldn't do much with you, couldn't he have said something to express his physical interest?

On the other end, Ghost’s worrying about this topic just as much as you. While you’ve been waiting for him to make a move, he’s been waiting on you. His body has always been scarred, mutilated with cuts that ran deep and marred with burns over his flesh. But he wasn’t insecure about any of that, not until these recent injuries. He knows he looks different, especially on his left arm and legs, even his face a little bit. Simon hasn’t felt truly insecure in decades, but that rotten feeling has now been clawing at the insides of his chest, breaking free and wreaking havoc on his mind.

Simon wanted to give you space, give you the option of turning away. He wouldn’t blame you, this wasn’t exactly part of the package. Besides, you can’t help it if you’re not attracted to him anymore because of these injuries. He’d understand it. It’d crush his entire being, but he’d understand.

And so, he waits, wondering if the day will come where you’ll make a move, where you’ll show him that you’re still attracted to him. But he refuses to bring it up to you, he doesn’t want to push.

“‘M sorry,” Simon grumbles quietly, somberly.

“You don’t have to be.” His regret is obvious, and you appreciate the gesture of him apologizing. But you’re used to his attitude during those sessions, and you honestly don’t blame him one bit. You can’t imagine how frustrating this situation would be if it were you personally.

Moving about the room, you clean up your station, sorting notes into files and wiping down the desk. And Simon watches you with thoughtful eyes, hoping for a chance to reconnect. You’re the most precious and special thing he’s ever had the pleasure of possessing. But not possess in a way of dominance, possess in a way like his own soul possesses his body. Natural, connected, at peace.

“How was your day?” He asks, voice low and muddled by the rain tapping against the windowpane.

Without turning, you respond with, “Normal. Nothing too crazy.”

“What was your favorite part?” Simon pries gently, not wanting the conversation to end.

Now, you do turn. Leaning back against the edge of your desk, you grin. “Spending it with you.”

And it’s true. Regardless of the worries slowly but surely consuming you, it was nice to be with him.

Swallowing, his pulse becomes thunderous in his ears, heart beating against his chest. He wants you, wants to feel you next to him. So, with great hesitancy, he requests, “C’mere.”

Excitement shoots through your limbs as you all too quickly prance over to him, ecstatic that he’s even asked. And your eagerness makes him smirk beneath the mask. Sitting yourself down on one of those round, swiveling chairs, you rest beside his left arm. Out of curiosity, you look down, eyeing his decorated forearm. His tattoos no longer look the same, some of them having changed with the healing of his stitches.

“Bunch of bullshit.” Ghost murmurs, glancing down, too. “Paid good money for those.”

Laughing, you give your head a single shake. “They still look hot as hell.”

Eyes widening, he speaks before he can stop himself. “Really?”

With you being so close to him again, and now complimenting him, he feels like he’s soaring.

“Fuck yeah.” You respond, as if it were obvious. To you, it is.

Impulsively, you lay a hand over his forearm, fingers brushing the black and white ink. And for a split second, it feels electric on his skin. But you’re quick to flinch away, wide eyes staring up at him. “I’m so sorry, did that hurt?”

But all he does is shrug. “Not at all. Stitches are healed, love.”

Love. You swoon.

“So, I can touch you?” It obviously isn’t meant to come off dirty, but Ghost’s brain registers it as that, anyway.

“Of course you can.” He nearly blurts out, his tone hopeful and welcoming. And immediately, you’re wrapping both hands around his sleeve. The small hum he exudes prompts you to glance up, grinning at the sight. Ghost has closed his eyes, chest releasing a relaxing breath.

“Feels nice.”

“Just this?” Humored doubt laces your tone.

“Feels like ages since you’ve touched me.”

His words twist the thoughts collecting in your head into something new. Has he… he’s wanted me to touch him?

“I know…” The way you say it expresses your sadness, your regret. “Just need you to heal, ya know?”

Because of what he’s now said, you feel the need to explain yourself, explain why you haven’t fulfilled his expectations. Throughout this entire healing process, you focused mostly on his physical health. You never once thought to tend to his emotional wellbeing. It’s a failure, on your end.

“Does it,” Inhaling a motivating breath, he finishes with, “Does it bother you?”

“What?”

Lifting his arm slightly, he gestures to himself. “These stitches, the injuries.”

Twisting your face in confusion, you lean back a bit. “Um… no? Why would they?”

“Just… missed your touch, is all.” He’s mumbling, quiet and very obviously insecure. “Missed you.”

“Baby… I’m so sorry.” All at once, regret hits you like a truck. He’s been suffering, and you’ve done nothing. “I’m sorry I haven’t done more for you.”

“You’ve done everything you needed to.”

“No, I haven’t. How could I let you feel this way?”

An abrupt knock on the door dissipates your conversation into seemingly nothing. Instantly, you pull your hands away from him, turning in your chair to greet whoever’s about to approach. And to your delight, it’s Johnny.

“Hey Lt.” He grins, walking in and giving you a nod. “Lovely Bones.”

There’s that flirtatious nature again. As always, Ghost knew it meant nothing, not really. But now that he feels like you’re falling through his fingers, he wants to tighten his grasp now more than ever, wants to pull you back into his chest and never let you go, whisper all the sweet things he’s been dying to tell you. Especially when another man compliments you.

“How’ve ya been?” Striding forward, Johnny takes a seat opposite of Ghost’s bed. Spreading his legs and leaning in on his knees, he flashes that cheeky smile, giving Simon his full attention.

“I’ve been fine, Johnny. Nothing new.” Simon answers simply, almost in a kind of brain fog. Switching conversations so quickly is difficult for him, still trying to regain his focus from the incident.

“See your scars are healin’ up nicely.” Pointing to his forearm, he nods. “That’s good to see.”

“Yeah, messed up my bloody ink, though.”

“Ah,” Soap waves a hand, “Looks better that way.”

The team visited Simon fairly frequently. And since you’re by his side for ninety-five percent of the day, you get to see the guys every time they come by. Oftentimes, they’d bring him little treats, a snack from the cafeteria or his favorite energy drink. And while Ghost knew they had the best intentions, their pity disgusted him. Sometimes he wished they would just leave him alone. Especially now, considering the two of you were in the middle of a rather important discussion.

“Oh!” Johnny then says, startling you. Reaching into his back pocket, he retrieves a small package. Tossing it Simon’s way, Soap says, “Know you like these.”

Catching it easily, Simon reads the wrapping. A Snickers, he can’t remember the last time he had one of these. And that was mainly due to his brain injury.

“Thanks, Johnny.”

“I know all this can’t be easy, Si. I’m for you, ya know.”

“Yeah, I know.” Ghost sighs, staring down at the candy bar. Johnny rarely called him Si, and it tugs at his heartstrings.

Soap can feel something is off in the room, the energy is just weird. He’s been wanting to ask about your relationship, but hasn’t had the balls to. He doesn’t want to make either of you uncomfortable and hasn’t had the chance to be alone with Simon or you.

“Well, I’ll let you lovebirds be.” Smiling cheekily, he stands. “I’ll visit again soon, yeah, Lt.?”

“‘Course, Johnny.”

Before Johnny leaves, he offers you a hug, strong arms embracing you fully. And you rest against him, leaning into his sturdy frame. He’s been a great part of your support system since all of this happened; Simon’s injuries have only brought you and Johnny closer together.

“It’ll be alright, yeah, sweetheart?” He sighs quietly against your head. Nodding, you take in a steadying breath.

“Yeah, it’ll be alright.”

Another knock, another groan from your end. “Come in.”

Opening the door is the other half of the medical team assigned to Ghost, making their way in so they can clean. Their tasks were to change the sheets, wash Simon and his clothes, wipe down surfaces and mop the floor, the list goes on. And while you were more than happy to do these things, Simon wouldn't allow it. Ghost’s recovery prompted new boundaries to arise in your relationship, lines that he was firm on setting. The first regarding this exact circumstance; you already cared for him medically and he refused for you to do anymore, he didn’t want you to be his full time caregiver. He would never want to burden you with that, and he knows it would cause nothing but strife in your relationship. Besides, the mere thought of you changing his bedpan and regularly washing his sheets was humiliating. So, whenever it was time for those types of tasks, you left, fulfilling other duties.

But why did they have to come now?

“I’ll, um…” Turning back to Simon, you see he’s already looking toward you with a pleading gaze. Stay.

All you want to do is stay.

But at the same time, Simon doesn’t want you to see him this way.

“I’ll… see you later, Si.”

Swallowing, Simon’s rough voice then appears. “Babe,”

Immediately, your eyes widen, if only ever so slightly. For him to call you that in the presence of others speaks volumes. Sure, Price had you sign those HR papers about workplace relationships, but you hadn’t exactly made it known to others after that. The two of you favored your privacy. But right now, that simple word is speaking louder than anything else he could’ve said.

“C’mere for a sec.” Grunting, he does his best to reach out to you, using his left arm. And as soon as he does it, Johnny is letting you go, wanting you to meet Simon’s gentle plea.

Leaving the sergeant’s arms, you do just that, stepping over to Simon’s bedside. Placing both of your hands in his left, you grin, looking into those deep, warm eyes of his.

“You’ll come back, yeah?” Ghost asks quietly, your team beginning to work around him.

“Of course, I will.”

“Eh, won’t be long.” Johnny chimes in, “She can come hangout with me and the boys, get a game of pool in.”

“Sounds lovely.” You return with a murmur, eyes not leaving Simon’s. “I’ll be back later, baby.” And that, coupled with the kiss you give his palm, is shocking to your team. Though it sends waves of butterflies through Simon’s stomach.

These public displays of affection are entirely foreign to your relationship, but you’re both basking in the sweetness of it. And maybe this is the perfect time for you to explore it, for you to outwardly show your love and attraction for him just when he needs it most.

On your way out, Johnny doesn’t mention the way every single person’s eyes widen in the room when your affectionate nicknames are exchanged, or the way a few heads turn. He chooses to stay silent, smiling to himself while leading you out of the room.

Returning to a sleeping Simon is bittersweet. You’re glad he’s resting, but you’d do anything to finish your earlier conversation. But it’s late, and you figure at this point, you’ll have to wait until morning.

The rainfall makes you tired, too, yawning as you walk further in. It was only three days into Simon’s recovery that you started sleeping in his room, bringing a small, foldable cot for you to curl up on. His bed wasn’t big enough for the two of you, and besides, you’re pretty sure Price would light a fire up both your asses if he caught you snoozing next to him.

As quietly as you can, you unfold your small bed and bring it to the side of his. It sits lower, but Simon often made up for that by dropping his arm, letting you hold onto his hand throughout the night. But with him asleep, you don’t think you’ll get that luxury tonight. Nevertheless, you curl up in your blanket, resting only in your underclothes as you doze off beside him.

“Miss you.”

That rumbling voice almost scares you in the near silence, your body jolting ever so slightly. When did he wake up? Still, those two simple words make your insides burn bright.

Lips curling happily, you mutter, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Quietly, you then ask, “Want me to come up there?” It’s happened once or twice before, but only for some cuddles. Simon’s grown quite accustomed to your touch.

With a heavy sigh, he gives in. “You know I do.”

Absolutely thrilled with his request, you pop right up, situating yourself on the right side of his bed. Simon likes it best when you curl up on this side, allowing him to wrap his good arm around you. Cuddling into him, you revel in the closeness - you haven’t done this in weeks. He’s resting on his back, the same position he always sleeps in. And with you by his side, he turns his head in your direction, releasing a contented breath.

“Hey, gorgeous.” He says to you sweetly, fondly, covered lips pressing to the top of your head.

“Hm…” Sighing happily, you twine your legs between his much bulkier appendages, draping an arm across his abdomen. You’re so happy he still wants this, wants you and this relationship.

“Cozy?” He chuckles, eyes closed as he grins.

“Mhm,” Snuggling further into him, he can feel your smile press against his bare skin. Ghost usually slept nearly naked, only black boxers hugging his body. And you liked it best this way, for multiple reasons. One being that you’re able to see more of his tattoos. He has some on his chest, one reaching up to his collarbones and neck. And you just love them, found them incredibly interesting and undeniably sexy.

“Love this…” Tracing a particularly larger tat, your smile becomes brighter than ever. “Love the way you feel.”

“Yeah? Even when I’m like this?” His tone expresses the dry humor he’s far too familiar with, the same dry humor that covers up his emotions.

“Big teddy bear.” And that makes him fully laugh. “Strong.”

“Don’t feel too strong.”

Simon was never one to be insecure of his body, of the multitude of scars on it. Cuts that dug deep, burns that marred his skin, none of it bothered him, not even when he showed himself to you like this. What did bother him, though, was the fact that he looked weak. He couldn't stand it, and to say his ego was taking a hit would be an understatement.

“Baby,” With a heavy breath, you shake your head lightly beneath him. “You’re so fucking hard on yourself.”

All he does is grunt in response, becoming quite pensive. Though, he tries not to be. Getting lost in his thoughts wasn’t something Simon liked doing. Lucky for him, your hand serves as a distraction. Running your palm down his torso, you take this opportunity to feel the muscles along his stomach and ribs, the v-line leading down to his pelvis. And it makes him shiver with anticipation.

You’re not sure how to start this conversation again, mainly because of how distracted you’ve become. Feeling Simon’s naked body always made you feel excited inside, always made you feel eager and lustful. But you want to care for him emotionally, too.

“I hope you know how much I still love you.” Continuing to lower your hand, you suddenly feel Simon’s chest dip, releasing a heated breath. “How much I love your body…”

“Hm…” The further you get, the more interested he becomes. The fact that you still find him appealing, even like this, it’s repairing his ego bit by bit. Truthfully, it’s everything he’s needed. “Miss you touchin’ me…”

“Do you miss this, too?” Lightly, ever so lightly, you cup him over his clothes. And the gentle stimulation is more than enough to arouse him.

The intimacy you share with Simon is addicting, and the withdrawal has been a bitch. But just like that, as soon as you get the tiniest taste, you’re hooked all over again.

“Fuck, yes.” Groaning in frustration, he forces out a breath. And fuck you’ve missed that, hearing the eager roughness to his tone. “Been so long since I’ve had you.”

Feeling your hand on his crotch like that, it lights a fire inside him. All over again, he wants you, wants to throw you down on this bed and take you. Shove himself inside until you’re fluttering, spurting with cum before he releases his own. Hold you down and make you take it, for however long he likes. Rub his face over your chest, down the valley between your breasts, sucking on their soft flesh. Haul your leg up over his waist and grab a fistful of your ass, spanking it until the pain turns into something irresistibly sweet.

But he can’t. He physically can’t.

The arm holding you tightens against your body, against your own strong muscles. Irritation courses through his veins, knowing he can’t do much but god damn if he won’t try to do what he can. Turning his head, he ducks down, pressing his covered lips to your own with a forceful breath. Easily, wholeheartedly, you embrace him, hand lifting to cup his jaw. Your mouth presses to the shape of his lips, the covered kiss far too teasing for the current moment.

“Baby, can we? Please?” Sliding down ever so slightly, your fingertips graze the edge of his mask, wanting desperately to see him; any part of him.

“I… I want to, B.” The hesitancy in his voice is worrying. “But it just… it won’t be the same.”

Even through the mask, you can feel his breath, experiencing the humid touch of it against your face.

“I don’t care how it is, I just want it. I want you, Simon. I’ve missed you so fucking much.” Impatiently, you tug on his mask, leaning up against to press your mouth to his skull covering. It’s needy, it’s wanting, so openly throwing yourself at him he honestly can’t believe it. He hasn’t seen you like this in far too long, and he’d be an idiot to let this opportunity go, especially when it’s all he’s fucking thought about.

The way your tongue slides out, pressing against the white and black fabric, it makes him growl with passion. Quickly, yet shakily, his left hand rises, flipping the edge of his mask up before grabbing onto your jaw. Squishing your cheeks a bit he brings you in, bare lips crashing into your own. Open mouths press together, wet and warm and familiar. And those thick fingers dig into the fabric along your hip, wishing it were bare skin.

“Baby,” With your fingernails scraping down his chest, you have to stop yourself from digging in too deeply. But it’s difficult when he’s kissing you like this, when he’s shoving his tongue inside your mouth so he can map it out all over again. “How could you ever think I’m not attracted to you?”

The air leaving your chest is instantly sucked back in, your chest rising and falling as you feel Simon’s hand glide down your waist. He’s bringing you in even closer, pressing your body to his, feeling your warmth.

“Don’t you know how fucking sexy you are, Simon?”

“Get up here,” That gruff voice suddenly demands, “On my lap, B.”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice, your eager movements are evidence of that. Slipping your shorts and panties down your legs, you leave them on the cot as you slide easily on top of him. Your thighs encase his hips as you make yourself comfortable on him, center lowered right onto his. And your lips don’t even leave, he wouldn’t allow it.

“That’s so good…” Both of Simon’s hands now fall to your hips, holding onto you firmly.

The way his teeth nip at your lips makes you sigh, little whines spilling from your mouth when they turn into bites. And all at once, his hands are roaming your body, sliding up beneath your shirt to feel your bare stomach, the skin of your hips and sides. The way you’re embracing each other is so lustful, so impassioned and fervent. It’s like it’s the first time all over again.

“You’re fucking perfect, you know that?” His words make you laugh, but he’s insistent. “Every goddamn day, whether you’re working or not, even on that bloody mission, you’re stunning, B.”

“Simon,” You begin to protest, but he continues, mouthing at your lips as he bursts with praise for you.

“Such a pretty girl for me,” Your lover says, hips beginning to grind up against you. “Always so pretty…”

“Ugh, I fucking missed you. I need you, Si. I need this.” Holding his face with both hands, you lean in, resting your forehead over his own as you begin to meet his gentle thrusts. “I don’t give a shit how many scars you have, how many injuries I have to see through. I’m here, Simon. I’m here and I’m not fucking leaving you.”

“I love you.” He suddenly blurts out, as if he’d been dying to say it this entire time. “I can’t lose you, B. Never opened myself up to anyone but you.”

“I know, baby. I know… and I love everything you’ve given me. Everything you are.”

“Not everything.” Giving his head a quick shake, hands guiding the sway of your hips over him.

“Everything.”

Your correction prompts Simon’s direct eye contact, a small pause in this heated moment. Flickering between your irises, Ghost’s own pupils widen, filled with something akin to adoration, something made of lust and absolute devotion.

“Simon,” Whining quietly, you resume your subtle shifts over his lap, his own hips easily resuming their pace, too. “Please, I need you again, baby.”

“I, I just… it won’t be the same, Bones.” But he’s still kissing you, still grinding up against your sensitive core and breathing the air puffing past your lips. And you can feel him, having fully hardened and sitting firm between your legs.

“I don’t fucking care, Simon. If you want this, tell me. And I’ll make it happen.”

“Yeah? And what’ll you do?” He asks, grinning while lifting his good hand to the back of your head.

“Ride you,” Panting, you grind yourself over the thickness of the erection rising steadily in his briefs. “Just like I used to.”

Betraying his rotten inner emotions, the ones that had convinced him you no longer saw him with the same desire in your eyes, a smirk forms on those smooth lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Devouring him, your tongue slides into his mouth, swallowing his moan while dragging the wet muscle over his own. But he quickly takes the lead, using the hand on your head to move you how he likes. He takes great pleasure in this, in having some semblance of control while you’re like this.

“Fuck, do it.” He finally decides, his entire body shuddering with desire. “Fucking do it.”

Instantly, you’re dropping one hand from his face and reaching for his boxers. You find him easily, pulling aside the fabric and watching as he practically jumps into your hand.

“Christ,” Red and leaking, throbbing, Simon’s cock weighs heavy in your hand.

“Excited?” Grinning wildly, you lean in, running the tip of your nose over his cheek.

“Very.” Evidenced by the liquid warmth drooling from his cockhead, he’s correct.

Running your thumb over his slit, you take great pride in watching him twitch. “Don - Don’t tease. Just put it in.”

It’s too damn easy for you to listen to him, to follow his every command. Lifting yourself, your eyes fall to the sight you’ve so dearly missed. And with both of you watching, you line him up with your entrance, licking your lower lip with anticipation.

“C’mon, come down now…” His hands are pulling on your hips, becoming impatient. “Put the tip of my cock against that pretty little hole.”

Fuck, you missed this, the way he talked to you during times like this. He was always so good with it.

“Mm…” Slowly, you sink down, inch by thick inch. The whine that slips past your lips is shrill, feeling his head spread you open. But Simon is quick to hush you, bringing you in for a bruising kiss.

“You can do it, just like before.” He says to you through sweet, wet kisses.

“Simon…”

“Just like that, just like that, princess.” His hands continue to urge you on, pulling you down onto him. “What happened, huh? Get a little tighter without me around?”

“F-Fuck,” Dropping your head onto his shoulder boosts his confidence incredibly; your submissive side is coming out again, and it’s making him feel dominant.

“Oh, just look at the way it stretches for me, Christ…” Feeling your velvety inside envelope his tip, it’s almost too much for him. “Such a good pussy.”

“Baby…” Turning your head, you press a flurry of fervent kisses to his mask. “I’ve needed you for so long, you don’t know how bad I’ve missed this.”

“I know, trust me.” Releasing a dry laugh, Simon’s eyes raise with awareness.

Clinging to his shoulders, you gasp when he finally bottoms out inside you, sitting entirely over his pelvis. And with your ass flush against his lap, he throbs violently against your walls, every thick vein pulsing beneath your core’s hot squeeze.

“Sweetheart,” Taking in a lungful of air, he says, “You know how many times I’ve thought about this? Thought about fuckin’ you again? Thought about this sweet ass on my lap, about the way this pretty pussy grips me…”

“Tell me,” Clinging to his shoulders, your nails dig into him once again, lips pressing to his neck. “Please tell me.”

Wrapping his right arm around your back, he pulls you flush against his chest. The sudden movement knocks you away from his neck, with Simon’s lips returning to yours all over again. The embrace is sweet and smooth, his talented lips captivating your attention.

“Whenever you weren’t here… I took every goddamn opportunity. Fucked my fist to the thought of you, B. But, ngh…” Feeling you wiggle over his lap, he grunts. “It’s never the same. Not even bloody close.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Using those broad shoulders as leverage, you lift yourself, setting a steady pace over him.

“Christ,” Head lolling back, his eyes follow. “Didn’t, fuck… didn’t want to pressure you.”

“I like when you do that to me. Make me feel small, and needed.”

The stride you continue with over Simon’s lap is baffling to him, riddling his body with overstimulation. Every time you meet his pelvis, you grind down onto him, onto the grown-out hairs surrounding his base.

“You’re always needed.” He whispers to you, kissing your cheek as it rests beside him. “Fucking hell, princess, I can feel you dripping down my shaft.”

The sound your wetness creates resonates throughout the room, prompting a bashfulness to rise hotly in your cheeks. Dropping your forehead to his shoulder, you moan openly into his ear, feeling both of those broad hands lower to your cheeks. Summoning every ounce of strength he has, he bounces you down onto his lap, punching himself into your depths. And every thrust he gives shoves him even deeper inside, his tip nudging your most sensitive skin.

“No,” He then seethes, moving his head in your direction. “Don’t hide yourself from me, not now. Not when I finally have you again.”

But when he turns his head to the side, his mask shifts, a bout of frustration rising within him. “Fucking, ngh.”

It’s a quick decision, one he makes out of genuine love for you.

Reaching up, Simon tears his mask from his head, tossing it to the floor and grabbing your face again. Before you can get a good look at him, his mouth is on you, the hand he used on his mask now pawing at your breasts.

“Take it off, love. Take this off for me.”

But you’re still processing the fact that he just took off his mask, and you want to see him. He doesn’t let you, though, he’s too busy tugging at the ends of your shirt. So, you oblige him, leaning back to lift it from your torso. Just as it leaves your head, Simon is lifting his chin up to your chest, mouth enveloping your left nipple.

“Baby, let me,” Hands holding his head, your own tips back, mouth falling agape with a graceful moan.

Ghost’s mouth sucks on you fervently, tongue flicking over the delicate peak before biting at it ever so gently.

“Please let me see you.”

Insecurity overtakes him then, now that you’ve fully asked. And you can tell - he practically curls in on himself.

“You don’t want me to?” And with that gentle inquiry, he’s taking in a steadying breath, eyes beginning to lift.

From beneath his brow, those dark eyes lift to yours, chin following soon after. And for the first time since this horrid incident, you’re seeing him, fully seeing him.

“No,” Giving his head a light shake, he stares into your dazzling orbs. “Don’t stop, babe. Please, don’t.”

And you want to listen, want to give him what he wants but it’s hard when you’re witnessing the beauty of Simon’s face. The scars, the cuts and curves, his nose and jawline, all of his features coming together as one, once again. The memory of his face was once a painful thought, but now… it can be replaced.

“It’s so nice to see you again, baby.”

The strength of his arms and hands continues your movement, pushing you forward onto his chest. Here, he nuzzles into you, arms securing themselves around your midsection. Simon’s nose rubs against your neck, committing your scent, your feel, to memory.

“Only for you.” He murmurs, placing a tender kiss. “Can’t lose you.”

“You won’t.”

“You’re everything I need.” Grinding up into your center, he forces a gasp from your chest, spreading your cheeks until slight pain begins to bloom. “Christ, I’m not going to last long like this, not with these gorgeous fucking tits pressed against me like this.”

“Baby, we need this more… can we please? Please?”

“Every chance we get.” Nipping at your ear, the low groan he exudes sends a shiver right through you.

The pleasurable waves flowing through your hips are nothing compared to the sharp jolts of ecstasy every thrust of his hips gives. At times, you think about how foolish he is to think that his strength has left him, what with the way his muscles bend and ripple with every firm grab, every harsh slap he now delivers.

“Look at me.” Ghost demands in that deep, rough tone. “Look at me, and listen well.”

Lifting your head, you do just that, memorizing every feature of his face. Subconsciously, your hand lifts, cupping his clean jawline with your thumb stroking his cheek.

“You’re mine, understand? Mine to fucking keep. And there’ll be no more misunderstandings between us.”

“No more,” Shaking your head, you hold his gaze, lips parting from his continued movements. “F-Fuck.”

“You gonna cum for me, huh? Just like you used to? Back when you first cared for me, back when we’d smoke in the Jeep…”

“Yes,” You don’t want to look away from him, but your head drops regardless. The pleasure flowing through your thighs turns every muscle you have to jelly, the wetness growing beneath you evidence of this. “I miss it.”

“Then give it to me, before I give mine to you.”

The way he phrases it has you falling apart in his arms, still strong enough to keep you together on his chest. His body, thick and bulky, holds you tightly against him, feeling your limbs quiver above him. His fingers continue to dig into the softness of your cheeks before landing another harsh smack, listening to your shrill cry while you shake on his lap. It’s all-consuming, blinding, the euphoria bursting inside your body.

“Goddamn,” Simon huffs out, his voice tense and strained.

The grip he has on you turns bruising, his body curling around you as he releases. And his teeth bite into your shoulder as he does, the muscles in his abdomen flinching with every milky rope that leaves him.

You can feel it, the evidence of his pleasure washing your insides white. The way he throbs against your walls, swollen and pulsing, his entire body releasing. Every ounce of worry and stress, any bit of anxiety, it’s flushed away with the help of your reassurance, of your devotion and unwavering passion.

Fully wrapping your arms around his neck, you rest flush against him, mouth pressing to his stubbled cheek over and over again. And the next sound to delight your ears is Simon’s laugh.

“Mm…” His groan sounds… content, relaxed. “You make me happy, B. Happier than I’ve been in… a long time.”

“Happier than you’ve ever been,” You correct him cheekily, shuddering slightly as you come down from the pleasure he so wonderfully brings. “You can say it, baby.”

Rolling his eyes, he gives your backside a light tap. “Don’t get cocky with it, now.”

“Simon,” Inhaling a deep breath, you allow yourself to be fully vulnerable with him. “I don’t ever want to be that far from you again.”

And he knows what you mean. Ghost was never known as an emotional man, and likely never will be. But with you, it’s a different story.

“You won’t be.” He reassures you quietly, calmly. “We’re here, everything’s just like it should be.”

“Mhm,” Nodding, you keep your arms around him, not wanting to let go.

“It’s just you and me, B.”

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