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brunchable · 6 months ago

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Steve Rogers finally gets drunk.

Pairings: Steve Rogers x f!reader Themes: Funny? and CUTE. STEVE BEING CUTE WHILE DRUNK. Summary: Steve got wrecked by Thor's Asgardian Liquor and now he's stumbling under your balcony, reciting Shakepeare's Romeo and Juliet to you. A/N: I stumbled over a prompt that I have long lost now and this was the fruit.

It was a perfectly quiet night, and you were unwinding on your balcony, half lost in thought, when the unmistakable sound of someone quoting Romeo and Juliet—or at least attempting to—echoed from below.

“O, she doth teach the torches to burn... so—hic—bright!”

Rolling your eyes, you assumed it was some drunk wandering the street. But then, in a voice far louder than necessary, the mystery romantic slurred, “It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night... like a rich jewel in... uh... someone’s ear!”

You sighed, trying to ignore it. But then there was a strange thunk against your temple—a small pebble had just bounced off your head.

“Ow!” you hissed, standing and scanning the area, annoyed—until you spotted Steve Rogers, lurching slightly, down below on the sidewalk.

You watched in amazement as he squinted up at you, attempting to focus and swaying on his feet like a flag in a strong breeze. He seemed to be mentally assembling the pieces of a big plan, his face all determination and zero sense. Another pebble tumbled out of his hand as he wobbled, barely avoiding tripping over his own feet in the process.

“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?” he shouted, looking about as stable as a newborn giraffe on roller skates.

You blinked. “Steve... are you okay?”

Steve flung one arm into the air, as if delivering a grand declaration, nearly toppling backward. “It is the east, and Juliet is the... uhm... Juliet is... Juliet!” He thrust a hand forward, fingers spread wide, as if that added extra meaning. “And you—you—are...”

He paused, visibly struggling, his other hand braced against a streetlamp for support.

“A total mess?” you offered, eyebrows raised.

“A goddess!” he slurred, blinking up at you with the most sincere, lovelorn look you’d ever seen. “A bright angel!” he continued, pulling himself up, trying—and failing—to straighten his posture.

For a moment, he seemed to try and get a grip, but his feet betrayed him, and he ended up doing an awkward spin, arms windmilling, before stabilizing himself.

“Steve, how much have you had to drink?” you asked, starting to laugh despite yourself.

“Only... one cup,” he replied, attempting to measure out what he must’ve thought was a “tiny” amount with his fingers. But the gap between his thumb and forefinger was about the size of a baseball. “Well... one Asgardian... goblet.” He grinned up at you, eyes bright. “A small one!”

You tried to bite back a laugh as Steve clasped his hands over his heart, gazing up at you with tragic romance. “Deny thy father and refuse thy—thy name!” He paused, his forehead wrinkling in concentration. “Wait... did I—did I skip a part?”

“Just a few lines,” you teased. “You also hit me with a rock.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, frowning. He bent down, swayed, and then picked up a handful of pebbles. “Doth my lady forgive me?”

“Steve, don’t you dare throw those at me.”

He looked down at the pebbles in his hand, confused. Then, with an exaggerated wink, he tossed them aside like he’d just disposed of a dangerous weapon. “Not a pebble in sight!” He shot you a triumphant, lopsided smile.

“And why art thou—no, wait—why are you out here, Juliet?”

“I live here, Steve,” you replied, trying to keep a straight face. “You’re the one making a scene.”

But Steve only clasped his heart, looking utterly enchanted. “Oh, fair maiden... would you come down and—uh, wait... no. Would you let down your hair?” He stopped, perplexed. “No, wait, that’s... that’s Rapunzel.” He scratched his head, lost. “Same thing, right?”

With a sigh, you leaned over the balcony railing, looking down at him with a smirk. “Steve, you should probably get home before you accidentally wander into traffic or—”

But he suddenly looked up at you with the most determined expression you’d ever seen, his eyes glassy but oddly focused.

“Doth thou love me?” he cried, one hand raised in a fist of drunken valor. “Say it true, or I shall be...” he paused, struggling, “...a total disaster!”

You couldn’t help it—you burst out laughing. “Steve Rogers, get your tipsy Shakespearean self home!”

He beamed up at you, his goofy grin full of pure, unfiltered adoration. “Parting is such sweet... uh...” he faltered. “...sorrow?”

Steve, swaying dramatically, looked up at you with a sudden, steely determination that only a man in his state could manage. “If thou shall not come down… then I… I shall climb up!” He pointed to the fire escape, his face alight with misguided heroism.

“Steve, please don’t—”

But it was too late. He grabbed the bottom rung with a graceless, lurching motion, grinning up at you with sheer triumph. “I’m coming, my fair maiden!”

With all the poise of a baby deer, he hoisted himself up, grunting as he fumbled his way onto the next step. Each rung seemed to be a new, Herculean task as he struggled to stay upright, clutching the railings like his life depended on it. His foot slipped once, making him lurch sideways, but he shot you a reassuring thumbs-up, completely oblivious to the danger.

“Steve! You’re gonna hurt yourself! Seriously, get down!” you called, half horrified, half laughing.

“Fear not, my lady!” he slurred, clinging to the railing and taking a very, very slow step up. “I am... coming for you!”

As he ascended, he attempted another line from the play, fumbling it badly. “Uh… But soft! What... yonder... light and window... um... something?” He shot you a sheepish grin. “Hold on... almost... got it.”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of wobbling and mumbling fragments of Shakespeare, he reached your level on the fire escape. He extended a hand dramatically, nearly toppling over in the process, and declared, “I have arrived!”

You laughed, hands on your hips as he wobbled in front of you. “Steve, that was a lot more ‘Romeo in need of a medic’ than ‘Romeo and Juliet.’ You’re absolutely out of it.”

He blinked, swaying as he tried to focus on you. “I came for thee,” he said proudly, managing to stand up straight—though his grip on the railing suggested it was doing most of the work.

Steve, still gripping the railing for dear life, looked at you with a mischievous glint in his glassy eyes.

“Fair Juliet… couldst thou… come a bit closer?” He held out a hand, wiggling his fingers invitingly, his face lit with pure, drunken delight. “I have something… uh… very important to tell thee.”

You arched a skeptical brow. “Steve, I’m pretty sure you can say it from there.”

He squinted, trying to look tragic but only succeeding in looking adorably pouty. “Nay… ‘tis… a secret of the heart,” he slurred, placing a hand over his chest with a lopsided grin. “I must whisper it… so only thou can hear it.”

Rolling your eyes but grinning despite yourself, you leaned a little closer, watching as his gaze flicked from your face to your lips.

“Alright, Romeo, what’s this ‘secret of the heart?’” you asked, half-expecting him to spout more mangled Shakespeare.

But instead, as soon as you were close enough, Steve leaned forward, his hand sliding around the back of your neck, and he pressed his lips to yours in a soft, surprisingly gentle kiss from across the railing.

Caught off guard, you froze, feeling the warmth of his mouth against yours. Then, with a laugh bubbling up, you pulled back slightly, blinking in shock as he gave you a pleased, slightly dazed smile.

“There it is,” he whispered, eyes twinkling. “My secret… is that thou art… perfect.” His gaze softened, and he gave a dopey smile. “And... very kissable.”

You shook your head, laughing. “Alright, Romeo. That was smooth—but I think it’s time to get you inside before you ‘heroically’ declare your love to the whole neighborhood.”

He grinned, still clutching the railing, looking like he’d just conquered the world. “Only for thee,” he slurred, leaning into your touch as you helped him down, his expression dreamy. “Only... ever for thee.”

Just as you were helping Steve down from the fire escape, a voice floated up from the street below.

“Steve! Where the hell are you?” It was Bucky, sounding frustrated and more than a little exasperated. You could see him pacing the sidewalk, looking around like he was on some kind of ridiculous rescue mission.

Steve’s eyes widened, and he pressed a finger to his lips, eyes sparkling with mischief as he looked at you.

“Shhh!” he whispered, grinning like a kid playing hide-and-seek. His attempt at silence was immediately betrayed by a giggle that escaped his mouth, and he put both hands over his lips, eyes gleaming with excitement.

“Steve, I know you’re around here somewhere! Get down here before you fall off something,” Bucky called out, still searching.

Steve, in a fit of tipsy brilliance, looked at you with a conspiratorial smirk and pointed toward your open window beside the balcony. Without a word, he started squeezing himself through, contorting like he thought he could make himself invisible in the process.

“Steve, what are you doing?” you whispered, half-laughing, as he awkwardly wedged his shoulders into the window, one leg hanging out, struggling like he was trying to sneak into a bank vault. He gestured wildly for you to help, but his clumsy movement only made him even more noticeable.

He leaned forward, eyes wide, and whispered, “Shhh! The enemy approaches!” He stifled another giggle, clearly thinking this was the funniest thing in the world.

Just then, Bucky looked up, and Steve flailed dramatically, accidentally bumping his head against the window frame with a muted “ow,” then snorted, laughing harder. He pressed his finger over his mouth again, hushing you through breathy laughter.

“What the…” Bucky stared, his gaze following Steve’s ridiculous pose as he tried to disappear through your window, half-in and half-out, his other leg kicking as he tried to haul himself through.

“Hey!” Bucky called, hands on his hips. “Rogers, get down here. Right now.”

Steve froze, peeking over the window frame like a deer caught in headlights, then gave you a pleading look, as if you were his partner in crime.

“Shh! The man downstairs… he cannot know I’m here,” Steve slurred dramatically, squinting as if Bucky were some kind of Shakespearean villain.

You bit your lip to keep from laughing as Bucky’s eyes narrowed.

“Steve, you’re on the fire escape, not a secret lair. Get down before you fall off and end up in the hospital.”

Steve waved a dismissive hand, a drowsy, lopsided grin on his face. “I’m in safe hands, Bucky! I have my fair maiden to protect me,” he announced proudly, glancing at you with such conviction that you had to stifle your laughter again.

Bucky groaned, his exasperation palpable as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, you’ve got one minute to say goodbye to your ‘fair maiden,’ then you’re coming with me,” he called, crossing his arms.

Steve turned back to you with a goofy grin, still wedged halfway through the window.

“Didst thou hear that?” he whispered in a loud stage voice, pointing at Bucky. “The villain gives us but one more minute. But it shall be a glorious minute!”

You rolled your eyes, pushing him gently. “Alright, Romeo. Time to head home.”

With one last dramatic sigh, he extracted himself from your window, blew you a clumsy, theatrical kiss, and began his wobbly descent down the fire escape. As Bucky grabbed Steve by the shoulder, trying to steer him down the street, Steve spun around, clutching Bucky’s arm like he was clinging to the last lifeboat on a sinking ship.

“Unhand me, Mercutio!” Steve cried, throwing his other arm up with all the grandeur of a Shakespearean actor. “Thou art but a hindrance to my love! Dost thou not know I’m with Juliet?”

Bucky froze, staring at Steve in complete disbelief. “What did you just call me?” His expression was halfway between horrified and annoyed, eyebrows knitted in utter confusion.

Steve pulled himself up, looking deeply wounded, his hand over his heart.

“Mercutio!” he slurred dramatically, pointing a shaky finger at Bucky. “You are the friend that doth betray me! I shall not be parted from my love!”

Bucky blinked, visibly trying to process this. “Mercutio? Steve, what the—” He looked up at you, helplessly gesturing at Steve. “I’m Mercutio now?”

Steve waved a dismissive hand. “Alas, yes, for you wouldst steal me away from my Juliet,” he said, glaring with the most intense puppy eyes you’d ever seen.

“Steve, I’m not Mercutio,” Bucky groaned, looking over at you as if hoping you could talk some sense into him. “You are absolutely out of your mind.”

But Steve seemed lost in his own world. He placed a hand over his heart, gazing longingly up at you again.

“Juliet,” he called to you, his voice full of melodrama. “Mercutio hath come to tear us asunder.”

Bucky’s face scrunched up in pure irritation. “Steve, I’m trying to get you home before you fall flat on your face. You’re gonna thank me in the morning.”

Steve shook his head, looking at Bucky like he was the ultimate betrayer. “Mercutio… thou art a traitor,” he declared, voice wobbling with fake tragedy.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I swear, if you call me Mercutio one more time—”

“Mercutio!” Steve interrupted, leaning against him dramatically. “Wouldst thou poison my love? Dost thou come between us to ruin the most beautiful thing?”

Bucky let out a defeated sigh, looking over at you with an expression that screamed, Help me. “Your ‘Mercutio’ is about to drag you home, Rogers.”

But Steve just shook his head again, mumbling about “betrayal” and “unhand me, knave,” as Bucky steered him away, calling one last time over his shoulder to you, “Fear not, Juliet! I shall return! Mercutio’s treachery shall not prevail!” You stifled a laugh as Bucky, looking thoroughly done with it all, muttered to himself, “Mercutio… unbelievable.” He gave you one final, apologetic look as Steve continued to mumble protests about “Mercutio’s interference,” until they finally disappeared down the street, Bucky still muttering, “I’m not Mercutio.” Tags: @disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @strawberrybisou @alyana-luvs-u

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clovdgyu · 23 days ago

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#stepbro!caleb x m!reader #smut #i'm so sorry i went mia again! i got so busy with lots of stuffs and now i'm back!

#mentions of BLACKMAIL, NON/DUBCON, size difference, rough caleb, choking, feminization, dacryphilia, cum swallowing, degradation, HOMOPHOBIA, slapping, slight BDSM

what was supposed to be a normal day turned out to become one of the worst days for you. you eventually knew the day where someone would eventually find out that you were some kind of 'underground doll'. you just didn't expect it to be sooner and by your step-brother, caleb, at that.

now here he was, standing in front of you outside of your room, showing you the video that unfortunately leaked. i knew i should've said no to recording. "mind explaining to me what this video, huh, lil bro?" caleb smirked as he pushed his phone in front of you, the video of you sucking off old men still playing.

you glared at him before you attempted to grab the phone but it was difficult for you since he was practically a giant, literally towering over your frame. "fuck, and so what? i do it to relieve stress cause my mother decided to remarry a man who has a son!"

"oh, so this is about me then? what do you want me to do, apologize?" caleb teased before bursting out laughing, not giving a single fuck about how you looked at him with rage-filled eyes.

you just rolled your eyes at him before you grabbed the door and close it, but caleb's reflexes were faster than yours. he used his hand to stop the door from closing, raising a brow at you as he smirked. "what now?"

the other male forced himself inside before closing the door and locked it. this got you puzzled but decided to plop yourself on your bed. "if you don't want mom and dad to find out, you have to do me a favor?" caleb stated as he moved towards your bed.

you scoffed, "really? and now you're blackmailng me? can this day get any worse than this?" the alst few words were mumbled, seeing as caleb failed to hear it. but not even a second laer caleb spoke up again.

"i want you to suck my cock."

you stopped whatever you were doing and turned to look at him, disgust evident in your eyes. "the fuck? why would i do that? get the hell out of here you're fucking insane and sick in the head," you shouted at him but he only got closer towards you before he was already above you. "c-caleb, what the hell?"

he placed a finger under your chin and lifted it before grinning mancally. "i'm serious. if you don't do whatever i want you to do today, tomorrow, or whenever, that video will go all around the world."

you gulped at the thought, not exactly knowing what to do now. eventually you gave in to whatever sick thoughts he had and went on with it.

everything started with just a fellatio or maybe just stroking his cock inside the bathroom while your mom and dad where literally outside or blowing him under the table while his dad talked to him about some things you never really cared.

you've come to realize that your stepbro was some fucked-up sicko who gets off on being sexual in dangerous situations. currently, you were under his desk, sucking his dick like a pro, hollowing your cheeks while pressing your tongue under his cock.

caleb could only moan as he continued with his project, some kind of diorama that he can barely focus on when you were sucking his cock so deliciously. "hey, m/n. does my cock taste that good? you're being quite eager today. want a taste of my cum dee in your throat?" caleb teased as he looked down at you.

all you could was glare up at him but not stopping whatever you were doing. you heeded no mind to what he said before pushing his cock all the way to your throat.

a pleasured groan left caleb's lips as he threw his head back, one hand stablizing himself on his swivel chair while the other was gripping onto your (h/c) locks. "fuuuck, that felt good. no wonder everyone loved a slut like you. you've practically mastered the art of 'blowjobs'," he stated, making you annoyed.

"why can't you just shut the fuck up?" you retaliated after popping his cock out of your mouth and jerked him off. you littered kisses all over his cock, licking at his tip before engulfing it with your lips.

you sucked on the head that leaked pre-cum while jerking off the base of his cock. you looked up at caleb who was already staring down at you, smiling like a maniac. "that's no way to speak to your older brother, pipsqueak," caleb stated before placing both his hands on your head and shoved his whole cock inside your mouth, reaching the back of your throat.

a surprised, muffled gasp left your lips as caleb now stood up, forcing you to kneel upright. the other male dragged you out of his desk with your head still buried in his trimmed pubes. although you gagged around his cock, caleb didn't care as he kept that position.

feeling out of breath, you tapped on his thigh three times but caleb just stared down at you, pressing his pelvis deeper into your face. the lack of air made your eyes roll back and cheeks warm, you were literally gonna die if he keeps you that way.

luckily, caleb was 'nice' enough to pull your head back. as soon as he did, you pushed him away and began coughing like crazy, holding onto your throat as drool dripped down from your lips. "you—keugh—fucking psycho! i thought i was gonna die," you said.

caleb only chuckled before grabbing your head with one hand, using his free hand to hold onto his saliva-coated cock. he made you face him then slapped your face with it, before placing it on your lips, using the tip of his cock to trace your lips.

"you're driving me so fucking crazy, dude," caleb stated before pushing his cock back inside your throat. he kept a steady pace while you placed your hands on his thighs to support yourself. caleb looked down at you as he thrusted his cock inside your mouth then said, "say, m/n. has anyone fucked you before?"

too lost in your own thoughts of killing him, you shook your head in response. with that, caleb smirked before he pushed you off of his cock and lifted you up, surprising you. "what the—caleb! put me down!"

caleb looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he carried your naked form bridal style. "our parents will probably be away for some time for their anniversary so why don't we spend the whole day like a couple."

you snarled at him.

"we are not a couple! and if you wanted me to continue to suck your cock, why aren't we at my room?" you asked him, brows furrowed together in pure annoyance.

the other male chuckled deeply before leaning his face towards your ear to whisper, "i want to fuck you on our parents' bed." his statement made you look at him, trying to see if he was joking but he was not! you knew better than to think that this sicko bastard would kid you at a time like this.

you gulped, scared and nervous. "a-are you serious? on mom and dad's—wait, fuck me?! i just told you i'm a virgin. our deal was to just suck your dick and that was it! you—"

"if you don't allow me, then that video will eventually leak publicly," caleb threatened you with an authoritative tone, staring down at you with a serious look. "if you show me even just a single pinch of defiance, that video will be posted. got that?"

fuck this insane bastard. i hope you get bombed at school, sick fuck. you cursed at him but nodded in response to his words in defeat. "i don't even know how to have sex. can't we please just keep it to fellatios?" you pleaded, trying to get him to change his mind but caleb just laughed before he gripped your hair and forced you to look up at him.

the force that his grip had made you tear up and let out a gasp, wincing at the pain before glaring at the other male who chuckled. "what part of 'do as i say' did you not understand? did all that cocksucking make your brain go dumb?" caleb stated before pushing you down on your bed.

you snarled at him before moving towards the end of your bed to throw him the pillow you managed to grab. caleb, with his reflexes, managed to catch it before placing it back down on your bed. "you're just a fucking psycho! i'd rather die than get fucked by the likes of you," you shouted at him.

angered by your insult, caleb stomped towards you, placing a hand on your neck and pressing hard on it. "ack...!"

"fuck you! you fucking shit, i've been trying to act really nice and you're being a stupid brat who doesn't even listen to their older brother," caleb spat out but only received a smirk from you as you held onto his forearm.

"you call that being nice? you're the one who's being stupid, caleb. you were never nice to me, only thinking of fucking my mouth. did i turn you gay, caleb?" you said.

your words only aded fuel to the fire that was already boiling deeper inside caleb's system."i'm not fucking gay, bitch!" he landed a harsh slap on your cheek, sending you backward as a whimper left your lips. as caleb removed his hand from your neck, you fell into a fit of coughs as you tried to get get the back the air in your lungs.

the other male began to search for stuffs in your drawer before he found a pink, silky ribbon that was settled beside the condoms and lube. "huh, virgin? what's these doing here then?" he asked, holding the two items up with a raised brow.

you looked at him, rolling your eyes as you scooted towards the corner of your bed. "zayne and i were originally going to lose our virginities together but then you came into the picture and now that is of no use," you answered.

"it won't be for nothing for long," he stated before grabbing your hands and tying them up together using the ribbon he found. "i was planning to prep you, but you're getting on my nerves. you'll be losing your virginity to me."

you just stared at him, tearing up at the thought of having your first with your sicko stepbro, lips quivering. "i hate you so bad."

---------

a strangled moan escaped your lips as caleb began to piston his dick inside your gummy walls that involunatrily sucked him deeper. tears escaped your eyes at the pain of the intrusion, constantly begging for caleb to slow down.

but your cries only drove caleb crazier, wantng to ravish you in a way that you will never forget. the way he pushed himself inside you was as if he was carving his name into your own, as if marking hs territory. "if i knew your tight ass felt this good, i would've fucked you already."

your bound hands were wrapped around caleb's neck as you cried out."you m-motherfucker. i'll fucking kill you!" you managed to say yet caleb only smirked harder before pushing his whole cock inside you, hitting a very sensitive spot which made you see stars.

caleb rolled his hips as he rubbed his own dick inside you, making you writhe underneath him, toes curled. "you act all tough but your body's betraying you, baby bro. you're actually liking this, aren't you?" he stated before palcing a hand on your neck.

he tightened his grip, choking you. your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you threw your head back, hands instinctively fisting his jet-black hair. "urk..! l-let go!" you stated, but caleb only hardened his grip more.

"fuck, i love the way your hole tightens every time i choke you or when i hit this sensitive spot inside you. you were born to become a sex sleeve, pipsqueak," the ravenette stated before finally letting go of your neck which sent you into coughing fits.

the other male groaned. every time you coughed, you would tighten around his cock involuntarily, driving him closer to his climax. "you psycho! i thought i was gonna die!" you shouted at him but caleb bpaid no mind to it before fucking you again.

this time, he was slower. agonizingly slow, dragging his shaft along your walls as if he was savoring every part inside you. "wh-what are you doing?" you stuttered.

caleb stopped, tilting his head. "i thought you wanted me to slow down?" he stated. "well, i'm being considerate here, baby bro. didn't you want this or did you actually love it fast and hard?"

you growled at him, looking away. he narrowed his eyes at you before taking a hold of your leaking cock, shocking you. "wh-what are--!"

"i can't be the only one who should feel god here, right? like i told you, i'm being considerate here," caleb stated. "and this isn't making you feel good, right? this pace is boring you out. now, let's make each other feel good, okay pipsqueak?"

a clapback was already at the tip of your tongue but the other male suddenly shoved his whole cock inside you, hitting your prostate in a precise angle. you arched your back at the pleasure as you screamed out. "fuck!"

"see? your body responds more when i fuck you harder," caleb stated before he took a hold of your legs and wrapped them around him. he placed his hands on your neck and began to choke you, makingg your tongue roll out.

a manic smile spread across caleb's lips as he watched you underneath him. torso covered in bite marks and hickies, lips wet with saliva, eyesight unsteady as your body rocked in rhythm to caleb's thrusts. you were just a fucking sight to behold.

nails dug deep into caleb's shoulder blades. as caleb fucked your ass, he jerked off your cock until it secreted more pre-cum. "shit. you're making a mess of yourself, m/n. you wanted zayne to see this? that fucking son of a bitch? you wanted to look like this underneath him?"

your mind was already in cloud nine but you were surprised when a slap was delivered to your cheeks, making you look at the older male. "i asked you a question and you weren't even listening? fucking cunt, are you thinking of zayne when i'm literally the one who's fucking you right now?"

caleb removed his grip on your neck before placing them around your hips to get some leverage. "n-no! wait, caleb!" you managed to shout out as the other male suddenly lifted your hips and fucked you deeper, making you scream out in pleasure, tears pooling around your eyes as you threw your head back.

"zayne can't make you feel good like this, bitch!" caleb shouted as he jerked your cock off in time with his thrusts, making you cry out in pleasure even more. he reveled in the way your screamed out.

you were already a writhing and quivering mess under him but caleb wanted to see you trembling even further, wanted to see your limits. "that man probably don't even know how to pleasure you. i'm the only one who knows your good spots. you fucking slut, i'm gonna fuck you my whole life until your hole takes the shape of my cock."

practically fucked dumb, you clung onto him like he was your lifeline. caleb thrusted his hips faster, his heavy balls slapping against your cheeks. "once we're done here, you will go talk to zayne and tell him you already los your virginity, okay?" he threatened you, forcing you to nod.

the other male used his free hand to brush his hair before placing it back on your hips, his other hand was busy jerking you off. "i just felt your cock twitch. are you gonna cum already, pipsqueak?"

you nodded at him, eyes bloodshot red and tired. "y-yes. i-i want to cum, please," you answered him.

the older male scoffed then shook his head. "no, we have to cum together or we're gonna go more rounds until we cum together if you cum without my permission. got that?" caleb stated which made you whine. this earned you a slap to your right cheek. "quit complaining, bitch!"

you just nodded to his instructions as you tried your best to hold in your cum. it was hard to handle but if you came on your own, you'll be experiencing another hell of a torture (called sex). you just complied to whatever caleb asked of you but that familiar coil in your stomach was already driving you nuts. you needed to cum, you had to cum!

caleb groaned on top of you as he closed his eyes in ecstasy, feeling himself come closer to his climax. "i'm about to cum, m/n," he announced, his thrusts growing faster in pace as he let out breathy moans, jerking you off faster.

caleb leaned towards you before he whispered, "cum for me, baby bro."

this was the only instruction you needed to hear as you came in caleb's hand. at the same time, caleb bit on your shoulder as he came inside you with a groan, painting your walls white. "f-fuck," you managed to say before you eventually drifted off to sleep.

----------

a little while later, you awoke to the sound of keyboard clicks. "finally awake, huh? get up. mom and dad is expecting us at his office," caleb stated as he rummaged through his drawer for something.

you groaned at that before getting up from caleb's bed (which you now realized that he carried you to his bedroom). "what are you doin? shouldn't you be getting ready too?"

a scoff left caleb's lips before be faced you with a package in his right hand. "open it for me."

thinking it was a gift, you grabbed it carefully then opened it. you knew it was too good to be true.

and you were right! the moment you opened the packagr, it was a remote controlled vibrator. "what the fuck, caleb?! what are you gonna do with this?" you shouted at him, throwing the sex toy at him in anger.

"remember what i said? do as i say, otherwise.." he trailed off, hinting at the video before grabbing his phone. a manic grin appeared on his lips when you grabbed his forearm and shook your head. "good boy, pipsqueak. now, mom and dad are expecting us so we best move along now. but after you get out from your bath, you better wear this."

a gasp left your lips, "you can't be fucking serious, caleb. anything but that—"

"video?"

"fuck! fine," you answered before storming off. caleb smiling like a lunatic as he planned what he will do with you later.

#male reader #x male reader #love and deepspace #m!reader #smut #bottom male reader #love and deepspace x male reader #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x m!reader #gay

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stnkiconverse · 5 months ago

Note

Hii :3 could I have sum of the creep boys (Ej, Toby, Jeff, Masky and Hoodie) with a reader who likes marking (bites/cuts/hickeys) their thighs? Pls and thank u 💛

This has been collecting dust in my drafts for months, im so sorry bby, i just needed to have my masky and hoodie headcanons in place before posting this😭😭

Also- Ik you said thighs, but i did mention some other places, i hope you don’t mind :3

E Y E L E S S J A C K

Jack is surprisingly unbothered by your habit. He views it with a mix of curiosity and amusement, often analyzing your techniques silently. (like this = 🤨)

"Hmm. Is this an attempt at branding? Or is this just for fun?" His DRY ASS humor makes it hard to tell if he's teasing or genuinely questioning.

He’s not fond of pain but does not shy from it either. The marks don't bother him, they heal faster than you think anyway.

If you center the attack on his thighs, he'll arch a brow and say something quick and sarcastic, like, "I'm honored you've chosen me as your personal canvas."

Jack has super sharp senses, so he's super aware of your touch. If you bite or leave cuts near sensitive spots, hips, or neck, for example, he might tense for a moment but never stop you.

His favorite places for you to mark? His shoulders or his ribs. He finds the sensation grounding in a strange way, though he'll never admit it. (he moaned once)

If you tease him about it, he'll deadpan: "Just don't expect me to reciprocate. My claws aren't…delicate." (😏)

T I C C I T O B Y

Toby is a little awkward about it at first, not used to someone being so physically affectionate in such an intense way. But once he gets used to it? He's all in. (fucking weirdo 😒 / lovingly)

He doesn't actually feel pain like others do, (obv) so he lets you go wild without flinching. "You're gonna have to try harder than that to leave a mark on me," he'd tease, looking down later to grin at the faint bruises or bites.

If you target his thighs, he might giggle a bit, kicking his leg. "That tickles, stop- stop!"

Neck and collarbone marks fluster him the most. He'll try to hide them with his hoodie but secretly love that they're there.

Sometimes, he'll encourage you in his chaotic way: "Oh, you missed a spot. Try here!" and point to random places like his back or ribs, sometimes even shoving his wrists in your face 😭😭

If you ever leave too many marks, he'll grin like a maniac and joke: "Guess I'm your chew toy now, huh?"

J E F F T H E K I L L E R

Jeff would be cocky about it, but secretly flustered. He'd smirk and say something snarky like, "Didn't know you were that desperate to get your hands on me," but the redness creeping up his neck gives him away.

He doesn't mind pain and might even enjoy it a little. If you bite too hard, he'll laugh and go, "Is that all you've got? You're gonna have to try harder."

Loves when you leave marks on his neck, it makes him feel a twisted sense of pride. He'll strut around the manor like a smug idiot, showing them off.

His thighs are a sensitive spot, though he won't admit it. If you target them, he'll squirm slightly and mutter, "Don't get any ideas..." but he won't stop you. (bcs he likes it 😏)

If you leave cuts or scratches, he'll trace them with his fingers absentmindedly, secretly loving the way they look.

"You're turning me into your personal art project, huh? Not that I'm complaining."

T I M / M A S K Y

Masky (Tim)

Tim is not immediately comfortable it, especially if it's in a more vulnerable spot like his neck or inner thighs. He'll tense up and grumble, "What are you doing?" but he won't push you away :3

Over time, he warms up to it, especially when he realizes it's your way of showing affection. He won't admit it, but he finds it oddly reassuring :p

Marks on his shoulders or upper back are his favorite. He won't say anything, but you might catch him subtly glancing at them in the mirror (😏)

If you bite too hard, he'll sigh and mutter, "You know I have to cover that up, right?" while pulling on another layer of clothing (i love him guys)

Surprisingly, he doesn't mind if you mark his thighs when he's sitting or lounging. He might roll his eyes but secretly enjoys the attention.

"You're a little too into this, you know that?" he'd say with the tiniest smirk, though the faint blush on his face betrays him.

B R I A N / H O O D I E

Hoodie (Brian)

Brian is surprisingly chill about your habit and takes it in stride :D

He'll joke, "Do I look like a notebook to you? Or is this some modern art thing?"

He's not huge on pain, so if you bite too hard or draw blood, he might flinch and gently push you away. "Careful, I'm not indestructible."

Loves when you leave hickeys or gentle bites on his shoulders or chest. He finds them oddly comforting and will trace them when he's alone, smiling softly.

If you go for his thighs, he'll laugh and tease you: "That's bold. Didn't take you for a thigh person."

Occasionally, he'll play along and say something like, "You missed a spot," pointing to random areas just to see you flustered.

Brian enjoys the possessive nature of your markings but is too reserved to admit it outright.

Instead, he'll say something teasing like, "Guess I'm yours now, huh?"

I hope this was good enough!! :D

sorry to keep you waiting so long 😭

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pinkanonwrites · 1 year ago

Text

"Oh! That's What That Does?!"

All art by @archie-sunshine

G1 Rumble/ Mechanic Reader - 2400+ Words NSFW, Valveplug, Plug 'N Play, Mild Sparkplay, Accidental Stimulation, Edging, Human Reader, GN Pronouns

Ahh, the inherent eroticism of repairing your machine.~ I've had this one cooking for a while, so I hope you all enjoy! I've also gotten pretty attached to this mechanic Reader, so they'll likely pop up again with other cassettes (and maybe even some other Decepticons!)

NSFW WRITING AND IMAGERY BELOW THE CUT!

“Ey… EY! Careful wit’ dat! It’s touchy!”

“Rumble,” You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You're making this way more difficult than it needs to be.”

“I wouldn't be complainin’ if you'd stop touchin’ all up on bits that don't gotta be touched! Rootin’ around in there like I'm one’a your crappy organic machines!”

Removing your hands from Rumble’s open chest, you tossed them roughly into the air. “Y'know what? Fine. Do it yourself. Better yet, get Frenzy to pull the shrapnel out of your chest. That'll go great.”

You would have slid off of Rumble’s lap and stormed off, if not for his massive servos closing around your wrists with an unexpected delicacy. Your efforts to remove your hands only reinforced his grip, using just enough force to keep you from leaving without crushing your wrists entirely.

“H-Hey, no need ta be so hasty! Look, I’m just steamed cause'a the battle, dat’s all. Frenz’ can't do dis, it's gotta be someone more… dainty. Y’know. Little human hands and all dat.” The harsh glow of his visor had dulled slightly as his gaze cast down to your hands. You rolled your eyes, wrists finally slipping from his grip as you settled back in.

Dangling wires and sparking shrapnel dotted his open chest cavity, illuminated by the light of his spark chamber. Rumble had staggered off-balance into your workshop whining about the prodding pieces of broken metal keeping him from transforming properly, yet you’d barely managed to get two wires back in place before he started squirming and whingeing and slinging verbal abuse at you.

Not that you weren't used to it, any interactions with Rumble and Frenzy usually involved some level of bullying. Fortunately, the two cassettes are also incredibly predictable. As soon as you would threaten to take away or withhold what they're asking for, they’d start falling all over themselves with apologies and placations. After all, you may not have been the only mechanic in the area, but you were certainly their favorite.

“Are you going to actually let me work? Or are you going to start yelling at me again?”

“Yellin’? Who's yellin’? Yer the mechanic here, my spark is in your squishy little hands. Do your magic, doc.” He sat back again, servos clutching the edges of your workbench in a show of effort, a genuine attempt to keep them still (or however genuine any show of rule-following from Rumble could be.)

“That's what I thought. Now let me actually fix a few things before you start whining again.” Your gloved hands dipped back into his chest cavity, skirting the edges of his spark chamber to pick away at the bits of loose shrapnel stuck in some of the wires. His frame shuddered, a hiss of steam escaping through his dentae as your knuckles brushed the underside of the spark casing.

“C-Careful,” He said again, with significantly less bite to his tone.

“Does it hurt?”

“Somethin’ like dat.”

“I'll be careful, so let me know if it gets to be too much.” You smoothed a palm down the armor covering his stomach, flinching back when you heard another sharp hiss of steam.

“I’m fine! It's fine! Just… do ya gotta be all on top’a me like dis?”

“I can't reach properly if you're laying down. If you're standing you might keel over on me, and I really don't feel like being squished to death today.” He let out a low grumble as you jacked another cable back into its proper port. “I'll try to be quick, that way you won't have to worry about my ‘human germs’ and you can get outta here. Deal?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just-”

“Be careful. I know.”

And with that you went to work, separating and organizing cables, taping off leaky tubing and removing pieces of scrap metal as gently as you could. Every once in a while Rumble would jerk or twitch beneath your touch, letting out a muffled curse or huff but sparing you from his usual complaints. It was… uncharacteristically quiet, for sure. This was the most extensive repair you'd ever done on him, though, so maybe he was just having surgery jitters.

“Okay, I've gotten most of the shrapnel out. But there's a piece right behind your spark casing.”

“Well? Get it outta there!”

“I'm going to, but I need to get my whole hand in there. I'm warning you now because it's going to be bumping up against your spark casing a lot. I'm going to do my best but you have to tell me if it hurts too much.”

Rumble let out a long, pathetic groan. “Actually doc, maybe you can just leave dat one in there? F-For funsies?”

“Eh?! Rumble, I’m not gonna just ‘leave it in there’! It's gotta come out.”

“Something's gonna come out if you keep proddin’ around in there like dat…”

“What was that?”

“Gh! Nothin’! Don't worry ‘bout it!”

“...Okay. I’m gonna start now. Are you ready?” Rumble only responded with gritted dentae and a tense nod. Working your gloved hand under his spark chamber, you could feel the ambient energy making the hairs on your arm stand on end as you felt for the jagged edge of broken metal. Your glove blocked your view entirely, so you were left blindly groping your way up the metal surface, feeling for anything bent or out of place. When your fingers could no longer reach any further while still avoiding the casing, you slid forward and ducked slightly into Rumble’s open chest, the back of your hand pressing up against the underside of his spark chamber.

CLANG!

You jumped, and if it weren't for Rumble’s arm wrapping around you and almost crushing you into his open chest you may have jostled the sensitive chamber even further. You slid your hand back again, easing off of the reinforced glass, and his grip receded.

“What the hell was that? And what was that clang?”

“I said don't worry ‘bout it!” He hissed, voice glitchy with static. “Everythin’s totally normal, I dunno why you're getting all jumpy ‘bout- MMNGH?!” You moved your hand up again into the same position, and Rumble let out an embarrassingly high whimper. You glanced up at his face, a flush of pink behind the usual grey and beading with coolant… and something clicked.

“Oh my God are you getting off on this?”

“N-No!”

Behind you you heard a sharp snikt, and the sound of pressurizing hydraulics.

“...Maybe?”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“H-Hey, don't go gettin’ a big head or nothin’! A bot’s spark chamber is sensitive! Don't go thinkin’ this is cause of your squishy frame or your soft little digits or nothin’!” He seemed to almost shrink in on himself, face plate practically glowing as his shoulders pulled up around his helm. You'd never say it to his face, but he looked surprisingly… small, at this moment. You heaved an exhausted sigh.

“Okay. Okay. I'm going to get this last piece out, alright? It's the last one. And whatever happens while I'm doing that..? It just happens. We won't bring it up again, no need to be embarrassed. Deal?”

“‘Deal?!?’” He squawked, positively scandalized. “How do I know yer not gonna gossip with Frenz’ the next time he's in for a tune-up?”

“Well Frenzy usually never lets me get a word in edgewise, first of all.” You huffed. This was way more than you'd signed up for. “I'm not going to make fun of you, Rumble. Let’s just get you patched up, then you can head home. Okay?”

His mouth was pulled into a tight, wobbly frown as he glanced down at you, choking out a single word. “...Promise?”

“I promise.”

“...Slag. alright, let's get dis over with.” He lolled his head back against the table with a clank, resigning himself to his fate. This time, when your knuckles brushed his spark casing, he couldn’t stifle his soft moan. Your fingers felt further and further up, until almost your entire hand was behind the glass bubble containing his pulsing spark. Finally, you could feel the jagged piece of metal. You wrapped your fingers around it and gave it an experimental tug. It stuck fast, and your hand bumping against Rumble's spark only pulled another surprised moan from him.

“W-Watch it!” He yelped, sounding too fucked-out to come across as actually threatening.

“It's really stuck in there. I'm going to start working it out, so let me know if you need me to stop.”

“Wh… workin’ it out? Whadda ya- ohhh…~”

With your thumb and forefinger gripping the edge of the broken metal, you began to wiggle it gently back and forth to ease it from the plating and wires around it. Each time you moved the back of your hand rubbed up against the far side of his spark chamber, warmth radiating through your glove as Rumble started to vent more harshly.

“Slag… slag! Don't think it's ever been touched back there before. Feels… feels crazy.” He moaned. The metal of your work table shrieked and crumpled like cardboard under his iron grip, desperate to keep his servos off of himself or, Primus forbid, you. The piece stuck firm, and as you braced your other hand against the outside paneling of his chest to readjust your balance he let out a sharp, staticky yelp. “S-STOP!”

You froze immediately. “Are you okay? What's wrong?”

A few shuddering vents were your only response for a moment, Rumble’s visor lights flickering frantically as he tried to steady himself. “Whooo… Almost blew my top for a second there.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey! Yer the one that told me to tell ya if I need ya to stop! I'll be slagged to the Pit before I let some ‘squishy’ run my charge like dat.”

“...Can I start again? I’m making some progress here.”

“...Y-Yeah. Yeah. Yer good.”

You let out another soft sigh, trying to focus on the rhythmic sktch sktch sktch of metal on metal rather than Rumble’s shivering whines. His vocalizer pitched and warbled with static, attempts to stifle his own words slowly giving way to a deluge of fucked-out babbles.

“Ah! Gh! Ohh, mmnh, stupid little hands feelin’ all- nnh!~ Jus’ get it outta there! Please?”

I’m working on it. You’re doing good, just hang in there.” Your placations only resulted in another desperate moan. After what couldn’t have been more than another thirty seconds or so, he blurted out again.

“Ah! Stop!”

You retracted your hand for a moment, letting Rumble gasp for breath above you in a futile attempt to cool his core. You rubbed at his chest paneling as he shivered beneath you hard enough that you thought bolts were going to start coming undone. Even the paneling you were seated upon was burning up, heat seeping through the fabric of your coveralls. His glowing face plate was slick with coolant. Without thinking, you reached up and swept away a bead of it with your thumb, making him jump.

“H-Hey, quit dat…” He groaned, all bite lost from his tone.

“Rumble… The more you keep stopping me the longer this is going to take.”

“You think I don’t know dat?!” One of his arms draped dramatically over his face. “I’m tryin’! But you just keep pokin’ around in there and it’s all touchy and it’s makin’ me feel like my spike’s gonna burst and I can’t take it anymore!” He sniffled. Could Cybertronians even sniffle? You weren’t sure, but he sounded close to tears.

“Rumble… Have you ever actually edged yourself before?”

“Whu- Whuh? How’s dat any of yer business?”

“I’m just thinking…” You ran a placating hand down his shivering plating. “If you haven’t it can be really overwhelming, and-”

“I can handle it! I-I can!”

“Let me finish. It can be really overwhelming, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself further. Just… take a deep breath for me, okay?” You took a slow, steadying breath, and after a second he mimicked it. “Good. Just think about letting go, okay? I’m not going to judge you. Just think about it.”

He let out a low, pitying grumble, peeking at you from behind his arm plating. “...You can start again.”

Once again, your hands dipped into his chest cavity. Only this time you slid both hands up behind his spark casing, gripping as much of the broken metal as you could reach. As you rocked it back and forth Rumble’s moans returned with a fervor, one servo finally flying to cup your lower back.

“Ah! Ah! Slag, oh slag please! Please don’t stop I’m so fraggin’ close.” He fisted the back of your uniform, crumpling the cheap fabric between his digits. “C’mon, c’mon c’mon c’mon I need it!”

“Shh, I’ve got you baby. Just let it happen.”

With a metallic shriek and a gush of brackish oil the shrapnel popped free, the force enough to send you sprawling if not for Rumble’s servo in the small of your back. Of course, said unexpected force also slammed the backs of both your hands right into the underside of his spark chamber, and Rumble’s voice box screeched into a wail of radio static. Something hot and sticky splattered up the back of your coveralls; said something you decidedly were not going to look at until later. His frame rattled and shivered beneath you, steam venting and joints glitching and spark pulsating a near-blinding glow. Finally, after a burst of noise and sparks and twitching, he went slack beneath you, helm clanking against the workbench as his optics flickered.

As delicately as you could, you removed the oil-slick shrapnel and let it clatter onto the floor before shedding your gloves and dabbing at his face plate with the cuff of your sleeve. With the whir of an old monitor blipping back to life, his visor blinked back up to its standard brightness.

“Whuh… Wheh?” He garbled.

“How you feeling, hun?”

“Like I got struck by lightnin’... but in like a nasty way.”

You choked back a snort. “Well, I’ve got all the worst of it over with. Feel free to rest for a while if you need it. I’m gonna go change my jumpsuit.”

He let you slide off his lap without a fight, not even commenting until you’d turned around to make your way over to your office. Only then did he let out a low, salacious whistle when he’d finally caught sight of the back of your uniform.

“Comm me next time yer free, doc. Then I can repay da favor.”

#transformers #valveplug #transformers x reader #rumble #transformers rumble #rumble x reader #transformers imagines #g1 transformers #my writing #long post

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yandere-daydreams · 7 months ago

Text

Title: Worship of a Sacrificial Lamb.

Pairing: ???!Gojo Satoru x Yandere!Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 8.0k.

Commissioned by the very lovely @elsecrytt.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Dub/Con, Nonconsensual Drug Use, Kidnapping + Prolonged Captivity, Physical + Psychological Abuse, Wildly Unhealthy Relationship Dynamics, Codependency, Suicidal Ideation, Mentions of Previous Suicide Attempts, and Blood. Gojo's Not The Yandere But He Sure As Hell Isn't Normal Either. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You were sure, beyond the point of reason, that Gojo Satoru was an angel.

A guardian angel, actually. Maybe even your guardian angel, if you were going to let yourself be so sickeningly romantic. Even if you were going to hold yourself to some kind of distorted rationality, you weren’t sure how anyone could ever so much as look at him and not see an act of irrefutable divine intervention. He had the body of a marble sculpture – as if some great, ancient master of their art had taken decades aside to carve the embodiment of all things good and beautiful – and a face any model would’ve killed for. His hair was the most brilliant shade of white you’d ever seem, purer than cloud and softer than velvet, and there was a special place in your heart reserved entirely for his lips – pretty and pale and so lovely that if you ever got the chance to kiss him, you weren’t sure you’d be able to stop.

Of course, his eyes were your favorite. Not that it was easy to pick a favorite part of Satoru – no, you’d spent long hours deliberating over the perfectly straight arch of his jawline and the slightly crooked bridge of his nose, the gentle slope of his shoulders and harsh angles of his hands – but if you absolutely had to, you’d say his eyes were the part of him you spent the most time thinking about, that you adored above all else, that would’ve wanted to keep for yourself if you couldn’t have Satoru as whole. The color of the sky and twice as clear, you could still remember the way they’d seemed to glow in the dim light of the deserted street where you’d first met, the way your heart broke just a little every time he blinked or fluttered those perfect snow-white eyelashes. If you could’ve, you would’ve liked to keep a spare set in a small glass jar – something clear and sturdy that you could carry with you whenever you didn’t have access to the real thi—

“...ma’am?” And then, leaning forward, flashing a perfect smile and snapping his perfect fingers, “I think I might’ve lost you, there.”

You perked up, nodding frantically before thinking better of it and, with a sheepish smile, shaking your head. “I’m sorry, I—” You paused, clearing your throat and taking a sip of your coffee before going on. “I’m just having a little trouble concentrating. You can keep going.”

That was enough to earn a breath of a laugh from your perfect Satoru, and immediately, you fell in love with him all over again. He mirrored you, taking a sip of his own drink (some awful, adorable type of frozen hot chocolate served half-drowned in whip-cream) before responding, his melodic voice akin to birdsong and rainfall and every other delicate, beautiful thing in the world. “I know it can be a lot to take in. For someone in your situation, especially.” What that situation was, you weren’t entirely sure. Still, you nodded and smiled like he’d said the most comprehensible thing you’d ever heard. “Just try to stay with me. I promise – curses are a lot less scary when you know what they are.”

His head lulled to the side, his perfect eyes lulling into something softened and dream-like, and just like that, he’d lost you again. It was unfair, honestly. He’d been the one to invite you, scrawling down his name and phone number on a scrap of paper with the excuse that he owed you an explanation, but you’d picked out your meeting spot (a café on the edge of business district, somewhere he’d never go on his own but that suited his preference to a T), made sure you arrived half an hour early to claim a table in the most secluded corner and order a drink you knew he’d like just in time for his to be fifteen minutes late. You were lucky, really. Anyone else would’ve noticed your starry-eyed gaze and giddy smiles and figured out that there was something deeply, deeply wrong with you, but not your Satoru. He was probably used to hero-worship, even if the thought of anyone else sharing the same connection with him that you did was enough to make you grit your teeth.

Now wasn’t the time for that, though. You pulled yourself out of your thoughts as the corner of his lips quirked downward – the closest thing to a proper frown you’d ever seen him wear. Whatever he might’ve gone on to say about wizards and invisible monsters was lost entirely as he trailed off, his eyes darting to either side behind the dark lenses of his glasses. “Sorry, ma’am, I think I—” With an uncharacteristic clumsiness, he pushed himself to his feet, nearly tipping over his chair. In your peripheral, you watched for concerned samaritans and curious onlookers, but came up empty. That was good. That made sense. It was a busy coffee shop during the late-morning rush on a weekday – who’d ever think to pay attention to the couple in the far corner? Even half of that couple was a deity in the flesh. “I think I need a second.”

It was smart of him – to make such a hasty retreat. He barely waited for you to give one final, enthusiastic nod before cutting through the crowd and disappearing into a unisex bathroom.

It was smart, but it would’ve been smarter to run somewhere you couldn’t follow.

Saliva pooled under your tongue, your fingers drumming erratic and involuntary rhythms into the table, but while Satoru might’ve been an angel, you had the patience of a saint. You counted down the seconds, nursing your coffee and occasionally checking your phone, until three minutes had passed, only getting up when you were sure you would’ve been seen waiting. Rather than moving towards the exit, you positioned yourself at the edge of the counter, flagging down the youngest barista – a mousey girl in her late teens, with an expression that said she’d do anything to be helpful and a shrunken quality that told you she’d do even more not to get in trouble. “I’m so, so, so sorry to bother you, but—It’s my boyfriend,” you started, wringing your hands together and keeping your eyes on the floor. There was a sick thrill that came with calling Satoru your boyfriend, even if it wasn’t true, but you were careful to keep your tone strictly apologetic. “He’s, uh—He’s got a thing about crowds, and he’s kind of having an episode. Is there any way I could get him out of here without making a scene?”

There was – an employee exit just next to the door to the storage room, one that opened up directly into a back alley that would’ve kept a comfortable distance between you and the main road. Her eyes lit up, but she made a show of looking concerned, of glancing to her smothered coworkers, before looking back to you. “Well, we’re not supposed to let customers—”

“Please?” You tried, and then, with a type of cloying desperation, “It’s kind of an emergency. He just really needs to get outside.”

It took a second, then another, but finally, she cracked with a muted sigh. “There is a backdoor – past the bathrooms and to your left. I… I have to ask my manager, but I should be able to leave it unlocked.”

You didn’t have to fake your gratitude. You bowed your head, mumbling ecstatic little ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’s as you turned on your heel and moved towards the restroom. You’d been prepared to pick the lock, but Satoru must’ve been more affected than you realized – he was already so out of it, he’d left the door open. You could only be thankful no one else had seen come in. You couldn’t imagine there was anyone in the world who could resist taking advantage of someone as wonderful as Satoru in such a vulnerable state.

Grinning to yourself, you shouldered the door open and stepped inside, shutting and locking it behind you.

Satoru didn’t make himself heard to find. He’d collapsed onto the faux-marble vanity, his feet still on the ground but his back braced against the mirror, one hand clamped around the side of the sick while the other struggled to form one of the strange, distorted symbols he’d used the night you met him. His half-lidded eyes widened when he saw you, his mouth falling open, but he didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. You couldn’t blame him. The sedative you’d used was strong enough to put a grown man under with a single dose, and you’d given Satoru enough to put a horse into a coma.

“Hey, pretty boy.” You took a tentative step forward, and when he didn’t react, another. His fingers twitched, but whatever he was trying to do was forgotten as soon as you took him by the hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “It’s not that bad, is it? You should just be a little tired.”

Again, predictably, there was no response. His perfect lips opened wider before sealing into an acute, adorable pout, and you drank in the sight like a man starved.

Cooing, you leaned in closer – placing your body in the space between his open legs and squeezing his hand before letting go entirely. Rather, you cupped his face, admiring the pink flush spread across his pale cheeks, the glossy sheen over those beautiful eyes. Suddenly, it was too much to take, and you jolting forward; your mouth crashing into his and your tongue pushing past his lips, his teeth. His taste was euphoric – caramel and cream and everything good and sweet and divine – but you didn’t give yourself long to savor it before you pulled away, dropping to your knees. You hadn’t meant to move this quickly, but you loved Satoru. You worshiped Satoru.

And no real acolyte would ever refuse to kneel in front of their sacred alter, if given the chance.

Disappointingly but unsurprisingly, he wasn’t hard. You let his jeans and boxers (the latter patterned with pure-white bunnies – cute) pool at his ankles as you wrapped a fist around his cock, pressing a kiss into the curve of his shaft. Like every other part of him, his dick was perfect – long and lean, with a slight left-leaning tilt and a few thin, ridged veins that you dragged you tongue over before taking the head into your mouth properly. Admittedly, it’d been a while since your last hook-up (and even longer since you’d cared enough about another person to put any more than a passable amount of effort in), but everything about Satoru seemed to come naturally to you. His reactions were limited to a vacant stare and the occasional, breathy noise, but soon enough, you felt him stiffen against the flat of your tongue, filling out your fist where you pumped lazily over his shaft. If it’d been anyone else, you might’ve been disappointed at just how quickly he went from soft to stiff to leaking thick beads of arousal, but not with your Satoru. Of course he was sensitive. Angels were supposed to be delicate.

Using one hand to brace yourself against his thigh, you reached up with the other and found his hand, still hanging dully where you’d left it. It was a bit of an odd position – trying to hold his hand while bobbing your head and doing your best not to choke on his cock – but you made it work. It wasn’t long before those little, breathy noises built into cracked whimpers and airy whines, before you could feel him twitching against the roof of his mouth. It was hard to see, given the angle, but when you thought to look, you could make out tears forming in the corners of his eyes, something new knit into his expression. It wasn’t quite distress – or, at least, not the kind of distress you’d been expecting – but you didn’t recognize it. That didn’t really matter, though, not if you were being honest with yourself.

It was coming from your Satoru, and that was enough to make it beautiful.

You moaned around him, and a pitchy keen slipped past his numb lips, his grip going vice-like where he held your hand. You swallowed him down to the hilt as he came, determined not to waste a drop of what you’d fought so hard for, before pulling back, a string of saliva connecting your bottom lip to his cock for a lingering second, then another before that connection snapped and severed you from him completely. Suppressing the urge to mourn its loss, you pushed yourself to your feet and pulled him close – pressing a kiss into his neck, then his jaw, then the corner of his lips. “Such a good boy,” you purred, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “My good boy. My perfect little angel.”

This time, Satoru did react – slumping against you even as his hand remained braced around yours. You took him by the shoulders, leaning back just far enough to see his eyes lull, blink, then shut entirely. He wasn’t unconscious - you could see a certain stiffness to his shoulder, a rigidity to his posture – but it was clear that you’d worn him out. You smiled, shaking your head as you raked your fingers through his hair and laughing as you found it just as soft as you’d imagined. “Think it’s time to go home, ‘toru?”

Rather than pull away from you, he seemed to melt even further. It was barely more than a whisper, but you made it out as clear as day. “…home?”

“Yes, angel,” you laughed, pressing your lips against his forehead.

“Home.”

He was asleep by the time you reached your car, and thoroughly knocked out by the time you got back to your townhouse – a modest machiya in a neighborhood that valued its privacy. Admittedly, carrying a man twice your height with triple your weight in muscle could’ve gone better, but you managed. There was a short list of things you couldn’t do for Satoru.

The sedatives had already proved less effective than you’d been promised, but still, you had plenty of time to get him into his bedroom, lock the titanium collar around his neck, and most importantly, change his clothes. You’d already picked out a new wardrobe for him – all whites and creams and soft pastels, nothing as harsh as the restrictive, black uniform he usually wore. Not that Satoru didn’t look good in black; you were sure he’d look breath-taking in anything! Even if he decided to wear, you didn’t know, an all-leather body suit, you were sure he’d—

…

You’d have to look into ordering a custom set. Preferably in white, but you’d settle for blue, if you had to.

You’d also made sure his room suited him, too. After making sure you had the bare necessities (deadbolts, bars over the windows, etc.), you might’ve gone a little overboard. You wanted Satoru to feel comfortable, so you made sure to work-in a few of the cute, soft things that reminded you of him – string lights and stuffed animals and plush blankets all the same color as his hair. You knew he was prone to migraines, but you couldn’t stand the idea of letting him put anything between you and those beautiful eyes, so you compromised with permanently low lighting and heavy curtains over his singular window. Entertainment might be an issue, since you obviously couldn’t give him anything with an internet connection, but—

You heard Satoru stir, and immediately, every logistic thought you might’ve had died and fell away. You’d planned to keep your distance while he woke up, but in an instant, you were perched on the side of his bed, your gaze fixed on his lax expression as he slowly woke up.

It was surprisingly peaceful – his slow trek back into consciousness. Long seconds passed between the first awkward stagger in the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and the moment he actually opened his eyes, still glassy and unfocused with exhaustion. You didn’t rush him. It was all you could do to watch as he sucked in a harsh breath and pulled himself up, only to collapse against the headboard just as quickly. A hand drifted to his shirt, fisting at the alien material, then to the collar around his neck. He didn’t try to take it off, which was good. You didn’t want to have to resort to something so ugly so early on.

Finally, he seemed to perk up – glancing around his new bedroom, as if evaluating it. When he turned to you, you smiled, and Satoru remained blank.

You broke the silence. “Welcome home, ‘toru.” You swallowed back the temptation to tell him how happy you were to finally have him here, how long you’d been waiting for this moment, instead centering your attention on his needs. “Do you want something to drink? You shouldn’t eat so soon, but you were out for a while. It seemed like you could use a little rest.”

A beat passed, but eventually, Satoru shook his head – as polite as could be expected, given the circumstances. “…you’re the one who kidnapped me?”

“Mhm.”

“And you’re not a curse-user? Or working for the higher-ups?”

More made-up words. You decided to let him have his fun. “No, I’m not.”

“Why, then?”

Your smile widened. You’d been hoping he would ask. “You’re not dumb, Satoru. The day you found me—” Or, rather, the day you’d found yourself in his arms, barefoot and shaking, caught by a divinely beautiful stranger after taking a long fall off of a short building. The day you’d fallen in love with him. The most important day of your life. “I’m sure you know that no one actually pushed me.”

And, even if he didn’t, it couldn’t be hard to believe. There were only so many reasons a salary-worker would be on the roof of their office building in the middle the night, only so many reasons you would’ve left your heels and your coat on the same ledge you’d eventually topple off of. He’d been kind enough to get them for you, as you sat sobbing into your hands on the curb. He only pursed his lips, though, his eyes remaining perfectly lifeless. You took that as a sign to go on.

“My job is—” Terrible. Pointless. Soul-sucking. It paid well, and nothing you did was particularly hard, but the constant overtime and mindless pencil-pushing meant you had very little time for yourself and even less to show for it – besides the paycheck, of course. You couldn’t even say you hated it. You’d just been so ready for something, anything else, and it’d worked, in a way. You’d gotten Satoru. “—pretty boring. I’ve never really liked spending time with other people, and I’m not particularly good at anything aside from busy-work, so I really didn’t have a reason to stick around. But, then you saved me, and you were so kind, and so heroic, and I—”

You shut your eyes, curling your hands into fists. Not unlike a schoolgirl, too embarrassed to confess properly. “I love you, Satoru.”

There was no response, not at first. Internally, you panicked – what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if he didn’t realize that this was for the best? What if he’d rather die than—

“You…” His tone was light, airy, only the slightest traces of shock shining through. As if he didn’t believe you. “You love me?”

“More than anything.” And, just like that, you were spilling open. “I—I thought it’d be enough to keep an eye on you from a distance, for a while, but after a few days – after seeing how much you worked and how little you slept and how terribly you took care of yourself – I knew I had to do something. I couldn’t live without you, and, well,” You cut yourself off with a sudden laugh, only a little forced. “You couldn’t have gone on much longer if I hadn’t stopped in. Not like that.”

For a second, he seemed to regard you. It was strange, how hollow he seemed compared to how vibrant he’d been every time he’d spoken to you previously, but you didn’t mind. Not all gods could be cheerful ones. Even divinity had to be morose, from time to time.

Still, your racing heart beat a little faster when the corner of his mouth twitched into a slight, cocked smile. He didn’t say anything, but he shifted, reached out, tentatively resting a hand on your knee before bringing it up to your thigh, then your hip. After waiting for you to nod (which you did, eagerly), he pulled you closer – into his lap. You managed to keep your guard up for all of three seconds before he collapsed onto you entirely, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You melted against him with just as much pathetic desperation, grateful beyond words to have the distance between you finally closed. “Do you really mean that?”

“And then some. When you reached out to me, my heart almost burst with happiness. It was hard to believe you even remembered that I existed.” You nestled against him. “I meant what I said about wanting to take care of you, too. You shouldn’t have to worry about yourself ever again, not after everything you did for me.”

There was more, of course. Rules to go over, punishments to warn against, specifics to lay out, but he wasn’t fighting back, or trying to escape, and he was tucked so sweetly against you – it would’ve been a shame to move, let alone start listing off threats. Thankfully, tragically, Satoru ripped the band-aid off first. Slowly, he lifted his head, drawing back just far enough to dart back in for a clumsy, lip-bruising kiss. You’d already, technically, stolen his first, but there was a difference between kissing his limp body and feeling his lips move sloppily against yours. It was a fragile, immature connection – all scraping teeth and kneading hands and Satoru’s little, throaty moans, but you didn’t dare break it off until your lungs ached. Even then, you held him as close as you could as his hands fell to your waist, a thumb slipping under the waistband of your skirt and—

“Down boy,” you laughed, and Satoru glanced up, pouting. “It’s not that I don’t want to, but not so soon. You’re still in shock, and I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

The impulse blowjob a few hours prior felt unnecessary to mention.

Satoru seemed conflicted. He was still in that sort of blank, softened state, but he let out a whine by way of protest. It was all you could do to sigh, kissing his forehead before going on. “Later on, ‘toru. After I’m sure that you can be trusted to behave.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to make love (‘fuck’ felt to crude, ‘sex’ too clinical; making love wasn’t perfect, but it was what you had) to Satoru. You would’ve done anything to take care of him, anything to keep him happy, but there’d always been a gap in your mind when it came to your own pleasure – an instinct that urged against expecting your love to be requited. As far as you could guess, it would come with time – after you’d started thinking of him as less of an angel and more of something able to love you back. The delay was for the best, really. Intimacy would make you vulnerable, exploitable. You needed to show Satoru how strong, how strict you could be, first.

“That sucks.” It was almost endearingly childish, just how shamelessly he sulked. It took a few more pecks and another minute or so of coddling before he sighed. “You can keep kissing me though, right?”

“Of course,” you said, automatically. It was a dangerous promise to make, with plenty of chances for unwanted escalation, but you never would’ve been able to say ‘no’ to Satoru – not so directly, at least. Not when he was looking at you with those beautiful, pitiful eyes.

“Anything for you.”

“So when are you going to use the collar?”

The question was posed casually, unprompted and unrushed. Still, you paused, humming as you glanced over to Satoru. He’d gotten more talkative in the two or three weeks since you brought him home, but he still seemed caught in that quiet, liquid haze of tranquility – all easy smiles and half-lidded eyes and slow, sloppy kisses from the moment you came home to the second you had to leave. He seemed to be enjoying himself, spending his time basking in your affection and letting you take care of him, and that made you happy. All you’d ever wanted was for him to be safe and looked after, and he was. You could make sure of that, now.

(Admittedly, there was a small, negligible part of that had expected there to be some resistance – a hissy fit, a muted protest, something aggressive and combative that wouldn’t be calmed with a few kind words and a gentle touch – and mourned the fact that Satoru was taking this all so well. It wasn’t that you wanted him to hate you, but you’d always struggled to trust what came to you easily. If you had to work for Satoru’s love, you could be sure that you’d earned it. If you had to smother him into submission, you wouldn’t have to wonder if he was only lulling you into a false sense of security before stealing away all the tools you used to keep him safe. You tried not to be so pessimistic – outwardly, at least.)

“I won’t have to, preferably.” Pulling a towel off of the nearest rack, you bent down to his height and started to ruffle his hair dry. He shut his eyes, but didn’t try to stop you. Currently, he was sitting on the wall of your bathtub, only partially dressed in a pair of tan sweatpants while you finished drying his hair. You could shower alone before work in the morning, but Satoru needed more care. He needed to be treated like something precious, and he’d already proved that you couldn’t trust him with such an important responsibility. “It’s kind of a last resort. It should only go off if you try to leave.” And then, as you burrowed your nails into the towel., “Is that… Is that something you’re going to do, ‘toru?”

“Never. You keep me too good n’ spoiled.” He flashed you a lazy grin, and just like that, you were looking away, biting down on your tongue, trying to coax your heart back into beating at a steady rhythm. You pretended to be busy rummaging through the nearest drawer for a brush, but Satoru only laughed. His next question was just as probing. “It came with a remote, though, right?”

“…like I said, it’s a last resort,” you repeated, too flustered to lie. “I don’t want to hurt you. Unless you tried to escape or attacked me, I really can’t see myself doing anything so—” Blasphemous. Unforgivable. Sinful. “—harsh.”

“I wouldn’t mind.” Like always, he was a little too quick, a little too willing. You bit back a scowl. “I just think it could be romantic, y’know? I’d get to see how much you’re willing to do for me, or something like that.”

You forced a bark of a laugh. “There’s nothing romantic about me hurting you, baby. ‘specially not if I’m only doing it because you acted out.”

“I promise, I’m tougher than I look.” Another smile, even more dazzling than the first. Again, you felt your head start to speed up, only to stop beating entirely the second he went on. “I used to have this friend – Suguru – and he’d—”

Your hand was in your pocket before you had time to stop yourself, the plastic remote clenched in your fist before you had time to think. You’d never read the manual, never thought you’d have to use it, but that didn’t matter. There was only one button, and it only did one thing.

Satoru’s voice cut out as the current picked-up, pumping the maximum voltage into his throat. Satoru didn’t scream, didn’t thrash, but he reacted – going rigid as his beautiful eyes went painfully wide. The whole thing was silent save for a low, almost inaudible buzzing-type sound, and you kept your thumb pressed into the singular button for a second, then another, before forcing yourself to let go. Even that was more difficult than it should’ve been. You couldn’t stand the idea of hurting him, but…

Fuck. You would’ve done anything not to hear Satoru say his name ever again.

To his credit, Satoru didn’t collapse. When it was over, he only buckled forward – catching himself on his thighs as he dragged in a jolting, ragged breath. You were on your knees in front of him in a second, his face in your hands and your mouth on his cheek, his forehead, his neck, as if you could kiss away the pain. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry,” you chanted, each word less coherent than the last. “It’s just—I’ve read about him in your diaries, and I should’ve known you’d bring him up, and—”

“I love you.”

You went quiet.

You tried to pull away from him, but his arms lashed out; wrapping around your midriff and pulling you closer – burying his face in the dip of your shoulder, the crook of your neck. Again, he repeated, “I love you.”

For a second, you thought about pulling away, about sending him back to his room while you pulled yourself together. For a second, you considered reaching for your remote, again.

Then, you settled against him, shutting your eyes and resting your head against his chest.

“I love you too, Satoru.”

Admittedly, Satoru’s apartment was the closest thing you had to a guilty pleasure. The first time you’d broken in, you were still on the fence about just how much he needed your help, but by the third, or the fourth, or the fifth, you’d already made up your mind about bringing him home. You’d only visited a handful of times since, but it was nice to stop in every now-and-then, to remind yourself there were two distinct eras of Satoru’s life – prior to the day he’d met you, and post. Getting to spend a few minutes tucked into a space so essentially Satoru wasn’t something you were opposed to, either.

You made your way slowly through his former home – stepping over heaps of abandoned clothes and stopping to straighten forgotten piles of cluttered paperwork he would never be forced to re-visit. Satoru didn’t have any close friends or family who’d stop by uninvited, which meant every little detail was exactly how Satoru would’ve left it. The fridge was still empty, the freezer stocked with frozen, pre-packaged desserts; the walls were still empty and drab, utterly devoid of life; and best of all, his bed still smelled exactly like him. It was a silly thing to be so excited about, especially when you had the source waiting for you at home, but you collapsed onto the mattress without hesitation, shutting your eyes and basking in the evidence of just how hopeless he’d been, before you had a chance to—

Clipped footsteps, followed shortly by the sound of the bedroom door being pushed open. You bolted upward, your pocket knife (because self-defense was important when you treated breaking-and-entering like a hobby) in your hand in a fraction of a second, but the intruder didn’t seem quite so concerned.

It was a woman – deathly pale and worryingly gaunt, just a little too short to be considered average. She regarded you with a cold stare before nodding by way of greeting. “I’m guessing you’re Satoru’s girlfriend?”

The irritation that came with hearing someone else use his given name was immediately overshadowed by pure, euphoric delight. Smiling like an idiot, you asked, “He calls me his girlfriend?”

“Oh, I’m not going to repeat what he calls you.” Her gaze dropped to your knife, now little more than an afterthought. “You can drop the weapon,” she said, holding up a manila envelope stuffed to the point of bursting. “Just here to pick up his lesson plans. It’s been a pain in the ass – having to cover for him since you two started playing house.”

She sounded agitated, but only mildly so. A small, rational part of your mind urged you to linger on the mild irritation in her voice, the odd casualness in the way she spoke to you. She couldn’t have talked to Satoru recently, not the months he’d spent with you, but if she was concerned for his safety, she wasn’t concerned enough to bring up the issue now.

The vast, easily distracted majority could only chant girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend.

You opened your mouth, ready to ask if Satoru had talked about you often, if he’d ever mentioned your name, if she remembered word-for-word what he’d said about you, but she was already gone – muttering a curt goodbye and slamming the bedroom door behind her. By the time you could force yourself off of his bed, she’d disappeared entirely.

That day, you picked up roses as white as his hair and forget-me-nots as blue as his eyes on your way home. Just to remind Satoru how much you really loved him.

Satoru greeted you as soon as you got home, like he’d done every day since you gave him permission to roam freely. You didn’t call out, didn’t ring the bell, and yet, as soon as the door was closed and locked behind you, he was there; his arms wrapped around your waist and your body hauled against his. He held you in that bone-crushing embrace for a second, then another before lowering you back onto your feet. You clung to him for just a little longer before letting go.

He always seemed to be smiling, but tonight, he was beaming. He pulled you into an eager kiss, only to jerk back just as abruptly, too excited not to start talking while his lips were still pressed against yours. “Happy six-month anniversary,” he managed, quickly enough for the words to blend together. “I, uh—It’s not much, but I got you something. I thought it’d be cute to leave it in your office, but that might’ve been— I mean, I can bring it to you if—”

“Remember to breathe, ‘toru,” you cut in, laughing. He let his head lull to the side sheepishly, and you went on. “You got me something?”

“It’s not a lot,” he reiterated, still shy. “I’m sorry, I’m not really used to this. I wanted to have dinner ready when you came home, too, but I think it needs a few more minutes.”

It was hard to believe, sometimes – just how lucky you’d gotten. There were only so many human beings who could say they’d met an angel, and you got to come home to one every night.

“You’re perfect.” Satoru blushed, and you pulled him close, pecking the bridge of his nose just underneath the bar of his glasses. “Finish up. I’ll meet you back in the kitchen to tell you how much I love my gift.”

Reluctantly, you detached from Satoru, and made your way to the home office you’d all-but abandoned after bringing Satoru home. His present sat on the edge of your desk: a small mason jar, just the right size to sit in the palm of your hand, filled with water and finished off with a jet-black ribbon tied around the lid. Two spherical objects floated near the bottom. Even from a distance, you recognized them immediately.

Satoru’s eyes.

If you’d been holding the jar, you would’ve dropped it. They had to be fake, but they couldn’t be – replicas wouldn’t have been so bright, so organic, so perfect. He’d been wearing glasses, but you’d been able to see his eyes, and— and even if you couldn’t, it wasn’t like he’d be able to carve his own eyes out in the nine hours you spent away from him. Had there been blood on his clothes? You couldn’t remember, now. Was he hurt? Had you ever seen him hurt himself? He couldn’t have left, but—

You felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your midriff, drawing you against a broad chest. The metal of his collar pressed into the back of your head as he slotted himself against you. “You mentioned how much you like my eyes, once,” Satoru explained, the eagerness in his melodic voice now painful to listen to. “I… I thought you might want a couple spares. For when we can’t be together. And, after dinner, I thought we could finally…”

He trailed off, embarrassed. Still, what he wanted was clear.

For a long moment, you didn’t say anything.

Then, with a heavy exhale, you forced yourself to glance over your shoulder, facing Satoru with a smile. “Not tonight, ‘toru.” You’d never been thankful not to be able to see the clear blue of his eyes, before.

“But soon. I promise.”

You couldn’t find Satoru.

It was hard to believe, even as you hunched against the wall of his bedroom, your knees pulled into your chest and tears streaming uncontrollably from your eyes. You’d looked everywhere – torn apart every room in your house, overturned furniture, called his name until your throat ached – but he just—he wasn’t there. You’d checked the locks (still in-tact) and all the windows (decisively unbroken), but the only sign of him you’d managed to find was his collar – cold and abandoned, undone and left carefully on the foot of his bed. It would’ve been impossible for him to take off without the remote still sitting safely in your purse, the mechanism was strong enough to endure getting hit with a car, and yet, it was here, and he wasn’t.

God. You were so fucked.

The open collar sat on the floor next to you, your pocket knife immediately next to it. Satoru was gone. He’d left you, or been taken – it didn’t matter. Your life was over. He’d go to the police, and you’d be arrested, and you’d never get to see Satoru again. Even if he didn’t go to the police, he was never coming back. Either way, it was a death sentence.

You were never going to see Satoru again.

Half-consciously, your hand found your knife, fingers curling around the handle. For the first time in months, you remembered what your life was like prior to meeting Satoru. You remembered what you’d tried to do - what you would’ve done, if he hadn’t been there to save you.

You drew in a shaky breath, tightening your hold on your knife and raising it – first to your chest, and then thinking better of it, your throat. You weren’t very strong, but you weren’t very durable, either. If you were lucky, it’d only take a minute or so before—

“Baby?”

You stiffened, blotting out. For a moment, your mind went perfectly, euphorically blank.

When you came to, you weren’t pressed against the wall, but on your knees – straddling Satoru’s waist. The knife was still in your hand, but you couldn’t see the blade. It was buried in Satoru’s stomach to the hilt.

To his credit, he didn’t scream. His reaction was uncannily alike his response to the shock collar – wide eyes and parted lips, pain and shock only visible in the absence of his smile. Warm blood soaked through the fabric of his uniform jacket, washing over your hand, but you didn’t care. Only half-voluntary, you pulled the knife back and brought it down. You did it again, and again, and again, each motion repetitive and mechanical. You’d never killed anyone, before. It was unfair that the first had to be Satoru.

It was only when the blade of your knife met loose pulp rather than solid flesh that you paused, dropping your weapon entirely. Rather, your hands found his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin through tattered fabric and tearing. You let out a miserable sob as you clawed at his chest, trying aimlessly to dig to his heart. “You left,” you whined, like that would explain anything. “You were gone, and I couldn’t find you, and I thought I’d never see you again, and—” You cut yourself, gasping. “And you’re dying. Oh my god, Satoru, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

It never occurred to you to call an ambulance. Your body seemed to move on its own, clambering down just far enough to tear at the waistband of his pants, to free his cock. “’m just fine, princess,” he muttered, but you weren’t in a state to listen. With a frantic sort of desperation, you pumped your fist over his length, his blood serving as good-enough lubrication. Satoru let out a low groan – the noise impossible to read as pain or relief. “Even better, with such a pretty view.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.” Your fist wasn’t working. Too frantic to be graceful, you forced his cock past your lip and fucked the tip into the hollow of your cheek, doing your best to ignore how his natural bitter mixed with the near-overwhelming iron-tinge. That, at least, got you a reaction – another rough groan, his hand in your hair as his tip started to leak arousal and you felt his shaft stiffen against your hand. You almost choked on your own relief, but Satoru soothed you, his blunt nails scrapping over your scalp as he cooed. “Been waiting so long to see you like this…” He trailed off, laughed. You felt another jolt of fresh blood leak from the tattered flesh of his stomach. There was enough to pool on the floor below him, now. “’m sorry – did I say that already? Thought I could step out for a second before you got home, deal with a last-minute mission, but—” His voice hitched as you let out another sob around him. “—clearly, my pretty girl can’t be left alone for so long.”

You couldn’t understand why he was still talking. Every word hurt more than the last – like he was trying to make it that much harder for you to do the only thing you could. When you pulled away from him, it was only to let out a fractured cry, to bury your face in his thigh, muffling your voice until it was only a whisper above nothing. “You can’t leave me. If I don’t have—If you’re not here, then I can’t—”

“Hey, hey, don’t talk like that. I’m not going anywhere.” You felt the hand in your hair dip lower, cupping your cheek. Another caught you by the chin, tilting your head back, until you were staring at Satoru – blood-drenched and glorious, sitting up and smiling down at you. He shouldn’t have been moving, you shouldn’t have let him move, and yet, it was all you could to do jolt upward and throw yourself against his chest, your mouth latching instinctually onto his neck. You’d always been so careful not to bite, not to bruise, not to do anything that’d leave a mark and mar his perfection, but suddenly, your love felt less like an act of pure-hearted preservation and more like the desperate throes of a forsaken acolyte clinging to the blessings of a dying god. It was hard to worship divinity as something everlasting when your hands were stained in its blood.

So you didn’t try to. You dug your teeth into the side of his throat without reservation, cautious only not to visit the same patch of skin twice. Satoru felt any pain, if he could feel anything after losing so much blood, his only reaction was an airy laugh and a shallow kiss to your temple as his hand found your hips, then your sides. You felt yourself leaving the ground long seconds before your processed that Satoru was lifting you up, and even then, your awareness was burdened by a numbing sort of confusion. You wanted to tell him not to move, not to breathe, to let you help. You wanted to find your knife.

In the end, though, you only strung your arms around his neck and let him lay you on his bed, the mattress dipping where he kneeled in the space between your open legs.

In a daze, you felt your skirt being slid up to your waist, your panties shoved aside and replaced by the soft warmth of Satoru’s mouth. Like always, he was adorably clumsy – the bridge of his nose grinding against your clit as his tongue lapped and traced over your pussy. His fingertips dug too harshly into your thighs, his tongue thrusting into you too erratically, his little whines and occasional whimper too pitchy to allow for any real reverberation, but your poor nerves were so fried and your heart was still beating so fast and it would’ve taken a miracle for you not to cum – moaning pathetically as you bucked into his mouth. You’d imagined this scenario before, pictured yourself showering him with praise as you taught him exactly how to make you cum on his pretty tongue, but this was too quick, too abrupt, too out of your control. You weren’t in a state to teach. If he learned something from this, you doubted it would be the right lesson.

You reached for him as he straightened his back, but Satoru caught your wrist, guiding your hand to his stomach. Rather than mangled flesh and exposed viscera, your palm pressed against perfect in-tact, perfectly seamless skin. Like he’d never been injured. Like he hadn’t been on the verge of death only a few minutes ago.

Like you’d never even touched him.

“See, baby? I already told you – I’m not going anywhere.” His smile was soft, his voice soothing, but he was distracted. With a fist curled around his shaft, he aligned the head of his cock with your entrance, heavy beads of his arousal drooling onto your cunt and down your slit. “You had me worried for a while, there.” This time, his eyes flickered up to meet yours. “I know what I’m good for. Thought you might get sick of me before I ever got a chance to prove it.”

It would’ve been impossible to tell if Satoru was still in pain, or if he was capable of feeling something so human at all. The hurt that sliced through your chest, though, was agonizing. “I would never do that, ‘toru.”

“I know. And I’m sorry, too – it’s unfair to keep comparing you to him.” He bowed his head, dipping low enough for the heat of his breath to ghost over the shell of your ear, when he went on. “You’re not getting away from me that easily.”

There was a shuddering inhale, a sudden pressure against your slit. He pushed into you slowly, less concerned with your comfort than he was savoring the feeling of your walls clenching around him, of your body inviting him deeper, closer. You held your breath, doing your best to memorize every curve and vein, to accommodate him even as his length threatened to split you open. It wasn’t painful, but even if had been, you wouldn’t have complained. This was what you were supposed to want. This was what you were supposed to do for Satoru.

You could only wonder, then, why it felt so cold.

It was only when hips pressed into yours and he was fully hilted inside of you that he picked himself up – a hand planted on either side of your head, a broad, careless smile plastered across his lips. You registered that his lips were moving a full moment before you recognized the sound of his voice, as angelic as it was unbearable.

“I love you.”

For the first time, you didn’t bother trying to say anything at all.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen imagines #yandere gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader

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sailorblossoms-rankane · 7 months ago

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We know Ranma falls first and hard, so what about Akane? When does it start? unlike Ranma, I think it's a couple of things adding up in the background... and why wouldn't it start... here? walk with me

Doctor Tofu is kind to Akane, but I'd say the main reason she had a crush on him was: he was the one male figure outside of her family who made her feel safe. Taking care of her injuries would feel like a form of protection, and Akane wants to feel protected.

It's not just that Akane shows her fiery personality in fights... I recently noticed that while other fighters can show themselves cool and confident in the face of danger (like Ranma). But with Akane, she fights as if she never feels safe in a fight, you can see it. Even when she's the strongest and is winning every morning...

Winning every day could have made her approach these guys looking more "confident" or "relaxed," but she's never relaxed. She always sends Kuno flying, but notice how there's an air of uneasiness (even if she sees him as a buffoon) that doesn't disappear until Ranma comes into the picture.

Ranma showing up as a girl helps Akane relax and reach out as she's too used to being harassed by guys (so she keeps her distance). But even if she finds out his secret in the worst way, she doesn't beat his ass until he's picking on her.

Akane is the one offering the friendly match (connection) but Ranma is also doing something likely no one has ever done with her before: he's being soft, maybe even tender, with her... making her relax. he's making her feel safe (Ranma doesn't fight any other girl like this)

The bathroom incident makes her feel afraid, but when boy Ranma shows himself again, it's clear by the way she stops any attempt of violence to study him (and argue childishly) that the fear is gone. She's tested in the worst way (a way that plays into her worst fears about men, which is hard to shake)... but this tells you she still feels safe, even if she doesn't realize it.

If someone like Kuno had made fun of her proportions, Akane would've beaten him up and moved on. The fact that she's still thinking about it long after the fact tells you he's already stirring something (it's even connected with Ranma thinking about her because he too is also feeling something)

Part of Ranma "falling first" is that he sees her best very straightforwardly from the get-go (and is confused after). With Akane, she isn't even sure of what she's seeing, she's still dealing with her complicated feelings connected to the doc and constant harassment... but she's already interested.

It's obvious that Akane lives rent-free 24/7 in Ranma's head from the moment he meets her, but Akane is not exactly unaffected. It isn't accurate to say he only annoys her at this stage. She pays attention, confides with him, worries, goes after/covers for him... that's interest

You need to pull a rope from both ends to create tension.

Romantic tension requires both parties to feel something, and they already have plenty when Akane tries to help Ranma, and he is protecting her during the fight against Ryoga. Even if she still hasn't sorted out her old crush...

Akane wishes for and values normalcy (she actually has a life) but she only feels normal when compared to the clowns that arrive after Ranma. It's clear by the way her classmates see her that she's an extraordinary girl...

She loves martial arts, but doesn't have the sort of ambitions the insane fighters around Ranma have. She sees it more as a fun outlet, comparable to having a favorite sport. She only holds on to power when someone pisses her off (spite lol) but always chooses normalcy over it

Ranma brings both craziness and safety into her life. You can really see that with Kuno and the guys challenging her: Akane is comfortable supporting Ranma as he navigates the craziness around him, but she isn't comfortable when SHE is at the center of it

Ranma either stands by her side during the madness or straight-up redirects the focus on him (starting from the moment Kuno throws that rose to Akane and Ranma is immediately by her side, ending taking the challenge against Kuno himself). Akane might complain about Ranma "fighting her fights" here, but she quickly gives in to his protection (unless someone is pissing her off... spite, she's just like me fr etc)

In true gag fashion, when Ranma picks on her for her attention, he’s both giving her an outlet and making fighting, which she connected to danger and harassment, a very safe and childish thing. It allows her to relax in a way she hasn’t before he meets him.

When Ranma complimenting her smiles gets to her to the point she's still thinking about it hours after, or that Ranma essentially saying he likes her better as her true self makes her genuinely happy... it doesn't come out of nowhere. She's already been feeling something for him

#akane tendo #ranma ½ #ranma 1/2 #rankane #ranma x akane #tendo akane #ranma saotome

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sugurouge · 2 months ago

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── a gentle touch. sylus x f!reader

fluff. sfw. suggestive content. mdni. ༚༅༚˳ . ♱ . ˳༚༅༚ pet names (sweetie, kitten, sweet girl, darling), teasing, sylus carries you around. synopsis: pampering sylus | 700 words

Self-care nights have always been your little sanctuary, a time to unwind and reset before the chaos of the next week takes hold. But ever since Sylus stepped into your life, these nights have transformed into something far more indulgent.

It’s not just about pampering yourself anymore—it’s about watching the ever-composed, ever-calculating man at your side slowly surrender to your touch. For someone so used to power and control, Sylus makes an art of pretending he’s unaffected.

But you see through him. You always do.

“You look real focused, sweetie,” he muses, his voice deep and lazy. “What, am I that mesmerising?”

You roll your eyes and distract yourself with putting on more layers of the mask. Your fingers delicately smooth the clay over his face.

“You don’t have to fish for compliments, Sylus. You already know you’re unfairly handsome.”

He’d smirk if it wasn’t for the slowly drying layer to tighten against his skin, but you can feel the amusement radiating from him nonetheless. A low chuckle vibrates from his chest. “Flatter me more, kitten.”

However, you pretend to ignore him, but as your fingers drift over his cheekbones, your gaze softens. Even with the mask obscuring his features, his beauty is undeniable. From his aquiline nose to the sharp line of his jaw, and the quirk of his lips as if he’s constantly thinking of something devious—it’s all too much.

Your thumb absentmindedly traces over the bridge of his nose, and he hums at your touch, his eyes seem to zero in on you. “Adoring me now, are we?”

You huff in response, and attempt your best to fight off the allegations about the affect Sylus has on you. “I just think it’s unfair how good you look even with this stuff on your face.”

His fingers curl around your wrist, stopping your movements as his thumb brushes over your pulse point. “You’re the unfair one, darling. Sitting so pretty on my lap, touching me so sweetly.” His grip tightens just enough to make your pulse flutter.

“Sylus,” you warn, but it comes out softer than intended.

“Mhm?” He tilts his head, a wolfish grin forms on his lips which causes the clay mask to crack while Sylus suddenly sits up to close the distance between your lips.

Your hands fly up automatically to cup Sylus’ cheeks in a valiant attempt to stop the mask from falling all over his bedsheets, to keep your yearning mess of a boyfriend away from you.

“Sylus!” You repeat louder, though you try to keep the giggles at bay. “I think we’re making a mess!”

At that, Sylus glances down—his neck and bare chest now dusted with flecks of half-dried clay from where you’ve touched him. You can't help but glare at him a little. “That’s your fault.”

“Oh? And what do you plan to do about it, kitten? Are you going to punish me?” His hands slide down to your waist, his touch firm to pull close and rub the mask along your neck and cheek.

Before you can react, he shifts, effortlessly lifting you into his arms and with him off the bed. Abandoning all the tubs and containers, the cucumbers and damp towels.

The squeak of yours is an embarrassing sound, though who could blame you? Your arms already wrap around his neck as he stands, carrying you with one goal in mind.

“What? Where are we going?” You demand to know, the tone of your voice telling Sylus that you are getting fed up with his antics. Though he chuckles, a tone so light-hearted and tender you have no chance to truly be mad with him.

“The bathroom,” he answers smoothly, “considering the mess that I have made...” Sylus leaves the implication hanging and rather focuses his attention on your body, how you feel against him, in his hold. His hands smooth along your ass, firmly encasing the globes to apply the slightest amount of pressure.

The moment you’re inside, he presses you against the cold tile wall, caging you in with his frame while one hand moves to rest beside your head. His smirk is lethal now, his lids hooded as he watches you swallow under his scrutiny.

“You know,” he murmurs with a voice like velvet, “we could take this whole ‘self-care’ thing a little further... since you already keep groaning my name, I might as well hear it bounce off the bathroom tiles.”

With that, his lips ghost over your jaw, teasing, taunting, nipping until you reward him with everything Sylus craves. You exhale a shaky breath while your fingers card through silver strands for leverage.

“W-we should clean up,” you manage to hold your ground, though your defenses are crumbling fast.

Sylus only hums, his hands gliding down your sides for his thumbs to press into your hips just enough to make you squirm. “Mhm, why not both all at once?”

You nod, and that’s all he needs before leaning in to capture your lips in a slow, intoxicating kiss while already, and ever so eagerly, discarding your top.

divider by @/cafekitsune

#sylus x reader #lads x reader #lads sylus #love and deepspace x reader #sylus fluff #sylus qin x reader #about.sylus #sylus love and deepspace #lads sylus x reader #✧ softly spoken

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archangeldyke-all · 6 months ago

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@sumilane made this gorgeous art and i wrote a little something for it! i posted it already last night as a reblog but i'm going to make it it's own post so gio can add more art to it!! eeek!!!

men and minors dni

sevika is feeling strangely vulnerable.

it could be the bottle of whiskey the two of you have been sharing this evening. it could be that silco, the one person she knew best in the world, is gone now. it could even be the brat he left behind for her to take care of who's been slowly worming her way into sevika's heart throughout the time spent fixing up her new arm and changing their looks together.

it could just be you, though. the sorta-sad, mostly resigned look in your eye as you lament your relationship woes to sevika.

"i dunno... every time i think i could have something with someone-- not even like, marriage, but y'know-- just someone to share some intimacy with-- something happens and it doesn't work. after a while i just start to think maybe it's not the circumstances that are fucked up 'n maybe it's just me."

"bullshit." sevika spits, shaking her head and quickly refilling her glass with more whiskey. she has to do something with her hands to keep from reaching across the table and shaking your shoulders as she speaks. "y-you're fine. perfect--" she cuts herself off, a furrow in her brow as she glares at her whiskey.

you snort. sevika's adorable when she's tipsy, stumbling over her words and staring into space. fuck. you need to stop rambling about your heartache to the woman you're hopelessly in love with. "i-i'm sorry for dumping this shit on you sev. 's boring and stupid and--"

"no, shut up, it's just--" sevika blinks up at you then curls in on herself in a manner that's almost... shy. she clears her throat and looks away for a moment, almost whispering. "i-i'd marry you."

you blink.

"what?"

"i'm saying you're fuckin' stupid if you think you don't have options." sevika mutters, hunching her shoulders so much she looks small.

you're heart's beating a mile a fucking minute, and you squeak when you bite your tongue to make sure you aren't dreaming. "you said you'd marry me?"

"fuckin'-- obviously only in some hypothetical world where you were into me." sevika shrugs. "but...yeah." she grunts, before reaching out and drowning the whiskey in her glass, muttering a "fuck." under her breath.

you blink a few times, tears spontaneously bubbling up in your vision and a lump forming in your throat. "i was under the impression that i didn't have a shot with you." you whisper.

sevika's eyes fly to yours, wide and shocked. "what the fuck would make you think that?!"

"j-just..." you trail off, gulping again. "you're the most interesting, attractive woman i've ever met, and i am one of about a thousand other fuckin' people in zaun who think so. a-and we've been friends for years and you never said anything..." you trail off as sevika stumbles out of her booth and over to yours, shoving in beside you and cornering you against the wall, clutching your jaw with both of her hands as she stares down at you-- bewildered.

"is this a dream?" she asks.

"i bit my tongue to check-- it's real."

"i-i was serious y'know. i'll take you down to the courthouse tomorrow morning." she says, her voice shaky and sincere.

suddenly, the full reality of the situation hits you, and you burst into laughter. "i-i've been in love with you for years." you admit through giggles. "years!"

sevika starts to giggle too. "m-me too."

"and your fucking haircut is so hot all i've wanted to do for the past two weeks is kiss yo--"

sevika cuts you off with her lips to yours, and you sigh, wrapping your arms around her shoulders.

it's a drunk, sloppy kiss-- years of tension and yearning finally bubbling to the surface as sevika attempts to pin you to the booth.

you have every intention of letting her do just that when she pulls away, grinning down at you.

"you really bit your tongue, didn't you? i can taste the blood in your mouth." she asks.

you nod, clawing at her desprately as you try to get her to kiss you again. sevika grins, swooping in to do just that-- but when she pulls away the second thime with her leps stained with your blood, you gasp. "oh, shit!"

"i tried to tell you." sevika giggles.

"do i need stitches? can you give stitches to a tongue?" you ask.

"this really puts a dent in all my plans." sevika cackles. you snort, and she passes you the bottle. "drink. it'll wash the blood away."

"w-what plans?" you ask as you take a swig.

"the plans i had for your tongue."

you choke, whiskey spraying everywhere as you cackle.

sevika--covered in your spit, blood, and whiskey-- smiles so wide you think her face might crack.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@lavandasz

#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika imagine #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika

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oceantornadoo · 1 month ago

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baking is hard

dr robby x chief resident f!reader fluff

yes langdon is in this, sue me he went to rehab and got accepted back

trying to pursue a hobby as a chief resident is encouraged, but the outcome less so. turns out, it's good you put hundreds of thousands of dollars into med school and got extremely into debt.

you can't bake.

the first attempt was chocolate chip cookies. a tupperware container, given to the nurses for first priority, sat empty by the second hour of your day shift. you'd spotted the med students ravaging it ten minutes after you set it down and had to shoo them away to make sure other people had a try. it was an hour after when whittaker first complained of stomach pains. turned out, they weren't cooked all the way through.

"any plans for a bakery, chief?" dana calls out, snorting when you sigh, exasperated. "i swear i put them in for twenty minutes, just like the recipe said!" you mumble as you wait for the EMTs who called ahead to arrive. "oven all the way up?" robby asks, arriving just in time. he snaps on his gloves and your eyes stray to the fine bones they conceal, before pulling your gaze away to land on his face. he smiles in that way where his skin tugs and creases, and you have to roll your eyes to banish the warmth that threatens to grow under your skin. "i'd like to see you in the kitchen, robby." you throw back, softening it with a half-smile. "why don't-" the doors burst open, interrupting his words, and you go into action mode, conversation abandoned.

you never learn what he was going to say, words lost to the linoleum and lemon-iron scent of the ER.

the next week, it's banana bread. you had bananas that were way too ripe and your best friend promise the recipe would "literally be so easy, even you couldn't mess it up." turns out, you've got a thing for the impossible.

"how is this both burnt and not cooked through?" langdon wonders, a crumble of bread escaping his mouth while he chews. you snatch the piece of bread from his head and throw it, a little violently, into the nearest trash can. "you should be glad i can't bake. it's an art, not a science. shouldn't i be good at science?" you retort. someone mumbles something behind you and when you turn, it's santos, standing innocently. "got something to say?" you look at either of them, extremely offended that you couldn't even get banana bread right. a warm hand clamps down on your shoulder and when you look up, robby's eyes are looking at you tenderly. "c'mon, chief, got a good one for you." you sigh, if only to ignore the electricity coursing through your veins at his touch.

"if you let the med students get to you, this whole thing crashes down." he murmurs, just for your ears. you smile at the thought he had to rescue you, then remind yourself it's simply him maintaining a 'positive workplace culture', or whatever gloria said at your last meeting. "i really thought banana bread would be easy." you mourn at the wasted hours you spent on your day off. it's always a struggle to finish your groceries when getting takeout or grabbing something from the nearby cafe is so much faster. so much for a new way to use your groceries. "my bite wasn't too bad." robby admits, stopping you outside of the curtain separating you from the patient. "really?" you grin, hopeful. he steps closer, the cargo pockets of his pants almost brushing your scrubs. you go stock-still, unsure of his next move. "anything is better than salmonella." you gasp and he winks before yanking open the curtain. "mr. corby! this here is my chief resident..."

brownies. brownies can be simple. right?

this time, you triple check them. your roommate shows you the toothpick method and you suddenly realize how you screwed up the first two attempts. only when the stick comes out clean do you attempt to take out the tray.

and completely forget your oven mitts.

"shit!" thankfully, it's your non-dominant hand. you quickly run it under cold water, hissing when the pain doesn't ease after the usual 10-15 minutes. you wrap it with some clean gauze and hope it'll resolve itself. of course, it doesn't. you take a peek two hours later and your hand has swelled, with the pain roaring even after some meds. you sigh, grab your keys, and make your way to the place you can't escape.

"i'm telling you, dana, i'm fine! just need some better burn cream." she clucks at you in her mother-hen tone. "and i'm telling you to get this looked at. and not by a student." she whispers the last part, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"no, dana, i'll go find mckay-"

"robby!"

he materializes out of nowhere, wearing black rounded glasses that make your heart pound. "special patient!" she waves your hand in the air, only stopping when you make a shout of pain. dana suddenly looks regretful, but you laugh. "that's what you get for being an instigator." you taunt. "you're fine go home." she swats your forearm and goes back to her job.

"what do we have here?" his tone is low, warmth spreading to your limbs as you soak in his presence, on an off day especially, like the sun. "burnt my hand." in realizing you're dressed in leggings and a sweatshirt, you're suddenly meek without the shield of your scrubs. robby hums, guiding you with a hand on your back to an empty exam room. "you can treat me in the hall, robby, don't let me steal a room from someone who needs it." he leaves you momentarily, coming back with a burn kit. "you need a room." you soften a bit at his reply, letting yourself sink into the chair as you sit sideways. robby sits on the round chair, a rare time where you tower over him. the burn kit lays near your arm and as he peels off the gauze on your arm, his elbow brushes your thigh. neither of you comment on it.

"baking?" he asks, nodding to the burn. instead of answering, your uninjured hand finds itself floating in the air, near his ear. he glances to your hand, then back to you, brows furrowed. "you still have your reading glasses on." there's a minor blush that rises on your cheeks, and pride rises like a balloon within you, to think you could make him feel a fraction of how off-guard you are. "mind taking them off?" he entreats you, lip curling into a smile. you can't help but brush the bridge of his nose as you pull them from the center, taking care to not jostle him. when they're off, you set them on the free space of the chair and turn back. there's a red mark where they laid and on instinct, you swipe your thumb down the thin skin of his nose until it's less irritated. fearing you overstepped, you pull back, but all you can find in his face is wonder.

"i was baking brownies." you admit, voice raspy with disuse. he brushes the soft inside of your wrist, far above your burn and completely unnecessary for medical treatment. you curl like a cat into the feeling, thighs pressing together as your calves, swinging in the air, lay against his own thighs. "they work out?" he applies the burn gel at the same time he asks and you suck in air at the sting.

"i'm sorry, baby, that hurt?" you both freeze at the pet name. for a second, you think he regrets it, his gaze locked on to the burn. then he lifts his head, that mournful look ever present on his face. silent, waiting for you to make the next move. "didn't hurt that much. i'm just sensitive." deft fingers wrap clean gauze around your palm. there's too much contact: his fingers around your hand, your fingers brushing his own, your leggings against his cargos. "good to know." he mutters. your stomach clenches, heart jumping. he tapes the gauze, one callused thumb brushing featherlight over the cotton.

"i heard when you kiss injuries, they heal faster." you venture, voice strong despite your nerves. "think i saw a NIH article on that." robby adds, beard pulling as he tries not to smile. before you can respond, his lips brush over the gauze. he makes his way upwards, worshiping your wrist to the crook of your elbow. finally, he stands, crossing his hands over his chest like he can't decide his next course of action.

"what am i going to do with you?" he muses, almost to himself. gaining confidence, you hook your foot around his calf and tug lightly, grinning when he doesn't stumble, like you knew he wouldn't. "a kiss might be nice. patient satisfaction scores and all that." he chuckles, enveloping you in a blanket of glee. robby cups your face, thumbs brushing your fluttering eyelashes. the kiss is more forceful than you expected, almost possessive if you squint. his hands squeeze your jaw, forcing you to open your mouth wider. it's soft and hard and your spine turns liquid in his hold, wavering and delicate.

"i need to get back." he interrupts, forehead creasing in discontent. "you need to give this room to a patient who needs it." you reply, unsure how to do deal with what just happened. he decides for you, pecking your forehead, then offering a hand for you to stand. "did the brownies work out?" he inquires, switching topics deftly. you nod in confusion. granted, they aren't pastry-chef level, but they're mildly edible and mostly enjoyable. "i've got some experience in taste testing." he summarizes his point, laughing when you realize his point. "i know you're old, but you do remember you can just ask these things, robby?" you scoff, poking him as you make your escape. he grabs your waist just before you reach the curtain, mindful of your injury, pulling you into his orbit.

"save some for me?"

"make sure you're there by 8pm. i can't make any promises after that."

#the pitt #michael robinavitch #dr robby #michael robinavitch x female reader #michael robinavitch x reader #female reader #the pitt spoilers #the pitt x reader #dr robby x reader #tornadothoughts #the pitt episode 14

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st3f13ily · 3 months ago

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☛ Infinity Between Us (Masterlist)

The story of Gojo Satoru meeting you from past to future, beginning till end. The story of both of your life together.

Reader CT

Just so you know, I haven't done much yet, this list is for me to know what I should do next.

I might post some of them not according to the order I put. (idk if you understand that) For example, I might post one of the stories at the adult arc first than the teenage arc.

(Teenage arc || 2006 || Before the mission)

Click, Snap, Capture, Confessed

> In Where You Found a Camera on the Desk.

Sealed Knowledge

> In where a new student transfers to Tokyo Jujutsu High.

Jealousy?? Yeah, Right

> Operation: The art of (not) making you jealous!

Jealousy Tastes like Blue

> What's the perfect Revenge that affects him??

First Date... Kind of?

> Gojo drags you out for a 'mission'

(More coming)

( Teenage Arc || After the Toji incident || Relationship )

Confession under the star

> Gojo finally admits his feelings during a late-night rooftop talk, but he makes it a joke first—because he’s nervous.

A promise we couldn't keep

> After Geto leaves, he comes to you.

Will you be mine?

> You finally accept him to be yours.

Domestic life with the strongest

> You and Satoru shared an apartment, and it's a mix of chaos, laughter, and stolen kisses.

Matching sunglasses and dumb Dates

> Gojo drags you out on ridiculous dates, making you wear matching sunglasses just to embarrass you.

I'm always coming home with you

> Despite the dangers of his job, Gojo promises to always return to you.

Your the only who sees me

> Everyone treats Gojo as the strongest, but with you, he can just be Satoru.

Drunk Proposal

> Everything was good until you showed up late, and found a drunk Gojo Satoru.

Between Duty and Love

> Gojo is forced to choose between his responsibilities and your relationship, and it’s tearing him apart.

( Adult Arc || Years Later || Marriage )

Wedding Planning… with Gojo

> Planning a wedding with the world’s most chaotic sorcerer is a nightmare. He insists on a sky-blue theme to match his eyes.

Cold Feet? Nah, I Just Miss You

>The night before the wedding, Gojo sneaks into your room because "sleeping without you feels weird."

The Wedding of the Century

> Your wedding is grand, chaotic, and full of love. Gojo can’t stop grinning, and when you walk down the aisle, he actually goes speechless.

Honeymoon Love

> He planned the best honeymoon!! Except something goes not according to plan.

Waking Up as Mrs. Gojo

> Your first morning as newlyweds, where Gojo refuses to let you get out of bed. "We’re married now, you’re stuck with me forever."

Gojo vs. House Chores

> Married life means Gojo attempting chores, only to make things worse. He declares war on laundry but loses.

Cooking with Gojo

> After that laundry accident, he decided to surprise you by cooking you dinner.

Cuddle Monster

> Gojo’s clinginess increases by 1000% after marriage. He constantly invades your personal space, even while you work.

Surprise Date Night

> Gojo randomly kidnaps you for a spontaneous, over-the-top date. "Marriage shouldn’t be boring, Mochi!"

Jealous? Me? No Way

> Even as a husband, Gojo gets jealous when someone flirts with you, but he plays it off—until he drags you away with a smirk.

Arguments and Apologies

> Your first real fight as a married couple, where Gojo sulks like a child but makes it up to you in the sweetest way.

Sick Days with Gojo

> When you catch a cold, Gojo dramatically declares himself your personal nurse. Spoiler: he’s bad at it, but he tries.

Are you better?

> Gojo needs you.

The Moment He Finds Out

> You tell Gojo the news, even though he already knows, he still tries to hide it and act surprise.

( Adult Arc || Pregnancy )

Gojo’s Overprotective Mode: Activated

> Once he knows you’re pregnant, Gojo refuses to let you lift a single thing, constantly fussing over you.

Talking to the Baby Bump

> Gojo whispers nonsense to your belly, telling the baby how cool their dad is (and how much he loves you both).

Baby Shower and a piece of Shocking news!!

> Where you both decided to do a baby shower.

I Can’t Believe We Made This

> One night, Gojo watches you sleep with his hand on your belly, overwhelmed with love and disbelief.

Shopping for the Baby

> Gojo insists on buying baby sunglasses and a tiny blindfold "for training purposes."

Our Little Family

> As he feels the baby kick for the first time, Gojo realizes that despite everything, this is his happiest moment ever.

I’m Gonna Be a Dad

> Gojo goes around telling everyone, from Nanami to strangers on the street, that he's going to be a dad.

Late-Night Talks About the Future

> One night, Gojo holds you close, whispering all his dreams for your child, his excitement, and his fears.

Cravings & Midnight Runs

> Gojo wakes up at 3 AM to you craving something ridiculous. He teleports across the country just to get it.

Mood Swings & Emotional Gojo

> Pregnancy hormones hit hard, and Gojo struggles when you cry over the smallest things. He panics every time, trying to fix it.

Hearing the Heartbeat

> At the first ultrasound, Gojo actually tears up hearing your baby’s heartbeat. He doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time.

The First Kick

> When he finally feels the baby kick, Gojo freezes, eyes wide, before breaking into the biggest grin. He brags about it for weeks.

Dancing in the Living Room

> One quiet evening, Gojo sways with you, hands on your belly, humming a song and whispering how much he loves you.

Doubt & Reassurance

> One night, Gojo confesses his fear of not being a good father. You remind him that he’s already the best husband, and he’ll be the best dad too.

A week before birth

False Alarm!

> You have a Braxton Hicks contraction, and Gojo freaks out, teleporting you to Shoko in full panic mode.

Can We Name Them After Me?

> Gojo jokingly suggests names like "Satoru Jr." and "Satoru II." You refuse. The debate continues for the whole day.

The birth

10:47 pm - Your water breaks, and Gojo loses it, teleporting you to the hospital in a full-blown panic.

12:34 am - During labour, Gojo stays by your side, holding your hand and whispering encouragement even though you threaten to break his fingers.

2:14 am - The moment Gojo holds your child for the first time, his usual goofy self disappears, replaced by pure, unfiltered love.

2:59 am - Gojo watches you cradle your baby, whispering, "We did it. We made something so perfect."

( Adult Arc || Family || Kids )

Double the trouble, Double the love

> Finding out you’re having twins was a shock, but Gojo? He celebrated like he won the lottery. "Two babies? That means two times the awesomeness!"

Dad Mode Active

> Gojo swears he’ll be the best dad ever—until he realizes how tiny and fragile newborns are. "WHAT IF I ACCIDENTALLY BREAK THEM?!"

Sleep? What's that?

> Gojo insists he’ll handle nighttime duty… then immediately regrets it when both twins start crying at 3 AM.

First word?

> You and your beloved husband Satoru Gojo have been fighting for weeks for your twins first words.

Mini Sorcerer Training

> Gojo starts training them early, letting them wear tiny blindfolds for fun.

Gojo VS Baby Food

> He insists on feeding the twins himself. It ends with more food on him than in their mouths.

Prank Team

> Your daughter has inherit your husband chaotic energy and starts playing prank on everyone, including you.

Papa’s Biggest Fans

> They follow Gojo everywhere, giggling whenever he lifts them onto his shoulders like tiny royalty.

Overprotective Gojo, But Worse

> The first time the twins get sick, Gojo goes into full panic mode and calls Shoko every five minutes.

First Day of School Meltdown

> Gojo doesn’t want to let them go, hugging them dramatically at the school gate.

Teacher Gojo?!?

> Gojo insists on helping with their homework but just ends up making them laugh with nonsense explanations.

Sports Day, But Make It Over-the-Top

> Gojo teleports across the field to cheer them on, embarrassing your son and you.

Gojo vs. Parenting Styles

> You set rules. Gojo? He lets the twins eat sweets before dinner and calls it "an experiment."

Bedtime Stories by Papa Gojo

> He makes up the most ridiculous bedtime stories, often starring himself as "the strongest and coolest dad."

Father-Daughter Dance & Protective Dad Mode

> Gojo panics when his little girl gets asked to dance by a boy. "You’re too young for this!"

Satoru Little Clones

> Your daughter is super hyper like your husband Satoru, on the other hand, your son is the polar opposite.

Special Late Nights Talks

> The twins sneak out of bed to sit with Gojo, asking questions about the stars, life, and why his eyes are so special.

The Moment He Realizes They’re Growing Up

> Watching his twins walk ahead, Gojo gets hit with the reality that one day, they won’t be little anymore.

Papa’s Always Here

> A quiet, heartfelt moment where Gojo promises his children that no matter what, he will always protect them.

(More to come)

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lostintransist · 19 days ago

Text

The Second Duchess

Y'all, Noona's brain worms got me again. AO3 | This will be two parts. | This will end bitter. A/B/O dynamics, vaguely victorian, there will be an actual ghost in part two, odd power dynamics.

When John found you, a foreign lady, visiting a neighboring earl, he thought he had found redemption.

His first wife had been designationless, like you. He and his pack, Johnny, Simon, and Kyle, had ill-treated the first duchess. Her final words, left in an open letter, lingered over them all, even now.

You were supposed to be better. Every tale of you spoke of your bravery, your dedication, your loyalty. I found them all to be lies. When my corpse haunts your memories, may you think on it with more fondness than you ever did me.

The people who claimed the right of parentage over you had sent you to a foreign court in the hopes that someone would take pity on you. Foolish attempt really. No one at home wanted you; no one here would either.

All your life you had been discarded. Set aside for your lack of designation, you learned to cope. The scarred skin at your neck where your gland had failed to grow in the womb became your favorite place to decorate. If not with necklaces, then with art. You had learned how to paint on your body and create wreaths that wound round your neck; you set new standards because you could not do much else. If people were going to stare, why not give them something to look at?

Running wild became your favorite way to use your lack of designation. You could ride a horse side saddle or sitting forward like a man. You could ride better than most men in either seat. The stable hands at home got used to a horse disappearing for a few hours. You always stabled the horses you used, fed them, and brushed them. They stopped complaining after they saw how well you cared for the animals.

You hired art teachers and painted nude bodies. Music teachers taught you how to listen to the lewd songs sung in the taverns and play them at dinner parties. Languages were mastered; the curses were the things you memorized first. The cooks blustered when you demanded to be taught, but when you threatened to hire someone to teach you they quickly gave in.

The maids taught you on the sly the cant and candor of the working class. When they told you of the needs in the community you worked directly with the women who headed each group in need. Connections were gathered like coins in a purse and guarded like a hen over her chicks.

Without quite knowing how you became a woman of influence. A whisper or a word in the right ear and you could turn the tide on harmful policies. If you declared a business untenable for their use of child labor or the way they treated their workers the working class would not patronize them again.

That same level of leverage never breached the bubble of the aristocracy; hence, how you found yourself shipped away to start again.

The weeks warning your mother had given you had been enough for any in your contact to fire off letters to kin and foe alike of your coming. Even letters to foes told of your abilities to conquer changes.

Dock workers had a penchant for overindulging in your country. Men overindulging left women and children bereft of comfort and stability. You had been working at the underpinnings of fact before you had been shipped off.

No one noticed where you wandered, even here in this new country. No one cared. Just this morning you had sat down with the head of the laundress of the city to see what pieces you could shift. Their letter had arrived first, and tending to their needs would become your first priority. They needed childcare.

Children often needed tending and older children needed to be taught reading, writing, and arithmetic. An aging governess or two could be convinced to play school teachers and a maid without a reference could become a tender. Most of the legwork would arise from connecting with the women who would care for and teach the children. The juxtaposing issue would be where to house them and the children during the day. The price per child needed to be reasonable to the laundress and enticing to the governesses and the maid.

Censure, while a familiar disrespect, never became easier to bear. It bit at your flesh like the slap of hands. You had been relegated to the piano in the corner of the room while the other women partook in after-dinner sherry.

You hated sherry. You hated all alcohol really but sherry most of all. It tastes of lies and disappointment in its syrupy sweetness. Shuttering those memories, you focused on playing through a key change and into a jaunty tune; lewd would be a more accurate word, for the song you had learned down at the docks.

All these thoughts swirled through your head as your fingers played without you. Being so deep in thought you failed to notice the men had rejoined the party.

The knuckles rapping the top of the piano before your eyes brought you back to your body. Your motions paused the last notes you played lingering in the air. It is doubtful anyone was listening to you anyway.

A broad man leaned against the piano. His hair was cut short and sprinkled with gray. A neatly maintained beard, sun-kissed wrinkles around his eyes, as well as the fine cut of his coat completed the look of a lord. Being unfamiliar with this county’s aristocracy you offered a demure smile.

“Can I help you, my lord?”

“Where did a thing like you learn a tune like that?” His voice is rich and cadence firm.

“It is astounding the things musicians will teach you for the right incentive.” Settling your hands back to the keys you began to play a medley of your favorite drinking songs.

“Why do you not hide it?” His voice is as a surprise as it is unexpected.

Decorum meant different things here. Like it being acceptable to ask about one’s secondary gender.

“Why would I hide something I am not ashamed of, my lord? I am not causing harm to others by existing,” you lift a brow as you glance at him quickly.

He stared at the paint ringing your neck. The style of dresses here, that your great aunt had draped you in despite your protests, involved low necklines and off-the-shoulder sleeves. The corset cinched around you held up the dress. You had painted flowers and vines. Now, if anyone stared overlong you could assume they were observing your skill with a brush and not the scar where your scent gland should be.

Transitioning into a light, airy tune that has been well accepted by “higher” society you stole glances at the lord. You had yet to be introduced, but his dismissal of decorum intrigued you. Not many men approached you for a chat, even less without being introduced as an oddity first.

“Would you take a turn around the room with me?”

And there went your interest. Like with anyone who did not conform to society’s standards, you were propositioned every so often. Pursing your lips, you don’t look at him again.

“If you can gain an introduction before I depart for the night, I will consider it.” Focusing back on your fingers you played around a key change into a moving piece.

This bit of music sounded a bit like weeping when you played it.

He would not find your aunt anywhere near this room. She had consumed a fair amount of dairy in the soup course and would be leaving rancid deposits for the maids to clean in the morning. Once she felt well enough to travel she would send someone to collect you to the carriage. No one else here could claim acquaintance to the point of introductions.

As you predicted the lord could be seen drifting from person to person questioning and pointing toward you where you played still. All shook their heads and peered around for your aunt. Nearing forty minutes later a maid approached you, hands clasped neatly in front of her white frock.

“Ma’am, your aunt awaits you in the carriage,” her voice is mouse quiet even as her eyes dart to and for.

“Thank you for telling me. Can you inform the butler I will need my things?”

The notes lingered before dying, suffocated under the volume of conversation. The lord noticed though. As you slipped around seats and finally into the front hall, he followed. The aged butler held out your shawl, gloves, and hat.

One glove on and buttoned at the wrist you started on the other one when he appeared. The lord gave a near-silent dismissal to the butler. When you turned you found your hat and shawl held hostage.

“My things, my lord,” your hand extended for your things.

“While I was not able to obtain a formal introduction, I wanted to introduce myself. Duke John Price, at your service.”

Plucking your bonnet from his hand, you hum. Duke Price glared at you as tied it in place.

“How wonderful I avoided the misfortune of being introduced to a duke then being as lowly as I am, hmm?” You glanced at his face.

His sun-kissed wrinkles are now plucked with frustration.

“Will you be returning my shawl or shall I brave the night with bare shoulders, Duke Price?”

You let the title remind him of his place in the scheme of life.

The blue of his eyes reminded you of the center of a flame, scorching in its heat. You saw the decision in the tilt of his head. Standing stiller than the statues you saw dotting this land, you did not fight when he settled the shawl around your shoulders.

“Travel safe. I look forward to our upcoming introduction,” Duke Price held to the end of the shawl as you stepped back.

“Must not have much to look forward to in this country,” you let derision drip from your tone.

One more step back and you are free. A hand behind your back finds the doorknob and you are out. Now the footmen are looking to the door as you descend the stairs.

“What kept you?” Your great aunt’s voice bites from the dark of the carriage.

“It took some time for the butler to gather my things,” you lie. Climbing in and sitting forward on the bench to peer out the door window, Duke Price watches you from the door.

Sliding back the darkness hides you from view.

John fired off a letter before the sun had risen. I have found her. I will return when wed.

It took weeks before he secured your acquaintance. He tried though, gods, the way he tried. You would have laughed if he didn’t disrupt so many damn meetings.

A local Chaplin had agreed to offer room and board to the two governesses and the two maids who would be watching and teaching the children. A different church, whose Bishop agreed, would serve as the care space and classroom. The two churches would have no fees, but negotiating the prices that would remain fair for the laundresses and the women caring for the children became the sticking point.

The women all raised their voices. It was as if they could shout a little louder than their neighbor they might be clearly heard. In times like these, you were grateful for your nose blindness. Someone had once explained that the overlapping scents of anger reminded them of a barn fire, acrid and dense.

You finished finalizing the numbers on your page before standing. Snatching up your mini abacus, because math in your head forever alluded you, you placed it in a pocket of your skirt. Both hands lifted your skirt. Once your feet could move freely, you stepped onto the chair and then onto the long table where the discussion had devolved.

Both boots planted firmly you released your skirt and shoved fingers in your mouth to whistle. The piercing sound cut through all of the noise. All of the women sat down and glowered at each other, and you.

Movement at the door of the room tipped your annoyance into rage. Duke Price stood in the doorway. This was the fourth meeting he had appeared in.

“The Duke of Price has two seconds to be gone from this room or he will be funding this project for a year.”

Your pointed glare and sharp words caused all the women at the table to turn and do the same. These were proud women. They would not accept charity, and the offer of it would be seen as offensive. The duke narrowed his eyes and stepped back into the shadows.

“Close the door, my lord. If you are incapable of such a feat one of these lovely women would be happy to assist.”

The iron lock clicking into place turned all eyes back to you. Pinching your fingers to the bridge of your nose you shut your eyes and took a deep breath.

“Here is the pricing that accommodates everyone. The women handling the children will not need to cover room and board, which will reduce their incoming monies. In turn, that reduces the burden per child for the laundresses. Now, you must decide among yourselves,” you open your eyes and scan the laundresses now, “If you wish to pay a per child fee or a flat fee. Tally your votes and inform me of your decision. This scheme will begin on the first.”

The women who handled the dirty laundry for the city nodded and rose. They spoke among themselves as they exited the room.

The older governess, Brenton, if you recall correctly spoke up now. Her white hair gleamed under her dowdy cap.

“Who will be supplying the learning materials? The pay for watching the children will not cover that.”

You climbed down as you thought over how to obtain the needed materials.

“There is an irksome lord that I will make pay for the displeasure of my constant annoyance.”

All four women shared a look. They had worked under several lords and ladies and knew this would be a formidable task.

“Well,” Miss Brenton clapped her hands twice, “We will leave you to your trial ma’am. If we can be of any assistance before our work begins, please reach out.”

“Thank you. I know this is going to be an odd period of transition for all of us.” Settling at the head of the table as the other stood, you gestured to the door. “Miss Brenton, if you don’t mind, could you play chaperone for a moment?”

“Must say, I am interested to see how this plays out.” Tucking her skirt back down Miss Brenton sat back down.

Pulling out a clean sheet you began to note down the needed items, chalk and chalkboards, readers, nappies, blankets, cribs, the list went on. The click of heavy-soled shoes stopped at your side. Paying it no mind, you continued. A second sheet joined the first, transferring a list of vendors that would help funnel money to the bottom where it was most needed. Some were spouses of the laundress, others were brothers, fathers, or uncles. All were low class and would provide solid work.

A total of three sheets filled you ensured each was dry before stacking them. Folding them into neat thirds, you turned and handed them to Lord Price.

“You are a difficult woman to make an acquaintance of,” he took the papers held in proffer. “What is this?”

“The bill.” Standing, you let the chair legs scrape against the floor. “Miss Brenton, can I interest you in having company on your walk home?”

The shrewd woman looked near apoplectic at your handling of a duke.

“This is a lengthy bill.”

If you didn’t know any better, you could have sworn there was a hint of a smile in his voice.

Lord Price’s eyes were upon you when you finally let your head finish turning. No smile graced his lips. Shame. For all he had made your last few weeks as painful as a throne in the thumb, he was nice to look at.

He wore a blue today. His eyes shone with the gold stitching on his jacket and vest.

“It has been extraordinary lengths you have gone to bother me; this seemed a fair request.”

Neither gaze shifts when Miss Brenton choked on air.

“Consider it done,” Duke Price tucked the list into his inner coat pocket. “May I join you ladies on your journey?”

“Of cour—”

You cut Miss Brenton off with a hand and a sharp look. Turning that sharp look on the lord, you speak your piece.

“No. I do not know what your intentions are with me, and frankly, I am tired of finding you amidst my business. The only men who pursue me do so for my,” you gesture to your scarred neck, “eccentricities.”

A string attached to your stomach could not have pulled tighter than if it were looped to a kite. This conversation made you wish you could skitter into a hole, a church mouse hiding from god. This would be the sixth time you had told a man no.

The duke huffed a laugh.

“I have enough eccentricities roaming my home. What I seek is a chance to see if we would get on well.”

His blue eyes left heated trails as they worked across your face. Goose flesh rose on your arms. Chest and further down where you dare not think of the flesh continued to rise. Every bit of you reacted.

“Why?” The question is breathy, haunted with questions.

Duke John Price held the sword of Damocles at your neck. The blade yearned for a taste.

You spent your days in the shadows. Confronting men who could take what they wanted was the only time you thought you knew what it was like to be whole. Acid bullied the back of your nose.

“I am in need of a wife. Someone who has the skills to manage others.”

He is not done. You don’t care.

“Choose any of your fashionably young countrywomen then.” Ripping your eyes from him, you stack your papers and close your ink well for travel. “There is a full troop of them yet unwed who would kill for the chance to lay in a duke’s bed. They have all been trained to manage households.”

The string in your body is cut. A tangle now lives in your chest.

“Miss Brenton, was it?”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“Can you give us the room for a moment?” The kind command would take more fortitude than the aged governess possessed.

A beseeching look to the matronly woman did not save you. Her wrinkles quivered as she slowly stood.

“I can give you three minutes m’lord.”

He inclined his head as if accepting a toast from a royal.

As the door swung shut you formed a plan. Stepping to the opposite side of the table, for distance and a barrier, failed. The toe of your boot caught the leg of the table. Papers fluttered from your hands as your knees cracked against the stone floor. Duke Price was there in an instant. He lifted each paper, laying it neatly in a stack.

Tears pricked at your eyes. You hadn’t moved from your fallen position. Head hanging to your chest you held back from weeping by the breadth of a string.

“Why will you not leave me be?” The words are harsh, strangled by the tightness in your throat.

“When hunting foxes, one strategy to attempt is sending them to ground. Where do they hide when they can no longer run?” His demeanor was cool, his voice soothing. “You run in circles, managing to better every bird, twig, and rock you brush against in your escape.”

Sniffing, you set about finding a handkerchief to wipe your face; you refused to face the laundress’ if they knew you used your skirts as rags.

A blue handkerchief in a gloved hand drifted below your nose. Lifting it, careful to not touch even his glove, you dab your nose.

Somehow you had managed to drip ink into the crease where your nail becomes flesh. Gloves hurt your hands after a time. You had managed to work around wearing them. No one noticed. No one ever noticed. And if they did they didn’t care to police a grown woman who had no prospects.

“I have a pack, they are wonderful and I would burn the world for them. I need a wife who can see. I am looking for someone who notices the needs overlooked, connects with those unheard, and sends war captains on impossible journeys. If you had allowed an acquaintance between us weeks ago, I could have courted you slowly.”

Duke Price holds out your papers. They crinkle in your delicate grip as you press them to your breast.

“I do not believe you.”

His cloth pressed to your nose cannot prevent all the vile feelings filling up your bones from injecting themselves into the words.

No one wanted you. Even the one who had lied in word and deed to make you believe he did.

Brokenness allowed you to see because you could not smell; that did not make you valuable.

“And what would make you believe me?” He curls nearly in half to peer up at you.

A duke is on his knees, craning his need to get a look at you. What the hell had this world turned into?

Sniffing again, you straighten. Plans. You can make plans.

“A contract. Legally binding even in marriage. Make it two. One to court me and become engaged and the second retaining my rights to leave this country unhindered, if I so desire, if marriage were to come to pass.” You study him now. The wheels are turning in his mind.

“And what of the consequences of reneging on either contract?” A single brow is lifted in your direction.

“I imagine your solicitor has worked with you a long time, my lord. If he does not think of something suitable, I would be happy to revise and return it for review,” you lift a brow in response.

Games were easier. The rules never changed. Once understood, you could slide below notice and return to living life and helping where you could.

The man before you lifted both cheeks into a full smile. Your heart dropped into your heels still below your butt. He had a beautiful smile.

“They will be at your door for review before the week is out.”

“You have not yet gained an acquaintance, my lord, it might be rejected at the door,” you gave him a saucy wink and a watery laugh.

“I think a contract will be introduction enough.”

He held out a hand. You shook it, grip firm. Twice it bobbed before he turned your hand over and laid a kiss on your knuckles.

Catching sight of your lifted brow from his position he threw you off balance, again.

You had been to sea. Once only, were you out during a storm.

Then you had clung to the railing until a man in a slicker had slid a rope around your waist and helped haul you below deck. That wild energy that had commanded you to land came now. This time though? You longed to dive below the waves. If only to see if the storm could touch the seabed below.

Solicitor Allchin sat stiffly in the sitting room of your great aunt’s home. He wore black as if born to it, hair flounced the appropriate amount to show he would be fastidious and dogged in a task.

Your nails, trimmed short, bite into the fabric coating the arms of the wing-back chair. The crazy fool had actually done it. Two contracts lay strewn on the tea table before you. Unable to continue to read, they had been thrown down.

“Allchin?”

The man startled at being addressed. He had been taking surreptitiously deep breaths. If anyone believed you to be afflicted with no scent gland upon meeting you would call them a liar.

“Yes ma’am?”

“What is your opinion of Duke Price?”

You refused to call him John. It felt like ceding ground in a war you didn’t intend to entrench in.

“He is a fair man, mostly. Cares well for those that he considers his, discards those he doesn’t.” Allchin spoke firmly. Confident in his honesty.

“Thank you. That will be all. I will return these with any adjustments within three business days.” Standing would be beyond your power. If you rose the only thing you would manage is the three steps to vomit in an oriental vase.

“Ma’am,” Allchin rose, tugging his coat neatly into place. “If I may? I have a question.”

“You may not.”

Rage fluttered in your chest with hummingbird wings; it stung your eyes, water filling them.

Allchin nodded once and saw himself out. Lifting the paperwork, you read what you could. He had tilted everything in your favor. If you agreed to an engagement you could keep it quiet until the bans were read. Either party could break the engagement and you would receive a settlement for cover “pain and suffering.” You would retain full autonomy and legal status as a person in the event of a marriage. Property bought or sold in your name would remain yours.

Working itself out seemed to be working in Lord Price’s favor.

Someone, and if you ever found them you might actually hurl them down the stairs, had told your great aunt about the visit and the paperwork.

“What is this I hear about an offer?”

The testy old woman had called you to her office like a child. She opened and shut a fan in one hand. Open. Shut. Open. Shut.

Blinking slowly, you release a breath.

“I did not think you could hear at all anymore, Aunt.”

Slam. The fan cracked against the edge of her desk.

“Do not test me, child! Have you had an offer?” Her frail voice betrays none of her age as she shouts.

Disdain drips from your canines like blood from a throat you clenched between your teeth.

“I lost my childhood to bigotry and hate. I will not lose my adulthood to it as well. Any business between myself and any man who might make an offer is none of your damn business. Only those who care about my welfare are welcome to that knowledge.” The temperature in the room changed, flashing cool before heating up with a rage you knew waited to boil over.

Turning on a heel, you stride from the room.

Any calls from your aunt fall on deaf ears. You lock yourself in your room and squirrel away the paperwork. Not well enough.

One of the maids must have found them. Word reached you as you were fitted for a wedding gown that your aunt had offered a hefty reward for the person who could pry the information from you. You thank the young woman pinning the skirt and ask after her children. She smiles as she tells you of her daughters and their clumsy attempts at stitches.

Masterlist | Part 2

#cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #soap cod #john price x reader #soap mactavish #price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #captian john price

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