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ckret2 · 17 hours ago

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Chapter 81 of human Bill Cipher not enjoying being the Mystery Shack's prisoner but being even less keen on being the government's prisoner: the feds are snooping around the shack, nobody likes this, and so a family meeting is called to discuss how to send them packing.

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"I just kept telling him I didn't know anything," said Soos. He was slumped bonelessly on the couch, wiping his sweaty forehead with his sleeve and holding a soda in one shaky hand. "I accidentally said I don't know anything when he asked where he could get lunch in town!"

"You did good, Soos," Stan said. "That's how you handle feds—don't tell 'em anything."

Stan and Ford had called a household meeting, and now everyone was packed into the living room: Soos and the kids on the couch, Stan and Abuelita in the armchairs, Bill and Wendy at the living room table, and Ford out in the entryway so he could pace.

(Everyone was wearing deely boppers. Mabel had had a very productive day.)

Even Waddles and Gompers had been dragged to the mandatory meeting. Gompers had already eaten the pink pompoms off Waddle's deely boppers and was now trying to eat the hem of Dipper's shorts while Dipper tried to push him back from touching the sunburns on his legs.

"What are we gonna do?" Dipper asked. "Last year these guys tried to arrest Stan, and he was still using a fake name back then—so now, the agents could be after Stan or Ford."

"Dial back the pessimism. Right now, they're not after anybody," Bill said. "They're just following up on the eclipse from last week." And a tip about somebody dangerous in the shack. Bill pushed those worries aside. "They don't have any reason to come back!"

"Except the flash drive," Soos said. "Which they know is here. Inside the shack. Cuz they sensed it."

"Right. Yep. Except that," Bill said. "Hey, Dolores—howsabout you whip up one of your special 'welcome to the shack' dinners for them? I'm sure they'd enjoy it just as much as I did."

Dolores nodded thoughtfully. (The tiny sleigh bells on her deely boppers jingles.) "I could," she said. "But what would we do with the bodies?"

"We've got the perfect in-house body disposal! Chop 'em up and feed 'em to the pig."

"Nooo!" Mabel flung her arms protectively over Waddles. He oinked neutrally. "We're not feeding people to Waddles!"

"He'd probably love it!"

"Uh-uh."

"Fine, then the gnomes," Bill said.

Ford said, "Let's call murder 'Plan B.'"

Bill rolled his eye. "All right, smart guy, what's Plan A?"

Ford didn't immediately reply. He paced for another few seconds in the entryway, gathering his thoughts. "There are three ways this could end badly. We have to find a way to prevent all of them," he finally said. "One: the agents discover that there's something under the house and find the portal. Two: the agents remember there's something under the house, and realize they've been brainwashed. Three: the agents retrieve their flash drive, and that reminds them something's under the house."

Stan added, "And if any of those happens, we're both going to jail. Probably Soos too, as an accomplice. Kids might even be in trouble for escaping custody last year." Dipper and Mabel exchanged an alarmed look.

Bill looked at Wendy. "Hey, look who's off the hook." He held up a hand.

"Woo-hoo!" She high-fived him. "We'll visit the rest of you guys in jail."

Mournfully, Mabel asked, "If we get arrested, can you send me crayons?"

"I'll get you one of those boxes with a hundred crayons," Bill said. "And hide a shank in that yellowy green one you never use."

"Thanks."

But if any of those three scenarios came true, that meant government agents crawling all over Bill's portal. Best case scenario, it'd end up halfway across the country in a secret military base. There was tech left in the wreck in the basement that couldn't possibly be synthesized using Earth's current technology, and the Trilazzx Betian ship didn't have backup parts for all of them.

And that wasn't even taking that anonymous tip into account...

"I shouldn't have to go to jail," Ford grumbled. "I wasn't behind the crimes committed in my name, Stanley was."

"Hey," Stan said, "you're the one who impersonated a government agent! Besides, did you really not commit any crimes while building your dumb portal?"

Ford winced. "What's the statute of limitations on burgling radioactive waste?"

"Don't worry, Mothman," Bill called. (Ford self-consciously adjusted his deely boppers, which had paper moths taped to the ends.) "I tossed most of the incriminating evidence in the bottomless pit while you were asleep!"

"Wh— Is that where my lockpicking kit went?!"

"Haha, yeah!" Bill had bought Keyhole's loyalty for the next three hundred years with that.

Wendy waved a hand between Bill and Ford to interrupt their banter. "We can probably keep them from discovering the portal by just not giving them a reason to look behind the vending machine, right?"

"And if we keep them from getting Gompers, they won't get the flash drive," Dipper said.

Mabel said, "What if we put him on a plane to Japan! Do you wanna go to Japan, Gompers?"

Gompers looked at Mabel impassively.

"It's no good," Abuelita said. "It will take weeks to get a passport for the goat."

"Aww."

"There are plenty of ways we can keep their hands off the drive," Ford said. "We could just hide Gompers underground, for instance—there's no way their sensors can reach that far.

Oh no, not when it was clear someone had been down there tinkering with the portal. "Do that and they'll know we did something to hide it! We'll never get rid of them then."

"True," Ford sighed.

Bill said. "I'm most worried about them remembering something on their own. The agents mentioned the portal's gravitational anomalies from last summer—are they remembering something they shouldn't, or did you leave them with those memories?"

Ford hesitated, glancing uncertainly at Stan. Stan shrugged.

"Oh, right. You aren't the expert on how the memory gun operates." Bill rolled his eye toward Wendy. "You see how helpless he is without me around to feed him information?"

"Pshh, shut up. Keep me out of your weird old people academic grudge."

Dryly, Ford said, "Care to enlighten us with your superior knowledge, o god of wisdom?"

No, he really didn't. Not for Ford, anyway. He wouldn't even be grateful for it.

But, under the circumstances—knowing that the agents were after him, too... "Oh, why not," Bill said. "What did you enter in the gun? The exact wording."

Ford frowned, glancing toward the ceiling as he concentrated. "It was... I didn't know exactly how much they knew—I didn't even know which names they knew Stan under—so I tried to make it as broad as possible. I think it said something like 'Pines Household's Secrets'?"

Bill thought that over. "Okay. Okay, yeah, that works. That's perfect, actually—best answer you could have given. You never disappoint, IQ."

Ford was visibly unmoved by the flattery (which was just as well, because Bill had given it out of habit as he slid back into the role of teacher, and had immediately regretted it). "And I suppose you're going to explain why that wording is so important."

"I could," Bill said. "Do you want to know?"

Ford glowered at Bill, lips pressed together in a thin line. Bill stared back, brows arched expectantly. (Wendy looked between the two of them and snorted. Bill pushed her without breaking eye contact with Ford.)

Mabel said, "I wanna know."

"Good enough for me!" Bill hopped from his seat and crossed the living room to a spot where he could address the group more easily. "The memory gun doesn't actually destroy memories, it just severs the connections between those memories and the rest of the brain. Like snipping a squid's tentacles to free it from a squid king."

"What's a squid king?" Soos asked.

"It's like a rat king made of giant squid. It takes at least four to qualify because if their tentacles are knotted in a circle that's just a squid ring," Bill said. "So! Usually you find your own memories by their relationship to other memories. Driving by the grocery store reminds you that you need to go shopping, which reminds you that you're out of straws, which reminds you of when your doctor's eye got gouged out, which reminds you of those vampires in the library, which reminds you of that book you need to return, yadda yadda."

Stan said, "Wait, your doctor got what—?"

"He was fine, he had it coming, and I was nowhere nearby."

"And how's that get you to vampires?!"

"The tangy taste of blood left in your straw. Please hold any other questions to the end!" Bill said. "But, since the memory gun severs a memory from the ones connected to it, you can't be indirectly reminded of it—the chain's been broken. But the memory'sstill there. All it takes is a direct reminder to recall it, and then it starts reattaching to your other memories. Everyone with me so far?" He directed the question in Mabel's direction.

Mabel nodded. Ford opened his mouth to ask a question.

"Great," Bill said. "But! What gets severed is determined by whatever you programmed into the gun. So, for example, if you run into a vampire in the library, then get shot with a memory gun programmed with the word 'Vampires,' there's no more jumping from your doctor to that late book! And you won't remember your vampire encounter if you wander around the library—at most, you might get a sense of deja vu—but you will get back your memory of the whole thing if you run into another vampire!"

He nodded toward Ford. "So 'Pines household's secrets is the best phrase you could've picked. It means they forgot any Pines secrets��including Stanley's criminal record—any household secrets—including the machine in the basement—and since they only forgot the 'secrets,' they can run into anything that isn't secret without recovering their severed memories—like, say, the entire upstairs of the shack."

Slowly, Ford said, "Then that's why they remember last year's gravitational anomalies. The cause is one of our secrets, but the anomalies themselves aren't a secret—they're a matter of public record."

"Bingo," Bill said. "Well! That should be simple enough. Any questions?"

Mabel raised a hand.

Bill pointed at her. "Yes!"

"Are there vampires at the library?"

"Not anymore!"

"Aw."

Dipper asked, "Did you murder your doctor with a straw?"

"I did not and I won't be taking any more questions on the topic, it was a very traumatic experience" for the patient who went in after Bill.

Stan asked, "Why are you wearing a bedsheet for a skirt."

"Because somebody—" Bill shot Soos a dark look, "grabbed all my perfectly clean clothes for laundry day, and left me with a bedsheet and one dirty t-shirt."

Soos chuckled sheepishly. "Whoops. Sorry, dude."

Ford grudgingly raised a hand.

Bill grudgingly said, "What."

"Are squid kings real."

"Yes. As of last summer there were seven with at least fifty giant squid, but two were negotiating a merger so it might be six by now. I haven't had a chance to check!"

"Negotiating a merger? Do—do they combine voluntarily?"

"Oh, sure. In droves. It's a huge honor! The one I'm friends with says the psychic powers are totally worth the eventual zombification—they're ninety percent undead now and haven't regretted it once in five hundred years."

Ford opened his mouth, got stuck between three questions, and didn't manage to settle on one before Abuelita raised a hand.

Bill's attention switched to her. "Yes!"

With an air of patience unwarranted by Bill's actions, Abuelita asked, "Why are you standing on my TV."

Bill looked down. So he was. "This is my lecture podium."

Abuelita's eyes narrowed. Bill cheerfully ignored her. "Any questions about the memory gun?"

There was a general murmured agreement that, no, that part had been pretty clear. Stan snapped, "Now get off the TV."

As Bill hopped down and caught his balance, Wendy said, "So... as long as they don't know any of the shack's secrets and we get the flash drive out of Gompers before they're back, we're cool, right? We can just erase their files and say 'hey, sorry, the goat pooped this out, totally not our fault.' If they don't remember anything, it's not like they've got a reason to keep investigating the shack."

Bill tried to imagine how they'd react if he told them someone had anonymously reported him to the agents. What if they decided scapegoating him could protect the rest of them from the investigation? (And was he sure it wasn't someone in the room who'd reported him?) "Yep! Pretty much! That'd solve our problems!"

"Okay," Wendy said. "Great. So... we're good, right?"

The room studied each other uneasily, everyone waiting for someone else to answer. "Yes," Ford said unconvincingly. "We're good. Er—kids, we need to... discuss the details of... how to handle this. You don't need to stick around." He looked at Stan. Stan gave him a slight nod. (It made the googly eyes on his deely boppers wiggle.)

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a glance. Dipper said, "Are you sure? We could..."

"I'm sure. Maybe you should go upstairs," Ford said. "Leave Gompers here."

Mabel sat up straighter, preparing to argue, and glanced toward Bill; but when Bill shrugged rather than ready to defend her, she sighed and poked Dipper. "C'mon." ("Ow." He pushed her finger away from his sunburned arm.) They left reluctantly, Mabel escorting Waddles along with her.

Ford tilted his head toward the door. "That means you too, Miss Corduroy. Hup hup."

Wendy groaned. "Fine." She slid out of her seat and headed for the door. "Hey Goldie, let me know if anything interesting happens."

"You got it, cool girl."

Soos raised a hand. "Am I one of the kids?"

"Not today," Ford said.

"Aw."

Sensing a change in the atmosphere, Abuelita got to her feet. "I will get dinner started." She shuffled out of the room.

Bill waited until the door shut behind Wendy and he was sure the kids were upstairs; and then asked, "So are we kicking the kids out for the reason I think?"

"Afraid so. Now that the government knows the flash drive is here, they'll be back with a warrant as soon as possible. We can't waste any time." Ford knelt next to Gompers and pulled out a scalpel. "Somebody hold the goat down."

"Whoa!" Stan jumped to his feet. His deely bopper googly eyes rattled in alarm. "Were you just carrying that around?!"

Bill was abruptly reminded of one of the reasons he'd liked Ford. He squatted next to him. "All right, I can see where the drive's lodged, I can tell you where to cut—"

"Dudes!" Soos flung himself across Gompers. 'You can't cut him open! He's like part of the family! He's been eating out of the shack's garbage for years, does that mean nothing to you?!" (Gompers attempted to eat the foam lightning bolts off Soos's deely boppers.)

Bill groaned. "Come on, who cares?! It's not like he's a person anymore!"

The room stared at Bill. Stan said, "Did you say 'anymore'?"

Bill paused. "Forget I said that."

Ford sighed. "Fine, we'll try to find a solution without surgery." (But, Bill thought, he sounded a little disappointed.) "But if we're using a slower method, the agents might be back before we can retrieve the flash drive. We need a way to stop them from finding it."

"Or from finding the door behind the vending machine," Soos said. "Now that they know the drive's been here, they're gonna keep looking until they find it! What if they think it might've fallen behind the vending machine or something?"

"What we need is a distraction," Stan said. "Something that'll keep 'em from searching the shack too thoroughly."

"And ideally, something that will keep them from coming back," Ford said. "They keep returning to Gravity Falls because of the power surges and related gravity anomalies in town, correct? Obviously, the meteor shower story wasn't convincing enough. If we give them an explanation that lets them close the case completely..."

Which was all well and good, except they weren't just looking for power surges and gravity hiccups anymore. They thought somebody in the shack was a threat to national security. Bill had kept suspicion away from himself for the day by pretending to be a tourist, but if the eagles got serious, that wouldn't last long. If they were watching the shack, they'd realize Bill was a resident; and if they tried to investigate him at all, they'd quickly realize they couldn't find any legal records of his existence. Not to put too fine a point on it, but the Theraprism's reincarnation machine hadn't given him the right skin color to get away with that in this country, especially during a witch hunt for a suspected terrorist.

And, worse—what if they did identify him?

He'd heard Agent Trigger say Soos's alien keychains resembled the "real thing." The Bureau of Covert Investigations didn't tell all its agents about all its cases—but it sounded like these two had been to Hangar 618 at least once.

So had Bill.

Over 60 years ago, a military experiment had accidentally ripped open a very small hole to the Nightmare Realm. Not big enough for Bill to squeeze his full self through (HA! Not even close), but big enough to project a hologram through—something solid enough for the soldiers who'd detected the temporary rift to see and touch. And, naturally, they'd hauled his hologram to Hangar 618—the five-sensed suckers thought the projection was his real body—where they hid all their unidentified fallen objects.

It had been fun! He'd gotten to use all his army name puns (Major Pain, General Disarray, Private Shame, etc.), he'd lived out a centuries-old dream of snorting a line of gunpowder, he'd gotten Commander I-Don't-Even-Know-'Er to sing "On Top of Spaghetti" in exchange for Bill agreeing to leave the artillery room, he'd learned a dirty joke from the nurse brought in to assist with his vivisection, he'd introduced himself to half the base...

He'd introduced himself.

Somewhere, probably in some redacted appendix to Project Blue Book, the US military had a file on Bill Cipher—and so did the eagles. They knew his name. Hell, they even had his thumbprints—obviously alien thumbprints, that he'd retained when he reincarnated. Every object in the shack he'd ever touched carried the proof that he was Bill Cipher.

If whoever had sent the Bureau a tip had mentioned his name... Well, there were a lot of Bills in America, but not a lot using the last name "Cipher." There were probably under fifty living humans who knew about the triangle in Hangar 618, but for those who did, hearing that name resurface in Gravity Falls would blow their gelatinous little minds. He was sure they would love to get their hands on him again. He bet they'd be fascinated to find out how a triangle had fit into a human skin.

Getting hauled into a secret government facility had only been fun when his true self was still in the Nightmare Realm and the part of him in captivity had been a projection made of light, dreams, and lethal doses of radiation. Plus, that had been before he really, truly knew what it was like to be a captive. Now, the thought of being hauled back to that interrogation room—with the cheap metal chairs and gray floor and gray walls and stark sharp light—made him nauseous. The idea of being questioned about himself by some arrogant buzzkill in a suit sounded too much like therapy for comfort.

And it would be so much easier for them to keep him from escaping when he was weighed down by flesh.

Nobody was protecting Bill. The Pines weren't above throwing him under the bus if they thought it might save their precious little family from arrest. There was nothing for it. If he wanted to save himself—he had to help.

"Listen," Bill said. "I have an idea. It's iffy, and it'll require you all to trust me a bit..." He paused to give them an opportunity to laugh.

Only Stan chuckled. Good enough for Bill. "But, it might be our best shot."

"Okay," Ford said warily. "What is it."

"Bear with me," Bill said. "I bet I could get the head agent off our case by flirting with him a little."

And that time they laughed at him.

Bill patiently waited. "Okay, okay, ha ha, but the guy's been leering at me the last two days. Ask Wendy, she's the one who noticed! And do you know what his love life looks like? Because I do. Woof. Dry as a bone. That man's married to his work! He's lonelier than Elvis is!"

"Wait," Ford said. "What does that mean? Where's Elvis?"

"Not important. The point is, he's a soft target, he's already into this—" he gestured disdainfully at his human body, "and he's got the loosest lips in the eagles. I make a little small talk, I compliment his mustache and pretend I think working for the government is attractive, I keep him too dazzled to notice what's right in front of his face..." Bill trailed off. "And... that's as far as I've gotten. We'll figure it out as we go! Maybe I just distract him too much to do his job, maybe I strangle him in the bathroom and sell his body parts to half a dozen inhuman vendors in the Crawlspace, I don't know! I'll improvise!"

"It's barely half a plan," Ford said.

"It's the biggest fraction of a plan we have. What do we have to lose?"

"I think he might be on to something," Stan said. "I mean, consider it. Bill's an objectively beautiful woman."

The room stared at him. Bill flipped up his eyepatch to double his stare.

"What! It's just a fact!"

"Aww, Stan." Bill laced his hands together coquettishly and batted his lashes.

"Save it."

"Stanley. I had no idea you felt that way about me—"

"Can it, Cipher! " Stan curled a fist threateningly. Bill winked at him. Stan shuddered. "Eugh. Physical attraction's only gonna carry you so far, demon! Can you attract a man when you're talking to him? Because personally, I find you less appealing every time you open your mouth—and you were in the negatives the first time we met."

Bill thought about that. Bill thought about all his human cultists. Bill thought about all his human cultists whom he'd caught having scandalous dreams about endless staring eyes and cool black hands that buzzed with static and being fully exposed before the golden glory of an ever-watching false sun. Bill thought about that one time he tried to ask one of his sects to at least invite him to his own wedding and wait for him to RSVP before symbolically marrying more cult novitiates to him and they sorta nodded and said "okay" and then went and wedded him to another dozen Cipherwives anyway. "Yeah! Sure! No problem! I attract humans all the time! They can't get enough of this!"

"Okay, but can you attract a human that isn't into freaky space triangle things?"

Bill tapped his index fingers together thoughtfully. "Ummm..."

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1981

A clubber eyed the hands of the man sitting at the bar beside him.

The man noticed the look and turned toward the clubber, grinning too wide, staring at him with yellowish slitted eyes that seemed to flash in the dim light like a cat's. "Yeah, I know." He drummed his fingers on the bar top. "Six fingers."

The clubber flinched at being caught staring. "Oh—sorry."

"Don't be! It's a built-in conversation starter!" The six-fingered yellow-eyed man laughed. "Hey! Have you ever had six fingers before?"

"Uhh," the clubber said. "Nnno?"

"Would you like to?" The man winked with both eyes, one at a time.

The clubber frowned at him in confusion, and then slowly turned away without answering.

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"Sure," Bill cheerfully lied. "No problem!"

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There was a knock on the attic bedroom door. Mabel opened it.

Stan and Ford stood in the doorway with a sulky Bill in between them. Stan pushed Bill into the room and said, "Teach him how to flirt."

Mabel gasped in delight.

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(Well that took way later than I wanted it to—but it's finally out.

Head's up, I've got two zine deadlines that take priority, my workload triples at the end of the year, and I'm currently preparing the house to welcome home a new baby*, so we might skip next week's chapter. Hopefully not, though; I'd hate to start the new year that way. We'll see.

*it's a snake. the new baby is a boa constrictor.

Let me know what y'all think! I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls fic #gravity falls fanart #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(Edit: 'oh i did SUCH a good job remembering to draw Young Ford's hair' says artist who hasn't yet noticed the art has Old Ford's eyebrows)#(fixed now)

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marscardigan · 3 days ago

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too good to me

joel miller x reader

not a lot, just forever universe

summary: you woke up sick and joel takes care of you and clem.

warnings: mentions of sickness and throwing up.

You woke up suddenly, eyelids tired. Your throat felt like it was burning, skin and everything. You jumped out of the bed and almost tripped to your way to the bathroom. You were lucky you even had the time to throw up inside the toilet. Hurried steps were heard behind you, and the light from your hall made contrast with Joel’s large body.

When he found you almost passed out on the bathroom floor, with drool on your mouth, he got closer and grabbed your chin tenderly, cleaning you up with some napkin. “Can you hear me, hon?”

“I think I’m sick” you babbled, without breaking his gaze. “I feel like shit”

"Let me carry you back to be-" Your boyfriend couldn’t finish the sentence, because you vomited again. Joel grabbed your hair so you could be more comfortable. Minutes went by, and your urge to throw up disappeared. As Joel promised, he carried your tired body back to your shared bed.

“Do you need somethin’ else?” He whispered into your ear. You got closer to his touch, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “Just you, that’s all”

He smiled at your answer, and after leaving you inside the sheets, he put a warm blanket on top of you. You protested, “Joel, you will be too warm”

“I don’t give two shits about it right now. I only care about you getting better” He responded, getting inside the bed and hugging your back. “You’re too good to me”

A couple of hours later, you woke up with Clementine’s little laughs.

“No, no, baby, come here” Joel was outside the door. “Mommy needs to sleep more”

You smiled, picturing your two-year-old trapped in Joel’s big arms. “You can come in” Your voice sounded weak and dry, but happy somehow. The door opened and hurried tiny footsteps came by your side, jumping on top of the bed. “Morning mommy” Joel came, sitting with your daughter by your side. “You two are going to get sick if you get any closer”

Joel grabbed Clem and put her in his shoulders, and her laughter filled the whole room. “I’m going to take Clem to school, and later I’ll prepare you some soup or something”

You groaned at the thought. “Sounds awesome. Thank you” You said goodbye to your toddler and kissed your partner’s cheek, despite your complaints about you being sick.

The next time you opened your eyes, your head felt less heavy. The smell of soup flooded your nostrils. Joel wasn’t on your sight, and the house was oddly quiet. You finished your soup and walked to the bathroom, just to see it neatly clean. Joel must have cleaned the mess you made last night, you thought.

When Joel came back, he found your sleepy figure sat on the isle of the kitchen. You had tried to complete the shopping list, but your head started to get dizzy again. He laughed, and lifted your body with ease and laid you down to bed again. You woke up just before he could close the door. You called him out softly, your throat dry. He cursed something about waking you up, and he knelt by your side. “Are you better?” He looked worried, almost pouting. It was a beautiful contrast with how he normally looked.

“The soup was amazing, you are amazing. Feel bad you have to do everything today, though”

“Well, don’t be. Maria was delighted to be with Clem for the day. And it wasn’t a big deal, either” You scoffed, “it’s gonna be a big ass deal if I get you sick” Joel shrugged as if it didn’t matter at all. “Ellie asked about you”

Joel swore your eyes brightened with the teen’s name. “What did she say?”

“She bombarded me with questions about how could she help. She actually made - or tried to make - the soup”

“Can’t wait to tell her that was some of the beat soup I’ve ever tried, then” Your boyfriend’s gaze deepened with love, but he hid it and attempted to look offended,“Maybe I did help her a bit”

“You big ol’ softie”

Clementine appeared in your sight, with a colorful drawing. "I draw this for ya" She gave it to you, hiding her face in Joel's chest, a habit she took from you. "So you be good"

You smiled, gasping at the drawing. "It is wonderful, sweets" She then whispered something on Joel's ear, making him laugh. "Clem asks if she can give you a tiny kiss on the cheek"

You frowned, worried about the possibility of passing the fever to your toddler. As if Joel heard your thoughts, he rapidly denied, "she will be fine, she just needs her mum"

"Then I'm happy to help on that" Clementine's sweet lips left a kiss on your hot skin, and as an exchange, you stole her another kiss on her forehead, your daughter laughing at the surprise.

The next morning you woke up tired, but all clear from fever. You extended your arm to Joel’s side, only to find it empty and cold. You looked at the clock: eleven am. With a confused frown, you stood up and searched for your boyfriend, only to find him in the bathroom, grabbing Clementine’s little ponytail. Your daughter was complaining about the mess she was making, but Joel looked as if he couldn't hear her. He looked pale and exhausted, almost as if he hasn’t slept at all. Your head started to think about all the times you kissed them yesterday, even after your warnings.

“Please don’t tell me you two are sick” You said with guilt swimming inside your chest.

Ellie was the one who answered before Joel could, her voice coming from her own bathroom: “we all are!”

You looked at Joel, crossing your arms right beside your chest and lifting your eyebrows. "Told ya"

#joel miller #tlou fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #joel miller angst #joel miller tlou #pedro pascal #joel miller fluff #joel x reader #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller fanfic

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seriesxwriting · 20 hours ago

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Merry scroogemas

Paring- Rafe Cameron X kook reader

Series- Outer banks

Summary- You hate Christmas with everything in you but Rafe try’s to change that.

Warnings- Kissing.

Obviously- like usual my Christmas post is posted after Christmas…!

December the 1st

"How excited are you then?" Rafe came and sat down on my bed. I turned my phone off and rolled my head over to look at him. "It's December the first- it's about to be our first Christmas together- to be honest I thought you'd already have your tree up" he laughed but soon lost it once he saw my face. "What's wrong..." he asked me putting his hand out to pull me up. I sat up and shuffled closer to him, trying to figure out what to reply with.

"Rafe- I don't like Christmas" I told him avoiding eye contact at all costs. "Okay scrooge" he chuckled thinking I was joking. "it's my least favourite time of the year" I shrugged my shoulders looking up at him now, so he knew I was being serious. "You're being serious- nobody hates Christmas?" "I do..." I told him pulling back a little now. I know it was a very unpopular opinion- but it was my opinion.

"Come back" he wrapped an arm around my shoulders pulling me closer to him. "Can I ask why?" he whispered seeing that it was clearly effecting me. "That depends- if you wanna get deep or not" I shrugged my shoulders at my boyfriend. "Only with you my love" he nodded his head keenly and then laid a soft kiss on my forehead in comfort. "Well- my parents would often be so busy that Christmas was never a family thing, when I was little I went to a boarding school and- they never came and collected me on holidays" I began explaining.

Rafe never took his eye off me, he made it obvious he was taking note of everything I said. "When I reached upper school they took me out of my boarding school and sent me to our school- but nothing changed..." my eyes began to start filling up with salty tears. "They were always on long business trips over Christmas, and because i'm an only child I ended up being alone again- just in the house this time" I shrugged trying to shake off the tears. "Oh y/n" Rafe whispered closing his eyes.

'"Last year- my mum was at home for Christmas- dad had flown to Brazil for businness- I thought it was going to be different- but she didn't leave her office more than twice the whole day". "I'm so sorry- I had no idea..." he told me looking sad himself now. "No one does- no one knows- don't get me wrong my parents didn't do it because they don't love me- they just think that me having the material presents they get me is what Christmas is about, they didn't have presents when they were younger because they grew up on the cut" I replied to him.

"Have you ever spoken to them about it?" Rafe questioned but that just made me giggle. "Rafe suggesting communication? what have I turned you into" "I don't know- i'm shocked too to be honest" he joined in with my laughter. "But no- I haven't- money changed them they are very materialistic, their life is their work and nothing I say is going to change that". "I think I might need a strong drink after that, because you've just shattered my heart" "Oh Rafe" I sighed smiling.

"Ive grown very used to it" "You know you're making it worse don't you?" he swept his hand under my arms and pulled me against his body into a hug. "What's happening this year?" he whispered in my ear while holding me tight. "My dads already on a two month business trip and mum leaves on the 16th and comes back on new years" I told him, and then held my breath waiting for the sympathy about how pathetic it was to roll in.

"Then my house is your home from the 16th until new years" Rafe called out making me jerk away from him so I could see his expression. “No- Rafe I cannot impose like and especially not on Christmas” I shook my head vigorously. “Oh come on you’re not imposing y/n you’re family and family are supposed to be together on Christmas” he replied making his face go soft.

“Rafe- I don’t like Christmas- I’ll just bring the spirit down” I answered him sadly. “You light rooms up- you could never bring anything down”. I blushed under his gaze but still wasn’t sure. “I won’t enjoy the day knowing you’re home on your own” “but Rafe you don’t understand- I’m used to it it doesn’t effect me now- I like being on my own because I don’t like Christmas” I explained to him slowly so that he’d understand how serious I was.

“Will you think about it?” He turned his head and put it on his shoulder. “Yeah alright” I nodded giving him a weak smile. “Thank you” he whispered leaning in and kissing me gently. “I love you” rage murmured against my lips. “Not as much as I love you” I returned giving him a peck on the lips.

December the 3rd

“Hello handsome” I smiled as I opened the door. He stood there with a giant smile across his face as if he was plotting something. “Hello my love, you ready?” “Where are you taking me Rafe cameron?” I smirked stepping down onto my front door step to join him. Rafe embraced me and kissed my forehead. I loved how affectionate he’d been with me lately. It took him a while to come out of his shell but now he was always touching me.

“It’s a surprise, come on” he smiled taking my hand in his and leading me to his car. It was pretty dark now and Rafe had told me he had plans for us. But what possible plans could he have for us at 8pm on a Monday. He closed my door for me and then got into the drivers seat. As he began driving he asked me about my day and I asked him about his.

I hadn’t seen him since his offer to spend Christmas at his. We’d both been busy seeing friends and doing work. I enjoyed talking to him but I was also watching the road to see where he was taking us. But it seemed to be into town. Rafe parked in one of the car parks, it was rammed with people and cars. “I wonder why it’s so busy tonight?�� I looked at him as we both climbed out the car.

“It’s a mystery” Rafe wiggled his eyebrows, I gave him a funny look wondering what he was up to. “Come here” he put his hand out and I clasped his one as we made our way into town. “It’s packed” I muttered looking around. “There’s top” I pointed through the mass of people. “Oh yeah” Rafe smiled seeing his friend, but he just squeezed my hand and we walked past the group of boys.

“Did you not wanna say hello?” I questioned confused for a second. “No my love, I’m here with you my attention is on you” he told me smiling down at me. “What’s the time?” Rafe asked me, distracting me from blushing. “Erm, twenty past eight” I told him looking at my watch. “Perfect, we made good timing”. “What time do we need to be there for?” “Starts at half eight” Rafe replied as we weaved through the crowds.

As we came to the main square a huge Christmas tree stood, it was unlit but there were loads of people crowed round it. “Rafe” I looked up at him with a raised eyebrow knowing what was going on now. “Yes gorgeous” he answered catching onto my tone. “Is today what I think it is?” I questioned as we came to a stop. “Depends what you think it is” he smirked knowing I knew what we were up to now.

“It’s the Christmas switch on huh”, Rafe chuckled nodding his head and pulling me close to his body. “Yes- I thought it might get you a little more spirited” “I see the Christmas lights every year Rafe, they’re always the same”. Rafe let out a little laugh again “well they might be a little different this year” “I can’t bet you fifty quid they won’t be” I sang back to him. Rafe put his arm round my shoulders and turned us towards the tree.

Soon everyone began counting down Rafe joined in with a huge grin on his face. I felt a wave of sadness that I didn’t feel the same excitement about the season. I felt like I was just brining him down. But my mind was distracted when the lights turned on. There was only one word for it. Gorgeous.

The lights reached all around the tree and the buildings, all different colours twinkling in the night. There were so many more this year, so many different shapes on the street lamps, snowflakes, Christmas puddings, Santa faces. The lights swirled round the drain pipes, and the guttering. I gazed around in amazement, the lights reflected in my eyes. I caught sight of Rafe, he wasn’t staring at the lights he was staring at me.

“How’d you know they were going to be different this year?” I laughed throwing my arms round his neck. “I may have pulled a few strings to make it a little more magical for you this year”. My eyes widened “Rafe Cameron” I shook my head in disbelief. “You know I’d do anything for you, I want you to experience a different Christmas this year” “does that mean you have some more tricks up your sleeve” I chuckled pushing up on my tip toes to get close to his face.

“Lots” he whispered giving me a small kiss. “Come on- I’ve lit up the whole town for you, let’s go walk down some streets” Rafe suggested putting his hand out for me to hold. I gave him a warm smile and grabbed onto his bicep as we began to walk round. I can’t believe he did this for me.

December the 7th

I knocked on Rafes door eyeing up the giant reef attached to the knocker. “Hello my love” he smiled opening the door for me and stepping backwards. “Hey handsome” I gave him a kiss as entered the house and began taking my shoes off. “I’ve told you you don’t need to knock anymore y/n, you’ve been around long enough to just come in- the house is yours” he told me pulling my coat off me gently and hanging it u for me.

“I know I know- but then i wouldn’t get my lovely greeting from you”. Rafe laughed at me shaking his head, “come on I set some stuff up for us” he said, I watched as an excitement flickered in his eyes. What christmasy task has he got for us to do now. I trailed behind rafe as we strode into the kitchen, ward was in there with rose and they both turned and smiled at me. “Hey y/n, how are you” Ward twinkle waving at me.

“Oh I’m okay thank you, how are yous” I smiled back leaning against the island. “Yeah not bad- just trying to organise Christmas as well as keep up with work” Ward rolled his eyes playfully. “We hear you might be joining us this year” rose joined in moving her eyes from me to Rafe. “Oh um…” “she’s still thinking about it” Rafe said for me, putting an arm round my waist. “Well, it would be lovely to have you here hunny, you’re always welcome” Rose nodded rubbing her husbands arm.

“Thank you- you don’t know what that means to me” I expressed watching them smile at each other. “We will leave you to it” ward nodded at the island table. I turned my head round seeing a huge box on the table. Rafe had taken everything out the box and opened the packaging. “Gingerbread house?” I looked at him shocked. “Yeah?” “I’ve never made one before” I blinked walking round to take a look at the box.

“Well I haven’t since I was a kid” rafe scratched the back of his head. “I guess it’s a little childish but it might be fun” “Rafe- I love it” I walked over rubbing his arm. “Thank you” I smiled getting excited now. “I just thought because you like doing your little craft stuff you might make a masterpiece” he joined me sitting down and we both got started picking up the pieces. The actual making of the gingerbread house I kinda sat back talking about what i’d been up to since I last saw him at the light switch on and let Rafe do the work. He seemed to know what he was doing.

But the decorating I was in charge of. We put icing all on the roof and the walls as well and sticking little treats on. Rafe had brought little sweets for us to use too, but we ended up eating half of them before they even made it onto the house. In the end it looked pretty good, we’d done a good job, I’d even go as far as saying it looked better than the boxes one. “Right, let’s take some pictures then we can make hot chocolate and eat it” Rafe rubbed his hands together.

“Mm- yeah sounds good” I nodded getting my phone out. “Smile handsome” I called out at him. We took some together and he took some of me, before Rafe went off to make us our drinks. I watched him smiling the whole time, wondering how I got so fucking lucky.

December the 15th

“Hello my love” I smiled at Rafe as I walked down the stairs, he was talking to my mum in the hall way. “Hello beautiful- you look lovely” he gazed up at me. “Thanks hun” I gave him a kiss on the cheek. “What you two up to tonight?” My mum wondered putting her hands behind her back. “I have no clue, Rafe seems to like surprises this month” I giggled, his hand wrapped round my waist. “She’ll like it, but it’s a bit of a drive so we better get going” “okay darlings, well I’ll probably have left for the airport hotel by the time you get back” she told me.

“Well have a great trip mum” she walked closer to hug me goodbye. “Merry Christmas darling, all your presents are under the tree, you’ll love them this year” she rubbed my arms. “Yeah- thank you” I nodded taking a step back. “Yours will be waiting for you when you get back” I told her feeling Rafe’s arm squeezed round me again. “Oh y/n me and your father don’t want anything off you” she shook her head. “It’s just something little- but we better get going- I’ll see you on new years”.

“Yes- you two enjoy yourself, I’ll see you later Rafe” she waved him off and walked off upstairs. And we left as quick as possible. “Wow- I can’t believe she’s that blind to how it makes you feel” Rafe shook his head baffled at my mum’s behaviour. “Christmas just isn’t a big thing in my family Rafe- it’s okay, she thinks she’s doing the right thing she’s going to work and buying me everything I could ever want” I shrugged my shoulders.

“I suppose” he sighed turning on the car. The drive was quite a while away, we again just spoke about what we’d been up to since we last saw each other on the 7th. Christmas wasn’t far now, and because my mum left tomorrow I had a feeling Rafe was going to want an answer tonight at some point. We drove about an hour away from home, and I really couldn’t put my finger on what we were doing tonight. Rafe parked in another car park, there were lots of people in this one too.

“What are we up to then” “come on” Rafe laughed throwing his arm round my neck. “You don’t have to wait much longer. Rafe lead me through the edge of town to the main streets and before my eyes stood a huge Christmas market flowing all the way down the street. There were stalls everywhere, loud Christmas music coming from the speakers. The lights weren’t as pretty as the ones back home but the market stalls made it very cute. “I’ve never been to a Christmas market”.

“Well I’m honoured to take you to your first one” Rafe rubbed his thumb across my hand. “Anything that catches your eye, it’s yours” “Rafe- you don’t have to do that I have my own money” I told him as we began the walk into the town center. “I took you here so I could spoil you, so anything you want my love, it’s yours”. “Well- we should probably get a drink while we’re walking around” pointing at a stall with a large sign.

“I’ll get a hot chocolate- what do you fancy?” He asked me turning us toward the line. “I’ll have a mulled wine since it’s Christmas”. As soon as the words came out my mouth I frowned to myself. Why was I going along with Christmas traditions? Maybe Christmas wasn’t so bad with the right people. “Of course gorgeous” Rafe answered me taking his wallet out, but I watched the smirk on his face, he looked proud of himself. He knew I was sliding over to his side.

Me and Rafe walked around all the stalls, trying things on, trying samples, buying things. Rafe got some every strong rum and he brought me a load of different trinkets. Jewellery, crochet animals, plants, little paintings, candela. We eventually had walked around and had brought everything we wanted, so we stopped off to get some food from one of the stalls and headed over to some benches to scran it.

“Rafe- I really enjoyed the Christmas markets” I smiled up at him holding my burger in my hands. “Correction- Rafe I really enjoyed spending your money”. I laughed nudging him “how dare you I offered to pay”, he joined in with the laughing. “You will never pay for anything while I’m around” he shook his head and stopped laughing. “So- have you thought anymore about my offer?”. I bit my lip staring at my food. “Okay Rafe- I’ll spend Christmas with you”. His eyes told me everything I needed to know.

He was so excited and that warmed my heart and soul. “You won’t regret it, you’ll have the best Christmas with us” he told me, practically bouncing in his seat. “I know handsome- thank you for everything you’ve done this month”, “well was i successful?- do you like Christmas a little more now?” Rafe slimmed his eyes at me. “Well- I’ve loved spending time with you and if that’s what Christmas is about then yes, you were successful” I nodded my head, it was impossible to stop my smile.

“I’ll take that”, Rafe leant in and softly kiss my cheek. “I love you Rafe- Merry Christmas”. His eyes widened in shock at my words but he still smiled. “I love you y/n, merry Christmas my love”.

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glitterymarshmellowfem · 2 days ago

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She was the owner of an all-gender salon. You thought you'd give her new business a try, since your last hair-cut wasn't what you wanted. You walked-in and met her. Her name was Angelina, and you were the only customer and requested a haircut. You sat in the chair and thought it odd she would smoke while cutting hair. But the smell of her tobacco was intoxicating. She asked if you wanted one. You weren't a smoker, but took her up on the offer. It was a 120, and the taste was slightly sweet and mellow. You enjoyed it.

She started combing your hair. She said : "Ron you have such nice full hair with body, have you thought of letting it grow a little more? It would be a shame to cut such nice hair?" You were feeling mellow, maybe from the smoke or just her soft silky voice, but you agreed. She said:"I'll just put a coating of my own speciall elixir on it to add shine and growth. You'll love it." It had slightly floral scent which you liked. You asked if you could buy a bottle for use at home? She sold you two and said to use it morning and night. Then she sold you a special purple brush which you should brush it in and at other times during the day. You asked if you could buy a pack of her smokes? She gave you a carton on the house. You left with an appointment for the next week.

When you came back your hair was down to your shoulders. You said you liked the length but it seemed to be changing to a darker color. She said that happened sometimes. Let's just watch it, we can dye it back. She trimmed it to where it was all the same length. Then she said your nails needed some attention. She did nails too, would you like her to even our your nails? You agreed. While she worked on them you looked at a makeup magazine. When she finished they were a nice almond shape with two coats of clear strengthening polish. As you left she said you could keep the magazine and gave you a bottle of the nail polish, with an appointment for the following week.

When you came back the next week you were so happy your hair had turned completely black and was down to your butt. She said: "Rony, I'm glad you like it. She trimmed it again, put on another coating of the elixir, of which you bought another two bottles, unfortunately she had to raise the price $10.00 more. But she gave you another carton of the smokes on the house. You mentioned how you had started subscribing to the makeup mag, and wondered if she did makeup. She said yes. You asked her if she could work on your brows and eyes. She sat you at her makeup table and shaped your brows into a nice arch. She gave you a tutorial into applying eye shadow, mascara and eyeliner. She had applied some facial creams and a coat of lipstick. By the time she finished you were very happy with your appearance.

She said your nails needed touching up How about some false ones to make your nails really eye catchers. You agreed. While she worked on them you smoked and gazed at a fashion magazine. When she was through you had inch and a half long black nails. You agreed they were really stunning. She noticed how your shirt was really tight and your jeans were loose around your waist. She suggested you should go next door to the fashion shop and they would take care of you. Her sister ran that shop. When you went to pay the bill was over $200.00. You were astounded. She said: "Well Rony, you have to be willing to pay if you want to look beautiful, and you do look beautiful. Isn't it worth it?" You agreed and paid. She said you could keep the fashion mag and another carton of smokes on the house.

You went next door to the fashion shop and once again you were the only customer. Angelina's sister Olivia, was smoking and very complimentary on your beautiful appearance and you would look even better when you left the shop. You went to the changing room and stripped. She brought matching bra and panties. Immediately your chest felt better wearing the bra. She said: "Rony, your girls needed the support." The bra accented your cleavage and you promised her you'd wear one all the time. The panties felt incredible slipping into them. And somehow, you had a flat front and marveled at your lack of body hair. Then a top that showed off your cleavage, a pair of tight fitting jeans that accented your ass. You kept staring at how big your ass cheeks were. Olivia said: Girl. stop staring at you ass. Let the men of that." You femininely giggled in a sweet voice at that comment.

Then out for some pointed sneaks. You bought several extra sets of clothing. As you were going to check-out the jewelry counter caught your eye. You bought, rings, necklaces and earrings. Olivia pierced your ears. The bill came to close to $1,000.00, but you didn't even blink your false eyelashes, thinking, I'm worth it. Olivia asked if you had an appointment at the salon next week? You said yes. Then she said: "Well Rony. I'm getting a new shipment of heels, skirts and dresses, that I know a beautiful girl you'll die for," You said, you'd be back. As you walked out smoking and carrying your packages, Olivia said quietly to herself: "Oh I know you will girl. We've got you and we aren't going to let you go until you're penniless and in debt to us. You'll jump at the chance to work for us. You'll make the perfect hooker, the perfect beautiful whore."

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us3rnam3-r3dact3d · 2 days ago

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when i met you (i couldn't measure it)

Ao3 | 2.2k Words | Treasure's POV

(A Firefigher AU one shot)

Over Solaire’s shoulder, a younger man stood, his cool, grey eyes fixed on you. When your eyes met his, his face split into a smile, all straight, perfect, white teeth. You flicked your gaze over his features. High cheekbones, perfect, light hair, a maroon suit that was fitted so tightly around his tiny waist you worried his jacket button would pop if he breathed too hard.

His smile gleamed in the soft house lights, just a bit too sharp.

Treasure hates opening nights. William loves the ballet. Porter bums a smoke.

TW: Smoking, shitty friends.

Lil ballet info for you guys: Treasure intentionally dances androgynous parts, ones that both male and female dancers have done in the past. They're noted as playing Clara's younger brother Fritz in their youth (a part I actually got to do once as a little kid) that is often danced by young girls OR young boys. In this production, they're part of the Mouse Army and they dance Coffee, which often has both male and female dancers. While they are noted as dancing en pointe, male dancers have been known to wear pointe shoes on occasion. So really, Treasure's gender is fully up to your interpretation still.

As another note, I used more modern names for the different dances ("Coffee" instead of the "Arabian Dance," "Tea" instead of the "Chinese Dance) since I fully believe that if you can't produce Nutcracker without being weird and racist then you just aren't productive. I saw a wonderful production in which the dancers were in costumes that mimicked the drink or treat they represented instead of loosely racist caricatures. That is the vibe for Treasure's production.

Opening night was always your least favorite performance. There was some vicious, clawing energy that you couldn’t direct, an unpredictability that you didn’t care for. When a show was well run, when you had danced it four or five times in front of an audience and knew the lines of the marley floor, what parts were raised and awkward, slick and worn, you could dance without thinking. That was always your favorite part of it, when your conscious thought could drift away and your body took over.

Dancing was never about your brain. It was about your body.

Nutcracker was a touch different. You danced it nearly every year, so the motions of it were never new, just distant enough to be unfamiliar. You had to settle back into the feeling of them, stretching across your skin and muscles. You danced the Mice Army, you danced Coffee or Tea or Peppermint. If it was your lucky year, you’d be tapped for the Grand Pas de Deux and dance your feet raw for six performances before the company went on break for the season.

It was not your lucky year. A combination of guest dancers and principal promotions left you, the ugly duckling of Dahlia Ballet’s professional company, taking a backseat to the pretty young things that got paraded around in snowflakes.

You hated opening nights, especially when said opening night heralded a visit from the Ballet’s biggest benefactor. Benefactor sounded very 19th century, but there really wasn’t another word for what William Solaire was to the place. He put more money into the Ballet in charitable donations than the rest of the donors combined, and he had standing season tickets.

He only came once a year, though, on the opening night of Nutcracker, and took up the empty orchestra box that waited, empty for his return.

Solaire was set to visit the stage before the performance, and your CEO and artistic director were busy entertaining his weird, rich guy bullshit. You could feel the nervous energy of everybody in the building as you ran through the motions of Coffee one more time before you were called for costumes.

“He brought someone!” Bridget wacked you with her extended tondeuse, the box of her pointe shoe digging painfully into your hip. You turned sharply, falling out of your formation, and fixed her a pointed look. “Oh shut up, look! He’s hot!” You rolled your eyes and turned, distinctly aware of how little time you had to nail this before you had to move on. Coffee could be a challenging dance; languid and slow, mimicking the twisting steam over a fresh cup. Slow didn’t mean easy. It meant that every inch of your body had to be in your control. It meant that you didn’t get the forgiveness of speed when you fucked up. Fucking up wasn’t an option.

You flexed and pointed your feet, rose up to releve en pointe, turned in an agonizing circle with your leg in a front attitude. Your shoe caught on an uneven section of the stage. You fell to your heel, raised your head to get your bearings to remember the spot.

Somebody was watching you. You were a performer. Your body knew when there were eyes on you. You spun your head around until you saw him.

William Solaire was talking excitedly to the artistic director, motioning to the set dressings with a light in his face. He looked trim and handsome in his tailored tux, and his eyes were fixed with rapt attention on his enthusiastic, if anxious, conversation partners.

You looked to his right and found the source of your discomfort. Over Solaire’s shoulder, a younger man stood, his cool, grey eyes fixed on you. When your eyes met his, his face split into a smile, all straight, perfect, white teeth. You flicked your gaze over his features. High cheekbones, perfect, light hair, a maroon suit that was fitted so tightly around his tiny waist you worried his jacket button would pop if he breathed too hard.

His smile gleamed in the soft house lights, just a bit too sharp.

“Oh my God,” Bridget wacked you with her foot again, “he’s totally looking at me!”

You turned back to stare at her, your face screwed up in distaste.

“Jesus Christ.” You snapped. “Are you blind? Are you incapable of turning without kicking me? Should I just move a foot downstage so save myself the bruise?”

“You don’t have to be an asshole.” Bridget pouted, crossing her arms. She tugged at the hem of her leotard, only serving to prop her bust up even more prominently. She waggled her fingers towards Solaire’s shadow with a grin before turning back to you. “You are such a buzzkill.”

You huffed, frustrated, and ran a hand over your face before remembering that you already had your stage make-up on. You’d smeared your blush.

“Fuck me.” You sighed.

Opening night was always your least favorite performance. Bridget was a bitch, but she was an impeccable dancer. You fell out of a pirouette after four rotations that she took to five. She did lick you twice during Coffee, and she forgot during the battle scene that the toy soldiers and mice were only meant to play fight. You were certain the wack she gave to your ribs with her wooden sword would bruise.

You hated opening night, but you loved Nutcracker. You always had, since you played Fritz at seven. You sat in the wings and watched the Grand Pas de Deux, counted the Sugar Plum Fairy’s rotations as Cavelier spun her like a top.

Those fuckers. They were good. Better than you. So was Bridget. So was every other principal dancer in the company. You were falling behind. Plateauing.

During bows, your eyes drifted to that perpetually empty box to stage right. William Solaire was on his feet, his face lit up in childlike joy, clapping incessantly as the principals took another bow. To his right, just over his shoulder, his mysterious shadow stood as well, clapping slowly, languidly. His eyes were locked on you until the curtain fell.

Your castmates broke into laughter and applause, cheers and congratulations spread through the softly lit stage. You turned, popped en pointe to stretch out your right hip. Someone caught your elbow and spun you around.

“You’ve got to get it together on that turn.” Bridget bitched, her arms crossed over her chest. “You’re embarrassing me.”

You blinked back at her, shock smacked across your face. The world of ballet could be a cruel, unforgiving one. People often spoke directly and without care for emotions, only results. It shouldn’t have surprised you when she decided to make her point in this particular fashion rather than talk to your director or find a nicer way to get it across. You could appreciate her being up front, at the very least.

“New marley.” You said, tapping your toe against the stage. “New shoes. New show. I haven’t danced Coffee in like… three years. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

Bridget narrowed her eyes at you, her delicate features contorting unflatteringly around a frown.

“I don’t make excuses.” She bit out. “And I don’t fuck up. So…”

Another dancer caught her shoulder and she turned, falling naturally into the cheer and jubilation of the post-show. She only spared you one more look before disappearing into the crowd of retiring dancers.

You made your way to the dressing room, only lingering long enough to snag your coat and lighter before retreating again. It was fucking cold outside and it was probably in your best interest to at least change out of your shoes before you went out for a smoke, but you thought that if you spent another second around everybody’s chatter and laughter and fucking noise you’d actually go insane.

The costume for Coffee didn’t provide the most cover from the elements. It included a pair of sheer, flowy pains and a skimpy vest that barely covered your chest. You shivered as you planted your back against the back wall of the theater and tugged a cigarette from your pack. Fuck, you were running low. You’d have to stop on the way home. Of course.

“Can I bum one?” A smooth, british voice called from your right. You jumped, alarmed, and turned.

It was Solaire’s shadow, the handsome, blonde man that had spent the entire night intensely staring you down. You were usually off put by guys that stared, but something about him didn’t set off the alarm bells in your head.

“Its my last one.” You grumbled, pulled your pack back out. Your hands were fucking freezing, and you shook as you attempted to flick your lights. Thin, cool hands spread over yours, plucked the lighter and both cigarettes from between your fingers.

“Cheers. You were wonderful, by the way.” The man smiled as he brought both cigarettes to his lips, lit them with the same flame, and took the first, bitter drag before passing one back to you. You pressed it between your lips, wet with his saliva, and breathed in deeply. It warmed you up inside almost immediately.

“I was alright.” You sighed, smoke obscuring the stranger’s face. You introduced yourself, hand extended. He took it in his, but instead of shaking it, he brought your knuckles to his lips and pressed a kiss to them. It would have been corny if it was anybody else, but something about him was so earnest that you blushed, hot and high in your cheeks, up your neck, the tips of your ears.

“Porter Solaire.” He supplied, stepping back and resting against the cold brick wall. He had a long, black peacoat over his shoulders, leaving his arms free from its heavy sleeves. Even though he had very little cover from the cold, he didn’t shiver or shake, seemingly unbothered by the winter chill. “And I mean it. I don’t give compliments lightly. I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.”

“I was the weakest dancer up there tonight.” You huffed, tapping the filter of your cigarette against your lips in thought. “I’m not conventional. I don’t have the training that the other principal dancers do.”

Porter snickered, looking down at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Something funny?” You sneered. Embarrassment crept up your chest and into your throat, turning you mean. You hated that about yourself.

“No.” Porter said softly. “No, it’s just… I don’t give a damn about ballet. It’s the old man’s favorite, I just got dragged along tonight. But every time you were on stage, I was enraptured. I have no idea if you’re a good dancer, but what I do know is that you’re… something.”

The way he said something sounded dangerous. You wanted to watch his mouth form around the word a few more times.

The back door creaked open. Bridget stuck her head out into the cold.

“We’re going to get drinks.” She snapped. “Like… six of us? How big is your car? You can DD, right?”

“I was about to leave.” You said, gesturing with your half-finished cigarette.

“Oh, come on.” Bridget said. “It’s enough of a mood killer that you refuse to have a drink, the least you can do is come with. It’s opening night! Come and celebrate with us!”

“It doesn’t sound much like they’ll be celebrating.” Porter’s voice rose up from behind you. You half turned to look at him. Smoke twirled around him lazily, languidly, twisting tondeuse and attitude turns around his sharp, pretty features. “More like… babysitting.”

“Oh!” Bridget straightened when she saw him, puffing up her chest in her skimpy Coffee top. Porter’s eyes trailed over her body, but the light that sparked in his grey irises when he looked at you was absent. His eyes took on a sharp, cutting energy that made you shiver. “Hey, you’re with… with Mr. Solaire, right? Do you want to… come along?” She put on her most devastating smile, looking up at him through her lashes. Porter looked down at her, blinked slowly twice before turning his eyes back to you.

“Do you have dinner plans?” He asked, his face and eyes lighting up. “There’s a lovely little Indonesian place around the corner.”

You looked over to Bridget, who was starting up at Porter like he’d spit at her. Her pretty face was twisted up in disbelief.

“That sounds great.” You said decisively. “Let me go change and get this shit off of my face.” Porter gave you a sly, curling smile.

“I’m not complaining about the costume.” His eyes slid to Bridget for a moment, as if to check that she was still watching. The corner of his smile quirked up as his attention fell back to you. One cold hand spread up your exposed ribs as the other snaked under your chin and tilted your face towards his. His thumb traced your jaw, those sharp eyes meeting yours for just a moment before he ducked down.

His hands were cold, but his lips were warm. Soft and plush, you melted into the feeling of them. Warmth bloomed in your chest. You leaned into him, hand falling to hold onto the lapel of his stupid, fancy suit. Smoke passed between your mouths, acrid, bitter, so fucking warm.

Bridget was gone by the time you came up for air.

“Your friends suck.” Porter smiled into your mouth. He didn’t let you go. His cold hands began to warm on your skin.

“Not my friends.” You snorted. “Coworkers at best. Take me to get Indonesian.”

“As you wish.” Porter grinned.

#redacted asmr #my redacted content #redacted audio #firefighter story #redacted porter #redacted william #redacted treasure

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lavendermatchastrife · 3 days ago

Text

Please Come Home For Christmas

summary: you move back to your small town just in time for the holidays and your hot new neighbor gives you a warm welcome!

a/n: I just thought that Gojo deserved to be in a Christmas romcom. This is one part, another will be released later.. probably. Either way this can be read as a standalone. I have not written or published since like 2014, fair warning I usually only write alt characters. Please enjoy my attempt at a corny Christmas romcom.

word count: 14300+

warnings: 18+ mdni, sexual content, unrealistic and corny, reader afab, au!non sorcerers, no beta we die like men, established last name, sensitive topic mentions such as: weight/mental health, insecure!reader, implied/referenced chubby!reader, mentioned/implied Asian reader, inexperienced!reader, cocky!gojo, alcohol use, drunk!reader, drunk!gojo, swearing, gojo lowkey objectifies tf out of reader, obsession if you squint, use of 'you' not 'y/n'

Snow gently falls as you wander outside, looking for the pickup checkpoint. Cold hands rub together while you make your way through the outside of the bustling airport. You breathe a few puffs of warm air onto them, occasionally scanning the crowd for a familiar head of ashen blue hair. A sigh breezes past your mouth, of course your best friend is running late on one of the coldest days of the year so far. A cold day and you had failed to wear a pair of gloves. (In your defense you did just get your nails done.) You sigh once again, and go to grab your stack of luggage to look around for your friend some more. You’d hoped the pickup area would be less crowded considering the abrasive temperatures and slicing winds. Of course that wasn’t the case as countless people flooded the outside of the airport. Christmas was right around the corner, it made sense that it was going to be crowded regardless of where you went. Another sigh wracks your body when someone pushes against you, almost knocking you over. Before you can turn on your heel and give them a piece of your mind however, soft gloved hands obscure your vision from behind. Giggles erupt and the petite frame behind you shakes with their amusement, and you gasp in feigned shock.

“Guess who~” the singsong voice brings a bright smile to your face.

“Eve!” you whip around and bring your best friend into a tight embrace. She hugs you back even tighter, and you both hold each other soaking in each other's warmth and company. All care for the world lost on you during this brief reunion. The scent of her favorite perfume invades your senses as you take in a deep breath. Pulling back, your eyes process her appearance for the first time in what felt like decades. In all honesty, you called or video chat almost every day; but it had been so long since you’d actually seen her in person.

“Oh my god I’ve missed you so much!” She cries out dramatically, pulling you back in for another hug. You chuckle, patting her head while she holds you in place.

“I missed you too, Eve.” she lets up her hold on you, and you take note of her outfit. Her hair is styled into low hanging twin tails, a white and grey plaid scarf is neatly wrapped around her neck. A dark purple puffer jacket with white fur trim swallows her petite figure, a denim skirt is placed over a pair of thick tights that are surely keeping her warm.

You've known Evelyn Days since your childhood. Meeting in some dumb middle school extracurricular (not dumb; it was a book club) and it was like you’d had an instant connection. One seat next to each other and from there it was history. Coincidentally she lived two houses over, and came by whenever she felt like it. Most nights you’d spend at each other’s houses, doing projects; homework; video games; sometimes nothing at all. She was your date to prom. When you moved away from your small town it was hard, not because you particularly liked where you’d grown up; but because you’d found home in Eve. While you were close to your parents for most of your life, you’d had a falling out. Your relationship with your parents became rocky when you’d decided to pack everything up and pursue a career in writing in the big city. Most family members thought you’d been betraying your community. Rather than settle down and start a family, pick up a job at a local business, or further your education for the betterment of your town; you’d left everyone behind. A long time ago you were dead set on becoming a teacher there. Growing up changed your way of thinking, and instead you decided to become a writer. Life felt stagnant and often boring in your small town, it was beautiful and safe, however you couldn’t shake the feeling that you needed to live a little more. Your parents eventually saw your side of things, but the time spent with that tension was still hard to think about. Despite the popular opinion of your tight knit community, your friend Eve supported your decision. She was all for your abrupt change in career path and your sudden need to leave. She of course was heartbroken, but knew that it wasn’t goodbye.

Eve smiles at you, shaking you from your reminiscing, it reaches her eyes and you feel in that moment incredibly happy to be home. You take a hold of your luggage and she helps you with any bags she can carry. As she turns on her heel, leading you out of the airport you catch up on your small town gossip. She tells you all about how Vanessa (your high school bully) still can’t keep a boyfriend. Mr. Choi (your neighbor down the road) passed away almost six months ago. Alma (a mutual friend from high school) is on her second pregnancy; twins. Some kids have been vandalizing the lake, TP-ing the cherry blossom trees. While driving home one piece of juicy gossip piqued your interest a little more than the others.

Coming from out of state was a handsome, mysterious, new high school teacher.

“He moved here about 4 months ago. All of the old guys grumbled as soon as they saw his moving van outside of Mr. Choi’s house. You should’ve been there, the whole town gathered at your parent’s place and watched in your front lawn while they moved his stuff in.” She giggles at that, stopping at a red light and turning her head to face you. “No but he’s like… actually incredibly handsome. Even from far away I could tell he was gonna be way too much for our sleepy town.” You believed her, rolling your eyes as she went on about how she just knew he had a tight body. “Oh but that’s beside the point. He’s actually a pretty stand up guy. We all had our doubts, y’know, since he’s not from around here. But he goes to church every Sunday. Bought gifts for his immediate neighbors and paid a visit to the rest to introduce himself. The kids in his class love him. He’s been a pretty great addition to the community.” Her rambling brings a small smile to your face, and as she prattles on about the next person and the next subject you listen with your head turned to look outside of your window. November was looking more like December, snow beginning to fall just a little harsher as the time passed on, gathering in fluffy piles on every street and lawn in sight.

Your surroundings start to become familiar after an hour of driving, and you feel excitement building up inside of you. Shades of blue, orange, and pink have replaced the bright golden morning, the little bit of farmland you passed through was engulfed by fluffy blankets of shimmering white. As you cross into your small town you’re greeted by the picture perfect Christmas card. A rainbow of lights decorate the outside and inside of various shops. Big velvety red bows are tied around every iron lamp post. At the center of the town square is a gazebo, sparkling red wreaths are on the pillars of the entry point. The railings have silver and gold lights wrapped around it intertwining with a darker red garland. Christmas was only a couple weeks away, and your town was decked out for the holiday.

“The city decided to decorate early this year, did it a week before Thanksgiving.” Eve explains, rolling her eyes as you stare in wonder at the various Christmas light fixtures scattered around the small park surrounding the gazebo.

“Those weren’t there the last time I visited for the holidays.” You note, turning to look at Eve and pointing in the direction of the lights. You knew your town heavily relied on the income brought in by the season, but they were really going all out.

“I think they’re hoping to draw in more Christmas tourists or something.” She replies, finally beginning the turn down your road. “Like, a Christmas walk? A family photo event?”

“Mm, I see.”

As you near your house, you begin to pass by Mr. Choi’s and you try not to immediately widen your gaze in surprise. Even from a distance you can tell that the man struggling to put up decorations outside of his new house - is quite tall. Muscular but not to an obvious degree in his navy sweater. Bright red ears, a matching pink nose, eyes hidden behind rectangular shaded frames, chin tucked into a comically large cream-colored scarf. Bright white hair tousled about, shit eating grin plastered on his face when he set something up successfully. You didn’t even need to see him up close, you knew this man was gorgeous.

“Is that our new neighbor?” You ask, trying to mask your interest but of course your friend picks up on your curiosity.

“Sure is. Quite the looker.” She hums, slowing to a stop to wave at him when you finally pass by.

He’s on your side of the car, struggling with a roll of string lights this time. His hands are visibly shaking as he throws one end of the chords over the other. When he registers that there’s a window rolled down and someone shouting, “Good afternoon Mr. Gojo!” He begins to jog your way. You hold your breath while turning to your friend and silently will her to roll up your window and move on. The evil look she gave you had you sending a quick prayer up to the sky before finally turning to meet your neighbor. He stops by your window, leaning down and resting a folded arm on the roof of her car to get a good look at you both. His proximity turns your nerves hot, and you lean back slightly away from him.

“Well if it isn’t Lil’ Miss Evelyn!” His deep voice rang in your ears, a playful lilt sending warning signals to your brain. He shifts his glasses down, crystalline blue eyes peeking over the rim.

“And who might you be?” Gojo tries not to stage at you too hard, but he’s taken aback by the sight of you. Your hair was braided into low pigtails, your pout had a deep burgundy gloss. He could tell you were beautiful as soon as he saw you even from far away, but he was almost winded when he came close to you.

“I’m-“ Evelyn cuts you off, grabbing your hand and holding it close to her cheek.

“Why, this is my beautiful wife, finally back in town.” You turn to face her, cheeks tinting pink and you laugh at her remark. You properly introduce yourself to him, and try not to dwell on his gaze that hasn’t left you.

“Visiting for the holidays?” He asks, his gaze not-so-subtly raking across your face and then over your frame.

“No, moving back. I figured if I could do my job anywhere, why not home?” You shrug as your response leaves your lips, a lazy and content smile spreading across your features.

“She’s a writer, a very talented one.” Eve brags, turning her nose up in pride.

“Oh neat, maybe I’ve read your work?”

“I doubt it, I’m hardly popular, and I usually only write for children and teens.”

“Then I’ll have to snag a couple copies.” He insists, pulling his phone out to look

you up. He makes a show of adding your oldest book to his Amazon cart before leaning back down, “you find a decent place in the area, Miss?” His eyes stay locked with yours as he waits for your answer.

“Oh, just about the coziest place around.“ You point at your parent’s house across the street. “Childhood room, warm meals, rent free. I have it made.” His eyebrows raise at this, cheeky smirk making its way onto his face. You were the pretty eldest daughter of the Manivong’s he’d heard so much about. “It’s good to meet you, Mr. Gojo.” You add, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, looking up at him and finally letting your eyes meet his own. He reaches a slender hand out, long fingers grasping your own in a warm handshake.

“It’s very good to meet you too, Miss.” He replies, winking at you. “Call me Satoru.” You nod in response and silence falls between you both. His hand holds yours, unwavering and you hope your own doesn’t start to sweat. He’s clearly hanging onto your every word and action, your nerves burn with his active perception. Your friend is long forgotten as you both have a staring contest with each other. The cold mid-afternoon air seemingly has no effect on either of you. Unbeknownst to you, Evelyn was being thoroughly entertained by the whole interaction. She’d never seen you so smitten before, and she couldn’t wait to get you alone later for the inevitable talk that would happen.

“You’ll have to drop by some time, I’ve made it a point to get to know all of my neighbors.” He leans in just a little closer, “If you’re anything like your old man, maybe you could help me with some decorating.” He suggests, he sounds playful and you aren’t sure if he’s hitting on you. You weren’t used to interacting much with anyone outside of your immediate circle, let alone the opposite gender. You always had a hard time telling when people were flirting with you or being friendly. Deciding that maybe this Gojo character is just a really friendly man, you attempt to brush off the itchy feeling building up inside of you. However you couldn’t help but be slightly intimidated by his confident aura, so you offer a meek nod.

“Maybe, if my schedule allows it.” You’d noticed that he still hadn’t let go of your hand, and hesitantly you pull your own from his grip.

“Well if decorating falls through, I'm sure we could find something else to do.” He’s hitting on you so obviously now and it brings just a little bit more warmth to your face. You try to sputter something witty out, however words are lost on you in your slightly flustered state. You look like a goldfish, your eyes wide while your mouth opens and closes with every failed attempt at a response. He soaks it in, smitten by how easily his words effected you.

“Well,” Eve decides then to intervene, “we should probably head out. She has a mountain of unpacking to do. I’ll bet her parents are waiting for her.” Eve says, getting ready to pull away. Satoru’s eyes flash with disappointment for a split second, not wanting to part from such a pretty thing. You’d been so easy to tease, so cute under his scrutiny he couldn’t help but mess with you even if it was just for a little while. He was looking forward to being neighbors with you, already.

“I would hate to keep those two waiting.” Satoru replies, glancing from Eve back to you, “It’s been a pleasure.”

“Likewise. Have a good night, don’t hurt yourself with all that decorating. Christmas isn’t going anywhere.” you tease, beginning to roll your window up. It wasn’t clever and you were more embarrassed while trying to match whatever playful atmosphere there was than you would’ve been if you had just said something like, “bye see y’round”. Gojo chuckles in response, pale blue eyes peering down at you from those damned rims one final time.

“I’ll certainly try not to, especially now that I have such a beauty watching me.” He sends you a wink before he’s pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose and skulking back to his yard. Your eyes are fixed on his back as Eve peels away, and they can’t seem to leave his broad figure until you’re pulling into your driveway. The very short drive to your house is spent in silence, not uncomfortable but very knowing. You had the feeling that you were in for an earful. You were grateful she’d wait until you were both comfortable in your room to even begin to bring up your vaguely salacious interaction.

Much like the other homes in your neighborhood, yours was decked out in various lights and fixtures. Your father had a penchant for detailed displays and Christmas was his favorite holiday. A delicate nativity scene graced the center of your front yard. Various cream colored light-up deer were placed across the rest of the yard. The front porch had dark evergreen garland wrapped around the pillars with a rainbow of sparkling lights, a classic poinsettia wreath hangs on a silver hook at the center of your burgundy front door. A sloppily put together snowman is closest to the steps of the porch, and you wrap your black and white striped scarf around it. As you tug it on tightly the front door suddenly flings open and three children resembling yourself come running after you. “Sis!” They all yell in unison, trying not to stumble over each other as they race into your arms. You wait for them, arms wide stretched and they pummel into you. All four of you fall to the ground, snow catching you and their delighted squeals allow a sigh of relief to finally escape you. It finally felt like you were home. Bumbling squeals and excited rambling fill the empty silence. Rosy cheeks beam up at you. After a good laugh, you four scramble to get back up, while you dust off the snow from yourself and the children you feel the sudden need to turn around. When you do, Gojo is leaning on the railing of his porch. His gaze brings heat to your cheeks once again, and when you meet it you abruptly turn back around. You miss the signature sly smirk he throws your way, before he turns away and into the warmth of his own home.

“Oh my god, you guys aren’t even in snow suits, where are your jackets?!” Your exclamation brings exasperated groans and naughty giggles spread amongst your siblings. You shuffle them inside, rolling your luggage inside along with Eve. “Shoes off!” You yell at them, when you finally clamber through your doors, excitement buzzing around you; shaking off your own shoes. “Mommy~ Daddy~ your favorite is home!”

Your home is just the same as you’d last left it. Toys scattered around, various shoes strewn near the front door. A staircase and banister directly in front of the door, leading to the second floor where your old room is. The only difference between your last visit and now are the mountains of Christmas decorations throughout every area. The same evergreen garland wraps around the handrail leading upstairs, multi-color lights wrapped along with it. Wreaths of varying themes are on every door. Leading into the living room that is just a few steps away and to the right of your front door, are snowflakes clearly made by your siblings, hanging from the ceiling or taped to the walls. A mistletoe hangs in the entryway of the living room, and as you pass through it you spot a great big Christmas tree tucked into the corner. Not yet decorated.

You hear clattering from the kitchen, a few light swears and then your mother is rushing over to you. You’re engulfed in a soft yet firm embrace, and when you hug your mother back your father saunters down the steps from the floor above. He’s in no rush to hug you like your mother, but he smiles while he waits. “Ah, my little girl!” he pulls you in tight while you bury your face into his chest. He smells like cinnamon and a heavy aftershave (of the musk variety) that makes you cringe and pull away in disgust.

“Whatever that is, smells awful!” you remark, scrunching your nose. He huffs and rolls his eyes mumbling something along the lines of it’s always something with you. “Do you need any help with dinner, mom?” You ask, she shakes her head with a soft smile.

“Oh no dear, you know how I get about my kitchen. Just go get your stuff situated and settle in. I’ll call you guys down when it’s ready.” You don’t have to turn around to know that Eve is buzzing at the end of the staircase, waiting for you to finally follow her up the steps and into your room. You know she’s hardly said a word to your parents, eager to ’talk boys’ with you in what felt like years.

You turn away from your parents, finally making your way to the steps and sure enough Eve is there. She impatiently grabs your hand and drags you up and around the corner. Your room is on the left side of the second floor and the only one at the end of the hall. Adjacent to a restroom that you’d claimed as your own however it was originally for guests. Nearing your bedroom you pump the breaks, Eve quirks an eyebrow. Her silent question is not lost on you.

“I just wanna put it out there that I really, truly, honestly don’t know what that was about.” It sounds as if you’re pleading but you aren’t sure if you should be defensive. What is there to even be defensive about? It was just a little flirting. Wasn’t it? It’s not like it was any grand display of attraction. There were a few playfully exchanged sentences.

She shakes her head unconvinced, and pulls you into your room, the door already slightly ajar. You stumble in, greeted by video game posters, dark bedding, a large fluffy black rug on oak floors, and an enthusiastic cat. The large tan and brown Maine coon stretches into a big yawn. He then chirps while running up to you, weaving through your legs. He had been taking a nap on your bed, the indent from his resting spot on the corner closest to your door still there.

“Listen babe,” Eve crawls onto your bed, propping one of your pillows behind her back as she sits against the wall. “you don’t flirt. If you’ve ever thought someone was hot, you’d usually just tell me about it later.”

“I mean, sure he was attractive-“

“Let me finish,” you sit next to her, pulling your cat into your lap. “I think he wants you.”

“You do?” You’re bashful and twiddle with the ends of your fingers a little, peering up at her through your lashes.

“Oh my god he wants you so bad!” She cries out, and you both erupt into giggles. You laugh at the fact that someone as crazy good looking as Gojo even looked at you. It just felt too good to be true. “He was inviting you over; he wants to hook up with you, I just know it.”

“I’m not gonna-“

“You should sleep with him!” You quickly shush her, covering her mouth with your hands. You stare at her horrified, wide eyes and she mirrors them.

“Shhhhhh, my parents will hear.”

“Sorry, sorry, but just listen to me. You had a really bad breakup, I think just a little fling could be good for you.”

“That sounds so easy coming from you.” You sigh, flopping down so that you’re resting with your back flush to the mattress and your legs are draped over Eve’s. Your hair is splayed out, and your cat (Dusty) fiddles with it as you speak. “I have, like, no confidence, plus. I’ve never…gone all the way with anyone before. Messing around is one thing but putting it in scares the hell out of me.” You groan, rubbing your hands over your face.

“You could just give him some head.” Her suggestion makes you snort, “either way, he was totally into you. He’s never talked to me like that. On top of it, he’s not dating anyone around here.” While she speaks, you decide to go through your boxes. You pull out a towel and travel sized toiletries. Throwing a bag of makeup you found onto the vanity adjacent to your bed, you nod at what she’s saying. You kick your clothes off, feeling the sweat from your layered airport outfit cool your skin once exposed to your slightly chilly room.

“Would you, y’know-” as her sentence trails off, her eyebrows wiggle with implication.

“Oh absolutely, but like; in my dreams right?” She scoffs at that, and you defensively ask, “well would you?”

“Nah, I’m holding out for this super cute friend of his that pops by every couple weekends.” Eve sighs dreamily and you quirk an eyebrow at this. She doesn’t further elaborate and you’re too tired to even ask about that. Rather, you finish getting together a change of clothes for the night, not wanting to look sweaty and awful for your first dinner with your family in ages. The black bra you wore accentuates the curves of your breasts rather nicely before they’re hidden behind your carefully wrapped towel; and Eve of course is no stranger to this revelation, “Did you go up a cup size?”

“Mhm, yep. Thank you for noticing, it’s all the carbs from that bakery near my old place. It was a real problem.” You sigh again for what feels like the billionth time, recalling your binge eating during the worst parts of your most recent breakup. Your long term boyfriend had cheated on you, in your own bed, a tale as old as time. You were miles away from any support system you had, and the only comfort you’d found was through constant snack runs. Snack runs, romantic comedies, and so many tissue boxes. As a result of this you’d put on more pounds than you’d care to ever admit. During the lowest point you had decided that enough was enough and began exercising more. Not working out at a gym by any means, god knows that you did not have the capacity nor the commitment for that. You walked more, and did Chloe Ting workouts in your room when you were feeling motivated enough. “You’d think that considering I’m much more active, I’d have lost more weight. These tits just won’t go away.”

“More o’ you to love.” You roll your eyes while she suggestively bites her lip. You tell her you’ll be back, and go to take a much needed shower. Washing away the dirt and grime from your long day eases the tension in your shoulders. Your soap smells like lavender, the scent and steam filling your bathroom almost instantly. When you finish, you walk back into your room with your freshly dried hair and a towel still wrapped around you. You shimmy on slightly flared black pants, and you thank whatever is out there that the black turtleneck you chose for the night is the same shade. Finally after throwing on a random (black and white polka dot) pair of fuzzy socks, you get started on your makeup. It’s a simple wing, just to boost your confidence if anything. You keep your base a tinted moisturizer rather than a full coverage one, not wanting to go through the pain of setting everything with powder tonight. Dark brown lines your lips and you pop a matching shade of brown gloss. Feeling content with your freshened up appearance, you adjust your facial piercings back into place. Right as you finish up, your mother’s voice calls to you from outside of your door. A gentle rap against it follows her voice.

“-would you mind running a plate over to Satoru? Dinner is ready, I'm just waiting for it to cool off a little before serving everyone else.” Your eyes widen in panic, she wants me to run dinner over to him? You don’t feel ready to see your dangerously handsome neighbor so soon. You open your door trying to remain as inconspicuous about your raging emotions as possible, “why, don’t you look lovely dear, did you go up a cup size?”

“She sure did!” Eve replies still propped against your wall and resting on your bed, the fluffy cat now in her lap. “She would love to take Mr. Gojo a plate of food.” You whip your head around, squinting at her as if to say “you’re dead to me” and she sticks her tongue out at you. You groan quietly before turning back to your mother.

“I’ve only just met him, do you think that’s a good idea? Won’t it be awkward?”

“Oh he is a very sweet boy, I doubt you’ll have any problems. Now go get bundled up, it’s gotten colder out there.” Your mother insists, thrusting a hot container of food into your hands. It’s glass, and you’re grateful for the cloth keeping your fingers from being burnt but it’s still very hot to the touch. You don’t protest, if you did you know you’d tip her off. You were the one that always greeted your neighbors, brought leftovers, ran errands for everyone over the years, it’d be strange if you were suddenly opposed to it. “I feel so bad for that poor boy, still doesn’t have a real friend around here. All he does is work, or help out around town. ‘Least I can do is give him some dinner.” Your mother was too sweet for her own good. You hum in response, resigning yourself to the task thrust into your hands. Her bleeding heart was almost sickening. You decide to throw on your grey puffy jacket again, and matching fuzzy earmuffs. Black gloves hug your fingers, when you grab onto the container of food once again you’re thankful for the lack of heat. Your mother retreats down the steps and you close the door, taking a deep breath.

“Oh my god you’re gonna do it.” Eve teases when you turn back around to her, your red face doesn’t help whatever denial spills from your lips. “Oh my god this is so exciting.” Her jittering frame full of excitement only further adds to your growing anxiety.

“We’re not doing anything, I’m just being neighborly.”

❄️

Eve’s knowing look haunts you when you find yourself making the small trek to Gojo’s house. The lights are on, smoke coming from the chimney. His Christmas lights, that he’d successfully installed along the railing of his porch; twinkle in tune with your beating heart. You buzz his doorbell, staring at the silver and grey tinsel wreath hanging from his white front door.

You’re just being neighborly.

You’re just being-

The door opens, and instead of staring at the pretty wreath it’s replaced by a slightly dampened shirt clinging onto a muscular chest. You gulp, and your eyes trail up.

“Hello.” You start when he doesn’t say anything immediately, already feeling awkward.

“Good evening, Miss.” Gojo’s deep voice is sultry, a stark contrast to his cheerful tone from earlier. He sounded tired. It’d gotten darker as the hours passed, the soft twinkling from the Christmas lights doused his features into an ethereal glow. He’d showered, his hair clearly still damp, and a towel hung over his shoulders. “I see you got all dolled up just to see lil ol’ me!” His teasing implication short circuits your brain. Your mouth runs dry, you forget what you were supposed to say.

“I-“ you look quickly from his chest to his eyes back to his chest and then away, “do you like stew?”

“Pardon?” Gojo leans against the frame of his door, his languid pose only accentuating the muscles previously hidden by his winter coat. You really do try to keep your eyes level with his own, but if they drift could anyone blame them?

“My mother made stew,” you bring the glass dish forward, “well it’s either soup or it’s stew; I can’t remember. It’s hot so be careful.” Your averted gaze entices him to call out your name. Its softness comforts your nerves slightly. You turn to face him again, “oh, yes?”

“Your mother makes a great stew.” Your eyes focus on his chest while he speaks, and it felt like he’d been flexing on purpose. Taunting you, as if he knew that you were like a cat being coaxed with some catnip. (Spoiler alert: what you brushed off as nothing was entirely deliberate.)

“Yes, she does, she puts all of her love into her cooking.” You reply, shifting your gaze to finally meet his own.

“Won’t you have dinner with me?” His tone is enticing, pleading if you focused hard enough to recognize it. His sudden invitation catches you off guard.

“I’m sorry?”

“How about I drive you back over to your place, you grab yourself a bowl, and we eat back at mine?” While he tries to sound suggestive, maybe even flirtatious he mainly sounds eager. He was hooked on you, just a single interaction with you and that was it to him. Gojo wanted to take any chance he could get to have you over.

“I don’t know you.”

“Well that’s what dinner is for silly.” He leans down towards you ever so slightly. It began to dawn on you that Gojo was a very bold man. If he wasn’t bold then he was certainly confident, and he was certain that you wanted him too. “Drinks, of course; are on me.”

“I’m not sure..” you trail off, a shiver running through you as the night breeze starts to seep through your coat. Your breath comes out in a fog and Gojo of course seizes that opportunity as well.

“It is freezing outside, do you want a ride back to your place anyway?” You glance at him again, and he senses your hesitation. His mouth begins to open, but you cut him off.

“I would appreciate that, thank you.” His smile is blinding and he turns inside slightly to shuffle around the wall for his keys. He slips on a pair of snow boots outside of his door (near the doormat). While he guides you to his car you realize how underdressed he is.

“Mr. Gojo, where is your coat?!” You want to scold him like you would your siblings.

“I’m fine like this, your place is just across the street.” You can’t protest when he opens the passenger door for you, but when you slip inside it’s like an ice box.

“My god are you sure?” Your teeth want to chatter but you will them not to. With your jaw tensing you almost beg him to go put a coat on. “You’ll catch your death in here.”

“You really hate this shirt, huh?” His tone is incredulous but you can tell he was just joking around. Even so, he reaches behind you towards the backseat. His proximity causes you to freeze up again, puffs of your breath fan across his close figure. He was so close to you; he smelled of peppermint. His bulging chest was so close, if you moved even the slightest bit you could easily rest your head against it. His pebbling nipples from behind his shirt seemed to taunt you, damn the cold weather. Gojo was invading your space on purpose, of course, and you were innocently oblivious. He produces a navy jacket, and as he slips it on you wonder if the wide turtleneck even keeps him warm.

“I’d hate for you to catch a cold, think of your poor students.”

“Ah, so you’ve heard of me?”

“Just this afternoon.”

“How’s my reputation?”

“It’s hard to say, so far it’s leaning towards your favor.” You tut, it’s playful. “My personal opinion however, has yet to be determined.”

“I’ll have to find some way to get you on my side.”

Once the vehicle is warmed up the short drive to your house is made in a peaceful silence but there is a tension growing. From what, you can’t quite place. You thank the gods when you realize that you’re in your driveway. There’s a palpable pause between you both, he’s waiting for you to leave. Your fingers twitch from their spot in your lap, and you feel yourself stalling. Looking to the side, your pretty glossed lips part, Gojo finds himself staring at them. A cool feeling washes over yourself, not wanting to part just yet; you can’t stop your mouth from moving.

“I’ll be right back.”

Gojo blinks, “you will?” He swears he can hear his heartbeat quickening almost immediately.

“Yes, I won’t be long. Dinner is still okay?”

Fuck yes it is.

Your eyes widen and he realizes that he’d said that out loud. He doesn’t fluster easily but he coughs to cover his brief outburst. Gojo was not an eager man, as cocky as he may seem he truly wanted for nothing. He’d never had to proposition anyone before. He knew he was good looking, he had decent finances on top of it. Yet when he approached that window earlier his confidence seemed to leave him instantly. Your wide eyes and flushed cheeks were endearing, not to mention you were exactly his type. He wanted you bad.

You don’t waste any more time and unbuckle yourself, hurrying to leave his car. You had to be quick or you’d change your mind. He watched with bated breath as you hurriedly walk up the steps and into the warmth of your childhood home. As soon as you’re out of his sight, Gojo relaxes almost immediately. He leans down to rest his forehead against the steering wheel, a dramatically whisper-shouted, “fuckkkkk yessss.” escaping him in the process. He was so in, you were right within arms reach. He felt lame, wanting you so bad despite having no idea who you were. If he was a better person with a clearer mind his almost imstwnt longing for you might have concerned him. However he was simple, all he could think of at this point was having you under him by the end of the night. Call him a sleaze, but he truly didn’t do this often, so he was going to take what he could get. Gojo’s fingers grip the steering wheel harder, and as his body thrums with anticipation he finds himself hurriedly tidying himself up. He checks his appearance in the mirror, perfect as always. Nothing in his teeth, lips glossed. His hair was neat but also messy in a sexy way, like he’d done it on purpose-yet he ruffled it some more for good measure. He unzips his jacket to get a look at what exactly he had put on last minute. The compression shirt he threw on when he had heard his doorbell ring was a lucky grab. He knew it hugged his chest well, clinging to him a little harder and a couple areas dampened with his shower slicked body. It was no surprise that the grey sweats that hung low on his hips didn’t leave much to the imagination. Yeah, he had this in the bag.

On your side of things, your heart thrummed in a gentle acceptance. You’d left Gojo to his own devices and upon entry into your home, you were refusing to let panic set in. Your siblings (Emmett, Phoebe, Lillian) as well as Eve and your parents are situated around the table. Slices of warm bread, a tub of butter, as well as carefully placed bowls of stew were placed in front of everyone. They’d been waiting for you. Your mother is the first to greet you. Shit, you were beginning to feel bad.

“I know this is so last minute, but do you care if I have dinner with Mr. Gojo?” You hate being inconsiderate, you know they’ve missed you. It was your first night home, after all. They were so clearly waiting for you to get back.

“What for?” Your father sneers, his bright mood upon seeing you dampening at the mention of your new neighbor. “Why can’t he just eat over here?”

“Well honey, there weren’t enough chairs. The old set is in the attic, I didn’t want to bother with all of that.” Your mother explains, “I think that’s a wonderful idea, dear. Getting close with people around your age is important after all.”

“He’s in his late twenties, Maira!”

“Making friends is important, Christian. She doesn’t have many, love.”

“Eve is here though, that’s so rude to her!”

“Mr. Manivong, I’m here like, every night. I won’t mind.” Eve is practically bouncing in her seat and you know you’re in for it later. She tries to not sound too excited at the prospect of you having dinner with the hottest catch in town. “I’ll keep the bed warm for you, my love.” She salutes you and you bite your lip in nervousness. You make a vague gesture towards yourself, silently asking if you look alright. Her salute shifts into an okay and then she begins to dramatically fan herself. You snort and shake your head at that. Neither of you realize your father was watching the both of you until you hear a scoff come from him.

“Of course.” He grumbles out. Everyone in the room ignores him.

You don’t remember seeing your mother leave her seat. Before you even realize it she has a hot bowl shoved into your hands as well as a warm wrapped loaf of homemade bread; and she’s ushering you out the door. Soft words of encouragement and excitement leave her, vague mentions of so handsome good for you, and take your time sweetheart your father will live. Your father’s grumbling fades as the door shuts behind you, and you’re then faced with the reality that you’re about to have dinner with a (handsome) complete stranger. The cold autumn air bites your cheeks, and you steel yourself.

It’s just dinner. You’re just neighbors having dinner.

You open the passenger door once again, and Gojo’s slightly slackened frame straightens immediately. His features turn bright, and despite him waiting for you in your driveway; he was still happy that you actually came back out. He doesn’t waste time with useless greetings, he just makes sure you’re buckled in and pulls away. It’s begun to snow again, the fat clusters tap against the windshield filling the silence. You’re undeniably excited, your frame practically buzzes with the idea of a new friend. Friends, yeah right. You were having a hard time admitting to yourself the real attraction you were starting to feel for him.

Gojo glances at you when he’s pulling back into his property. Once parked his eyes find themselves lingering on your thighs as they subconsciously rub together. His crystalline hues meet your own and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. His mouth had suddenly gone dry. You both try not to awkwardly clamber out, but you notice that he seems just as stiff as you are. He hadn’t bothered to lock his door, when he opens it for you he tries not to appear too eager. You leave your shoes near the entryway after you kick the snow off of them and he follows suit. You linger by the threshold, clutching your container of soup. Gojo takes it from you, his fingers lightly brushing your own, and sets it on an island in the middle of his kitchen and dining room. He makes an excited hum when you hand him the bread as well.

Upon entry you’d noticed how cozy his home was. The living room greeted you at arrival, black rectangular picture frames hung in several areas. Among them were photos of family members or friends, some of Gojo himself with them. The same man with stretched ears was in quite a few, you noticed. Situated next to his grey couch was a photo in a silver oval frame of Gojo and some students, on what you assumed was a field day. They were all bright smiles and peace signs. A mug that read World’s Greatest Teacher was placed next to it. The dining and kitchen area was separated by partial walls and a marble island, the bottom cupboards had various Christmas washcloths hanging from the outside of them and winter themed placemats were on his dark oak dining table. He had one of those realistic trees that looked like the branches were brushed with snow; it was in the leftmost corner of the room, closest to the door. You could tell he started decorating, a box of ornaments in varying shapes, sizes, and colors sat unopened near it. Silver and gold tinsel were still perfectly wrapped in their packaging. The only thing on the large tree were warm twinkling rainbow lights.

He steps close to you once more, and offers to take your coat. You thank him, shuffling the thick garment off. You don’t notice how his eyes linger on your chest for a little longer than they should have. The ribbing of your sweater accentuated the outline of your breasts, and now it was his turn to be distracted. He wanted you before and seeing the curves of your body for the first time didn’t help sate his desire. It certainly didn’t help his case when you seemed to push your breasts out more as you held your hands in nervousness behind your back. Truth be told the only thing on your mind was how sticky you felt in that jacket. It was hot in your house as well as his car with the thick layers on and you began sweating. It was relieving not having it on anymore but your breasts under the warm sweater felt suffocated and the thing you wanted most was to just take your damned top off. Your uncomfortable shifting only brought more attention to them, yet you still didn’t pick up on Gojo’s virgin-like ogling. Eyes glued to one thing only: your tits.

“Well we better eat it while it’s hot.” His deep voice cuts through the suddenly thickened air, startling you. You nod, following him to the dining area. He doesn’t bother taking any of his own bowls out of the cupboards, choosing to instead grab a couple of spoons to save time on dishes. You can respect that, you hated doing the dishes.

Rather than being any more nervous, you decide that the sound of clinking silverware and the news playing on his television as white noise isn’t so bad. Small talk wasn’t something you excelled in. Starting a conversation was a hurdle in itself, but maintaining a steady flow while keeping the interest of the other person was overwhelming. As a result of your awkward mannerisms and ‘lack of interest’ your relationships were few and far between. The only person that seemed to bask in your silence was Eve, who could chatter away to no end. When it struck you that Gojo didn’t seem to have the desire to make you talk, it oddly comforted you. You’d always felt pressured to fill the empty space and you usually fell short of any fulfilling interaction.

Eating with your neighbor might not be so bad if it stayed just like this.

Gojo clears his throat. “Your mother is a great cook.”

“Yea, she is.”

“She has your dad or one of the kids run me over some dinner or a snack almost every night.” He remarks, gesturing towards the island behind you. You turn around and spot a couple bags of various snacks that you could always find in your own cupboard. At the center of the island was a dish with three cheesecake slices tucked inside. You loved your mother’s cheesecake. “She made that a couple days ago, I’ve been too busy to indulge.” He pouts, going over to grab you both a slice. “I have a bit of a sweet tooth and hardly any time for myself so she’s always saving the day.” You accept the slice, eager to sate your own craving.

“She’s pretty great, and her cheesecake is the best.” He hums in agreement, a cozy silence falls into place once more.

While initially dinner together was a little awkward, all of Gojo’s aforementioned confidence seemingly disappeared; eventually conversation picked up. While usually you were slow to open up, Gojo had a way of getting you to talk without trying. You’d learned that he was quite the nerd, and when it felt like conversation was running short he would bring up a game he liked to play during his free time. A book he’d read recently. An anime one of his students recommended. With dinner having been finished long ago, you’d both gravitated to his couch.

Maybe I should head out, it’s gettin’ pretty nasty out there…

No, no, it’s freezing. Why don’t you wait a little while, at least for the snow to let up?

Reruns of old Christmas specials played in the background on his wall mounted television. Glasses of red wine reflected the flames from the fireplace underneath it. Small talk about work, college, short term aspirations; morphed into steady laughter and stories from your childhood. The longer you spent on it the more you realized his sofa was just too comfortable. The atmosphere was quite intimate, you were clueless to the fact that it was deliberate. Gojo hadn’t planned on having you over so soon, it wasn’t his fault that he was thrown off a bit. Naturally, he’d set things into motion the way they should be throughout the evening. He had dimmed the lights over the course of the night, letting his fireplace illuminate his living area. A consequence free show played as a source of casual entertainment. Gojo casually lit a holiday pine scented candle in the kitchen while you had been enjoying dessert, and when things shifted to the living room he lit a sage scent that complimented it perfectly. He, of course, wouldn’t be a good host without providing refreshments. His finest and most expensive wine, a sparkling palate cleanser that wasn’t too sweet, wrapped foreign chocolates, and dried fruit were neatly placed on his coffee table in front of the sofa. He had you right where he wanted you.

“Oh I didn’t realize you moved from there! I have a couple o’ buddies around that area.” his features brighten after learning where you moved from.

“Ya don’t say! Small word.”

You could feel as the minutes shifted into an hour, and then an hour and a half; your hesitancy to leave grew more and more. As your stories became more intimate, the proximity between you both shortened. While you weren’t put off by how close he was, it was something you were hyper aware of. Your elbows brushed lightly against one another on the back of the couch as he mirrored the way your head rested against your hand. If someone had peaked in on you both, they might have mistaken you for good friends or partners, the laughter and conversation flowing freely between you both. The alcohol in your system had your core feeling warm, your cheeks rosy, and your lips loose. He was practically entranced by you as you explained how your recent ex tore your heart to shreds.

“Eve ended up flying up there for a weekend and she helped me throw his stuff out. Couldn’t just throw my mattress out though, but I guess it’s fine since I moved back here in the end.” You reach over to the coffee table for your glass of wine, taking a sip. An amused snort leaves your mouth while you watch on the tv a stop-motion reindeer jump around in glee at his crush admitting that she thought he was cute.

“I can’t believe he cheated on you, in your own bed.” He remarks, shaking his head with a click of his tongue. Gojo can’t take his eyes off of your form, soaking in the subtlety of your enjoyment.

“Ugh, I know! He couldn’t even make me cum in it, what made him think he could get her to?” The wine seemed to remove your filter. Despite the both of you being equally surprised by your words it brings bubbling laughter up from your stomachs. Gojo laughs in further disbelief; you laugh at your own expense.

“Oh you poor thing,” his sympathetic coo is bordering on patronizing, “I bet I could make you cum.” The wine seemed to remove his filter as well. He had mumbled it, you don’t think he even meant for those words to leave his stream of consciousness. There’s mirth swirling inside of his piercing gaze, and something else that you can’t quite place.

“I’m sorry?” Your laughter teeters off, and Gojo decides that he might as well just go for it.

“How ‘bout it? Wanna fool around?” He wraps his hand around yours, and takes the wine glass from you. When he sets it aside, your breath hitches in your throat. His delicate features were tipsily flushed, much like your own. And to your absolute horror: he sure was handsome.

“I don’t know you.” Your statement from earlier bubbles up and escapes from your throat before you can even think of stopping it. Yet you lean in closer, your fingers move from being dropped into your lap, to grazing the surface of the cushion between the both of you. He places his own hand to just barely ghost across the tips of His fingers against yours.

“Well, we’ve met.“ he holds up his free hand, and ticks away at his fingers, “Had dinner. And now we’ve shared some drinks. I’d say we’ve been on a couple o’ dates by now.” You find yourself leaning back as he leans into you further. Fingers itching to reach out for him.

“I’m not comfortable sleeping with you tonight.” Tonight? Does that mean it was possible in the future? Truth be told, his offer was tempting, you just felt shameful having sweat so much. You don’t miss the way his features light up with excitement, however. You both crawl backwards, and his forearms rest on either side of your head, his nose barely brushing against yours. He’d lost that dumb pair of shades two wine glasses ago, wanting to see you without any obstructions. His lips almost graze your own as he speaks.

“We don’t have to have sex.” Right, he said he wanted to fool around. You hum, biting your lip lightly in thought.

“Gojo I-“

“Satoru.” He corrects, ocean blue eyes boring into your own hazy ones.

“I really need to shower, I sweat on the way over here, I showered earlier but I’d feel terrible-“ He’s nodding along, not seeming to care for your (very valid) excuses. They’re falling on deaf ears, because why were you wrapping around his neck? Why was he so damn mesmerizing? You felt stupid for a brief moment, and figured it didn’t actually matter if you just kissed him. So you did. It was a light peck at first, your eyes flutter closed, and he reciprocates with a peck of his own. One turns into two, two turns into three, three shifts into a deeper kiss. You make a noise in the back of your throat, or was that him? Your fingers tangle into his snowy locks, as he settles his weight between your legs. Your thighs grip his hips and it’s definitely him that groans. You weren’t ever really into kissing, it repulsed you when it went on for too long. But as Gojo experimentally swiveled his hips into yours, the slight friction eliciting a sultry moan, you think to yourself that you don’t actually mind it. Not with him at least. His tongue snakes its way into your mouth, and as it dances with your own it almost hypnotizes you. He pants in between kisses, growing more eager and frustrated with every passing moment that he grinds into you or sucks on your lips and your tongue. It grows sloppier, he eventually switches from your lips to kissing around them. Drool gathers around the edges, and he eagerly laps it up, but this only worsens the mess. He kisses down your mouth, your chin, your jaw, your neck. It’s fiery, hotter than the flames flickering across the room, you think.

As you become uncomfortable with the heat, you squirm to pull your shirt off. He pulls back, going to remove his clothes as well. The obvious tent in his pants causes your fingers to stutter with the button on your own bottoms. The large imprint only grows larger as his pants are removed and reveals a monster confined behind black briefs. You gulp and stand up to shimmy your pants off, walking away to put your clothes somewhere you could easily find them. You were stalling as your nerves built up again. Were you going to have to stick that huge thing into your mouth? He’s oblivious to your inner struggle, making himself comfortable on the couch below you. He taps his thigh a couple of times, a wordless beckoning when he notices you staring at him. The short distance to him has you nervously clasp your hands behind your back. When you’re in front of him again, you drop to your knees. His blatant confusion almost immediately embarrasses you. Why did he look like that? Shame wells within your gut as you believe you’d made a mistake.

“I’m sorry, did you not want me to suck you off?”

He stares down at you, blanking on what to say. Of course he did, he was just hoping to make out some more first. A noise of consideration thrums in the back of his throat, and then suddenly he beams at you.

“No actually; I’m gonna eat you out.” He flashes you a cheeky grin, his confidence from earlier returning. “Awkward question but I gotta ask, are you clean?”

“Yes I am. Haven’t done anything since I last tested.” You tilt your head to the side. “But why would you wanna do that right now? Like I said, I sweat a lot earlier.”

“…to get you off? Because it’ll be fun?”

“Oh, are you sure?” Your hesitation is cute, and concerning. Rather than respond he sits up and wordlessly pulls you onto the couch so that you’re next to him. He lays you out gently, and your heart thrums. “I’m not sure if I’ll finish tonight. I’m really okay with just doing you. I wouldn’t want to put you through such a hassle.” You ramble in embarrassment, your shame at being so hard to sexually handle evident.

Your previous partners were less than attentive. They’d usually moved on or given up after a few minutes. Suffice it to say you certainly hadn’t finished from any head you’d briefly received. You just couldn’t help the numb feeling you’d felt every time someone touched you intimately. Unbeknownst to you Gojo was not only competitive, he also loved a good challenge. There was a chance to be the best head you’d ever gotten, and the first to make you cum all in one go. You feel his breath travel from your clavicle, nibbling kisses that wander downward over your navel. Your shivering at the anticipation of his touch is not lost on him.

“Gotta be insane to think that I’m not gonna eat this pussy tonight.” As he said that, he finally spread your legs for him. Your knees touch the couch at your side. His hands are flush against the swell of your thighs; holding them in place. Gojo peppers the ghost of short and soft pecks against your clothed sensitivity. You try to resist the urge to buck up, but at your subtle movement he firmly buries his face against the fabric. It’s a silent encouragement to do what you want. You aren’t used to it, and in that moment you are so grateful that you had the foresight to match your panties with your bra. He continues to kiss the same area, they deepen with each one. He could sense your lack of confidence, your inexperience, and he was perfectly okay with taking the lead. You’re unsure when he does it, but your panties are suddenly pulled to the side. The wet muscle that was buried in your mouth earlier finds itself dancing with your lower lips this time. There was a tense silence in the room, save for the crackling of flames in his fireplace, but as he starts to work you; your breath audibly hitches. You squeeze your eyes shut, and the pad of his tongue runs up and down from your twitching hole to your buzzing clit. It’s almost terrifying, your hands go to your mouth to suppress the noises begging for an escape. You can’t help but pant as his tongue continues to torment you. He applies just the right amount of pressure, soft lapping at your clit so wet and noisy.

“Ngh.” Your back arches, he applies just a little more pressure up and down your slit before sucking on your clit. It’s hypnotizing but you find yourself becoming overwhelmed. One of your hands snakes into his cloudy tresses, “Wait, Gojo, I’m getting scared.” Your voice comes out high pitched and whiny, it’s the first thing you’ve said since he laid you out. He moans against you upon hearing you, “This is scaring me a little, can you slow down?” The breathlessness in your voice makes the hard-on behind his briefs throb almost painfully.

“Call me Satoru, sweetheart.” He kisses your clit then, having missed feeling the hard nub against his soft lips. “Of course I can slow down, whatever you want.” He doesn’t sound put off, he wasn’t complaining about his jaw, he wasn’t just whipping his dick out. Yet you can’t help but feel embarrassed and like you’re inconveniencing him. With your inexperience taking over you mumble and push his face back, “I’m sorry I’ve never really done this for so long before, if you want we can switch.” He pouts at the feeling of your warm hand holding him in place.

“What do you mean ‘so long’ it’s barely been ten minutes.” He’s puffing out a playful laugh, and then weaving his arms around your thighs. Hugging them almost to bring your arousal closer to his face, he gently rubs the plush of them as he starts to gently lap at your slit again. You tasted amazing, he had to focus on not cumming in his pants as soon as he was met with your dripping sex. You were paranoid for nothing, Gojo couldn’t get enough of you.

“Gonna keep going until you cum, we can stay here the whole night for all I care.”

“I’ve never finished like this before.” You admit, hiding your face behind your hands. It’s like the embarrassment can’t leave your body. His ministrations don’t stop, and they start to grow in intensity at your words. You’d been spurring him on whether you had meant to or not.

“Shouldn’t have told me that sweetheart, now we’re really gonna be here all night.”

“Gojo, I can’t stay here all-“

“Satoru.“ The deepening of his voice is just barely a growl, and your hips buck in response.

You suddenly yelp, because instead of feeling his tongue enter you; you feel him shift so that one of his hands is positioned at your entrance. A warm digit probes the outside of it, not entering but teasing you. Your thighs clench around his head and he groans at this. “Fuck yeah, you want it?”

“I, I don’t know. Your fingers are so long.” You sound like you’re on the verge of tears, and if you were being truthful you probably did want it. You were absentmindedly grinding your hips, swiveling them into his prodding touch.

“You think my fingers are long? Wait till you see my dick.” His teeth playfully nibble at your thighs while he waits for your permission. You inhale sharply, still trying to suppress the noises of pleasure he so desperately wanted you to let out.

“A little is fine, but go slow please. It’s been a long time.” Your soft and curious gaze pierced his own, and he knows he’s in for it. You’re gonna be the death of him.

He tuts, “I don’t know.~ It doesn’t sound like you want it bad enough.” His finger betrays him, and it shallowly teases your entrance. Labored puffs of air leave your mouth at this. Your eyebrows pull together and he could cum on the spot just by the sight of you. There’s an almost magnetic push and pull between you both. As your hips continue to gyrate, furthering in intensity as your frustration grows; he’s barely teasing you and pulling himself in the opposite direction just to lead you on. Never fully leaving you, remaining firm in just grazing. Occasionally a faint whimper will escape you, and he rewards you with pushing in just a fraction deeper each time. He was finding out that you didn’t have to try hard to get what you wanted from him.

“S…Satoru.” Just hearing those few syllables tumble from your trembling pout has his hips stuttering into the couch. He’d picked up a steady grind of his own while waiting for you to just give in to your desire. “I want it.” It’s barely audible and he makes an incredulous noise in the back of his throat.

“Pardon?” He’s tugging your panties down, tucking the delicate purple lace into the cushion of his sectional. His breath ghosts over your sensitive nub, he can’t help but reward it with a sloppy kiss. You mewl almost instantly, the loudest you’d been all night. “Yeah, you got somethin’ you wanna say to me?”

“I want it.” You sound so sure now, your cares finally departing from your conscience. What did this matter in the end? You huff, caressing his face and he eagerly leans into your touch. He’s kissing your fingers, and peppering your wrist with his affection.

“You want it bad?” He’s lifting your hips just enough to provide himself with better access to your dripping folds. The sight of him through your half-lidded eyes has you panting once more. You eagerly nod, continuing to caress his face and massage his scalp.

“Nnmmh!” Your throat draws out sickeningly sweet whimpers once he’d begun his descent upon your flower once again. This time with added vigor, and a delicious friction you’d never felt before. His experimental kitten licks from earlier evolving into deep drags of his tongue against each and every dip. With his glossy lips on your clit, they alternate between harsh sucking and firm circular motions. He still doesn’t finger you, your fear and hesitation from earlier finally blooms into a deep desire for more. “Satoru.” You mewl, the drag of your voice heavenly, the breathy pitch sardonically kissing his senses.

“Yeah, baby?” He’s removed himself from you with an obscene pop from your clit, his mouth and chin coated in a glossy sheen of your slick and his saliva. You’d been grinding against him harder, searching for more friction.

“I want your fingers in me so bad, Satoru.” You’re begging at this point, pulling him up briefly to kiss him in the hopes of sweetening him up. You’re entangling tongues, he’s dragging his clothed erection dangerously across your weeping petals. The sound of your mouths colliding and teeth mashing quickly fills the air once more. Gojo’s hot touch finds itself attached to your breasts, and he wastes no time finally ripping that god forsaken bra off. Your breasts spill out of the cups, and two twinkling pieces of jewelry flirt with him at eye level. He’d instantly pulled away from the intensity of your lip lock as soon as your pierced nipples had made contact with the air. His large hands find purchase on your plush chest and you push into his touch. The gentle massage he gives you almost relaxes you more than it arouses you. The friction from his hips against yours, his soft suckling on your neck, and the fervent kneading of your breasts makes you lightheaded in the most tantalizing way. He’s finally snaking his way back down to your core, kissing along that same fiery path. He doesn’t say anything, too entranced by your every movement. A single digit almost immediately bullies its way past your resistance. The inside of you is tight, warm, and so obnoxiously wet. His finger slid in so easily thanks to the abundance of your natural lubrication. You finally moan out, arching once again into the pleasure he gives you. He’s working you, in and out, in and out. Licking and sucking up and down from your entrance right back to your most sensitive bundle of nerves. Your toes begin to curl, you’d never felt this electric before. Your hips rock yourself against his face, and you give in to the pleasure. Allowing yourself to close your eyes, run your fingers through his silky hair.

“This pussy tastes so good, sweetheart.” Your absent nod in his direction has him biting back a snicker. You’re lost in the pleasure but he wants you to do more than this. He wants you to feel so much more. He wants you desperately. His pace picks up in intensity, lapping at your clit and steadily thrusting two fingers into you. The addition of another digit has you immediately blanching.

“Ah, r’there!” They thrum against your sponge-y sensitivity, “ah, ah, ah! So good!~” And while your moaning doesn’t grow in pitch, you are hardly being loud, your vocalized praise encourages him. Targeting your g-spot he nibbles and suckles on your clit relentlessly. His wrist is escaping you fast, pounding back into you harder each time. Your honey squelches and it fills the room drowning out the noise from his crackling fireplace. You don’t notice him reach over to shut the specials you’d previously been watching off. You also don’t notice the way he occasionally pulls his mouth away from you to take in the intensity of your being in the throes of pleasure. He was determined to get you off. As he’s working back into another rhythm with the intent to finish you, he hits that hot spot over and over again. “Satoru~ ngh.” Your head is thrashing back and forth, “Satoru…is t’much I feel weird, baby, oh- slow down.”

“Fuck, what did you just call me?” He suddenly stops his ministrations and you almost sob in frustration as your teetering peak is pulled away from you. You stare at him, eyes fogged from your heat and confusion. Didn’t he want you to call him by his first name? He kisses you then, kicking off his briefs. It’s more intense than earlier, if that were even possible. He’s between your legs and you feel something smooth prod at your slippery entrance.

“B..baby?”

“Shit, call me that from now on, sweet girl.” His words are punctuated by a shallow swing of his hips against you, length sliding against your thigh. He’s staring into your eyes, they’re blown and dark to an animalistic degree; his hair is disheveled into beautiful chaos by your own hands. He’s intimidating to say the least, and yet something about him was eagerly welcoming you in. If Santa existed then you’d hoped you would see Satoru wrapped under your tree for Christmas. By gods was he beautiful.

“Who’s making you feel good, baby?”

“Satoru is?” Your questioning tone has him rasping out a humorous gasp between a sloppy kiss and he’s moaning into the next one.

“Fuck yeah, call out to me.” He’s massaging the fat of your breasts, running his fingers along your sides soothingly, squeezing along the plush of your tummy, kissing your face, your lips, your neck. Finally he’s back to persistently penetrating your gummy insides. The slick walls can’t decide whether to suck him up or push him out, and his dick thrums with want at the thought of feeling you around him. Satoru sits on his haunches, your lower half thrown over his own, and if he moved even a little bit he could insert himself into you if he was so inclined. Instead, he’s watching you writhe under his touch, fingering you without a care for your overstimulation. Rubbing his spare hand across your clit, skilled digits flat as they rub impossibly fast against it.

“Mmm, ha,” you pant, tears pricking the corner of your eyes, “ah wait!” The pounding motion of his fingers going in and out of you grows into that intensity once again. Pounding. Pounding and pounding as he’s rubbing your sensitive bud with no sign of letting up. “Satoru please! Something weird is happening. Ungh!” Your voice peaks almost pathetically, and he’s laughing at you. Your writhing is amusing and so attractive to him he doesn’t know if he should be euphoric or in disbelief.

“Haha, look at you! You said you wouldn’t cum! You’re almost there aren’t you? You wanna cum, Miss?” He’s throbbing against your backside, sliding in any way he can against you. Desperate for sweet friction but determined to ensure that this isn’t about him. Wet beads of precum staining the skin where the head of his member slides freely. “Cum for me? Don’ be scared you’re just cummin’. Are you tellin’ me you’ve never felt this before?” You shake your head profusely, and grab his wrist to find purchase. He doesn’t stop, his pounding almost bruising. Finally his fingers speed up just right against your clit and the small shriek that tumbles past your sobbing makes him choke out an obscenely loud moan. It sounds pornographic and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was the one being brutally pleasured. Despite barely any stimulation he was clearly as fucked out as you were, and he practically cums when a massive wave of sparkling slick splatters across his abdomen. It paints his wrist, his abs, his face, your thighs. Fat tears fall from your drunk eyes and he’s moaning again, “oh fuck-“ sorry, sorry, sorry, “you just squirted on me!” He’s laughing out loud, and your embarrassment makes you want to run away. That hasn’t happened before, I’m sorry! Gojo lays you down once again, his fingers barely leave your tight cavern.

“I’ve never done that before.” Your pathetic whining from embarrassment nearly sends him over the edge, “oh my god I’m so sorry!”

“No, no, no, awe, baby.” He’s cooing, kissing you once again, “uh uh, no apologizing, that was so sexy I almost came just from the sight of it.” you’re moaning some more at his soothing.

“It was good, baby?

“So good, sweetheart.” his fingers slow to a stop. He brings them to his lips, gingerly

sucking them clean. His vulgar display has you clench around nothing. Satoru then positions his erection flush against your lower lips.

“Wait, Satoru, I’ve never...” Your voice trails off and he sucks in a sharp breath eyes practically rolling to the back of his skull as he waits for you to finish your sentence, “I haven’t gone all the way.” You mewl when he pulls away to smack his hardness across the sputtering wetness.

“Shit I’m gonna cum, you’re gonna make me cum.” He’s panting, and the state of his disheveled hair and flushed cheeks brings a pang to your heart. “I wasn’t gonna put it in, can I just feel you?” He licks the tears that escape from your eyes, and sucks on your desperate lips. His own desperation manifested in the form of shallow ruts against your overstimulated pussy. You nod, spreading your legs to welcome him further into your embrace. He tries not to let surprise take over his features as you reach out your hand to lay flat over his sliding prick. You apply pressure, and the both of you groan as a result. With you pressing his throbbing erection against your plushy folds as he slides back and forth it provides a sweet relief he’d been desperately needing. He was shameless in voicing his noises of pleasure, he was so sensitive considering it’d been a long time for him as well. Your noisy slick sloshing and creating a mess of you both fills the room. “God, this pussy is the best. So good baby.” His rutting picks up in pace, he tenderly holds your face just to kiss you hard. You’re both moaning into each other, noises filling his space so naturally.

Slip and slide.

Slipping and sliding.

Your lower halves dance with each other so agonizingly, and you find yourself pushing him back to grind yourself on him. “Satoru I’m close again, ah.” Your head is thrown back, it’s as if you’re a siren calling out to him and he can’t keep his eyes off of you. Your features are cast in the dazzling lights of his tree. “Ah, ngh, ah!” You lean down, hands splayed across his pale chest, breasts scrunching together and he almost thrusts into you. He grabs your thighs, rocking you harder onto him. His groaning and grunting as your sweat and juices flow freely between you makes your slippery descent all the more intense. It’s sudden, your orgasm wracks through your entire body, “oh fuck!” You lean down to desperately kiss him, and he finds it adorable. You’re so cute and as he’s swiveling his hips upwards to chase his own high he lets you know.

“So cute baby, so good for me. Cum all over me that’s right, I’m gonna cum too.” You were an affectionate and kissy partner, everything he’d ever wanted.

“Cum for me,” you kiss him again, sucking on his bottom lip and then you bite it hard drawing back with a pop, “cum for me, baby.” He’s about to, his eyes roll back into his skull, but before he can you’re pulling away and making your way down his figure this time. You lick a thick stripe of saliva from his heavy balls all the way up to the tip of his swollen prick. You take him in easily, mouth being stuffed impossibly full. You’d been wanting this all night, to feel him down the back of your throat.

Gojo was big, and you knew there was no way you’d be able to fit all of him into your mouth. That certainly didn’t stop you from trying, and as you’re sputtering and choking on him he gasps in encouragement. He’s seeing stars regardless, tensing to keep from spilling down your throat immediately. He steals a glance at your bobbing head, your timid freshly manicured fingers wrapped around the base of his cock and pumping what your mouth can’t take. It’s too much, and with only a couple measly thrusts he’s spilling into your mouth.

“What are you an angel?!” He’s gasping, moaning like a porn star once again. Although you didn’t know much about him, Gojo being loud in bed somehow just made sense. “Shit take it, take it, take it.” He’s fucking his seed into your mouth, you attempt to breathe heavily through your nose and suppress as many gagging noises as you can. It’s sloppy, and bubbling past your lips and Gojo can’t stop himself. Drunk on you, drunk on the feeling of your lips; nether and otherwise against his dick. “Fuck I think I love you baby, holy shit you’re the best.” He’s rambling and you try not to let his fucked out confession freak you out. Rather than dwell on his pillow talk, you make a show of swallowing his load, sticking your tongue out once you’ve finished. “Shit come here, gimme a kiss sweetheart.” He’s grabbing you by the shoulders, pulling you to straddle him. You lean in to kiss him, the intensity from your orgasm fizzling out as you languidly rub your swollen lips together. You taste bitter and sweet at the same time, an almost dangerous combination for Satoru. The kiss you both share is dizzying, raw lips drawing together just to keep feeling each other. He sucks on your tongue and fondles your breasts some more, his hands having felt lonely without you in them. You think to yourself that if he did love you after one night of fooling around that you might be okay with it.

“Did you really enjoy it, Satoru?” You ask, but he doesn’t even need to answer. Not when he is gazing back at you with half lidded eyes, a lazy smile, sloppy hair, and a flushed chest, neck, and face. His lithe hands rub your sides in comfort, your shoulders in appreciation, your hips in adoration.

“Gimme another kiss, sweetheart.” And you do, with no hesitation. It’s languid, romantic even. “Shit, wanna go again?”

“I have to go home, Satoru, next time though.” His dumb smile has you bashfully looking away. When he reaches his pinky out in front of you, you grasp it.

“Promise?”

“Promise.” There would be a next time? He’s stupidly elated just thinking about such a promise. You’re grinning to yourself, without realizing it you stroke his hand soothingly. Fingers intertwining, there’s another feeling between the both of you blossoming.

“So, about your Christmas plans?”

❄️

Satoru offered to give you a ride home once you’d both sobered up and you happily accepted. Before leaving, he was attentive, making sure your body was okay, that you weren’t sore anywhere. Tentative fingers brushed over your body with a dampened and warm washcloth, cleaning any mess that was made. He located your discarded clothes, handing them to you minus the pair of panties you came with. They were conveniently misplaced but your brain was so foggy that you didn’t care. He was clearly the best sexual partner you’d ever had, and you hoped that the good chemistry would be a constant among the both of you.

The drive back was light, there wasn’t an awkward atmosphere, rather he seemed to be in a great mood and it rubbed off on you. You’re looking out the window, rosy cheeks scrunched into a giddy smile. His hand rested on your thigh, a caring thumb ran soothing circles in place. It was snowing again, the tiny flakes melted as they landed on the window. When you pull into your driveway for the final time, your hand meets his own where it rested.

“I had a really good time.” you admit, although it was rather obvious. You sound hesitant like you weren’t sure how he would act around you now that everything was said and done. He didn’t like it. He brings your laced fingers up to his mouth, kissing your knuckles as he holds it against his cheek.

“We could have a better time tomorrow.” You smile and look away again.

“I don’t know…” but you don’t pull your hand away, instead you bring yourself closer to him. You peer at him, biting your bottom lip nervously. “Isn’t that too soon?”

“Never.”

“Hmmm…” you look at your house. The lights are off inside, your rooms window is at the front of the house on the second floor and you can see that it’s still on. You roll your eyes fondly, of course Eve was still awake. She confirms that by peeking her head out of your curtain, she spots Gojo’s car and immediately shuts it. “Well, I’d love to.”

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetheart.” He kisses your hand again and you think to yourself that you wished he would just kiss you again. As if reading your mind he gently cups your face and brings you in for one. It’s languid, and while it wasn’t meant to be deep it naturally evolved into something bordering on intense. He can’t get enough of you, his insatiable lips ravage yours and you crawl into his lap across the way. He leans his seat back, pleased with the steamy development, and his hands go from caressing your face to traveling down your back and finally down to grope the plump of your backside. You whimper, but continue the lip lock. Your tongue experimentally traces his bottom lip and he groans, opening up for you to explore him again. He’s rutting his hips up, it isn’t serious by any means he had no actual desire to take it any further than that. You grind down on him, your movement turning sloppy. Before things can blossom into anything else, you pull away, a string of saliva snapping between the both of you. His hands are still on your ass, and yours are in his hair. He’s flushed, panting, and you can’t help but kiss him again. Your neediness makes him laugh but reciprocates all the same. He was so messy but the way he handled you was absolute perfection. You break apart, finally, and you look behind you to make sure no one else is around. Paranoid your family might see you.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.” You finally say, departing from his warmth painfully. You leave then, closing his car door gently as you do. You look behind you and wave, he’s smiling while resting his chin on his toned arms.. They’re folded over his steering wheel while he watches you go inside. He waves back, a little shake of his wrist and you finally disappear into the warmth of your home. The walk of shame (at a less than appropriate hour) was surprisingly not as bad as it could have been. No one is up to catch you other than your mother in the kitchen, she’d gotten up for a midnight snack and met you while you were putting the dishes in the sink. They’d be tomorrow's problem.

“How was it dear?” She asks gently, sliding a glass of hot chocolate your way.

“Good, we watched some Christmas specials over dinner and talked for a bit.” you know that it shouldn’t have taken you this long to get back, and she knows that too, but she smiles and nods along.

“That sounds wonderful, we’ll invite him over next time.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“I’m sure he’d love that.” You smile back at her, you would love that too. You sip your cocoa until it’s gone, chatting with your mother about unimportant things. She retires before you do, and you quietly make your way up to your room. Your creaking footsteps cause you to cringe, and as soon as you’re twisting the doorknob your friend jumps up from her spot on your bed.

“Fucking finally, oh my god tell me everything!”

a/n: erm would y'all let gojo go down on u the first day u met him?

◼️yes

◼️definitely

◼️absolutely

i scattered different references to a few christmas songs so i hope y’all catch em :3 merry xmas and happy holidays hope y'all enjoyed ~🐇🎄❄️

header by @strangergraphics 🖤

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slxtarchive · 11 hours ago

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𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 … you found babysitting your neighbor sam’s daughter much more enjoyable than you anticipated …

✦ … from mr. golbach

hi yn, it’s sam. by any chance could you come over and babysit libby for a little bit? possibly until midnight, a work meeting came up. i’d really appreciate it. let me know.

you looked at the message, quickly replying back with a ‘for sure’ before packing a small bag. you and sam had been neighbors for almost a year now and you had occasionally helped him out by watching his daughter if he ever needed help.

you walked over toward his house internally looking forward to seeing his daughter again. she was super cute just like how any two year old was. you had also thought about seeing sam too. you didn’t really realize it but you had grown really fond of sam.

the way he carried himself always trying to be the best for his daughter. the way he was so polite and respectful towards you. you sighed just thinking about seeing him right now.

you shook away your thoughts as you finally found yourself in front of his door. you put your hair behind your ear moving it out of the way as you knocked on the door.

like lightning speed you saw sam open the door and give you a polite smile. “hey, thank you for coming on short notice.” he moved to the side to let you walk in.

your heart was beating out of your chest. “yeah its no problem. i dont usually work saturdays.” you smiled walking inside his house taking a look around before turning toward sam.

he closed the door behind and escorted you to the living room. “okay so libby is taking a nap right now in her room but she should wake within the next hour or so.” he looked over at the fridge. “take whatever you need of course. my house is your home.” he licked his bottom lip before scanning you up and down so quickly you doubted if he actually did it.

you gulped before nodding. “thank you.”

he nodded before grabbing his keys and heading toward the door. “you can always give me a call if anything, alright?”

you set your bag down and nodded watching him walk out of the house, close the door, and lock it.

you sighed thinking about your interaction. yn don’t even think about it, he’s a father! you told yourself.

you couldn’t help the way your legs felt like jello around him. his mature attitude and pretty face. his sculpted body… the way he moved, displaying his muscles and toned lines. the nurturing way he took care of his daughter but then the way he would just call you up so that he could take time for himself at the gym.

you don’t know what the case was but that it intrigued you.

you pulled yourself out of your thoughts going to check on libby. she was still asleep so you decided to just sit beside her until she woke.

it was pretty tame the rest of the night. no trouble at all with libby. she woke up and you just played with her the whole time. you always found it easy to entertain her and yourself.

it was about to hit 12 am when you had finally set libby down to sleep and got slightly startled when you heard the front door open. you then relaxed knowing it was sam so you started tidying up libby’s toys placing them back in her toy box when you felt his presence behind you. “is she asleep?”

you turned around and nodded putting the last of her toys in the box before getting up and switching on the baby monitor. you then tiptoed out of the room and closed the door slightly.

you finally turned to see an exhausted sam with a lazy smile. “thank you so much yn. i don’t know what id do without you.” he ran hands through his hair and walked toward the stairs than toward the kitchen.

you waved him off following behind him. “it’s honesty no problem. she’s an angel.”

he nodded in agreement before glancing at the clock. “i’m back earlier than i thought. wanna stick around for a drink maybe?” his voice wavered but you ignored it. “i could open a bottle of wine if you’d like? seems only fair, you’ve been here all evening.”

you hesitated before nodding. “yeah sure, that would be lovely thank you.”

he smiled internally grateful you took him up on his opportunity. he poured two glasses of wine before passing one toward you. you grabbed it thanking him before following to where he was headed.

he strolled to the living room switching on the baby monitor before sitting on the couch and patting the spot beside him.

you sat a good distance away from him feeling a bit nervous. you and sam had never actually taken the time to talk or speak to him in a setting where it was just you two with no rush or no where to be but like lightning speed, the conversation had a flow instantly.

sam started talking about the challenges of being a single parent and how it’s difficult not having a motherly figure there in libby’s life. you listened intently making sure to make him feel like what he was saying was important because it was.

then, he asked you about your life. about what you like to do, what you’re doing right now, and your future plans. you told him pretty much everything. letting yourself spill every detail because for some reason you felt so safe with sam. you didn’t know why but all you knew was that you felt you could tell him anything and he would understand and make you feel heard.

at one point, sam looked at the clock and it had been almost 2 hours of you talking and getting to know each other. “oh shit.. it’s really late.”

you widened your eyes. “oh my gosh — im so sorry. i didn’t realize.” you said quietly wondering how has it been that long when it felt so short.

he shook his head laughing. “it’s okay i… i haven’t talked to someone like — truly had a real conversation in a while. it’s … really nice.” he made direct eye contact with you with a little glimmer in his eyes. his eyes were so beautiful. you felt entranced.

you returned the smile. “i’m really glad because i feel the same way.” you tried not to make your tone sound so… in love but you hardly succeeded.

it didn’t help that sam had spoken up again bringing you butterflies. “you know yn, i don’t think i’ve ever told you this but you’ve been such a huge help — more than i think you’re aware of.”

you didnt know if it was because you were slightly tipsy but you swore his drunken eyes looked at your lips for a few seconds. you tried to shake it off speaking faster than your mind could register. “well, i’m so happy to help, really. i.. i love being with libby and — well, you.”

as soon as you said that you felt stupid. why did you even say that, yn! oh gosh…

the room felt still and so quiet. the feel of the room was no longer as it was. it changed. you thought it changed for the worse until sam reached out and tucked your hair behind your ear like you had always had to do. “i like being here with you too.” his voice came out as a whisper. so soft and sultry you were practically drunk on him.

your voice hitched when you saw him move closer. the tension thick and undeniable now. your heart began to race rapidly while the space in between you both was disappearing by the second.

as you both were centimeters away from connecting your lips he spoke up. “i should thank you properly.” he whispered, his left hand on the coach and his right hand making its way toward the side of your face and neck itching to pull you closer. “if you’ll allow me of course.”

it was like he was waiting for some confirmation and you quickly obliged. “be my guest.” the words came out breathlessly.

that was all he needed before he leaned forward closing the distance between you both claiming your lips. it was soft and gentle at first but the longer it went on the more harsh and passionate it became. he was leaning forward practically pushing you down on the couch craving that dominance.

his hands roamed all over your body wanting to memorize everything about you. you couldn’t believe what was happening. it was like you were living a fever dream.

as fast as he kissed you, his lips left yours and started trailing toward your cheeks and down your neck. his breathing was heavy as he kept going lifting up your shirt and kissing your stomach.

you grabbed his hair loving the feeling of his warm lips in your skin. he grinned at the rough touch. “keep doin’ that.” he groaned, moving further and further. “can i make you feel good? for being so helpful?”

the way he looked up at you with those fuck me eyes had you practically wanting to beg but all you did was nod. “yes… yes.”

he licked his lips tugging on the sweats you wore. “m’gonna take of your clothes, m’kay?” you gulped, nodding nervously still mind blown that this was actually happening.

he pulled your sweats off slowly discarding them and tossing the em to the floor before moving to your underwear. he pressed to fingers directly on your center catching you off guard. you jumped with a moan as he kept that pressure there. “so wet.” he whispered through the dark — the only thing lighting up the area was the lamp on the end table behind you giving you a angelic view of sam’s face.

he wasted no time pulling the cotton covering hour center to the side and giving you a small kitten lick. your legs instinctively closed around his head feeling that small bit of pleasure. sam loved how you reacted to his touch because it gave him an opportunity to move his hands so that he had to forcefully spread your legs open.

he kept his hands there until he realized he’d have to fully remove your underwear. he tutted, “now i gotta take this off.. gotta be a good girl for me so i can be the best for you. can you do that?” the tone in his voice making you want to arch your back.

you tugged your underwear down before sam replaced your hands and pulled it down for you. he disregarded them and threw them where he tossed your sweats. finally he was able to nudge your thighs apart your pretty pussy. “can’t wait to taste you.” he muttered getting closer and closer.

you felt his breath as he spoke against your pussy. he then blew air from his mouth on your clit watching how you clenched and bucked your hips up. a little whine escape your perfect lips causing his dick to twitch. “wanted this for so long.” he whispered to himself. you barely registered what he said before he wrapped his lips around your clit using his tongue to gently nudge it in circles.

the grip you had on his hair grew tighter as the pleasure made your thighs slightly shake. he was really good at this.

he kept this up for a good minute bringing you closer and closer to that edge when you saw his hand move from your thigh to your center. he swirled his middle finger in your arousal before smearing it all over your clit and licking it off.

you moaned at the sight scooting yourself further toward him wanting more of his touch. he smiled at how needy you’ve become giving you exactly what you wanted but a bit more.

he inserted his finger inside you slowly pumping it in and out while also keeping up his tongue on your clit. you pushed his hair back wanting to see him as he pleasure you. you bit your lip as he pushed another finger into you. “y-yes… fuck.” you whimpered, feeling your abdomen tighten. he was doing so good your eyes began to water.

you had become so overwhelmed to the point where you found yourself grinding against his tongue. his hand clenched around your thigh as he picked up the pace of his fingers. “how bad do you need to cum, baby? God, you taste so good.”

your eyes were furrowing and you fought the urge to close your eyes. “need it so bad…” you pressed your lips, feeling his tongue on your clit become so overstimulating. that rubber band in your stomach desperately wanting to snap. “please please please.” you moaned repeatedly.

he sucked your clit into his mouth harshly not slowing his fingers down at all, that alone sending you over the edge. “holy shit!” you threw your head back as your orgasm completely crashed into you catching you off guard.

although sam knew you had finally reached your orgasm, he refused to stop his antics. he hadn’t had enough of you. he was drunk on you. “can’t stop, jus’ taste so fuckin’ good.” he moved his mouth all over, loving how he had writhing beneath him.

you felt the overstimulation get to you causing those tears to spill. “fuck — too much sam! oh shit …” you tried to push his head away but he gripped your legs open.

the pornographic noises eliciting another orgasm from you. “hurts so fucking good.” you groaned, feeling yourself reaching your next peak.

“c’mon, gimme another one, baby. cum on my tongue.” he groaned against your lower lips.

you shook your head squeezing your eyes shut as his words drove you to that edge. your legs shook and tried closing around his head as you came. you felt hot and dizzy as that wave of ecstasy washed over you. your back arched as you tried pushing away from him.

he had a shit-eating grin on his face as he spoke. “goood girl.” he talked you through. “that’s it… that’s it.” he slowed down his actions wanting to smooth the process of you calming down from the orgasm.

after a few seconds, he smiled up at you crawling back up your body. “tell me you’ll let me do that again…” he begged. you raised your brows in surprise. “after i take you to dinner?” he proposed.

you tried to hide your smile failing miserably. “are you saying you’d like to see me outside of babysitting?”

he laughed kissing your neck lightly before pulling away. “been wanting to since i saw ya.”

“that makes me happy to hear.” you grinned.

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mahou-furbies · 2 days ago

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First impressions on Champignon Witch

This manga isn't really magical girls, but there is a witch in it (duh) and no way I'm not gonna talk about it. I saw this in a compilation of anime that's coming out in 2025 and from the promo art alone I knew this was going to be my manga (from the mushroom witch hat with ornate decorations), and so far it has lived up to expectations.

The story is set in a fairytale style world, where the black witch Luna lives in her little mushroom house in a forest with her magic familiars, and makes various powerful medicine out of poisonous mushrooms. People fear and hate her because she emits poison, and even the few merchants who will do business with her and treat her in a friendly way wear protective items around her and will scrub clean everything she has touched after she leaves. Luna continues to create medicine for the townspeople though, because she has few other ways to feel connected to other people outside seeing everyone all happy about the anonymous source's cures, even if she knows that nobody would want them if they knew they came from the poison witch. Also unbeknownst to the normies the poison she radiates is actually beneficial, because she involuntarily sucks up this vague evil bad vibe energy around her, and turns it into a more manageable form.

The first volume or so is spent following Luna's life, and it isn't until later when she finds the turbo poisoned boy Lis, somewhat cures him and takes him as an apprentice that the main story actually starts. The council of the black witches wants to kill him, because it is speculated that his poisoning will eventually take over and he'll cause large scale ruination, and only allow a limited time for Luna to teach him to manage his own poison.

I like how the whole series has a rather somber tone, which mostly comes from the characters wanting and failing to be close to one another, and trying to make peace with having to give up on someone. Like Luna has lost several of her black witch friends to witch hunt executions. The story also has a difficult relationship with love, since love is "poisonous" to black witches and messes up their magic, and also Luna has to live in isolation anyway. But it doesn't seem like this is a "love conquers all" kind of romance, because it has a side character give a speech on how it's condescending of outsiders to think that life without love is somehow incomplete.

I really like Luna, aside from the lovely character design she also has sweet quiet personality and it's easy to root for her to get through her self esteem troubles. I also like that she is already an experienced witch at the start and not a newbie who is baffled by everything. I'd say my biggest complaint about the story is that lately it has been a lot more about characters other than Luna, I wish she'd come back to the spotlight soon!

Since Luna's character design is what drew me to this in the first place, I was extremely happy that she wears a lot of memorable "medieval fantasy" type outfits. Quite many of them in fact, she has a new one almost every chapter! And sometimes multiple in the same chapter! And you know how I often like to draw collections of animu outfits with the character standing there in a neutral pose, here the author has done my job for me because almost every chapter ends with a good reference image full body pics of the major characters' new clothes! Even the ones that only appear once on a cover! It's like this was made for me.

Finally it should be mentioned that eventually Lis falls in love with Luna; it's somewhat complicated how old he is because he keeps getting aged down by magic so he is chronologically older than how he looks (and so is Luna for that matter, this is a "magic people stop aging" kinda series), but if that's a dealbreaker to you then maybe steer clear.

#champignon witch #champignon no majo #first impressions

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clownboy-yeehonk · 10 months ago

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#so my grandma died #its ok bc shes been sorta fading for a while we knew it was coming sooner rather than later #the aide said she was talking to my grandpa last night and hes been dead since 2014 #and its nice to think that he came to come pick her up #funerals are always weird bc were not a very dramtically emotional family so its a lot of talking about the details #what hymns she wanted where the repasse should be what food theyll be serving what were all wearing #and its funny bc my grandma was a penultimately particular woman who wrote down precisely what she wanted done #down to the shoes she wants to be buried in as if anyone is going to see her feet #but GOD forbid she walks through the pearly gates BAREFOOT she could never #she died in the middle of the night and my dad joked that she probably did that so it wouldnt be a big scene in the middle of the day #when they came to take her body from the house #and on one hand like dad that is your MOTHER #but also objectively hes probs not wrong she would have hated a big scene in the middle of the day with neighbors watching #and i gotta request time off work and im asking my managers how i submit the request and i dont wanna say SORRY bc like its my dead grandma #but also ya i was supposed to be training a new girl this week at work 🙃#like obviously were all really sad but theres so much to get done that you end up discussing all the details #shes def in a better place like i do believe shes with my grandpa again and she went peacefully and thats very much a blessing #but i have no idea what im gonna wear to this thing #and that feels like a dumb thing to fixate on! but alas #here we are

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dirt-str1der · 2 years ago

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Ocs can be so special and not reflective of yourself in any way

#Listen to my problems #just remembered that yancy has night terrors well into adulthood and he lives alone in a big house because his parents didnt want to move to #central city with him. and he doesnt sleep until he has to he stays awake in his kitchen drinking beer and crying sometimes just because #and when veronica moved in she would sleep on the sofa and take care of him at night ... (veronica has nightmares sometimes too...)#she had a major freakout about her missing eye and shes still steeped in paranoia that theyre gonna find her (unspecified they)#she doesnt like touching people much but she hugs him and only him and lets him give her silly nicknames .. x #and sol .. then sol came home with yancy ... and sol came into yancys room (yancy likes him a lot ...) and they would hold each other at #night simply because theyre both warm bodies #yancy doesnt know that hes just a machine .. sol was so much more to him. before he was gears and wires he was yancys friend ...#yancy is Callous about the wires. he forgets sometimes he loves machines but more than that he loves sol ... you see .... he is a cool #machine but theyre best friends they like each other ..#hes yancys bodyguard he takes care of him throughout the day and throughout the night #person by person yancys big house starts to fill up ..#just realised something funny. sol and grace are from the same hitman agency. sol choked yancy out and tried to break his neck before he #hired him and grace was invited to come over by sol and as soon as she stepped into the house she was chased around with a knife by veronica #like both of them tried to kill their special one thats really funny #i say special one because sol is yancys special one but grace and vero are literally just girlfriends who have sex

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bi-writes · 1 month ago

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an eye for an eye | knight!ghost x f!reader

your husband bends to your will. men must learn from difficult lessons how far that bending goes.

type: a continuation of a hand for a hand, but can be read stand-alone (11.6k)

cw: 1600s au, dark!ghost, reader described as curvier/plus-sized, graphic depictions of war + violence, possessive!ghost, war-criminal!ghost, inaccurate historical settings probably, unprotected piv, cumplay, breeding kink, size kink, simon "i'd do anything for my wife no matter the devasting consequences" riley (18+)

Your husband has an insatiable appetite. Such a big man he is; he towers over you, so much so that you must tip your head back always to look up at him. You had to make many arrangements in your house to accommodate his hunger–a pantry stocked full of eggs and less fabric for your skirts.

Your house isn’t like others. Neither you nor Ghost have ever lived in luxury. When he showed you your home for the first time, you had shaken your head–you didn’t believe that such a large place was supposed to be yours, and even now, sometimes you feel like a stranger, out of place when the maids ask you what you want for supper or where you’d like to take your afternoon tea. You don’t like the fuss, the asking, the women that curtsy when you come near, concentrated over the creases in your skirts or the loose thread of your sleeve or the wispy hairs that fall out of your braids. You are told all the time that you must behave like a duchess, that you must poise yourself with your new title and your new money, and you must do the things that duchesses do–but no one says the same to your husband.

He is still allowed to sleep in the barracks. Lick the blood off his gauntlets. Polish his sword in the dirt. He’s still allowed to be everything that you cannot be anymore, he still lives the life he had before.

He still kills; and he is still very, very good at it.

Your queen told you in a letter that the king is very pleased. Ever since your union, Ghost has been quite the conqueror. Bloodthirsty and very determined, your husband has been taking his men across the water. He is not any less impressive off land. Not even the pirates have tried to negotiate; they bend the knee or taste the salt water. You breathe shakily when you read your queen’s letters—her praise for your husband’s conquests, how blessed your family will be and how valuable you are to the crown, how grateful she is that Ghost is no longer a fiend in court but rather a little more polite and a little quieter.

All for your sake. Ghost’s name is now your own, and he refuses to embarrass you now that you have it.

You won’t lie; the bodies that Ghost has stacked since you’ve been wed do not scare you. He’s doing it for you. He has never said it out loud, never told you so, but you know it. He wants to show you what kind man that he is, what kind of soldier—you know he’s trying to prove himself worthy. If he killed a thousand men to have you, how many will he slaughter to keep you?

He sends you letters of his own. Not many, but he does send letters, and while Ghost seems to be ineloquent and entirely too brutish, he has quite the voice when he writes.

To my wife,

The sun falls quicker here. I’d like to come home. Tell me of your day, and I will tell you of mine. There were a fleet of ships that came to meet us at dawn. When we sank three, they begged for us to spare the rest.

I have you to think about now. So I burned them.

Simon

A poet, your beloved.

He signs his real name in his letters. Your eyes skim over most of it–you don’t even blink when he tells you what he does to them. Sometimes he writes in great detail about the screams of a hundred souls, the way burning flesh smells, the taste of dirt in a new place when you know it is finally yours. He doesn’t like having secrets. He tells you all his thoughts, even if they might scare you, because you are his wife, and he has discovered quite quickly that you have been cut from the same cloth.

Even when he is home, and he tells you these things all over again, he can’t help the way his cock hardens when you merely blink and ask him if he has added any scars to his collection.

Ravenous, naughty little duchess, and you are all his. He knows he picked well–he knows, he knows he wasn’t wrong when he saw you across the throne room hiding behind his queen, he knows now that he was right about what he saw in your eyes.

You do hate when he’s away. You’re not used to the maids helping you dress, and you secretly abhor the help. That is why when you hear the shuffle of your house early in the morning, your heart thuds in your chest knowing he’s home.

The staff get antsy when Simon is around. He is very good at keeping an estate for someone that has never had to or ever been taught to, but he leaves the responsibilities with you and only you every time he goes. He doesn’t trust anyone else to do it, and every time he comes back, he makes you sit on one big thigh as he teaches you something new that you need to remember for when he goes away. He demands much of those he employs, and they are eager to please him. Whether it is because they respect him or are afraid of him, you aren’t sure.

Perhaps it’s both.

You sit up as the bedroom door opens. You smile, big and wide and sleepy as he steps into the room. He shuts the door with his boot, slipping his hood off, and you sigh as he grips the clasp of his mask and unhooks it. He tosses it onto the floor, bare-faced, and as he makes his way towards the bed, he sheds the rest of his clothes until he’s completely naked.

You cannot stop yourself from the shaky breath you take. He is all muscle and fat, strong and entirely too scary, but it’s hard to focus on what he really is when he stands before you like this. He has fat thighs, big shoulders, carved muscle of intense labor around his middle and along his biceps. He has large hands with calloused palms and split knuckles, and your eyes meet his own as he comes closer. He’s so gorgeous, even with a face like that. He has a long scar that stretches from one brow to his lower jaw, another that cuts his nose and splits his lip, but those eyes are dark and lovely, and you can’t help the warmth that comes over you when he catches you staring at him, closer, right to his cock that hangs heavy between his legs.

Just as he begins to lower himself onto the bed, you hold out a hand, giggling.

“Simon, if you think you are getting into this bed without a proper bath, you’re mistaken!” You laugh, and he raises a brow.

“Mmm…” He smacks his lips together. “Tha’ right, my lady?” He clicks his tongue. “This is my bed. ’s oll mine. Every blanket…every pillow…” He grips your ankle from under the covers and yanks you towards him. “And every part of you.”

You giggle again, shaking your head, “Please, Simon!” You push him away with your toes. “They only changed the sheets yesterday. You’ll dirty them…” You flutter your lashes. “Will you bathe if I join you?”

He grins wide, licking over his teeth.

“Can’t refuse an offer like tha’.”

You hold out your hand for him, and he takes it gently. You watch as he brings your knuckles towards his mouth, and you bite back a smile when he decides to kiss each one, slow. He tugs finally, pulling you up, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he hoists you up into his arms. You would worry about your weight normally, but Simon holds you so easily, barely even a grunt as he wraps your legs around his middle. You don’t waste another second, cupping his cheeks in your hands and kissing him softly.

It’s never just a kiss with Simon. He slides one of his hands up your back, into your hair, and you whine as he tips your head back just enough to slip his tongue into your mouth. Simon doesn’t just kiss, he consumes. What he did to get back to you, the things he endured, the places he has seen and the bodies he has buried and burned and scattered across the places he now calls country, it’s always to get back to this place.

To you.

“How’s my boy?” He asks when you pull away. He carries you to another room, to where the tub sits, and he rings a bell by the door to call the maids in. You snatch a robe off a hook and cover him with it as he sits with you, but all he does is put a few fingers under your chin and make you look at him again. “Oi. Asked ya question, luv.”

Your lip wobbles a little, and you look away.

“I…” You wait until the maids have gone to fetch hot water to tell him. “I bled while you were gone. I…” You smooth your hands over the robe, distracting yourself. “I’m…I’m sorry, Simon.”

You close your eyes as he leans close, resting his forehead against yours, and you shake a little as he lets out a warm breath against your lips. He moves a warm hand over your soft stomach, cupping you there, and you lean your head back a little at the tender touch.

“It will happen,” he says finally, and your mouth opens to respond, but he sticks his thumb between your lips to shut you up. He doesn’t want to hear you blame yourself. If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s his, for not being here with you, for not be able to take care of you. You give in, suckling on the salt of him, and he grits his teeth as he watches you. “I know. Seen it in m’dreams.”

Simon has dreams. Lots of dreams, but he tells you that they are not dreams, they are glimpses into something that has already happened. When you asked if he was some kind of seer, the kind that the king used to have at parties, Simon doesn’t laugh.

He says the dreams are why he knows he won’t die. Why he is never afraid, because he knows somewhere behind his eyes what’s to come even if he didn’t see the entire painting of it. It is why he knew he would marry you; it is why he paid you so much attention, why he knew he would win his battles, why he always knows whose blood it is in his mouth because he has tasted their death before and relishes in the knowing of it all, in the certainty.

It’s never I think, it is always I know, and Simon is nothing if he is not the most honest man that you know.

So if he says you will have his babe, it is as good as truth. As green as the grass grows beneath his feet, as blue as his sky, and as red as the blood that is caked underneath his nails.

When the tub is filled with water, you let Simon sink into it first. You kneel beside it, picking up a glass of oil, pouring it into your palms before sinking your hands into his hair. It’s gotten longer since he left, in need of a cut, but you smile when he leans his head back into your shoulder. You can feel his content as he relaxes into you, and you admire his physique as you use the warm water and scrub the mud and grime off of him.

“I missed you, husband,” you whisper, and he only lets you massage his hair for a few more moments before he grips you by the wrist and tugs you forward, right into the bath. “Simon!” you laugh, “my night dress—oh!—it’s ruined!”

“Too far away,” he mutters, practically ripping the silk off of you as he tosses it besides the bath. “Mmm…” He cups your breasts with two big hands, smoothing his thumbs over your nipples, and you whine a little as he pulls at them just enough to make them stiffen. “Y’should be naked when I come home,” he says lowly. “I’ll soil y’r bloody gown next time, m’lady.”

You giggle, and he smiles. A real smile. As real as he’ll ever give anyone, maybe the only one that anyone has ever even seen. He has never shown his face in court, and while it angers the women and irks the men, you revel in the fact that all of this is only for you.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

You kiss him softly. The water sloshes, warm and inviting, and sometimes you forget your life used to be anything but joy. A year ago, you would not believe that you would be here, titled, wealthy, in a stone room lit by candles bathing with a blood hungry ghost.

A year ago, you trembled whenever he looked at you. You cowered when you heard his footsteps. What a stupid little girl you had been. What a fool. She had no idea what she could have, the kinds of things she could hold in her hand.

Real power wasn’t being able to command a room with your words. Real power was being able to say anything and have it be believed as truth. Real power was making someone look in one direction and have them see what you see, even if what you see isn’t real.

He lays you down in your bed afterward and eats. Your wet hair soaks the sheets, but you can’t seem to be really bothered as he fits your legs over his shoulders and bends you at the waist, his mouth suctioned to your clit as he eats you slowly. One of his hands is spread out over your tummy, the other you can hear making a squelch as he fists his own cock. It’s slow and methodical, and he slides his tongue between your folds firm, catching what dribbles from you on the tip of his tongue before he swallows it and leans in for more.

He has eaten you in nearly every room in your house. Frightened the cooks tossing you onto the dining table, given a servant a scare as he ducked under your skirts in the library, had the gardeners fleeing as he dropped you onto the grass near the lake and disappeared with a frenzy to eat your cunt during sunrise. It’s maddening, the kind of need that Simon requires, but it’s hard to refuse when you feel so warm and bubbly and happy after he’s finished. A pampered princess you are, never lifting a finger, only awake long enough when he’s home to eat until you’re full and cum until you fall asleep again.

Maybe that’s why you’re not pregnant yet. Simon likes to be here, between your thighs, mouth fixed on your wet pussy until he’s practically exhausted himself with a sore jaw and lax tongue.

He kisses you sloppy after. Licking into your mouth, practically spitting onto your tongue, wanting you to taste—tastes so good, luvvie, don’t ya see, yeah?—wanting you to know why he’s so eager to be on his knees all the time.

You sniffle, a little dizzy, shaking your head.

“’s not what I really want,” is all you whimper, and he nods, because he knows, he always knows.

“I know, luv. I know wot ya really need.”

“I must be broken,” you sob, cradling his face in your hands, and he shakes his head.

“Not broken,” Simon assures you. He speaks so surely that it’s hard not to believe him. “It wasn’t time.”

“You can’t see the future, Simon! You don’t know!” You cry, and he snarls a little, shaking his head again.

“You listen t’me,” he growls. You shake a little as he grabs your face with one hand, fixing your jaw under his grip as he holds onto you firmly. “Wot I say goes. Y’r my wife, so listen t’me, and listen t’me good. Y’r not broken. Not time. Say it back t’me.”

Your lip trembles, and he rattles your head a little.

“Say it,” he snaps, and you hiccup.

“It’s not time,” you whisper, and he plants a fat kiss onto your tear-soaked lips.

“Just need my cock, luv,” he murmurs. “Tha’s oll. Just need me t’fuck it outta ya.”

You nod, pressing your face to his, and he tuts, reaching down and spreading your legs wide to accommodate him between them as he lays over you.

“’s oll y’need,” he repeats, and you nod again.

You have to take another bath in the same morning; and this time, you weren’t able to walk there.

You like when Simon is home because it’s quiet. The only one that dotes on you here is Simon. The maids do not dress you or do your hair or moisturize your skin. It’s always Simon.

You smile at him in the mirror as you sit at your vanity. He has a brush in one hand, and he’s using it delicately to detangle your hair how you like. His hands are practiced and gentle, and when he finishes, he leans over you as he starts to part your hair to braid it. He did not have sisters, but his mother had him always do her hair after she lost the use of her hands with age. You don’t know where his mother is, but you assume she is not here anymore, because he never invites you to meet her.

He oils your skin. He slips the robe off of you, revealing your damp skin from the bath, and he slathers oil in his hands before using it to soften your skin. He takes his time, smoothing those big hands over your shoulders, down your back, along your arms. You tilt your head back when he warms your breasts, squeezing and fondling your tits. He murmurs in your ear the entire time, and he has to fuck you with his fingers to quiet you when he stops because just his hands on your tits has you wet all over again.

He dresses you, too. Helps you slip into your undergarments, fastens the cage for your skirts over your hips. He ties them skillfully, and after he layers your skirts over the farthingale, he gets you into your corset. It’s intimate as he does this. Even with your wide skirt, he comes closer, over your shoulder, and he tugs at the laces at your back, pulling it tight with firm grunts. You sigh when he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his hand skimming over your breasts as they sit nice and perky between stiff fabric and whalebone.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “Fuck, unnerving…the way ya look…”

You close your eyes, “S-Simon, please…I’m already dressed…”

He chuckles, “I know. I know.”

But when he has to leave again, you nearly come with him. You fasten his armor for him, help him slip each piece of leather on and click every piece of metal into place. You tie his cloak and slip his mask on, and you try and duck your head when you flip his hood up, but he catches you, tilting your chin up.

He huffs when he sees your face. Tears sliding down your cheeks, lips wet with them, eyes all glassy and red. He draws you up onto your toes, pressing his mouth to yours through the mask, and you hold onto him tightly, digging your nails into his chest armor and threatening to not let go.

“I want to go.“

“No.”

“Simon, let me go,” You gasp, begging, gripping his hood in firm fists and not caring that his armor is cutting into your front. “Let me go with you, I can’t do this anymore, I want to go, I can do it.”

You aren’t sure if Simon underestimates you. You think it’s more that he does not want you to see him in a place where he is most true. Where he wears the least of a disguise. He does not know he wears it the least with you, and that you have already seen his blood and how it curdles under his skin. You like it that way. You like him angry…and mean…and terrible. You like him when his sword is dirty and his armor needs polishing and his mind thinks of nothing else besides war. He should know this by now. He should know that you see him and see what he is even more than his king, more than his men.

He couldn’t scare you, even if he tried.

“War is not where women go,” Simon snaps. His tone is harsh, even for you, and you stiffen when he grips you by the jaw and rattles your head a little. “Especially not one like you, my love. War would eat ya, eat ya fuckin’ whole. Look at ya…” He huffs, deep, sliding that gloved hand down your throat to slip it beneath the neckline of your dress and fondle your breast with a firm grip. “Beautiful. Meant for my lips…for these dresses…meant to be held in my hands, not bleed from stray arrows, because tha’ is surely the least of wot they would do t’ya if they knew ya were my wife. Now ya will wipe these tears, ‘n see me off, and then ya will come back inside like a good girl, ‘n you will wait for me here until I come back.”

Your bottom lip trembles, and you scowl up at him. Not indifference, but frustration, and Simon doesn’t think it suits you.

“I’m sick of waiting for you, Simon,” you spit. “It’s all I ever do, wait. Wait for you to come back, alive or dead, I never know. And don’t say you do this for country, that is a lie.” You shove him backwards, but he barely budges when your hands touch his chest, a rigid wall that does not give. “You do it because you like it. You’re a bloodthirsty dog, and all you do is bend to our king’s will.”

A lie, but you tell it anyways, because you want something, and he will not give it to you.

“That is my duty.”

“Your duty is to me,” you snap. “Kings come and go, but I will not.” Simon stills. He glares down at you from behind his mask, and perhaps this might terrify his men, but that you are not. You are his wife, and you are protected by that title alone. The only man to ever lay a hand on you would not live to see another second, himself included. “Now you will let me join you, or so help me God, Simon, I will not be here when you return.”

You do not expect the full-bellied laugh that leaves him. His armor shakes with him, and you grind your teeth, narrowing your eyes. He uses his thumb to force his mask up, and then he cups the back of your head and draws you in for a sloppy kiss. You resist at first, but when he feeds you his tongue, you melt. You kiss him back, letting him draw you closer, and you sigh as he tangles his fingers into your hair and cradles you with those big hands.

There is nothing more to say. Simon neither confirms nor denies, but you taste it in his mouth, his devotion. Not wrong, not right, but just so–he has many responsibilities, but you are the only one that will remain the same. One day, his king will die, and he will serve another, but the space you have made beside him will never change. Even when you die, because he knows you will go before him, there will never be someone else to fill it. You and you only, the woman he found and made his, the one he demanded lest he kill his own country for it, it will always be you. Soft and sweet, you are, but the Lord knew Simon could only have one woman, and he made it be you; the one spitfire enough to defy her own king because she trusted his love enough for it.

Would you commit treason to save his life? Would you watch a king die if it meant your beloved lived?

Would he?

He thinks about what you have said when he takes his fleet across the water. He runs his tongue over his teeth behind his mask, breathing deep when he thinks about your proclamations of duty. Of change. Of what remains when other things move, of the kind of life that waits for him when he comes and goes with a king’s order. He thinks about how easily he is taken away from you, and he knows there is truth in what you feel. It is not really Simon that sacrifices, it is what he leaves behind, and that is you.

It’s never angered him before. He had accepted the fact, as early as your wedding day, that he would leave and come back, then leave again. It has always been the way of his life, come desire or not, so it bothers him that of all the things that surprised him in his life, it would be missing someone that shocked him the most.

Missing his wife. Missing the serene perfection of one woman, and the perfect place between her soft thighs. Every day that he finds himself between them is the best day of his life, he reckons, so now he feels bitter about staring at a freezing ocean amongst his men because he will go weeks without her.

Her. Her. Her.

He is bitter, yes, until he is not.

It comes in a letter from a messenger on horseback. They have been stationed in a foreign land for weeks now, watching slowly as the stone walls of a castle at their front crumples day after day from the stones filled with powder that ignite what is wood and break what is rock. The letter is sealed with wax, with the motif of a snake. It is given directly to Simon, whose name is scribbled in the letter, and when he reads it, he tastes ichor and smoke.

So the great phantom has come to seal my fate. I am not in the business of letting what is mine be taken. Even if you have brought your all, it won’t be taken from me.

I heard you have a beautiful new wife. I heard you paid for her in blood.

I shall do the same. I will hang your sword above our marriage bed.

Ghost is not someone that bends to the threats from foe he cannot look in the eye. Words are so empty. It is nothing like when he stands just a few meters apart from them, eyes fixed against one another, as they decide whether today they want to live or they want to die. The letter means nothing, but he’s surprised by the heat that bubbles under his ribs at the mention of his bride. He meant it when he said you were not meant for war, and that meant in this regard, too–nobody was allowed to talk about you, not like this, not ever.

When his king orders him home, Ghost crumples the note and tosses it into embers. He watches it burn, and then he orders his men to set to flame the ground around the stone walls.

So men like him can be goaded, it seems. His resolve is not as strong as he thought.

The weeks make you anxious. All you do is sit and collect dues and tell the maids which dress you want to wear and which you do not. It is peaceful and boring, and you wish Simon was here to make your days more exciting, but he is not.

His letters are the only things that keep you occupied, truly. He writes to you about war and loneliness, and you write to him about the mundane of domesticity and the ache he leaves behind. Sometimes, his letters come folded with pressed flowers he finds along the way, and you start to collect them, putting them away in small boxes or using them as bookmarks as you go through Simon’s library.

He has many books. His most loved books are those of war, of history, and you smooth your fingers over the pages he has dogeared and find comfort in reading the same words that he once did. You learn, as well. While in your studies as a girl, they made you learn arithmetic and the flowery bits of history and art, here in Simon’s house, you learn of strategy and weaponry and military tactic. Sometimes you disagree, and you write about these disagreements to Simon, and he writes back, pleased with your observations. He told you once that if you were a man, he would want you in that tent with him, beside him, deciding on which formations to take and when to strike. You responded saying that you could be that for him anyway. What did your sex have anything to do with whether you were right or wrong?

Simon agreed.

But I would never invite you here, dear wife. You have to understand that.

When your queen asks for your audience for dinner, you oblige easily; finally, you have something to do rather than add up numbers or sign a document on Simon’s behalf or read another fucking book.

You don’t want to wear all the costume your maids insist on, but you appease them after they repeatedly explain to you what your title means. With a drawn face, you let them tie your corset and layer your skirts, and you watch in the mirror as they braid your hair and drape large, obnoxious jewels over you. You grimace at the tiara they fit into your hair, and your elderly handmaid pinches your cheeks and tells you to put on a fair countenance, Your Grace, lest you make the Duke look ungrateful.

You bite your tongue from snapping at her. She should know that Simon would say nothing about your countenance; all he would do is fix whatever was bothering you until you smiled again.

You arrive early enough to have tea. Your queen is so excited to see you; she gushes when you meet her in the throne room, pulling you up from your curtsy so she can hug you tight, squealing. When you try to address her with a curt “Your Majesty,” she shakes her head, pressing her hands to your cheeks and giggling, “No need for formalities now. Call me Victoria.”

You hide your displeasure with a small smile. Now that you are no longer her lady-in-waiting, she allows you her name. Is it because she sees you more as equals, or because now you’re allowed to be somewhat of friends?

You must be some kind of friend. She sizes you up like you are one. She wears England’s colors this afternoon. A fire red dress adorned with gold accents, a dragon pin holding her shawl. She wears magnificent red and gold jewelry, but she’s looking at your dress, and you can see the slight twitch of her eye. You are wearing French lace, and she doesn’t like it. Or maybe she doesn’t like the color, the accents of navy blue and silver that you wear.

The skull motif that is woven into your tiara and printed on your coat and sewn into your dress. Does it insult her? That all your life, you wore nothing but browns and beiges and grays, were invisible to her, and now you represent your house, visit her as your guest, and bear an honorable name?

You were no one when you served her. Just a girl, no close family, no friends, just a distant uncle who gave you to the crown that hoped you could be of service. That was to be your duty for all your life–to serve the king’s wife until she wanted you no more or until she was gone. To cater to her every need and every wish, no matter the time of day or night.

Now you sit across her, more noble. Refined. Wearing a dress she despises, perhaps because she likes it more than her own.

Over tea, she gossips about the other ladies she has visit. You’ve heard this before, but you’ve never been included in the conversation. She talks to you, and she wants to hear your opinion, and you find yourself uneasy as you try to think of what to say. She is your queen, and you want her to like you. When you worked for her, you earned her favor by always warming up her jewels before she put them on, by making sure she had her tea ready in the morning at her bedside, by always holding the fan she so loved for when she inevitably had a hot flash. Now, as her friend, you weren’t exactly sure what to do. You suck in a soft breath and look at her, and then you purse your lips.

You think it best to agree with her. To be on her side. You might not be her direct servant any longer, but you still must fall under her favor. A queen’s favor can be just as powerful, especially if she occasionally has the ear of her husband.

“Well, that’s not very kind of her,” you say finally, and she laughs.

“No! She’s such a prude. I think her husband doesn’t sleep in her bed enough, if you know what I mean,” she winks at you. You giggle at that. “Speaking of husbands–” She pops another cake in her mouth. “How is yours?”

You reach up and tug at your necklace a bit, smiling nervously.

“Oh, uh…” You clear your throat, “He’s doing very well. I hear his latest campaign is quite the success. His majesty is very smart, heading for the east that way, I’m sure they will be victorious soon enough.”

Victoria smiles at the thought of her husband. His intelligence. She always used to talk to you about how many hours he worked, how she hated when he was away, how she wished he was home more so he could give her a son because she was so, so lonely.

“Wise words from the duchess, aye, my love?”

You jump a bit at the low voice from behind, and when you turn, you gasp, immediately standing and falling into a delicate curtsy. John Price waves his hand, coming further into the room, shaking his head.

“It’s alright,” he tells you. “Please, sit. You’re here as my guest.”

You stand and lift your head, trying to relax. You take a seat, smiling nervously, and Victoria smiles giddily at her husband. When he bends to kiss her cheek, she fawns, reaching for his hand and squeezing it before taking another piece of tart and eating it. John hums before motioning for one of the staff to fill your cup again with tea. He eyes you curiously, taking in your appearance. You sit up at that, performatively brushing off over the skull pattern on your corset. John runs his tongue over his teeth, smoothing a big palm down his wife’s long coils of hair.

“Since you’re here, I’d like a word, if that’s alright,” John says to you. His tone carries a little more authority now, and Victoria sighs, whining a little.

“John, please, she’s my friend. Can’t it wait–”

“That wasn’t a question, Victoria,” John bites. Her face falls a little. She swallows and tucks her hands into her lap. You’re reminded as you look at the slight wobble of her lip that there is no one truly above John Price, not even her. You keep your face neutral, but if you were invisible, you’d pity her.

What a shame her husband sees her as less than. How embarrassing. Your Simon would never. Your Simon waits until you finish speaking before speaking himself. Your husband kneels to take off your shoes, your husband tears your skirts to get a taste of you, your husband used his teeth to sever a man’s throat just to have your hand.

What did John Price do to get his wife? Who did John Price kill to have her hand? How many bruises did he earn around his knees on their wedding night from eating her out? As many as Simon, whose knees were black and blue by morning?

No, you suppose not. How unfortunate. How pathetic.

Victoria picks up her skirt and stands, pasting a big smile on her face. It doesn’t reach her eyes, and you can see the way her hands shake a little as she scurries off. She scowls as soon as she turns away from John, clearly annoyed.

“I’ll go check on dinner,” she says, but it is soft and unenthusiastic.

When she goes, the room falls quiet. At the nod of John’s head, the staff leave, and you keep still in your seat as John sits across from you, picking up one of the cakes in front of him and breaking off a piece to busy himself. He keeps his eyes on his task of cutting up the cake in small pieces, focused on his hands and how they work. You watch him carefully, steeling yourself.

You anticipate a conversation between man and woman, not a king and his lesser.

“Simon’s been away for some time. I bet that’s difficult for you.”

You straighten your posture, realizing what this conversation will be. By his tone, John seems to think you a bored, stupid housewife, perhaps. Uneducated. A woman, no thoughts in her head. You let your face relax, and you fold your hands in your lap. Maybe now is the time John should learn who you are and who you are not.

What you have become and what you no longer are.

“I do just fine, Your Majesty,” you say finally. You pick up a spoon and drop a cube of sugar into your tea, and you stir, picking it up to take a long sip. John is curious by your content. You have a quick tongue. “I could say the same to you, couldn’t I?”

John laughs. He narrows his eyes a bit at your clever response, taking a large bite of the cake and running a cloth over his beard. His eyes sparkle a little.

“So you know.”

“Know what, Your Majesty?”

“You know I gave Simon orders. And you know he didn’t listen to me.”

You purse your lips, but he sees the shine in your eyes. The lack of surprise. His face twitches a bit, and you shake your head. You blink slow, and it irks him to see you so calm. He is your king, and Simon answers to him, and you are his wife, so you must answer, too.

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“I could have your husband’s head cut off for treason for that, you’re aware, aren’t you?”

You tilt your head to the side. What an odd thing for John to say. What an odd thing for John to contemplate, since it would never come to pass. “Don’t be daft, my king. You wouldn’t want to do that.”

John slams his fist on the table, making the plates and cups rattle with his frustration, but you do not even flinch. You blink, stone-faced, and it makes his nostrils flare. He recognizes that glare, he knows it well. He has seen it before, stared it down many times in rooms just like this. Only now, he is not fighting for land, he fights for control of the one man that he has always been able to rely on. Simon has followed him into battles outnumbered by a thousand men, and only now he ignores an order? Only now he chooses something different?

“Now, let’s be civil, Your Majesty,” you say softly. You smile at him, leaning your head in your hand. “Is there something that you need from me? I have a feeling you might have encouraged this dinner just so you could see me in passing, so why don’t you just ask me what you wanted to ask me?”

John lets out a deep breath, leaning his elbows on the table, lowering his voice. He leans towards you, and you admire how blue his eyes are. John is quite a handsome king, but he does not captivate you. It has been a long time since John has tasted blood, and he lacks the edge that you crave dearly.

“I need him back here, is what I need,” John murmurs.

“My king, I couldn’t get him back here any more than you could, even if I wanted to.”

“Now who’s being daft?”

You scoff, leaning back in your chair. John is not a stupid man. He created a beast of a man, and he is trying not to poke it too hard. You shift, brushing down your skirts, and you let out a low breath.

“Why did he refuse?” You ask finally.

“What?”

“Why does he ignore your order to come back?” You ask again. “I can’t think of a lot of reasons why he would stay. So why did he ignore you?”

John clicks his tongue, smoothing a few of his fingers over his beard. He averts his eyes, looking out the tall windows, frowning a little at the grim weather. The weather is always grim here, but it irks him at the moment, makes him scowl a little harder.

“I was…informed that there was some sort of letter,” John explains. “Some threat.”

“I don’t follow. He gets lots of threats. And terrible letters.”

“Was about you this time, Your Grace.”

You close your eyes at that, shaking your head. Simon would never be so foolish as to be baited by baseless threats. He barely bats an eye when someone even in front of him draws his sword. He is so comforted by his ability to win, by his dreams and his visions that have not yet happened.

“That’s absurd,” you breathe. “Simon wouldn’t…”

John chuckles, but there is no humor there. “Wouldn’t he?”

“I still don’t understand what you expect me to do,” you roll your eyes, looking away. “Simon is…he’s not…he doesn’t listen. It’s why he’s good at this, isn’t it? He doesn’t really take orders, he’s…I…”

John has never complained before about the way Simon chooses to lead. Oftentimes, it is an order ignored that has made it so that he delivered another crown at John’s feet. Simon asks for forgiveness, not permission, and John has barely batted at eye at it. He sees Simon as some kind of distant son, but this refusal bothers him so?

John leans forward. “You need to understand something here, Simon is a rabid dog,” he spits. “And sometimes I let him off his lead, but this isn’t like anything I’ve had to deal with. I need you to call him back here.” He scoots closer. “England needs you to call him back here. To me.”

You narrow your eyes a little. England needs you to call him back? What kind of sick sense of patriotism is he trying to instill in you? John is stupider than he looks, to think a woman like you would show loyalty to country. You are loyal to your husband, and nothing else, because what has king and country ever really done for a woman like you except for dispose of you?

You wear Simon’s colors, not John’s, and you will wear them to your deathbed.

“If I do this for you, my king, then you owe me,” you whisper. He laughs again, no humor, and he picks up a goblet and fills it to the brim with wine. He drinks half before slamming it down onto the table, spilling it over his hand.

“Kings do not owe their subjects.”

“Quite right, Your Majesty,” you agree, picking up your napkin and dropping it onto the table. You stand, giving him a polite curtsy. “But I am not doing this as your subject.”

“Everything you do is as my subject.”

“You put your entire right to the throne on the back of one man,” you say softly. You are not accusing him, you’re reminding him of a truth. “Simon is why…he’s why your counsel still listens to you. He’s why your people are free from famine, why…why your taxes get paid on time, why your kingdom is still standing, no thanks to your father who wasted this place’s fortune on women and liquor.” You shake your head. “You have an eye for conquest, Your Majesty, but you lack the execution of any plan you conjure.”

You are not wrong, and John knows this, and it’s why he hasn’t spoken up yet or interrupted you. The man before, his own father, was a drunkard who spent all their money. He drank himself into the grave, and the only reason John stands before you now is because of Simon. A man who he fought beside, who he commanded, who once John’s duty became reality took up the mantle and finished what his father never could.

John would be in the next history book you read because of Simon, and it’s Simon’s name that will never be written. They do not bestow legacy to men who serve other men.

“Where…Where did you learn to speak to men this way?” John scoffs. “I am your king.”

You must have hit a soft spot. John is defensive now, and men only deflect and insult when they are cornered with the truth. They don’t like being held in front of a mirror.

“You are king because my husband made it so,” you correct him gently. “And Simon is a loyal dog, and that is good for your sake, because if he had any desire for your seat, it would be his.” You come closer, your heels sounding, and John glares down at you; but you glare right back because you are protected by your name and what you can do with it. John knows this, and it angers him, but he seems to have difficulty facing the truths of his own making. “But he is not your dog anymore. He’s mine.”

Your pen on paper is aggressive. You can tell because the splotches of ink are deep, bleeding black sinking into white as you put angry word to parchment. Not even a fortnight later, you are playing cards with Victoria, and you see Simon’s silhouette standing in the doorway, hood shadowing his masked face as he observes. When you look over your shoulder where John sits, and you meet his eyes, he looks away from you with a grim understanding.

Simon answers your call. Always.

At dinner, John is in better spirits. He drinks with a big smile, eats more than one plate, and he picks Victoria up by the waist to make her dance with him when he asks for the music to be played louder. Simon sits, fidgety, gloved hands moving in and out of fists as he watches you cut into your food and eat it with a blank face. He huffs beside you, his armor stiffening as he sits up straight, and you let your fork clatter onto your plate as you turn to glare at him.

“You were thinking with your cock, Simon,” you spit. “That is how men like you get killed.”

“You ‘ave no idea how men like me get killed because there are no men like me,” Simon growls. You roll your eyes, standing, and he grips your wrist angrily, tugging you close until you fall into his lap. You sigh, shaking your head, putting your hands on his broad shoulders and making him look at you.

“Maybe,” you whisper. “But I’m not wrong. It is how you’ll lose. You know better than that, Simon. To fight someone because they taunted you in a letter, it’s playing the fool.” You cup his cheeks, keeping his eyes on yours. “You don’t need me to tell you that, and yet here we are.”

He breathes slow, closing his eyes for just a moment. He thinks he came for this, just a little. For clarity. Reason. It comes from you in waves, and it’s comforting to hear. It is something he knew, and yet it only makes sense now that you have said it.

“I know,” Simon mutters. “I know. Y’r right. I’m sorry, luv.”

You ask him to apologize when he undresses you. You ask him to apologize again when he sinks into a hot bath with you. You ask him a third time when he is in your bed, a heavy weight between your thighs as he licks and sucks at the soft skin of your tummy. He begs, lowly, let me ‘ave it, and you will, but he has to say he’s sorry again.

“‘m sorry,” he breathes, sucking on your inner thigh, and you close your thighs around his head, forcing his mouth against your cunt.

“Again, Simon,” you whisper. “I wanna hear it again.”

“‘m sorry,” he slides a rough tongue between your folds, breathing shakily when he tastes the oil that he smoothed over your skin only moments ago. You taste so good, you smell so lovely, coming off of you like fumes blinding his senses so that nothing else but you makes any sense at all. When you open your eyes, you think about where you are, and you nearly come thinking about what you have wrapped around your finger.

Not even your king tells your husband what to do. Not even your king commands his men, they won’t listen, he’s not who they turn to when things go belly-up, it’s your husband, and your husband answers to you.

You weren’t sure about it until today. Seeing him when you asked him to come, it flooded you with something that hurt. You could tell from even so far away that Simon was salivating under that mask. You knew the only thing separating his mouth from your cunt were the other people around him (and they were not privy to seeing you naked).

It is such a thing to observe. John needed a lead on Simon when he was his dog. You need no such mechanism. Simon never strays, not with you. He sits proper when you ask, and he speaks when spoken to. He tears at unwanted flesh, and he comes when you call.

John cannot give him all that he desires. Perhaps he thought what Simon truly wanted was fame and fortune. Legacy. But like most things men do, John does not observe. He takes in only what is right in front of him, and he makes assumptions. Simon is not like other men. Fame and fortune do not matter. He does not care about legacy. What matters to Simon is what he can hold in his hands. The ground under his feet. The steel in his hand. The woman underneath him, spreading her legs, inviting him in.

You love Simon. You love Simon more than anything in the entire world, but it would be a lie to say that you are not at some advantage here. Simon is all-consuming. He is the pinnacle of duty and honor and everything that a man is supposed to be, but Simon is also weak. There is something that he wanted more than anything in the world, and now that he has it, he will do anything to keep it, and that makes him vulnerable. Subject to all kinds of new things. Revenge. Retaliation. Pain.

Manipulation.

Maybe you should feel bad about it. Maybe you should feel guilty, but it’s hard to feel anything like it when there’s a big bear of a man between your thighs slobbering on your pussy like dessert. It’s hard to feel anything but bliss when he’s tracing the letters of his name into your cunt and making you see stars and fucking you into the silk sheets like it’s the last time he’ll ever have you.

It is men who govern your world, and if this is how you must move in it, then so be it. You will not feel bad. You will not be sorry for doing what anyone else would do. John thought he could keep his hand there, muzzle his mutt, but you like him this way, and you’re certain John doesn’t fuck the way you do.

He’s mine.

It isn’t John that commands an army, it’s you; or maybe your cunt, but that belongs to you, too, so it is you, isn’t it? You’re the one that lets him inside, that whispers in his ear, that tells him things you know he wants to hear to make things move in your favor, so it’s you, right?

Not John. Not Victoria. Not their counsel. You. They have stepped on you your entire life. They have made you small and inferior and sad for all of your existence, and they gave you something feral knowing it could eat you alive, and now you are the hand that feeds, and they are forgetting that if they bite too hard, you have something that will surely bite harder.

A collar would suit him, you think. He would look so pretty. He already is, the terrible beast, prettiest thing you’ve ever seen (the necklace your drape over him does just fine, a pendant with his motif that you hope reminds him of you). You don’t care if people would say his face is quite ugly. It is, very much so, but you never see him this way. Whenever that mask falls, your stomach flips. He takes your breath away. His intensity, his raw form of love, the look on his face–there is nothing else in the entire world that will love you the way he loves you.

“You came back for me?” You ask. You have a leg tangled between his, and his fingers are between your thighs, a shadow of a smirk on his face as he feels the mixture of your cum and his. He grunts a little, and you tilt your head to look up at him, your chin on his chest.

“‘f course,” Simon mutters, and you kiss his chest gently, keeping your eyes on his.

“But not for John.”

He turns his head, looking down at you more intently, and he scoffs. You know it’s true, but you want to hear it, anyways. You want to hear Simon admit, unknowingly, that you are the tether.

“John is afraid, and I don’t listen to ‘im when he’s afraid. Makes bad choices.”

It’s almost adorable that this is what Simon tells himself. That he comes back for his own sake, and not for yours, even though they are one and the same, intertwined and inseparable.

“Simon,” you say softly, and he sighs, his eyes closing briefly when you kiss him gently. “You have to listen to your king when he asks you to come back. Making a…rash decision about war strategy is one thing, but…” You cup his cheek gently. “Make things easier for me, husband. If he asks you to come back, you come back.”

This time, at least. Just this time.

Simon snarls a bit, but you swallow it when you kiss him. You maneuver yourself over him, straddling his hips, and he grunts as you sink down on him. He swells hard again very quickly, releasing a deep breath as you give a slow roll of your hips.

“Make things easy for me, my love,” you whisper, and he leans his head back, putting two big hands on your ass and moving you with ease. “Appease your king, yes? For me?”

“Can’t say no when y’r pussy squeezes me like tha’, sweet’eart,” Simon groans, and you giggle, planting your hands on his chest and starting to move a little faster. You lean your head back, your mouth falling open, and you gasp when you sink down completely, your ass touching his thick thighs as you tighten around him. “Fuckin’ Christ–”

“I hate when you go,” you whine, digging your nails into his chest. He hisses, planting his feet on the bed, and he fucks up into you with a renewed fervor. “Hate when you’re not here, Simon, I-I miss you, miss this–”

“Nghh…fuck, I know,” Simon pants. “Can feel it. Feel you.” You squeal when he grips you by the waist and turns you over. He makes it seem so easy, tossing your weight underneath him, and your arms circle around his neck as you draw him closer, hanging onto him. “Y’r so fuckin’ pretty…”

“Simon–”

He kisses to devour. His jaw hinges wide to kiss you sloppy, breathing in the moans that you can’t contain. Simon always fucks so well, stretching your thighs as wide as they will accommodate so he can make room for the goliath of himself that he is. He suffocates, in a good way, and his cock never fails to stretch you for all that you are worth. Simon holds your jaw in place as he grinds into you, relishing in the wet smack of his hips against yours. The fat of you satisfies him. It makes him growl with delight when he grabs onto wide hips, your fat arse, the body that you hold that tells him you are fed and warm and content. It draws his grin wider, and it makes him drool thinking about having you again and again and again, until you beg him for reprieve and his heir sits in your womb.

Simon fucks for sport. He wants to see how stupid he can make you. He wants to know how long you’ll cry for, how fat he can make your tears. He wants to know how loud you will cry, how many times he can make you cum before you’re incoherent, he wants to know the extent to which he can use you that you will still be awake enough to say his name just one more time. Simon is not satisfied until he pushes your limits.

It is what a Riley does. They endure, and they eat, and they consume, and they take pleasure in the all-encompassing indulgement of things they have never been allowed to have. You are a woman, so he knows this will come easy for you. So often, he knows, women are not allowed to indulge at all, so he wants you to. He wants you to cry and moan and eat, and he wants you to do it bearing his name so that no one will ever tell you no.

Simon says no to kings, and they placate, or they die. His wife will be offered the same respect, and he’ll stand behind her with a sword to make it law. When you bear his children, he will expect the same of them–to give their mother utter devotion, lest they answer to his hand. There is no one above you, not God, not country, and certainly not blood. They will know what their father did to have you, and they will spill the same amount of blood to keep it that way. They will do it for you, and then they will do it for their own lovers, and if they don’t have the same sentiments, that love is not true, and Simon will not give his blessing.

Everything else is trivial. He knows this, understands it, because history repeats itself. It is cyclical, and you are right. Kings come and go. Sons die to other sons, fathers make bad decisions, and crowns are passed to bastards and back again, until lineage is merely spectacle and power changes hands often enough to lose generational merit. There is one thing that remains, and it is what you do while you are on earth, while you are standing on the ground you were born on. Even faiths change; when men find it suitable, they change the rules, and then you worship a different God, so Simon sees no point in staying loyal to any of it.

Instead, he is true to what he knows. To what he can see and what he can feel. With John, he remembers being a young man, fighting alongside him. He follows John, to an extent, because he knows what it is like to share blood with him on a muddy hill and take an arrow for him.

With you, time stands still. He saw you in a room, and he had to have you, and he brought nations to ruin to make certain no one would bat an eye when he asked for your hand. He saw you in a dream, too–he saw you laying in his bed of furs, wearing nothing but a tiara of his making, wet between the thighs because that is how it’s meant to be. He recognized you when he saw you that first time, and he doesn’t know how, but saying no to you, really saying no, will change that vision, and he couldn’t bear that.

Your voice echoes. You’re moaning, overstimulated, but he doesn’t stop. The hair around his cock rubs your clit too many times, and when you come around him, you’re a shaking, withering thing, back bowed and nipples pebbled. Your toes curl as you cry from the starry-eyed, hot pleasure, but he keeps moving, chasing something in the distance that he can taste, so close.

Yes, Simon ignored his king. Yes, Simon did not ignore you. Yes, Simon admits, he came when you called, and he doesn’t feel bad about it, he doesn’t care how it seems. He would do it again if he had the chance. John could give him the same answer as you in every timeline, but he will only move if the command comes from you, and yes, Simon knows it makes him a liability, but crowns come with costs, and this is the one John must pay.

Simon will fight any of John’s enemies, but he won’t fight fate. He won’t fight what has already been seen, and he won’t fight what he already knows will happen.

With Simon’s cock in your mouth, you can make him deliver on promises. Sucking on the girth of him, you can make him an honest man. Taking inside of your mouth what you can swallow, you can make Simon do your bidding, and it is a hard lesson that John learns.

“Do this for me,” you slobber against the underside of his cock, and Simon relents.

“Make me happy,” you say, swirling your fingers against your puffy pussy, and Simon kneels with an open mouth.

“Just this once,” you whisper with his cum on your tongue, and Simon seals his choice with his hands on your tits and the taste of himself in his mouth.

When you make eyes with John across the low lights of the throne room, he can’t help the way he admires you. You stand beside Simon, looking the essence of nobility and reverence in another intricate silver and blue dress. The train of your skirt glitters with delicate jewels hand sewn into the fabric, and the headpiece you wear adorns a skull insignia. Your corset has been tied just right, thanks to Simon’s hand, and your own fingers are clasped between his. Your corset and jewels are of exquisite detail–one of the newest designs from Paris, structured and elegant and accentuating every curve of soft skin.

You glow in the room. His wife must be wearing a dress just as expensive, probably more, and yet his eyes (and everyone else’s) cannot help but follow you. Your own eyes won’t leave Simon; you flutter your lashes whenever he looks down at you, big smile on your face, and even when there are people curtsying and bowing to you and giving Simon their gratitude between bites of cake and glugs of wine, your attention never really strays.

John feels inadequate in his own fortress; suddenly, red and gold sicken him, and England tastes sour in his mouth.

In a few generations, John’s house will likely fall. He will make heirs that will fail him, he knows this. In a few centuries, his family will not sit in the same place, but a Riley will remain right where they are supposed to be. Banners of blue and silver will always fly. If Simon does not make sure of that, then you will.

It’s what happens when you force women like you to their knees. When they grow up invisible, always in the shadows, forgotten and sold to the next man who will pay a higher price, it’s what you learned to do. It’s all you’ve ever known, to make the best out of something terrible.

Simon is the same, in that sense. You understand him in a way his king will never be able to. Simon has nothing, and neither do you, and Simon was stepped on and berated and tortured to the point of no return. It is why blood does not scare him and why death doesn’t come knocking. Time will be the only thing capable of killing him, and everyone that stands up to him learns that when they eat his blade.

In the quiet of the evening, Simon undresses you. He sits behind you on the bed, fingers pinching the bows at your back and unraveling them. He traces your corset, thumb circling over the skull pattern of the belt around the small of your waist, and he tastes something warm in his mouth at the sight of it. You look so beautiful–more beautiful than he’s ever seen you maybe, decorated in his colors and wearing his motif and sitting so pretty.

“You wanna know something…funny?” You ask quietly. Simon finds the ties of your skirts and starts to undo them. He grunts in reply; he might sound standoffish, but you know he’s listening. “John…John made it…he makes it seem like you don’t really listen to him. He implied that…in the face of adversity, you might only listen to me.” You put your hands on the front of your corset to keep it from falling. “Isn’t that funny?”

“Wot’s so funny?”

You swallow, looking down. Your hands fidget, and you take a closer look at the ring you wear, the delicate gold band he gave you not so long ago.

“I…”

“Mmm…might be right, innit?” Simon snickers after a moment. You feel him stand, and you look over your shoulder as he peels his mask off and grins down at you. He tilts his head to the side, and you smile back at him a little. “Do anythin’ for ya. Disobeying a king…” Simon cackles, tearing your corset off, tossing it onto the floor as he walks you backwards. “Ignoring one…” He shrugs, “Oll in a day, love.”

“He can hang you for it,” you whisper. “Cut off your head. Cut off mine.”

Simon lays you back on the bed, spreading you out, climbing over you. You blink up at him, and he leans down, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I would ‘ave seen it. I would know.”

He would have seen it in a dream. It would have come to him in a reflection in a pool of blood on the battlefield. It would have come to him, the voices in his head, he would have heard them amongst screaming, or perhaps in the void that he finds his mind in when he’s between your plush thighs.

You can’t help the smile that graces your face when Simon kisses the curve where your jaw meets your neck. It is fun, you suppose. Fun to control the tides that set the courses of history. It is fun and almost unbelievable that a king bends to the will of one man’s wife just because it solidifies his name.

You wrap your hand around the twine that dangles from Simon’s neck. It twirls around your fingers, easy, solid. Simon’s eyes are dark, and they are yours, and when you smile, so does he, because this is where you are meant to be, forever and always.

“What if I want more?” You ask. Simon hums, low from within his chest, and you run your tongue over your teeth. “Did you see that in your dreams, Simon? Hmm? Do you know what I’m asking for? What it is that I really want?”

Simon smiles. A dark one, with teeth, and you know he hears it. What more means for a duke and his duchess. What more means when you have all the money you could ever want, all the land you could ever need.

What more means when you have climbed your way to the top and still desire more. More, more, more. There are not many steps left to climb. There are not many places left to take, not much more of the world that can really be yours, but Simon looks ravenous, and Simon looks hungry, and if you fuck him now, you’ll have him right where you want him.

When you tug on what hangs around his neck, Simon bends. Simon follows.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!ghost #dark!simon

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fairy-angel222 · 9 months ago

Text

𝐂𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍’

—OFFICER! TOJI F. x F! READER

᧔♡᧓ in which your officer boyfriend catches you at a party that you lied about going to

᧔♡᧓ content: rough smut, age gap (reader is in college), angry sex, jealous sex, possessive toji, handcuffs, breeding, choking, hair pulling, ass/tit/pussy slapping, praise, degradation, daddy kink here and there, begging, orgasm denial, passing out, pussy eating, semi-public sex, sex in police car

᧔♡᧓ requested by @valleydoli 💗

᧔♡᧓ wc: 3.1k

Toji couldn’t fight the annoyance on his face as he pulled up into the small neighborhood. Loud music blaring through the air as colorful lights beamed onto the dimly lit street. There had been a number of complaints. The neighborhood’s residents ringing 9-1-1 one after the other.

To say he didn’t care was an understatement. Out of the whole department Gojo Satoru just had to dispatch him to break up a stupid college party. His police vehicle came to a stop a little down the block, the tall man stepping out with stonic features and a sigh as he made his way closer to the source of vulgar tunes which seemed to shake surrounding houses.

Toji stalked up to the front door, the smell of hard alcohol and weed hitting his nose as he banged on the door. Forceful enough for the sound to ring throughout the noisy inside. A drunk boy no older than 19 swinging the door open with a grin. “Hey man! O-oh shit. Hey officer, what can i do for you?” He cleared his throat, swallowing hard under Toji’s harsh gaze as he tried his hardest to appear sober.

Toji peered over the boy and into the room. Sweaty bodies grinding against each other while others made out, almost every hand nursing a plastic red cup. “Do me a favor and just keep the noise down alright, if not shut this whole damn thing down.. what the fuck.” The officer spat bitterly, jaw clenching with a scowl when his eyes landed on someone. His someone.

You.

He couldn’t believe it. You had been so persistent on spending the night at home. Claiming that you had piles on piles of work to complete. Did you crave attention that badly? One measly night he had to work overtime and this was the shit you pulled? Clad in a lacy dress which had a deep v cut and barely reached your mid thigh. Your body, his girl’s body, on display for everyone to see.

He could see the eyes roaming your figure top through bottom. His blood boiling as he visibly seethed, shoving past the lanky teenage boy to make his way over to you. You were grinning happily, one hand in your hair and the other ghosting over the hand that rested on your hip. Giving the girl behind you the dance of her life.

The music lowered, Toji’s eyes twitching at all the loud gasps that echoed through the room. All eyes on his large frame as he towered over everyone in the room. Muscles bulging through his tight shirt with each hard step that he took. All eyes but yours. You were too into what you were doing, and your boyfriend couldn’t help his rising anger as he got closer and closer. Spotting familiar brunette and green hair sat on a couch with their lips on each other’s.

Of course. You were dragged here.

You giggled loudly, taking a swig from the girl’s cup and letting the bitter tasting liquid scrape at the walls of your throat when you swallowed. Your friends’ eyes widened as they pulled away from each other, desperately trying to get your attention as you swayed your hips. Those hips that only Toji was allowed to see move.

A hand grabbed the flesh of your arm tightly, your head whipping around to snap at the stranger before your brows furrowed. Taking in that broad chest that you’d gotten to know by heart. Your eyes timidly trailed upwards, a small whimper caught in your throat when they met his darkened ones. The man’s head tilting to the side as if daring you to not comply. He would not hesitate to get you out of there over his shoulder if he had to.

“T-toji.. h-hi i-“ you stuttered, looking down at your feet as you shuffled nervously. Eyes darting to the girls who eyed you apologetically.

“Shut up.” His voice was firm, and your thighs clenched as you held back another whimper. You could feel everyone’s eyes boring into you. “Fuck. You know what? Everybody out.” His voice raised at the end. The bustling college teens wasting no time before they scattered, afraid at just the mere sight of the man. “And you.. oh you’re in for it now.”

All the alcohol seemed to leave your system when Toji pulled your arms behind your back. Cuffing your hands as your face heated up in embarrassment. “T-toji w-wait.” The man ignored you as he pulled you out of the room, not caring about how you stumbled over your own two feet to keep up with his large strides.

“She really disobeyed you this time huh?” A familiar voice rung out, a teasing smirk on Gojo’s face as he walked up the few stairs that you’d just descended from. “Good job Y/n.” He winked, a deep chuckle leaving his throat as he thought back to exactly why he had sent Toji out here.

It didn’t take long to reach the vehicle with the speed you were being pulled at. Toji’s hold on your arm never loosening in the slightest. “Get in.” Toji spoke meanly, holding the door open with a gesture for you to get inside.

“But-“

“Get the fuck in Y/n.” He never called you by your name often, only when he was mad. It was always some sweet petname that made you feel all warm and tingly inside. Sliding into the vehicle you kept your head low, the door slamming behind you not too long after.

You squirmed in your seat. Giving into the tension filled silence as you watched his grip on the wheel tighten until his knuckles were pale. Thoughts of you letting any other man touch you coursing in his mind.

Toji undid the first two buttons of his shirt, using his fingers to prod the tight fabric open as he rolled his neck. Taking the pair of handcuffs off his suited pants before rolling the vehicle to a stop.

“Toji ‘m sorry.” You mumbled almost shyly, face getting hot as your arousal dampened your lace panties.

He ignored you. Taking a step out of the car and into the night’s darkness. The vacant road scarce of any sources of light. Your door swung open, eyes widening in a doe-like pout as you looked up at him.

“Don’t. Not after that shit you just pulled.” He warned, expression still hard as you climbed out, the slam of the door making you jump with a yelp. A small whine left your throat as you were flipped around, chest pressed into the vehicle’s side with your hands still bound behind your back.

He roughly pushed your dress up to your waist with a scoff. “Going out dressed like you want to get laid. Am i not enough for you baby?” His fingers found their way to your clad folds. Brushing over your clit with a hum. “Do i not fuck you enough? Is that little pussy so desperate to be filled?” He didn’t give to a chance to answer, his palm landing heavily on your pussy making you jerk with a cry. “Look at that. She’s all wet f’me. Such a greedy fucking cunt yeah?”

You whimpered loudly, Toji’s voice deep and husky in your ear as he kissed up your neck. Allowing you to lean back onto him with your head on his chest. Soft moans falling past your lips as you let yourself grind on his fingers. Another loud cry filling the air when he landed it hard on your ass instead.

“I shouldn’t even be touching you.” He whispered venomously, voice laced with clear disappointment as he pushed his fingers past the thin fabric, pressing the pad of his middle finger onto your clit before rubbing small circles. Watching the way your lips parted in sweet noises as you let your eyes flutter shut. “Should just drop you home and leave you all desperate and needy.”

That made you whine with the shake of your head, pushing your ass back onto his crotch in want. “Or will you just call someone to come fuck you like a little slut?” You cringed at the sound of your panties tearing, Toji’s muscles straining against the confines of his shirt’s fabric as he rolled up his sleeves. Quickly working to free his hard cock before pushing you into the back seat of the car with a smirk. Handling your body until you were face down, with your ass up on display for him.

“Look at yourself.” He forced your head up to gaze at your reflection in the window. “Gonna fucking destroy you baby. Do you want that?”

You nodded, eyes prickling with tears as you clenched in anticipation. You wanted his cock so bad. “Ahh f-fuck.” Another slap to your ass.

“So you do have a mouth.”

Words. He wanted to hear you say it.

“P-please fuck me daddy.”

“You can do better than that princess.”

“Please. Please fuck me. Need you so bad. ‘M aching f’ you. Want you to fill me up.” You begged.

“That’s it. That’s my slutty girl.” You mewled loudly at the intrusion of Toji’s thick cock. The man bottoming out inside you with one quick thrust making your knees buckle underneath you while your back arched. Feeling Toji’s fat tip immediately prodding at the increased tightness near your cervix.

“Shit.” He cursed, breathing getting heavy as he nestled his cock within your warm walls. Forgetting just how much he loved that little cunt of yours.

He started off rough, forcing his cock deep as you rocked harshly against the soft seat. Loud moans dripping off the tip of your tongue as his cocked kissed meanly at your g spot.

Your pussy stretched to accommodate the quick thrusts of his girthy length. Feeling his veins scraping deliciously against your gummy walls as he hammered into you.

You cried out when Toji’s hand found its way around your throat, pulling you up to his chest with your hands flush between your back and his chest. Drool filled babbles spilling messily onto your skin at the force of his hips.

“Haah— T-toji f-fuck,” you keened loudly, your chest riding and falling rapidly as your brain turned to mush. Unable to think of anything but how good he felt inside of you. Lewd squelches mixed with skin slapping burning its way into your brain. A constant reminder of Toji’s abuse to your sensitive cunt as your vision blurred.

“That’s it baby. Take it real nice n’ deep. You’re practically swallowing me in right now.” He breathed. Hand tightening around your throat as the other travelled down to your chest, barely having to tug at the black fabric for your tits to spill into his large hand. Rough fingers twisting at your pert nipples as he palmed the soft flesh.

“Ahh— so good. Feels s’ good daddy.” You cried, Toji’s hand landing two consecutive slaps onto your breasts.

“Gonna stuff this pussy real full. Breed her with my cum till you know your place.” He growled lowly, his frustration seeming to reemerge as he stroked his cock with your tightness. Allowing himself to poke at every corner of your warmth, ruining your slutty pussy to your tears.

“Wanna go out dressed like you’re available. Single. Like you don’t have me taking care of that ache between your legs every single night.” His pace quickened with every word. Snapping his hips up mercilessly till his balls reddened your puffy clit, mouth hung open in whiny mewls as your stomach tightened.

Your tears flowed freely as you were shoved back into the car’s seat. Your mind dizzy at the plowing of his cock into your sweet spot. Toji’s hand moving to grip at the delicate flesh of your hip with other torturing your clit. Rubbing mean, hard circles onto the swollen bud.

“Tojii— ‘m gonna, ahh- ‘m gonna cum.” You whimpered, catching sight of the traces of mascara staining your cheeks alongside your messy hair. The sight being enough to make you call out his name incoherently as your eyes rolled back. Legs shaking violently as you clenched around him. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh—“ you chanted, letting out a broken scream as you squirted messily. Completely drenching Toji’s cock in your wetness.

Toji’s movements stilled, his fingers digging into your hair with a sharp tug upwards. “Oh i’m sorry? Did i say you could cum baby?”

“Sorry, nngh- c-couldn’t hold it.” You hiccuped, knowing that you were in trouble.

Toji shook his head, pulling you back so you lay flat across the seat. Shoving one of your legs up beside your body with a grunt. A shiver raking through your body as the cool air breezed through your sopping pussy.

You let out a groan, your attempt to close your legs stopped by Toji’s strong hands shoving them apart. Groping at both sides of your ass before his palms made contact with the skin. A bubbly whine catching in your throat when you tightened around nothing.

Toji sunk to his knees on the ground outside, the forest to his back as he began pressing soft kisses to the sides of your thighs, his tongue licking a long stripe up your slit.

He groaned, grip tightening on your thighs when his tongue darted out once more to lap at your sweetness. Sloppily running between your folds before swirling around your clit. It didn’t take long to get you where he wanted you. The overstimulation going straight to your foggy brain as Toji got lost in your heat. His eyes fluttering shut with a hum as he tried to pull you impossible further onto his tongue. Your constantly flowing slick mixed with his saliva dripping sloppily onto the ground below.

Your fingers clawed at nothing as you began to tremble, crying out loudly as your eyes closed shut. Your tear stained cheek pressed into the seat as you drooled adorably. A smirk adorning Toji’s face when he curled his thick fingers into you.

“Ahh— ‘s too muchh. Gonna cum again.” You mewled desperately, toes curling as another coil tightened in your stomach. Toji stopped sucking at your clit, pulling away from you while his fingers sped up. Paddy tips poking directly into your spot with ease. “Yeah? Gonna cum for me already?”

You answered with a high pitched moan and a small “uh huh”, feeling yourself being pushed closer and closer to the edge before it all came crumbling down. Toji removing his fingers before standing up, and only then did you notice how much of his chest was on display. He leaned down to kiss away your tears, brushing away any hair stuck to your forehead. “Only good girls get these privileges baby, i’m a cop, you should know this.” He cooed.

His cock prodded at your hole, sinking into his rightful place deep within your warmth before beginning to fuck into you. He knew your orgasm had barely just died down, and he was going to fuck you to another just to leave you hungry.

Your boyfriend’s head found its place in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your ear before he grinned against your skin. “You won’t be leaving the house for days when i’m done with you.” He promised, tone gruff as he felt his cock twitch in indication of his own high.

“Haah— ‘s so muchh.” You breathed as you melted into him, his touch hot on your skin leaving short quivers in its wake. “Toji— o-oh fuckk.” You were sputtering out strangled noises of pleasure, Toji’s husky groans in your ear adding fuel to the fire as you let out a cry. Your pussy gushing onto him before your orgasm could even hit.

Toji cursed loudly, his grip on your hips allowing him to pull you back onto him as roughly as he was slamming into you. “That’s it baby, pussy’s gripping me so fucking tight.”

“‘M so close— so so close.” You gasped, basking in the small skin to skin contact of your hands on his exposed chest.

“Gotta fucking earn it. Tell me, who do you belong to princess. Who owns this slutty little pussy hmm? Who fucks you this good every night?” He questioned darkly, rolling his hips in a way he knew would drive you crazy.

“Y-you. You do. ‘S all y-yours— fuck. Please can i cum? Need to cum so bad.” You almost sobbed, Toji kissing your cheek sweetly with a breathy moan. “All mine. All fucking mine. Go ahead slutty girl. Cum f’ me.”

You let go noisily, vision clouded as your moans spilled uncontrollably past your lips. The burning sensation in your stomach slowly easing as you allowed yourself to let go. Making a mess on the man’s cock while he worked himself deeper inside you. Burying his cock as far as he could before pumping you full with a contented sigh.

“Let everyone know that you’re taken. Get you pregnant with my kid and keep you locked away. Only for me.” His cum painting your walls in hot spurts as his abs tensed. The throb of his cock slowly dulling as you milked him dry.

You whimpered, feeling the thick substance slowly seep out of you when he pulled out. All the alcohol finally catching up to you as you slipped in and out of consciousness. Letting your eyes blink shut before you went limp in his arms.

Toji groaned with a stretch, smirking down at you and your fucked out form.

So pretty.

He tugged down your dress and tucked himself back into his pants. Removing your hand cuffs before taking you into his arms gently. Laying you down more comfortably with a quick kiss to your forehead. Watching as your chest rose and fell softly, face contorted into a peaceful one despite how stained it was from your tears.

He slipped into the driver’s seat, allowing the car to reach the perfect temperature for you to rest it. Finally pulling off from the side of the road. He laughed shortly when he checked the time, contemplating whether he should even bother going back to work. He’d much rather stay home with you.

He could feel his phone vibrating in his pocket, rolling his eyes when he saw the name written across the screen. Satoru.

“Hello.”

“So, fucked her good didn’t ya? Made your girl cry huh Fushiguro.” The white haired man laughed into the call. Gojo had been tempted to say it over the radio, but he didn’t know if you’d be awake or not.

“That’s why you sent me out there isn’t it?” Toji scoffed, one hand on the steering wheel turning it into your apartment complex while the other worked the gear. If you were awake you’d be going crazy. Him driving was one of your many weaknesses.

“Yes, and you’re welcome. Tell her i said hi when she gets up. Bye Fushiguro~” The call beeped to an end and Toji shook his head, trying to hide the small smile creeping up onto his face. Fucking Satoru.

Glancing back at you he allowed himself to openly smile, he could never stay mad at you. It was time to show you that.

#jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader smut #jujutsu toji #jjk toji #jjk x reader smut #jjk x you #toji fushiguro x reader smut #toji x reader smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x you #toji smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader

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