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#I had more thoughts but I’m blanking now....
pomupom · 3 days
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“ ...what have you done? ” / “ what i needed to. now come, i’m taking you home. ”
jamil viper ౨ৎ yandere event. 2.4k words.
warnings : yandere content, manipulation, mind control (use of “snake whisperer”), reader is a bit naïve, kidnapping / imprisonment, bit of canon divergence (no octatrio, everyone has met before book 4), mentioned drugging (but no actual).
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you knew jamil as hardworking and diligent, as mindful as the sorcerer of the sand himself. but more than anything, he came across to you as perfect — a mistake from him was unheard of, though he didn’t achieve above average, it was consistent and clean, as if the mark was his intention from the start. and though you tried to not speculate into others’ lives, you wondered if he was holding himself back — kalim was your friend more than jamil was, but you could see the skill of his work, as if every step was written on the back of his hand, or engraved into his mind (you would bet of the latter being the case for jamil). with the way kalim spoke of jamil, from his cooking to service and responsibility, you would’ve thought he was the perfect man – and, in a sense, you felt correct in your assumption. it felt refreshing after all you’d been through, from heartslabyul to the more recent octavinelle, you weren’t dealing with the artful azul, nor the meticulously cruel leona — simply with a boy as bright as the sun above, and his dutiful servant (along with grim of course, but everyone knew you could never rid yourself of him).
but as time went on, your focus became less on kalim and being around just as his friend, and more on jamil — mostly, he stood around, fetching whatever was needed, and bringing things that weren’t even said, only thought. while grim was living on cloud nine, almost in a food coma every night you spent at scarabia, you studied the behavior of your new friends – after three overblots nearly back-to-back, it was better to play it safe, than to be stuck fighting yet another student with a tragic past. but, you did learn a few interesting things — one being that jamil didn’t get beat in anything, he let himself get beat, at least as far as you could tell. with the way kalim pushed off studying, falling asleep sometimes or other times making excuses for it to end, there wasn’t a world in which he was beating jamil (though you felt a bit bad about saying such, he had plently great qualities, academics just weren’t one). and you knew that jamil thought of himself as better than those around him (which, in some regard, he was), the slip of a scowl gracing his otherwise calm features when grim bragged about his greatness, telling jamil that he did truly belong beneath him — you rolled your eyes with his remarks too, so you couldn’t blame jamil for that time. and you wouldn’t have thought more as you did if that was the only instance.
but there was always something that lurked within the grey horizon of his eyes, the blank color hiding all sorts of devious schemes — usually, they appeared quiet. a dulled tone that felt they could even lure people into a trance if they weren’t careful. you watched the way they would narrow when kalim starting spouting nonsense again, or the way they widened, as if they would swallow everything within sight for the shock. you admired him for how wonderful he seemed, and feared him for the exact same.
you started to feel yourself become lost around a week into the scarabian stay — days muddled together, and their memories blurred, haze seeming to cloud not just your mind but some around you. kalim, for example, seemed to forget his harsh behavior – was he stressed as jamil speculated? was he letting the talk of jamil being a much more suited leader get to him? you worried, and worried, until your mind ran blank and the next day it seemed like you’d just fallen asleep when trying to recall. grim worried too, about you more than kalim, constantly saying things that your ears stopped picking up — it felt like the ocean had filled them, the direbeast’s voice drowning within the waves that pushed away any sound from reaching your ear drums. it was frustrating, you thought, but you never felt anything except calm and ready, as if your heart was quelled with whatever your days had been spent on. it made you wish you’d forced grim back to ramshackle instead of getting drawn in with him by jamil’s inflation — you never thought you were doing anything spectacular, but jamil’s words lifted you up and made you feel as high as the gods, he must’ve gotten quite good at that like everything else.
was there something drugged in your tea and food? some kind of enchantment that made you forget your days? you wanted to know, and that led you right to him — soft (mainly from your exhaustion) eyes spilled their tears right in front of him, a warm arm moving up and down, along the pattern of it’s rubs, your pretty lips spilling their fears to him as you begged him to help — you’re so smart, you told jamil, i know you could help me, that you could help us. while it was quite flattering seeing the little doll waltz into his palm, caressing his ego with honest compliments like they were soft kisses to his cheeks, he simply cannot do that. you heard kalim, didn’t you? this is for the sake of the dormitory, to leave these embarrassing failures of being anything but first behind, he can’t just “help” this ... but you, little doll, jamil could definitely help you out of this mess. how tiring it must be, he’s so very sorry for unintentionally bringing you into this mess. and jamil’s sure grim’s done nothing but whine and yap, more of a mangy mutt than a weak cat, would it be better to stay with him?
jamil knows if it was you in there, you’d of turned down his offer almost instantaneously — but it isn’t. back to fitting the name of ‘doll’, your nothing but an obedient object to do your ‘master’s’ bidding. there’s a certain rush that comes with this, training his magic as he keeps you under the spell of the snake, will you be able to piece together who has done all of this when you realize your memories have gone missing once you encounter him in your day? jamil certainly hopes not, everything about you is truly perfect for him, and this is the only way to be certain you’ll end up his — your naïve little brain that does nothing except adore him, rather than begin to fear. you’ve observed him so much, but you think everything about him is lovely, not troubling. and to trust him with this rather large issue of memory loss... hah, jamil can’t tell if it makes him want to laugh from amusement or smile with glee knowing you hold him so highly. if only the rest of the world had too, if only there hadn’t been shackles attached since before he was born. a cruel reminder that he can only be great within the presence of others’ minds, not in the real world.
he still remembers the day of orientation, when you and your destructive furball had demanded entry to the college, little rumours already spreading like wildfire from the destruction your little trio had caused you — he related, in a way. much less on the destructive scale, but possibly even more so on the troubling. “the magicless prefect of ramshackle dorm” was the name on everyone’s lips as the weeks passed, from riddle roseheart’s overblot, to little troubles that you’d been involved with during daily life, you didn’t interest jamil at first, but you certainly did now – and, thankfully, kalim also seemed to want your friendship. a perfect excuse, trailing him like jamil was trained, he would get to know you before he even gave you his name.
and though the time of every effort was perfectly planned for any outcome was steep, it seemed to all be paying off in the end. from your continuous growth, making you more comfortable in this school life, to your inevitable (temporary) joining of scarabia, jamil’s plan was coming along swimmingly — only another small step until he reached the finish line, the little goal of taking you over completely. he wanted to make it so you thought of him as your ‘master’ even when free from the spell, your sweet gaze only for him without complaint. jamil can picture it now, and since he’d met your loveliness, the way he’d hold you close and tight — a grip so strong, keeping you tucked into his chest, your sultan cooing at you as the appointed servants quailed in the face of his possible wrath. it would be a perfect life, all jamil needed was for you to agree. at this point, what more could you have to lose? wouldn’t you rather have memories (though bad), instead of keeping a blank mind for the rest of your days?
jamil decided he’d give you the false security of choice — never would he actually let you have the option of you not being his. why give someone the option if you don’t want them to make that choice? but you didn’t need to worry your poor, stupid head over that as you pondered this dilemma. being nothing but a mindless puppet, moving along to jamil’s will, or play pretend in a world where only he would exist in your eyes. you had a sense for that, it seemed — but not for much else. after all, if you had, you wouldn’t be stuck in this situation in the first place. all alone, your little grim nothing but a prisoner now, kalim’s mind long lost as he tried to piece everything together with you, every last one of you were complete, utter fools. falling so clumsily into his trap, defenseless to each scheme that played out perfectly. and what was even more wonderful than watching all these birds of the idiot flock fly together, was your confident defiance, only for it to be squandered moments later.
you came to him, your beautiful face wretched by the expression of anger — exclaiming how you were done with his games, that you were tired of him toying with your mind like it belonged to him. of course you’d say that right now, little bird, scared for those pretty wings to get clipped, to lose your precious freedom – how jealous jamil was of you to be able to even think that. the wonder of freedom, something that he’ll never be able to have, nor experience. such a luxury wasn’t available for people of his status, the low-life, bound servant. he supposed it was only right for you to think like that bastard kalim — “let’s talk it out, let’s have a big feast and put all this behind us”, and whatever other nonsense he tries to make into reality. for jamil, it’d always be impossible for this to be ‘behind him’, an escape from this life wasn’t possible unless the asim family as a whole was out of it.
ink as black as night poured over him, clothing transforming into a look of something which suited him — a sultan. the one in complete power, snakes escaping from underneath his turban, craze clouding over his eyes. and here you were, pushed into his grasp by those under the spell of the snake’s whisper, your own clothing changed in a second one his hands graced your body – covered in cloth of teal, akin to the princess of the story, you’d be a similar royal by his side. magicless, you were just as useless as she, but nonetheless charming in your own respect — blotted lips pressed against your hand, he chuckled as you pulled it away the second jamil let it slip from his grasp, would you try to raise it against him? doubtful, but he wouldn’t lie that a fiesty nature would turn him away, quite the opposite really.
many preparations were to be made — and the first would be sending away that damned al-asim. your eyes widened in fear as jamil had him brought forth, tears staining the cheeks of your (soon-to-be former) friend as he begged jamil to rethink all of this. money, freedom, titles – he could have it all! kalim would give it! but the satisfaction of your horror, and the satisfaction of finally ridding himself of this lifelong pest was much too tempting in this state of mind — he’d send kalim packing on a one-way trip to the ends of the world, the parting words of, “so long, ex-dorm leader kalim!”. yes, jamil would finally be free – free to have you, and free to have any and everything else he wanted.
...what have you done?
it was your turn for tears to fall, hands balled into fists to push against his chest, but his arms held you tight — snake’s tongues flicking against your ears, hanging off the end of every ‘s’ jamil let out, as if they were a part of him. just as he pictured, this was, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world even when he would own it.
“what i needed to. now come, i’m taking you home.”
your home wasn’t here. there wasn’t a place in this world you belonged, let alone with the monster holding you now. you shook your head, repeating this thought to him, only for his mocking laughter to ring out again — maybe if he wasn’t here, you’d be forever lost in this twisted wonderland, but with jamil you had your place of belonging; the spot right by his side.
and how weak you felt being unable to do anything about this. dragged along by jamil, endless servants crowding around the two of you as you made way to the dance floor — you’d celebrate tonight as the start of your lives. not simply just together, but as truly living. no longer under the thumb of those wealthy, brainless dimwits, and you no longer stuck being lost and lonely. no, you’d always be with jamil, never would he let this reality fall into being just a dream once more.
jamil was calculating, cruel and patient, taking you apart one by one. that was the true nature of him, a simple disguise shown to fool you, as well as those who surrounded him. simpletons, you all were, if only you had been more mindful, maybe then you wouldn’t have fallen into the pit of a viper.
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lestelledreams · 3 days
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have been having The Worst writers block known to mankind since like. january lol. but !! i got into a vibe this morning and wrote some figure skating au nonsense so here's a very rough and unedited 800ish words of rosquez first meeting in that au :)
The tryouts are in Italy, in a rink just outside Milano. It’s not one Mar’s been to before, not one that’s hosted Grand Prixs, or any competition with international participation really. It’s – quiet. Private and out of the way. A nice change from the bustling environment she’s used to training in back home, where ice time needs to be shared with the rest of the club’s elite skaters. Here it seems Valentino Rossi decides when and for how long he gets the ice and everyone else adapts. Pros of being a five-time world champion, Mar supposes.
If everything goes to plan today that’ll be her new normal. No more dragging a sleepy and protesting Pol to the rink an hour before sunrise in the pursuit of twenty, maybe thirty minutes of solo time with their coach.
And it will – she’ll make sure of it. After all, Mar Márquez isn’t one to let an opportunity like this slip through her fingers.
She does feel a little bad for ditching Pol so suddenly, for texting him ‘i’m doing tryouts with rossi’ not even a day after the news of him splitting with his partner broke. It was blunt and harsh, and she never got an answer, the little read nestled under her words taunting her every time she opens their conversation.
But standing here, in Italy, ten minutes left until she’ll get to skate with a living legend, her old partner is the last thing on Mar’s mind. And besides, Pol wasn’t keeping up with her for much longer either. They both knew that, could sense the inevitable coming one way or another, so surely Pol understands her decision. Mar’s parents don’t, but they can’t say anything about it. She’s 18 now, and very much capable of making her own career choices without her mother fretting about something so trivial as Rossi’s age.
The man in question is currently on the ice with another hopeful girl, the sounds of their blades cutting deep into the blank surface filling the air. Mar laces her skates and observes. They’re running through a step sequence - brackets, choctaws, rockers, edge change - staying close together throughout the turns and steps. Rossi is flawless and the girl is good. Mar knows she’s better.
And then they’re off the ice and in front of her, Rossi thanking the previous skater for coming before turning his attention on Mar.
“You’re much taller than I thought you’d be,” she blurts out. Fuck, that isn’t what she wanted to say.
“Well, having skates on does tend to have that effect,” Rossi says and laughs. He’s laughing at her. God, she probably looks like a child to him.
“Sorry, no, I, that wasn’t – I’m Mar,” is what she finally settles on. “And you’re Valentino Rossi. Obviously.” Mar fiddles with the strings on her hoodie, wishes she had a gum or something to chew on. But she doesn’t look away, too stubborn to avoid Rossi’s eyes. He can stare all that he wants. Mar has a very unnerving stare of her own that she can pull out if needs be.
“I am. Obviously. And we should probably get on the ice now,” Rossi gestures towards the older woman out there, using his entire arms as he speaks. “I can see my coach is getting annoyed at us loitering.” He chuckles but Mar thinks it’s serious beneath the careless exterior. She doublechecks that her skates are tied tightly enough, and then takes the first steps of a new chapter in her life.
It’s a nearly immediate connection between them when they glide over the ice together in hold – a mutual understanding of where the other is going to place their feet, of when to push and when to pull, solely based on instinct. The coach, whose name Mar missed in the whirlwind of Rossi whispering “Is this okay?” when placing his hands on her waist, tells them what to do and they just. Do it. It’s that easy. They try a simple lift and Mar feels more secure two meter above the ground in Rossi’s hands than she ever felt skating next to Pol, and isn’t that funny?
Her and Pol were good; they did win a gold at Junior Worlds after all, and that’s not something anyone can just go out there and do. But her and Valentino – they could become great. She's never been more sure of anything in her life.
The session ends after an hour and Mar has almost forgotten that this is a tryout. With the way Valentino is reluctant to let her hand go as they sit down on the bench to take their skates off, she imagines he feels something similar.
Mar leaves the rink outside Milano with a phone number in her hand and a promise that she’ll hear back from them shortly. Behind her she hears Valentino tell his coach to cancel the rest of the tryouts.
She’s still smiling when she boards the flight back to Barcelona.
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sky-marbles · 2 days
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There are not enough fanfics about Carmilla and Vaggie and their “this is not my kid but she’s now my kid” dynamic. I desperately want more of them together😭😭
Also I know it’s seems like I’m not very experienced in writing fanfic, thats cause I’m not!! This might be the first or second fanfic I’ve ever written and I still haven’t gotten out of that “blank says” thing😔 maybe one day I’ll get better but I’m very aware my writing is not the best but the storyline itself is what matters to me so fuck it imma post it. Lmk if you guys like this and share your thoughts!
After the hotel is rebuilt the overlords call for a meeting. Alastor is getting ready to head out for it when-
“Hey alastor are you coming or what?!” Vaggie called from the lobby.
“Afraid I won’t be able to fulfill any requests until after my meeting today my dear!” Alastor replies as he descends the stairs.
“Well I’m requesting that we can be on time for this meeting, so let’s go” Vaggie says.
Alastor pauses mid stride. “Excuse me? What do you mean ‘we’?” he asks with a bit of confusion.
“I’m going with you” Vaggie says like it’s obvious. Before he can interject Vaggie informs him the she’s been invited to the meeting as well by showing him the familiar envelope. “It seems that you have, well let’s go then” Alastor relents. They make the walk there rather quietly, while Vaggie is not preferred company she is not someone he dreads having to spend time with either.
After taking the elevator ride up Alastor takes his usual seat, instead of sitting by him or standing beside him, Vaggie actually walks over to Carmilla and greets her with a handshake. Once everyone arrives Carmilla starts the meeting, interestingly Vaggie stands beside her, off to the side a bit.
“Now the-“
“Why Carmilla I wasn’t aware you had a third daughter!” Carmilla starts but is interrupted by Rosie.
“A third..? Oh!” Carmilla realizes what Rosie means.
“Oh I’m not-“ Vaggie tries to correct but before she can Alastor intervenes
“Oh Rosie dear, Vaggie is not a Carmine! She’s that lovely angel that Princess Charlie is dating!”
“Oh! So you’re the ex-exorcist girlfriend huh? Well it’s a pleasure to finally meet you!” Rosie stands to curtsy.
“Oh um it’s nice to meet you too??” Vaggie says uncomfortably.
“Wait a second! YOU are an exorcist?!” Velvet asks in shock.
“I was an exorcist, now I am the Hazbin hotel’s manager. Now we’re here to discu-“
Vaggie is then cut off by Velvet.
“Hold on a fucking minute! An exorcist is not only working but dating the princess of hell, and you (points at Rosie) knew about it!!! Who else was aware that an exorcist is in the same room as us?!” Velvet asks accusingly.
“Enough! Alastor, Rosie, and I were aware of Vaggie’s previous status as an exorcist. However, she no longer serves heaven and has since pledged her loyalty to the princess and her people. So let’s finally discuss the actual matter at hand!” Carmilla finishes impatiently.
“Um I think not! How do we know she isn’t some spy for the dickwads upstairs? Not to mention the fact she’s probably killed thousands of us! Why are we even letting her brea-“
“SILENCIO” Carmilla cuts Velvet off. “Vaggie has proven to the princess, to Alastor, and to me that she can be trusted and has the princess’s best interests at heart. She is a formidable alley and source of information so it would be smart not to cause her any harm especially if you wish to avoid the wrath of the princess… and myself.” Carmilla closes off any further discussion. Velvet backs off but glares daggers at Vaggie, Vaggie ignores her in favor of giving Carmilla a grateful look. Clara and Odette smile knowingly, they are very aware of how much their mother cares for Vaggie. They themselves have even taken quite the liking to her. To the point where they will swing by the hotel while on their delivery routes just to say hi and get any updates on the how things are going.
Carmilla finally gets the meeting to continue and the overlords discuss what heavens next move might be.
“So what should we do if they attack again?” One overlord queried.
“I think we could provide a few hundred sacrifices to placate heavens bloodlust?” Another suggested.
“No.” “No.” Carmilla and Vaggie answered simultaneously. “Are you sure she’s not your daughter Carmilla? She must be related to you in some way” Rosie asked good naturedly. Carmilla sighs then says “I’m sure Rosie” while Clara and Odette chuckle to themselves.
“I think we should… test potential weapons on the exorcist in order to expand our arsenal” Velvet suggests.
“Velvet there is no need to-“ Carmilla is then cut off by Velvet again. “No need? I think what we don’t fuckin need is some delusional princess trying to ‘redeem’ sinners when all it’s done is gotten us a bunch of dead cannibals. At least it got rid of that useless snake fucker”
“THATS IT!” Vaggie shouts. She pulls out her spear and is only able to get one leg onto the table until she is lifted into the air.
Carmilla is holding her by the collar of her shirt (like how you would hold a kitten by the skin of their neck).
“Stand down Vaggie. She’s just trying to provoke you” Carmilla orders. Vaggie relents and lowers her weapon. “If I release you will you try to attack her again?” Vaggie crosses her arms and looks away in defiance. “Vaggie.” Carmilla says sternly.
“Ugh yes whatever” Vaggie says in annoyance. Carmilla puts Vaggie down and proceeds to wrap up the meeting.
“Ready to head home my dear!” Alastor calls towards Vaggie. “The farther away from Velvet the better” she answers.
“A moment Vaggie?” Carmilla asks. Vaggie nods and motions to Alastor that she’ll catch up with him.
Vaggie stands before Carmilla with her back straight and arms planted at her sides, very reminiscent of a soldier.
“Vaggie, I just want you to be aware that Velvet should not be taken lightly, the Vees too for that matter. Promise me you won’t get involved with them unless it’s unavoidable” Carmilla says with a bit of concern in her voice.
“She was being a bitch this whole meeting I couldn’t just-“ Vaggie started but was stopped by Carmilla “I know Velvet can be… frustrating. But she’s manipulative, and is unfortunately clever. She’s more trouble than she’s worth.”
“Then why stop me?!” Vaggie questions in frustration.
“She wanted to show the others that you were a threat! Additionally, it would give her an excuse to fight back and potentially take your life!” Carmilla shouted back.
“You think she’d be able to put me in the ground?!” Vaggie is now mad and hurt by the doubt Carmilla has in her.
“I don’t want you to get hurt Vaggie!” Carmilla retorts. She realizes what she has just admitted and wants to back pedal, wants to retract her words but… doesn’t. She can’t. She has grown rather fond of Vaggie and would hate to see her get hurt especially if it’s avoidable.
“Do you mean that?” Vaggie says voice entirely monotone. Before she can think Carmilla answers “Yes.” Suddenly, there are two arms wrapped around her, looking down, she sees Vaggie hugging her waist. Carmilla dawns a light smile and returns the hug and says “Puede que no seas mi hija pero te amo como tal.” (You may not be my daughter but I love you like one)
Vaggie tightens her embrace upon hearing those words and says “I- Muchas gracias Carmilla.”
They both back up and Carmilla fondly smiles at Vaggie. “Now, what are you going to do?” Carmilla asks with a smirk.
*sighs* “I’m not going to get involved with any of the Vees unless it is necessary” Vaggie answers. “Muy bien.”
Vaggie then gets an idea and asks nervously “I know you are pretty busy but if you ever have some free time maybe you could teach me some more fighting techniques? So if I ever do get involved with the Vees, you wouldn’t have to worry as much.”
Carmilla pretended to think about it but already knew her answer, “Hmmm I suppose that would be for the best. Besides, if you manage to take out any of the Vees you’d be doing Hell an invaluable service.” Vaggie pumps her fist in excitement.
“However, I want to make one thing clear.”
Vaggie freezes at the serious tone Carmilla uses.
“You are welcome to the Carmine residence any time” she says in the gentlest voice. Vaggie smiles gratefully and bids her a goodbye before suddenly turning back to give her one last hug, “Adios” Vaggie utters then darting out the door before Carmilla can say anything else. She merely chuckles to herself and waves at her departing figure.
“There you are! I was beginning to think Carmilla was having you sign some adoption papers with how long you were taking” Alastor says as they make their way towards the hotel.
“Relax your radio waves, I was just discussing some uh hotel stuff with Carmilla” Vaggie tried to play it cool, and was failing.
“Hmmm I’m sure” Alastor replied obviously not buying it.
BOOM that’s the end! I have no clue how to end this so welp it’s over :P
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curly-cottage-girl · 1 year
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#just feeling a lot of things and I don’t like them bc they’re kinda ugly#I know this yearning and gaping hole in my chest is ultimately supposed to be filled with God#at least in the sense that I’m not driven to envy over others being loved more than me#but I def have not been good with prayer lately. at all :/#I’m feeling discouraged in many ways too. I want to try to do more hobbies but the learning curve is so steep when i look at them#and I already have almost no motivation anyway so that discourages me even more#I wish I WANTED to do stuff#I wish I had plans and goals in my life bc as I get older it’s more embarrassing when i talk with ppl#had a preliminary meeting with a guy who does financial advising and that kind feel flat bc like#I have no goals I’m working towards#and also I don’t even know how to describe myself and what I like and all#I caved and thought maybe I’ll make a Catholic match profile bc maybe God wants me to be more proactive#even if I don’t think I would ever be able to do anything like online dating at all#bc I can’t even do regular dating irl#I want to have known the person for a long time first#but anyway that’s ANOTHER whole thing#so anyway I stopped making my account when I had to describe myself for the profile and I just drew a blank#like sorry I don’t do or like anything :/#I mean it’s not true but it also kinda is?#but yeah now I get all sorts of emails from catholic match and I can’t unsubscribe bc you have to sign in to unsubscribe#and I technically don’t have an account yet -_- bc I didn’t finish… so stupid#maybe I should go back to therapy….#but I really was feeling like I had hit a plateau. like really it was stuff in my life that needed to change#or spiritual healing and growth#and there was only so much that talking could do by that point after I had done a good amount of growing in self knowledge#not like it ever ends really but also I had to wake up early to have them before work#and also it’s money so yeah I stopped :/#so IDK#idk what to do#either in my life or for my mental/emotional state
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I ran this morning AND wrote some AND made art and I’m so proud of me
#didn’t get any of my actual office work done oopsies#but in my defense it’s a Friday and also I did allot time for it I just ended up not doing it#anyways still proud of me!!! guys art is so so important and I know that and I preach that but I haven’t been doing it#and I just picked up a blank sheet of paper and did it#and is it good or anatomically correct? no but it was so FUN#and I’ve been working thought Tim Clare’s writing stuff and it’s been GOOD#I like this new series of exercises a lot better than the couch to 80k#they’re. the same honestly and I don’t actually care about his commentary all that much#maybe I’m just more present or more invested in them#I only ran for 15. min and then I had to call my brother to pick me up because the heat was gonna make me pass out :/#but also I TRIED#I fucking tried today#also did u know running is utterly miserable.#runners high is def a thing#felt amazing afterward#but holy shit it’s awful in the moment#my roommate ran a 25k recently and I talked to her about it and she said it never gets better#which is. not very encouraging#but also I Want To run as much of this 5k as I can#maybe I’ll be dead after but it’s fine I have a couple days to recuperate before the eclipse#WHICH IM ALSO EXCITED SBOIT. I’ve never seen a total eclipse before#goddamit my brain jumped to too many places#delete later#anyways. if u didn’t u should acknowledge ur accomplishments today#even if they didn’t feel like much#now I’m gonna go read a 115k fanfic that’s gonna wreck me#that’s my treat to me#I HAVE ACTUAL BOOKS TO FINISH. but NO. THIS is how I’m spending my time. and it’s fine I’m valid#I’ve been talking to all the lesbians about running too#and they’ve been so encouraging too!! I love my coworkers and very distantly related coworkers sm
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tonycries · 1 month
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Go For It, Gojo! - G.S.
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Synopsis. You wouldn’t fuck Gojo Satoru even if you were paid… …is what you thought exactly five minutes before you were shoved against the wall of this cramped closet, his face stuffed in your soaked panties.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem! reader, academic rivals to lovers, student president! reader, unprotected sex, banter about physics, cunnilingus, oral sex (male + female), 7 minutes in heaven, college! AU, 69, Satoru is a tease down bad for you (and has a big dick), overstimulation, pet names (sweetheart, hardass), swearing.
Word count. 10.2k
A/N. I really don’t like physics. Art by @_3aem on X.
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Life truly has an awful sense of humor - almost as bad as Gojo’s, which you discovered on the first day of Advanced Quantum Physics. 
The air charged with nervous energy and the scent of freshly printed syllabi, you quickly snag a seat right at the front row of Professor Yaga’s class. 
Ah, you’ll never forget how peaceful those few seconds to yourself after introductions were - before the devil incarnate dramatically swung open those lecture hall doors and plopped himself down right next to you. Late. 
“Any closer to Yaga and you’d be fucking his wife, y’know.” a voice hums from beside you, shattering your daydreams of passing this class with flying colors and riding a wave of glory into becoming a Nobel prize-winning physicist. 
With a slight scowl, you turn your attention to the source of disturbance - only to meet eyes with (self-proclaimed) campus sweetheart, Satoru Gojo, leaning on his chair with an air of nonchalance. At your silence, he repeats, “I said any closer-”
“I heard what you said.” you snap, irritation flaring at the amused twinkle in his blue eyes and the mirthful grin that spreads across his lips at your reaction. “Doesn’t erase the fact that you’re sitting here too.” you raise a brow.
“Oh me? That’s because I’m already fucking his wife, sweetheart.” he deadpans with a blank expression. 
What? The tense silence that follows is deafening - for the first time ever in your life, you were shocked into speechlessness. 
A beat passes. One. Two. Before Gojo bursts into hysterics, clutching his stomach. “You- you shoulda seen the look on your face- HAHAHA-” he gets out between uncontrollable laughs. Face burning, you train your eyes forward and will yourself to not glance at the 6’3 mess cackling beside you.
Ugh. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Just think happy thoughts - kittens, quantum mechanics, being valedictorian. Desperately attempting to block out the giggling thorn at your side, you recoil at Professor Yaga’s extremely disapproving look in your direction. 
Panicking, and dreams of being his ace student slowly flushing down the drain, you quickly flip through your notes, attempting to catch up to where the lecture had now started. 
“Looks like we’re in trouble, partner~” Gojo’s dramatic stage-whisper catches the attention of students around you, them chuckling at your expense. 
“Hey, you’re the student president, right? Hey~ Heyyy prez~” As Professor Yaga continues his spiel about the syllabus, you continue to very obviously ignore the incessant comments that spill out of Gojo’s lips, to stifled laughs from his fast-forming entourage. 
The harder you tried to focus on Professor Yaga’s words, the louder and more absurd Gojo’s comments became - as if he’d made it his personal mission to enrage you. A sense of impending doom looming over you, you glare at him with a look that could’ve melted steel, hissing out, “Do you ever in your life shut the fuck up?”
Eyes widening in mock innocence, he grins “Oh~ I didn't know our student prez could get so feisty. Maybe I should take notes instead of doodling hearts around your name in my notebook.”
Ears ringing in embarrassment and frustration, and mind a whirlwind of how bad it would really be if you killed Gojo right here, you almost miss Professor Yaga’s question, “Now, would anyone here be able to discuss the interpretations in the debate between the Copenhagen interpretation and the Pilot-Wave theory?”
Teetering on the edge of your seat, you raise your hand, scrambling to salvage whatever is left of your academic reputation. You and- Gojo?
You start at the call of your name from Professor Yaga, “The Copenhagen Interpretation uses Heisenberg's uncertainty principle and emphasizes measurement to state that quantum-level particles can act as both waves and particles. It’s the most widely accepted and pragmatic theory.”
Gojo basically falls out of his seat in eagerness to answer after you.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Gojo.” 
You internally groan, ready for whatever bullshit was about to come out of his mouth. 
With a deep breath, “Not to be the devil’s advocate but the Pilot-Wave theory makes way more sense practically.”
Professor Yaga raises an intrigued eyebrow at Gojo’s statement, the class collectively holds a breath - as if awaiting the impending academic battlefield.
Gojo, with a cocky grin, plows on, “Think about it. The Pilot-Wave theory suggests that particles have definite positions and paths, unlike the uncertainty principle of the Copenhagen Interpretation. It's like predicting where a ball will land after you throw it, rather than saying it could be anywhere until you look."
Oh? He wasn’t a complete idiot?
Yet, you roll your eyes, “But the Pilot-Wave theory is too fanciful, it brings in too many hidden variables that have their own set of problems. It goes against the measurements and principles of locality!”
Unbothered by the challenge, Gojo leans back further in his chair, “What’s a couple complications? It’s a lot clearer on a microscopic level, none of that weird uncertainty of the Copenhagen Interpretation.”
Irritation running through your veins, you scoff at his condescending tone, “It might seem intuitive, but experiments and observations support the probabilistic nature of quantum mechanics.” You’re almost out of your chair at this point, an accusing finger pointed at Gojo. “Despite its weirdness, the Copenhagen Interpretation has proven successful in predicting outcomes.” 
“Oh yeah? And it’s also only used by hardasses that just want to shut up and calculate, sweetheart.”
“Big talk for a little bi-” 
“OKAY STUDENTS, that’s enough for now. Let’s put a pin in this discussion and move on with the topic.” Professor Yaga, who had been watching the debate with amusement, promptly ends it once you two begin to get overly heated. 
The rest of the class, on the edge of their seats and probably hoping for some fists swinging between the academic titans, now sit back in disappointment at the fight cut off early. 
You sit back in indignation, fuming at how Gojo had gotten you so worked up. And he was wrong too! 
The lecture continues as if you two were never two curse words away from each other’s throats. 
But, in the midst of it all, your glare meets blue, sparkling with amusement - a jolt of electricity runs through your body at the glint of recognition of the other’s brilliance. An unspoken yet undeniable competition.
You’ve avoided Gojo like the plague for the past few months since then - which isn’t doing much when said plague follows you around everywhere with incessant calls of “Hey, hardass prez~”. The only time you seek him out being to gloatingly show off the large, red “100” on your tests - to which, unfortunately, he does the same. 
It’s stupid. It’s childish. Honestly, sometimes you think he just tries to get under your skin for the hell of it.
But you don’t have the time to think too deeply into that.
Just like you don’t have time for this frat party. 
Music and alcohol thrumming through your veins, it’s always the same thing. You’d rather be holed up getting ahead of your physics textbook than be here. Yet, you owed a favor to your friend Haibara - and he’d been bugging you to come to this party for weeks now. 
You’ll just stay another hour then leave, you sigh.
Zoning out as Haibara plays an overly-intense game of beer pong, you’re startled by an arm around your shoulder. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t our lil’ prez looking like she’d rather peel paint than be here.” The expensive cologne hits you before the realization of who this was. “Drooling over the jocks? I recommend the STEM majors, sweetheart, jocks aren’t that great in bed.”
Quickly shrugging off his arm, you scowl, “Not like STEM majors are any better. And unlike some people, I have goals beyond being the life of the party.”
Decked out in slacks and a slightly too-unbuttoned shirt, Gojo chuckles, “Yeah, like what? Banishing fun?” Cerulean eyes gleaming with mischief, “You gotta let loose for once, sweetheart. Not everything in life is about academics and accolades.”
You scoff, rolling your eyes “Well not like I-” but whatever snarky retort gets caught in your throat as Gojo seizes your hand, effortlessly pulling you onto the dance floor. 
Caught off guard, you can do nothing more than sputter in surprise as he leans down to murmur in your ear, above the bass reverberating the walls, “C’mon hardass, sometimes in life, you just gotta- dance!” 
Gojo spins you into a dramatic dip, his silver chain brushing your face and his hand on your back burning into your skin.
Your cheeks burn in embarrassment - yeah, embarrassment - as the people around you cheer in amusement at the science department’s biggest rivals navigating the dance floor with surprising chemistry.
This was ridiculous. And yet, music ringing in your ears, you almost crack a smile. Almost. That is until your eye catches Haibara’s surprised ones from the side of the dance floor. Wait - here you were dancing with Gojo. 
Gojo pain-in-your-ass Satoru.
Immediately pushing him off with a hand to his chest, you don’t listen to whatever spills out of his mouth as you make your way to Haibara, disappearing with him into the crowd.  
“Hey, hey you okay? Wasn’t that the guy you were manifesting would step on Lego with his bare foot?” Haibara’s concerned voice speaks up from wherever you were dragging him through this sprawling frat house. 
“Ugh, yeah. Sorry about that, I don’t even- Anyway, how did the beer pong go?” you snap out of your reverie. What happened there? You were almost…enjoying yourself with Gojo Satoru of all people. 
Listening to Haibara brag about his dominating beer pong win thankfully took your mind off of your little endeavor with Gojo. 
“And then Yuji totally-”
“AH, THERE YOU ARE! Perfect, come join we’re two people short!” your kinda-friend Shoko’s drunken drawl breaks through the conversation. You can barely get a word out as she forcefully drags you two into a dimly lit room against your protests. 
The atmosphere heavy with beer and laughter, she plops you two down onto the floor in a neat circle of people before taking her seat beside you. “GREAT! Now we’ve got everyone, we can finally start.”
With a mischievous grin, Shoko declares, “Alrighty, folks! Time for the ol’ classic - we’re playing 7 minutes in heaven!” pulling out an old-fashioned, tattered hat from behind her back, to a collective mix of groans and cheers from the circle. 
“Where did you even find that ratty old thing, Shoko?” a sharply handsome man - Geto, you think - chuckles from his seat opposite you. And beside him- your heart stops. Gojo.
A smirk curling his lips and twinkling blue eyes locked on you. 
As if on instinct, you move to get up - only to be brought back down by a hand on your wrist. “Nuh-uh, no one’s escaping, c’mon it’ll be fun.” Shoko smirks, beginning to hand out pieces of paper to write down your names.
Apprehension pooling in your stomach, you share a glance with Haibara, who was honestly just happy to be here. Reluctantly, you scrawl down your name, tension building as it drops into the abyss of the hat.
“As our first attempted escapee, I think the prez should go first.” that agitating voice you knew too well speaks up. If looks could kill, Gojo would be six feet under and you’d be dancing all over his grave with a textbook on the Copenhagen Interaction. 
To agreeing laughter - and your impending doom - the hat is promptly placed in front of you. God, you knew you should’ve stayed home. With a shaky hand, you delve in, grasping onto a slightly crumpled piece of paper.
Not Gojo. Please not Gojo. Literally anyone but Gojo- 
Turning it over.
Satoru Gojo.
You jolt in surprise, rereading the hasty handwriting over and over - as if willing it to change. This must be some kind of sick joke. Eyes meeting Gojo’s, a flash of surprises passes his face before a self-satisfied grin takes over. He looked way too fucking pleased with himself.
“No fucking way.” Shoko mutters as it dawns on the group just who you were paired up with. Cheers and wolf-whistles erupt, filling the room as Satoru stands up extending a hand theatrically towards you. “If her highness the student prez would do me the utmost pleasure of joining me.”
You scoff, jeez it would be a surprise if you two didn’t kill each other in there. “Unless she’s…intimidated?” he bats his long lashes at you mockingly.
Intimidated? Of who? Swatting away Gojo’s hand, you stand up. “Intimidated? Don’t make me laugh.” 
He leans down, retorting, “I’ve tried but you don’t seem to know how.”. The room holds their breath, attention squarely on the two of you.
A beat of silence passes as you glare at him. You really could smack his annoyingly pretty face right now, but you shouldn’t - too many witnesses. 
“Now now, you two. Save it for the closet.” 
Ever the mediator, Geto ushers you two in the direction of the - very cramped - closet tucked into a corner of the room. 
Before you know it, the creak of the heavy wooden door rings in your ears as the door closes behind you. The loud click of a lock resonates, plunging you two into darkness. 
The muffled sounds of the party seem miles away as you try to focus on your breathing - trying not to let your mind drift to Gojo. You could feel the heat of his body, the ghost of his presence less than a foot away from you.
“So…” you flinch as Gojo’s voice cuts through the deafening silence. “You still alive and breathing after being trapped in a tiny closet with me?”
You huff, desperately wanting to break out of this closet, “Yes, but you probably won’t be if you don’t stay on your side.”
“This closet is barely a closet, there’s no ‘side’, sweetheart. And that’s my leg you’re resting on.”
You immediately scramble to move away from the warmth of Gojo’s leg that you’d been subconsciously leaning yours on. In the chaos, you probably did a bit more damage than solving. “Ah! Wait- watch the crown jewels, hardass.” 
You distance yourself as much as possible in the small space, knee burning where it had brushed up against Gojo’s that.
God, you were making a fool of yourself.
“As much as I like forceful women, you better take me out on a date first, sweetheart.” As your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting filtering in through the slight crack of the door, you could make out that signature playful grin. 
Your irritation simmers beneath the surface. Gojo always knew how to get under your skin. 
“Don’t you worry your empty lil’ head, I wouldn’t fuck you even if I was paid.” you bite back.
“Oh yeah?” Gojo leans in slightly, his voice low and teasing. “You sure about that, prez? I’ve been told that I’m irresistible.”
You raise a brow, unimpressed. “Yeah, irresistibly hard to not smack.” 
“I always did like ‘em feisty. Makes our little debates all the more interesting.”
“Our debates would be a lot more interesting if you learned to keep that big mouth shut.”
“Oh? C’mon, prez, you love this ‘big mouth’. And you love the challenge. I see the way you look for me every time you answer one of Yaga’s questions, y’know.” Gojo murmurs, gaze piercing into yours.
He leans in closer - now definitely not on his side of the closet. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d call it chemistry. Admit it and I might consider not calling you ‘hardass’ for a whole week.”
“What- That’s just because- I’d rather be called ‘hardass’ for a lifetime than admit to having any chemistry with you. I can’t even tolerate you for seven minutes here.” you sputter at both his proximity and his (absurd) accusations.
“As the student prez, isn’t your entire job to tolerate everyone? You’re a walking contradiction, sweetheart.”
“I am not. You have no effect on me.” you protest, standing firm. In the heat of your argument, you and Gojo have drawn closer to each other. His breath now fanning your face as he hums, voice a seductive tease, “I do, admit it. There’s a part of you that likes our chemistry.”
A defiant spark ignites in your eyes, “I’ll admit no such thing.”
“Then…hit me like I know you want to if you don’t want this.” he whispers, voice breathless. He closes the distance.
Gojo’s lips meet yours. 
Soft, they were so soft. 
Your heartbeat thundering in surprise, a hand raising to - to what? Smack him away? Eyes fluttering closed, your hand fists his shirt, the other subconsciously finding its way to his cloudy locks. Tugging. Kissing him back. 
Satoru kisses you like he’ll never be able to again. Because, he knows - he probably won’t.
Lips searing against yours, his eyes roll to the back of his head at your taste. Sweet - so sweet - just like candy, with a hint of Baileys and everything that he’ll never be able to have. 
A strangled groan leaves his throat when you bite down on his lips. Tugging with your teeth. Shit, fuck him and his bigass ego, he wanted to be the one showing off his irresistibility but really it’s the other way around. 
Mouth opening to let you in, he drinks in your gasps as he intertwines his tongue with yours. Large hands on your face pulling you impossibly closer to him in this godforsaken closet. It was dizzying - almost as if it hurt to part, drawn by that familiar magnetism that always seems to hang around you.
Lost in the heat of the moment, Satoru’s hands wander the expanse of your body. Groping and squeezing every curve and dip - he doesn’t have enough time. He probably never will.
A hand rests firmly on your hips. Awaiting. Breaking away - just a fraction - he breathes out urgently into your lips, “I need to taste you. Let me taste you. Please.”
“Desperate, huh?”
Your gaze pierces through him, it always does. Immediately after your disoriented nod, he presses a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. God, he could do this forever.
You shudder as he hastily bunches your tight dress at your hips, sending blood rushing straight to his cock. Shit, this was not how he expected these 7 minutes to go.
Hurriedly falling to his knees, the pain doesn’t even register when he comes face-to-face with your clothed cunt. Panties already so wet - just for him. Cock twitching carnally, he needed to taste you now. 
Tongue flattening across your swollen folds through your underwear, just a slight taste of your wet pussy and Satoru already thinks he might pass out. Ah, so good - of course you taste heavenly.
“Ah! Gojo- more.”
Pulling away, he feels drunk off the whimper of disappointment that escapes your mouth. “Call me Satoru.” he hums, fingers deftly sliding your soaked panties down your legs. His hot breath fanning your entrance has you clenching your thighs together, desperate for any friction.
Mouth watering at this, Satoru curses the darkness inside the closet - can’t even admire your pretty pussy right. You flinch as his face meets your cunt. Shit, this was better than he’d ever imagined on those lonely nights pathetically fucking his fist.
He breathes you in so sinfully, tongue sliding teasingly between your folds in a leisurely rhythm that almost has him forgetting however many minutes you two have left. Frankly, he couldn’t give less of a fuck about it either. Sinful squelches fill the confined space, along with your quiet moans of his name. 
“Hngh- S-Satoru. Feel s’good. Faster.” 
Ah, it’s really music to his ears. Your voice plays on repeat in his mind. He doesn’t even realize the call from outside until you look down at him, eyes dazed and kiss-bitten lips moving to panickedly mutter, “Satoru, we only have three more minutes.”
Ah, guess he’ll have to take his time in his dreams. 
“I only need two.” Satoru purrs, lips ghosting your wet core, voice sending goosebumps down your spine - all the way down to your dripping cunt. 
“W-well, stop hngh- running your mouth then.” you retort.
Satoru’s smirk against your plush folds is the last thing you see before he dives nose-deep in your pussy. He doesn’t waste time, tongue dipping in and out of your hole at an unforgiving pace. In and out in and out in and-
“Hah- yes! Satoru jus’ like that!” you hiss out, desperately trying to keep the moans ripping from your throat to a minimum, in fear of the others outside hearing. 
Noticing, Satoru snakes a hand up to your mouth - bullying his ringed-fingers in through your swollen lips. His index caresses your tongue, speeding up his movements on your pretty pussy as you gag around him. Moans catch in your throat as you struggle to accommodate him, the pleasure of being stretched from two ends too much. 
Satoru only has to take one look - tears clinging to your lashes and drool trickling down the corner of your mouth as you suck on his fingers - before he thinks he might just cum in his pants. Fuck, it was so lewd. 
You tighten your grasp on his hair, sure that your knees would give out if it wasn’t for the bruising grip he had on your hips, keeping you firmly on his mouth. Unable to run away. 
Shit, for someone so tight-laced, you were so messy on his mouth. He moans as your slick pools in his mouth, dripping down the corners of his lips. The  tap! tap! tap! of it hitting the hardwood floor rings deafeningly in his ears.
Ah, so this is why they call it 7 minutes in heaven. Satoru thinks he wouldn’t mind dying if it was in between your legs being suffocated by your cunt. 
Your entrance clamps down desperately on his tongue, forcing him to bully it into your snug pussy, fucking you unrelentingly. His nose rubbing against your swollen clit over and over. 
At this point, Satoru doesn’t know whether the pulse he feels is that of his heartbeat or your cunt, throbbing and achingly needy for his mouth. His nose stimulates your clit just right, sending shockwaves through your body that have you bucking into him for more.
Voice slightly muffled by his fingers, “Fuck- Satoru, keep going. Hngh- I’m gonna cum!” 
The way your walls desperately try to fuck his tongue has his cock straining so painfully against his trousers. Satoru increases his abuse on your cunt mercilessly, the harsh pace making you squeal and buck into his face. Your juices are now all over his mouth, gushing around his tongue. In and out in and out in and out-
“Satoru!”
You cum hard - all over Satoru’s pretty face.
Now, Satoru loves when you run your mouth and infuriate him, but he might just love it even more when you’re falling apart and speechless under his touch. 
Riding out your high on his features, you can feel yourself quivering around his tongue as he laps up your juices as if it were a delicacy. Deep moans leaving his mouth and vibrating across your soaked cunt, making you jolt at the overstimulation.
Pulling back, Satoru admires your unfocused eyes and bruised lips. “For someone that so fucking despises me, your slutty pussy sure is sucking me in so desperately.” he murmurs, slightly out of breath after what just transpired. 
“Sh-shut up.”
Ah, if only he got to see this view more often. 
You can’t help but feel the same way. Seeing Satoru fucked out, vibrant eyes half-lidded and blown out, your slick prettily glossing all over his mouth and nose. A small voice in the back of your mind wishes he was more like this and not whatever he is when he’s getting on your nerves.
“ONE MORE MINUTE! Finish up whatever devil’s tango or death match y’all are having in there!”
Those troublesome thoughts are pushed out of your mind as soon as you hear Shoko call from outside.
The bubble is broken. Jumping apart as far as possible in the cramped closet, you press yourself into the closet wall as you two wordlessly rush to make yourselves slightly more presentable. The air, once charged with overflowing tension and sex, now so strained.
Bending down to feel for the panties that Satoru- no, Gojo had thrown god-knows-where, your hands graze his - still slightly wet with your spit. Snatching your hands back as if it burned, you make out Gojo’s figure pocketing something.
Your panties??
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” you hiss, face burning at both his actions and the idea of going outside without panties.
“Just think of it as repayment for the fun.” he hums, mirth spilling into his tone. And before you could snap at his antics, Shoko is ripping the door open and looking around the closet for what you can only assume to be missing body parts and blood.
“Aw, man. And here I was thinking Satoru would be six feet under by now.” she groans, walking off disappointedly - for which you were eternally grateful otherwise she’d have seen the few suspicious stains on the floor.
“Remember, you owe me twenty, Shoko.” Geto speaks up from the circle. Were they…betting on whether you and Gojo would kill each other in there?
Finally stepping out of that godforsaken closet, you catch the smirks and raised eyebrows from some of the people from the group.
Meeting Gojo’s eye, a smirk curls around his swollen lip as he swipes a thumb across it. Agonizingly slow. Teasing. 
Your cheeks flare, something pooling in your stomach. Ugh, this is why you hate frat parties.
“You alright, man? You look…flushed?” you hear Geto question, pointedly staring at Satoru’s slightly disheveled look.
It was all getting too much - the alcohol in the air, the thumping of the overplayed pop music, and him. You felt so lightheaded. Ripping your gaze from Gojo’s you leave without so much as a goodbye to him, only stopping for a reassuring nod at Haibara. You make a beeline for the exit, dashing out of there and down the winding staircase as fast as you could. 
Focused on navigating the packed party, you almost don’t register Gojo rushing after you. Ignoring whatever words were tumbling out of Gojo’s mouth, you silently thank the sorority that had just pulled up - clinging onto him in greeting, making it impossible to follow after you. 
The cool night air washes over you as you finally step outside. You sigh in relief as you leave the chaotic sounds of the party - and him - behind. 
Impatiently waiting for your friend on the way to pick you up, only two thoughts echo in your mind.
He actually only needed two minutes.
What the fuck?
Meanwhile, back in that heady room, Shoko nudges Suguru, the latter still watching in amusement where Satoru had run after you in the door. “Hm?” he asks, absent-mindedly.
“Why do most of these papers have Satoru’s name?”
---
You pass through the next morning in a daze. The hardest part was probably trying to get dressed without making eye contact with the purple finger marks on your hips that Sato- Gojo had left to remember him by.
You still can’t believe that happened. 
It’s alright, it was just a mistake in the heat of the moment - you just have to forget it ever happened, right? But that’s easier said than done when your last class of the day is Advanced Quantum Physics.
Cursing your timetable, you step through the crowded campus. You pull your sweater tighter around yourself, the fabric doing nothing to stop your skin searing where Gojo’s lips had been just last night.
Alright, you just had to get through this one class today. There’s a lot of people in Professor Yaga’s class - it’s not like you’ll necessarily see that bane of your existence-
“Yooo prez, fate just seems to bring us together hmm?” 
Gojo almost topples out of his chair, waving in your direction. As your eyes sweep across the room, you can feel your heart sinking. Shit, you really feel like you’re being Punk’d right now. 
Cursing whoever was up there for this cruel joke, you make your way to the desk beside Satoru’s - the only empty one. 
Slumping down onto the chair with a frustrated huff, you sink into yourself - eyes trained firmly forward and ignoring the playful grin in your peripheral vision.
To your surprise, Gojo doesn’t say a word throughout the lecture. Not a single comment about fucking any professor’s wife - or your cunt. Huh, did last night cause some type of qi deviation or something?
As Professor Yaga drones on about quantum entanglement, you find the words going in one ear and out the other, too focused on wondering what Gojo’s game was.
It’s only towards the end of the lecture, at the introduction of some new assignment that you find yourself finally letting your guard down. Okay, see, it wasn’t too bad. Now time to go back to your apartment and study whatever quantum entanglement was for the next five hours.
“Ah- And remember, the midterm assignment pairings are posted on Canvas.” 
What was that?
God, you hated working with other people. It was much more efficient for you to stay in and finish this paper in one sitting.
“So, partner~ My place or yours?”
What?
The bell rings, its metallic chime resonating in your mind almost as loud as Gojo’s words. Signaling the end of class - and probably the end of your sanity. 
You wish the ground would swallow you up at this very moment. These days have really not been your days.
---
“Literally what do you bring to the table?”
“Comedic relief and my undeniably good looks.”
“...”
“...and also the case study and background information.”
The air at the stuffy café just off-campus was a mixture of freshly ground coffee and hushed conversations - of course, occasionally disrupted by the chaotic debates that erupted from your little booth.
Not too long ago, as everyone moved to file out of the classroom, you were frozen, glaring at your open laptop so intensely you half-expected it to combust - scrutinizing the neat arrangement of Gojo’s name next to your own over a million times.  
Finally sighing in defeat, you nodded in surrender at Gojo - who was whooping in victory. But, you were still adamant on meeting somewhere in public. The last time you two were left alone ended up…interesting. 
“Then you do that and I’ll take care of the rest of the theoretical analysis and evaluation. Okay, sounds good, Gojo.” you deadpan, rubbing the sides of your forehead in frustration. 
“Ouch, no Satoru?”
Ignoring his comment, you promptly slam your laptop closed, gathering your things with a determined sigh. Ready to escape the stifling atmosphere of the cafe. “So you do that and put it on the doc, and I’ll do the same with my parts. See ya.”
That’s when you feel a large hand covering yours - the same one from- “Hey there now, hardass, stay a little longer - gotta make sure you don’t slander quantum entanglement in our essay the same way you do with the Pilot-Wave theory.” Gojo interrupts your intrusive train of thought. 
“What? Unlike you, I don’t slander any scientific theories. Although, I do think the idea of entangled particles jumping around like you do is hardly the hallmark of a stable scientific theory.” you retort, face burning but setting down your bag nonetheless.
Resting his face on his hands, he grins at you. “Oh yeah? I think stability is overrated, prez. Quantum entanglement challenges you because it’s a realm where your precious stability crumbles in the face of non-local correlations.”
God, was he glad he begged on his knees to Yaga to pair you two together. He was having way too much fun with this. 
“Just because particles can communicate faster than you can comprehend doesn't mean we should abandon reason.” you raise a brow. 
“Well, I think you should just embrace the uncertainty, sweetheart. Life is a game of chance, just like quantum entanglement.”
“Oh, really?” you drone out, sarcastically. 
“Yeah, think about it. For instance, I never thought I’d still be alive and breathing after last night. But here I am.” at your stunned silence, he continues. “I for sure thought you’d have the coffin ready as soon as I kissed y-”
You panickedly place your hands over his mouth to shut him up, those blue eyes twinkle in amusement. “When I said you had a big mouth I really wasn’t lying, huh.” 
Slowly removing your hands once it seemed like Gojo wouldn’t spill your endeavors in this family-friendly cafe, you sigh, “Okay- We’ll get some shit done today, alright. But this is the last time I’m meeting with you for this.”
“Mhm~ You got it, prez.”
It was not the last time you met with Gojo for this. 
Nor was it the second-last.
Or the third-last. 
Each and every time you two worked together on the assignment, you’d spend more time bickering about anything ranging from what you’d learned in Professor Yaga’s class that day to whether the old lady who frequented the café was a part of the mafia. 
“I’m telling you, she handles those knitting needles like they’re a weapon.”
“Mhm and she sips her Earl Grey like she’s plotting espionage. Now, get to work before I use my teaspoon as a weapon.”
“I’d rather investigate her than this damn Qiskit simulation.”
“Sure, Gojo. I’ll add her to our list of groundbreaking research projects.”
“Don’t come crying to me when I rub it in your face once we see her on the news as a mafia queenpin, prez.”
You’re pretty sure the café employees have a love-hate relationship with you and Gojo - too lively to be one of their favorite regulars, but arguments too amusing to kick you two out. 
And as for your relationship with Gojo…well. It’s not as if you can’t go 7 minutes without being somewhat civil, and yet that’s exactly the issue, isn’t it?
After what had happened that night, it feels as if there’s something charging the air whenever you two are together.
You chalk it up to just lingering tension, but that still doesn’t explain the way Gojo’s eyes hold a warm twinkle whenever he looks at you - gaze a little too warm than you’d expect a rival to have. But it’s fine, you just have to ace this assignment and then this strange dynamic can go back to normal.
It’s only towards the end of your assignment that you realize how wrong you really were.
---
Out of breath and darting across campus towards where you knew Gojo was waiting, you half-wish you joined the track team instead of the student government. Damn student reps, can’t keep proper archives.
As much as you got a kick out of getting on Gojo’s nerves, you hated to keep anyone waiting.
“Ah! Prez! Was heartbroken thinking you’d stood me up, y’know?” Satoru calls once he spots you bolting towards him on that dimly-lit pathway. Wow, maybe you should’ve joined the track team.
You trip. Ah, maybe not.
Feet automatically hastening your way, he catches you. Well, more like you fall into his arms.
“Just in time, huh?” he chuckles, thankful for the sun dipping below the horizon - otherwise you’d surely have caught the rosy flush tinting his cheeks. Arms wrapped around your waist and supporting your waist, Satoru almost coos at the surprised look gracing your face. You always did something to his heart.
Hastily distancing himself from you once you stand on your own, he rambles - anything to drown out the banging of his heart against his chest. “So, I’m assuming you were out there doing all your president-ly duties?” 
“Ah! Yes, I’m so sorry, the meeting ran overtime and-” 
Listening to you rant, Satoru thinks that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere but here - bickering with you. He’s only snapped out his reverie at your disappointed groan. Oh, what was this? He didn’t even realize his feet had carried him to the little café already. 
Ripping his eyes from you, he turns to what moping at. A sign with red writing is plastered over the very locked café entrance - Sorry! Staff training today, hope to see you tomorrow!
“Seems like everyone’s got meetings today.” he hears you grumble. Satoru knows it isn’t right, but his heart leaps slightly at the chance to get to know you outside of that familiar cafe.
You, meanwhile, felt tension - and something else - pooling in your stomach. Shit, if the sanctuary of your café is no longer available…
“Well, we could just go home and finish off the paper by ourselves. It’s only the last bit anyway.” you suggest, voice slightly shaky at the idea and anticipation of actually being alone with Gojo after so long. 
“But Suguru’s such a loud snorer, I’d never get any work done.” Gojo whines. Well, there goes that plan.
“The library?”
“I hear it’s haunted this time of year.” he answers right away. 
“Ghosts are seasonal?” you ask absent-mindedly, too focused on weighing between the need to finish this assignment today and the uncertainty of what would happen between you and Gojo.
A tense silence fills the slowly darkening street as you go through all your options. Finally, watching the long shadows casted now, you sigh. “Fine. We’ll go to my place.” you mutter out. 
“Would you get angry if I celebrated right now?”
“Maybe.”
The walk to your apartment is bathed in the soft orange glow of the setting sun. It was almost peaceful - if it weren’t for Gojo’s excited chattering about god-knows-what. 
Your mind was running a million miles a minute. Was something like last time going to happen? Were you a lecher for expecting it? Why didn’t you mind the thought as much as you think you should?
You risk a glance at Satoru, who was in the middle of a passionate speech about how ketchup was a valid condiment on pasta. Soft sunlight paints his hair an amber hue, casting warm shadows that bring out his pretty features, eyes sparkling with passion and mischief. He was beautiful.
Wait. Beautiful?
“Hey isn’t this your apartment building or is walking past it a pre-entrance ritual?” 
Ah. Whoops.
You snap out of those ridiculous notions, gathering whatever dignity you have left to walk back to the apartment complex you’d left in the dust while wrapped up in your thoughts.
“Oooo, didn’t take you for much of a decorator, hardass.” Gojo comments, flitting about your cozy apartment to look at all the little knick-knacks and pictures 
“Did you really think I lived in some sterile lab?” you retort. Gojo’s almost-endearing curiosity amuses you enough to let go of the electricity thrumming through your body at having him so close. In your home. 
“Well, I expected more beakers and fewer fairy lights, sweetheart.”
You roll your eyes, pretending to be offended. “Believe it or not, Gojo, hardasses can have a sense of style, too.”
He continues his exploration, stopping in front of a photo on the wall. “Who’s this model?” he grins, pointing at a picture of you in stuffy formal attire at some conference.
You sigh, knowing exactly which photo he's referring to. “That, Gojo, is me at a conference presenting a groundbreaking research paper.”
“Groundbreaking, huh? Is that what they call it these days?” he hums, arching an eyebrow playfully. 
“Yes, and six feet under is what they’ll be calling you if you don’t get your ass here and finish this paper.”
“...yes, prez.”
Writing the conclusion and inserting citations is always the fun part. If you could write an essay on whatever you want, it would be only conclusions and citations, you think.
After a few hours of working on your paper, apparently Gojo does not feel the same way.
“Fuck Noodletools. All my homies hate Noodletools.”
“This is why you only have two friends, Gojo.”
“Hey! I’m a very likable person, y’know.” 
“...”
He sets his laptop down leaning closer to you over where he was seated opposite you on the coffee table, clearly bored of citations for the time being. “Also, aren’t we friends, sweetheart? Technically I have three.”
You raise a brow, this was the first time Satoru had ever addressed the strange dynamic you two had. “Are we?” you ask, genuinely. 
A deafening silence envelopes your living room. This was the first time you’d seen such a serious expression take over Gojo’s face as he answers, voice even, “I’m not sure.”
The atmosphere thickens with a charged tension, the weight of Gojo’s words lingering in the room. A spark flickers in his eyes. You feel like you could almost get whiplash from the contrast between the heated banter to where you two were now. Was it always so hot in this room?
You let out a strained laugh, attempting to diffuse the seriousness and go back to a trivial territory you were more familiar with. “I never thought the great Gojo Satoru would be uncertain about something.” Your eyes flicker unwillingly from his intense gaze to his worry-bitten lips.
The mischief returning to his gleaming eyes, he smirks “Uncertainty can be thrilling, don't you think, sweetheart?”
You don’t even know what to say to that - and you don’t have to. Because before you can respond, Gojo swiftly leans over the coffee table - catching your lips in a sudden, electrifying kiss. 
Time stands still. A shiver runs down your spine as you realize that you didn’t want to push him away. At all. In fact, you grab a fistful of his soft locks, pulling him impossibly deeper into the kiss. 
Pulling away mere millimeters, Gojo’s hot breath fanning your mouth as he whispers, “Told you the uncertainty is thrilling, sweetheart.”
“Shut up and kiss me.” you grumble, irritated because his lips ghosting yours was not enough.
Before you know it, Gojo has you pinned against the plush couch. His lips finding your, the kiss deepening as he yearns for that desperate connection - as if each breath depends on smothering you with dizzying kisses. 
The room seems to shrink, right now only filled with the heated exchange of breaths and the feeling of Satoru’s lips searing into yours. 
You think he tastes like caramel and uncertainty - yet, this time, you fall into the unknown with open arms. Wrapping your legs around his toned waist, your arms around his broad shoulders - bringing him to you so close you’d think the laws of physics were taking a coffee break.
It almost hurt. 
The intensity of the moment only growing, the atmosphere in your homey apartment crackles with a tension that you knew in the back of your mind had been building for so long - ever since that party.
Your heartbeat echoes in your ears. You knew this would happen.
And a part of you needed it to.
His fingers trace a path along your jawline, leaving a trail of heat - you shudder, craving for more. 
“Gojo, I want you.” you breathe out, words muffled by Satoru sucking sinfully on your lips. 
He pulls away slightly, delicate strings of saliva still connecting him to you. Every fiber of his being resisting to part.
“Don’t call me that.” he purrs out, the intensity of his half-lidded stare sending a jolt straight down to your heated core. “It’s Satoru when we’re fucking, remember?”
Looking into his sultry eyes, for the first time ever you decide to heed what Satoru says. “S-Satoru, please.” you whimper, hips bucking up to meet his own. You can feel the large outline of his achingly hard cock straining against those stupidly overpriced trousers, pussy quivering in anticipation. 
Now, there have been three times in his life that Satoru thinks he has died and gone to heaven. The first being when he discovered that the ramen joint by his dorm also had free Wi-Fi. Second, that first day in Advanced Quantum Physics when you snapped at him told him to shut the fuck up. 
And finally, right now, as he’s got you needy and squirming underneath him - such pretty gasps of his name leaving your kiss-bitten lips. 
God, navigating quantum physics is a walk in the park in comparison to what you put his heart through. 
“Hmm, never in my life thought I’d see his view, sweetheart.” he whispers lowly into your ear, delighting in the goosebumps that erupt along your alluring body. How did he get so lucky?
Hastily pulling down your shorts, his mouth waters at your wet panties. Another prize for him, hm? Throwing them along with your panties to god-knows-where, Satoru drinks in the sight of your bare pussy - a privilege that he didn’t get in that godforsaken closet. 
Ah, so ready and dripping for him already. Your slick glistens out of your heated entrance as you clench around nothing. “Aww, they’ve faded.” he whines, heart lurching at the lack of his marks from last time.
It’s alright, he can just make more.
Not one to waste time, with a bruising grip holding your hips steady, Satoru grinds his painfully hard cock into your needy cunt, savoring the pretty mewls that leave your mouth. The way your swollen pussy quivers against him makes him throw his head back, seeing stars already. 
Nipping along your neck, leaving marks he knows you’ll have to cover up tomorrow. “Sit on m’face,” he murmurs into your skin.
“W-what?”
Pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses along the valley of your breasts, Satoru breathes you in. Fuck, he prefers the smell of your skin to any scent in the world. “Sit- on- my- face.” he repeats, words punctuated with erotic kisses to your hardened nipples, tongue flicking them through the fabric of your clothes. 
“You’re gonna be the death of me, y’know?” you gasp. Yet, still shifting on that cramped couch. Why do you two always fuck in the most inconvenient places?
Satoru’s legs hang off the end of your couch as he lays on his back, you’d almost find the position funny - if it weren’t for you straddling his head. 
His hot breath on your wet cunt sends waves of electricity though your entire body as you hover over his mouth. Your needy pussy right above where his mouth is, hesitating. Your slick oozes slowly through your swollen folds - drip! drip! drip! onto his awaiting tongue, brows furrowing and eyes rolling to the back of his head at your sweet juices.
“Mhm, and I hope that you’ll be the death of me.” he hums, tongue savoring your taste.
It’s the last thing said before Satoru surges forward, plunging mouth-first into your heated cunt. 
Despite not being on a time crunch this time, Satoru doesn’t waste a moment teasing - he already has you splayed out and aching for him, what more could he want?
He bullies his tongue into your snug cunt, pushing past the first ring of muscle. You twitch around him, sweet moans spilling incessantly from your mouth. “Ah! Hngh- Satoru! Fuck s’good.”
Your sounds of pleasure going straight to his dick, he bucks into your hands. Ah, more. He needs your touch more. 
The feeling of your plush walls clamping down on him only spurs him on further, fucking you at a ruthless pace. One hand gropes across your body, resting a thumb on your clit that rubs tight circles, making you grind down further into his mouth. 
“Your pussy is so honest, sweetheart. She wants me so badly.” he murmurs, voice sending vibrations that make you let out a loud moan which he suspects your neighbors would be complaining about. 
You were so perfect for him, Satoru thinks he might go insane.
You were definitely going insane.
Satoru shows no mercy, his abuse on your dripping cunt only speeding up at every buck of your hips into his tongue. It felt so fucking good. 
Closing your eyes, his pressure on your core has you seeing spots behind your vision. You could feel the curl of his signature smirk against your folds as your pussy tries sucking him back in at every thrust. Too good to let him go. “Knew you loved this ‘big mouth’, hardass.” he murmurs. 
Shit, you can’t be the only one acting so needy like this.
“What’re you doing, sweetheart?” Satoru drawls, voice muffled by your cunt as he feels the breeze of his lower abdomen hitting the heady air of your living room.
“Payback.” is all you mutter out as you fumble his trousers down his long legs. Curse these gyms. Curse squats. Why did he have to be so perfectly sculpted? An Adonis in his true form. 
You can feel the saliva pooling in your mouth as his boxers come into view - rock-hard cock straining painfully against it A patch of pre-cum pools at his head - he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him. Hands shaky from the way Satoru’s incessant tongue was fucking into you, you shuffle his boxers down. 
Satoru’s painfully hard erection springs out, hitting his lower abs. Fuck- how the hell were you supposed to take him? Life was really unfortunate - water was wet, and Gojo Satoru has a huge dick.
“S-sweetheart, you don’t have to-” he murmurs against your swollen pussy. 
From all your times shutting up Gojo Satoru, this one might just be your favorite. 
His words catch desperately in his throat as you spit out a pool of saliva onto Satoru’s furiously flushed head. A low hiss leaving him as you teasingly lick his sensitive slit. 
Never one to back down from a challenge, Satoru attaches his lips with yours once more. He groans lowly into you, the stimulation making you yelp in surprise. 
“So, it’s like that, huh?” 
Satoru doesn’t have the time to ponder your words before you take in as much of his length as you can in one go. “Ah! Hah- Oh fuck, prez. Always knew you were a forceful woman.”
You moan at the slightly salty taste of his precum. Gagging around him, drool drips down the corner of your mouth as you try to take him in inch by fucking inch. It was so fucking messy.
Diving nose-deep in your cunt once again, Satoru continues the merciless pace of his tongue once more. Both your muffled moans fill the heated room, lost in the pleasure and the heat of the moment.
Shit, you knew by the way your walls clenched down on his tongue that you weren’t gonna last long. And judging by the urgent twitching of Satoru’s cock - he wasn’t going to either. 
He fucks up his throbbing erection into your mouth, your eyes watering as his tip hits the back of your throat. Ropes of spit and precum decorate your lips. Even the staunch part of you that never backs down for anyone cheers at being so used. It’s so fucking debauched.
Your hand moves down to massage his heavy balls, tugging and pulling at a rhythm that matches the rapid ministrations of his thumb on your swollen clit.
Mind spinning and pleasure dizzyingly overwhelming as you both lean closer and closer to your highs. With a final mewl around his thick cock, your juices are gushing all around Satoru’s mouth. 
Your mind blanks as you cum, the only things registering being the tingles of your oversensitive pussy as Satoru rides you through your high on his tongue and the taste of Satoru as he cums in hot spurts in your mouth. Salty, with a hint of sweet - the flavor making your pussy twitch.
Fucking his seed into you, your mouth milks his cock. His cum dribbling down the corner of your mouth, all thoughts of dirtying your couch go out your brain when you hear the fucked out whines at the back of Satoru’s throat.
Fuck a refractory period, you wanted to hear that more.
You remove yourself from him with a lewd pop! Cum flowing smoothly down your throat, you lock eyes with Satoru over your shoulder. His jaw drops, pupils blown lustfully as your tongue sticks out - showing the way you’ve swallowed every single drop of his seed.
“Now, Satoru. I need you to fuck me with yours cock just as you did with your tongue.” your words still strained from your orgasm.
Wordlessly, Satoru nods, eyes shining - still reeling from the sinful sight of your bruised lips glossy with his cum - his cum that you swallowed as if it was a delicacy.
Meanwhile you were thinking that you should fuck Satoru more if it meant you got him to shut up and be pretty more often. 
Slightly more clear-headed now, just as lustful. 
Your couch creaks in protest as you shift positions to face Satoru once more. He seizes your lips in a passionate kiss, mouth attacking yours with a desperation for your essence.
Your head spins as you taste yourselves on each other, words tumbling out of your mouth in the haze, “Satoru, bed- now.”
But when has he not challenged you?
“Mhm, anything you say, prez.” he whispers raspily against your lips, still-hard cock teasingly dragging along your swollen folds. 
“Satoru.”
“Fuck yes. Say m’name, sweetheart.” he groans out, throwing his head back against the armrest. Your slick pools all over Satoru’s thick head, dripping sensually down his length to where he gripped tightly at the base. 
Swollen lips dropping into a small “oh”, he slides a ringed hand up his member, spreading your juices. Cock twitching carnally at the way your pussy was leaking all over him, he grits out, “Need to feel you around my cock now, sweetheart.”
So he does.
Thick head pressing into your tight entrance, a low growl leaves his throat at how sinfully tight you were. Fuck, he could just about pass out right now.
“S’tight, sweetheart. So good.” he fucks up into you in shallow, uncontrollable movements of his hips - impatience quickly waning. You yelp at each thrust, walls burning with the stretch of Satoru’s thick head. 
You try to steady yourself as Satoru’s thrusts get deeper and deeper, nails digging harshly into his muscled shoulders. In the midst of it all you still manage to impatiently slur out, “I-if you’re gonna fuck me then hah- fuck me like you mean it, Satoru.”
Oh, that did it.
Your words make the last bit of sanity Satoru had left snap. 
In a swift movement, he sheaths his throbbing erection in your wet cunt completely. A gasp gets caught in his throat at the way your walls were clamping down on him in surprise. 
He looks up at you, eyes half-lidded and a dangerously predatory glint in them that sends shivers down your spine. “Fuck me like I mean it, huh? You’re quite bossy, y’know that, prez?”
Before you can retort - and probably dig your grave deeper - he stands up in one fluid motion, your legs around his waist and cock still buried deep in your snug pussy. You moan at the change in angle, his tip now kissing your cervix so deliciously painfully. Shit, you feel so full. 
Hands moving down to grope your ass firmly and support your weight, he grins lowly in your ear, “You’re lucky I love that part of you.”
The wall is cold as Satoru shoves your back against it. his body making the air leave your lungs as he presses into yours, ramming into you at a merciless pace. Your tight cunt clenches so tightly around him, as if to prevent him from leaving. 
Each thrust into your warm core has his eyes rolling to the back of his head, brows furrowing in ecstasy. His lips capture yours once again in a rough dance that matches the cadence of his hips.
You mewl against his mouth at the feeling of his heavy balls stinging your skin as they smack your ass. The power behind each harsh thrust has you bouncing against the wall, legs pulling tighter around his toned waist to bully his cock impossibly deeper in you. 
“Where- fuck! Where’s the bed?” he moans breathlessly against your lips, voice sounding as if each thrust of his pulsing cock into your plush walls sends him spiraling deeper into insanity.
“Down- down the hallway. Hngh- fuck, Satoru!” you not far behind.
Your mind is foggy, barely even registering as Satoru moves blindly towards your bedroom with powerful strides - not yet pulling out of you.
He doesn’t get very far before he’s got you sprawled over your bedroom floor, your carpet digging into you as his cock slams into your abused cunt with that feral pace he loves so much. Not even making it to the bed.
“Ah! Hah- Satoru, what happened to the bed?” you sputter out in-between uncontrollable moans. 
“Too far. Hngh- need you now.” he answers around your breasts, teasing and tweaking your sensitive nipples.
“Wh-who’s irresistible now?” you manage to smirk, relishing in the huff of laughter that escapes him. Even now, you always did manage to one-up him.
“Mhm, you’ve always been irresistible, sweetheart.” he mutters, moving to press a chaste kiss against your forehead, not sure whether the words were even meant for you to hear. 
And you know it’s just pussy-drunk talk, but right now you can’t help the way your cheeks heat up, heartbeat ringing in your ears. 
Not sure how to respond to that, you pull him closer to you, allowing him to bury his burning face in the crook of your neck. Maybe right now neither of you needed to speak, your bodies doing enough talking as Satoru continues his relentless cadence.
Your hips bucking up to meet his, you whimper in pleasure and overstimulation into the heady room as Satoru moves down a hand to draw rough, little circles over and over your throbbing clit. It was all too much. “S-Satoru.”
“Me too, my sweetheart. Me too.” is all he gasps out, teeth digging into your neck at the pleasure overwhelming his sensitive cock. Satoru’s tight balls twitch as they smack your ass, cock glistening with cum and slick. He sees stars behind his eyes - or maybe those were tears at the overstimulation. He really doesn’t know anymore. 
Head spinning and thoughts racing with only Satoru Satoru Satoru, you’re very much in the same state. 
“Satoru?” you whine out, tears clinging to your lashes.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
You pull him into an intense kiss, pussy clamping down on him desperately as his lips brand yours - it sends you both over the edge. 
Satoru thinks he sees heaven as he cums, and you were probably an angel. 
Hot ropes of his thick cum paint your walls white, cunt quivering around him as you both ride out your climaxes together. A creamy ring forms around his base as he fucks his seed into you desperately, marking you so obviously as his. All thoughts of Plan B run out of your mind at the overstimulated whimpers leaving Satoru’s ruby lips.
His dick twitches inside you as his unforgiving thrusts slow down to shallow grinds of his hips, nothing more than to keep his cum inside of you as your highs bate.
Body collapsing onto yours, careful to not crush you with his weight, Satoru pulls you closer to him. And despite everything that happened this evening, he thinks that this might be what makes his ears burn red the most. Your body so vulnerably connected with his own. Just the two of you in this quiet world.
The silence feels intimate and fragile. Brain still hazy from your orgasms, you don’t think you’ve ever quite looked at your bedroom ceiling from his angle. 
Strangely enough, Satoru’s warm weight on you feels comforting. Neither of you speak now. Nor do you speak when Satoru carries you to bed, searching through your clothes for a washcloth he can wipe you clean with. 
It’s only when he lingers at the foot of your bed - uncertain - that the silence is broken. “Get in, stupid.” you scoff, opening the covers invitingly.
Of course, an elated smile overtaking his face, Satoru jumps in your bed with enough force to send you both bouncing. It was childish. It was so ridiculous. It had you barking out a surprised laugh at his antics.
In your joy, you don’t even realize that Satoru has stopped moving - frozen, smile slipping off his face and staring at you with an unknown spark in his eyes. 
“What?” you question, feeling strangely self-conscious. 
White locks tousling as he shakes his head, he breathes, “It’s the first time I’ve made you laugh.” The words hang in the delicate atmosphere, tension so thick you think it could snap any moment.
You hide your face in your hands, palms clammy. “You- you make me sound like some sort of evil witch.” you stammer out, embarrassment pooling in your gut. The tension in the air dissipates, yet the intensity in Satoru’s gaze remains.
Satoru understands, smiling blindingly. He pulls your naked body to his, wrapping his arms tenderly around your waist as you both bury into the covers. “Well, more of a hardass than an evil witch.”
“Satoru?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“You still have to finish your citations.”
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A/N. Can be read as a standalone BUT part 2 planned for next longfic Sunday!
Plagiarism not authorized.
13K notes · View notes
my-chemical-aromance · 6 months
Text
sometimes i discover terms and words that describe the things i do that are associated with autism but whenever i bring them up i always get “you were never like that before!!”. i used to get in trouble at school, at home, at church for talking so much. I’ve always been hyperverbal I just didn’t know there was a word for it back then. even after i knew i was autistic but didnt know being hyperverbal was a thing i told people i stimmed by talking. before i knew echolalia was a thing i chalked it up to just liking how things sounded or it being a form of stimming.
you’re telling me that just because there’s a word for what i do that’s associated with autism, suddenly I’ve never displayed this behavior before?
all that learning these terms has done has made it easier to understand and explain myself. instead of saying “i talk a lot because I’m autistic and it’s a form of stimming which i do to self regulate” i can now say “i’m hyperverbal because i’m autistic.” or instead of saying “i’m not repeating you to be mocking it’s just something i unconsciously do when i like a noise or word or how you said that word.” I can say “I use echolalia because i’m autistic, thats why i repeat things the way i do.” In both these examples not only is the second option more concise it’s clearer and people understand me better.
i’m not going to apologize for wanting to understand myself and wanting others to understand me.
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yandere-daydreams · 6 months
Text
Title: Captured.
A Continuation of This Piece.
Pairing: Yandere!Geto x Reader x Yandere!Gojo (JJK).
Word Count: 3.3k.
TW: AFAB!Reader, Dub/Con -> Non/Con, Implied Kidnapping, Oral Sex, Threesomes, The Pervasive Aire of Homoerotica, Slight Exhibitionism/Voyeurism, Violence, Intimidation, and Biting. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.
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He let you wait outside while he booked a room. It was a test, obviously – to see if you’d try and run as soon as he let you out of his sight. You didn’t. You kept your back pressed against the peeling cement wall and your hands in your pockets as the man at the front desk screamed, as you listened to the slick sounds of carnage and Geto’s muffled laughter. By the time he came out, his clothes dotted with dark stains and his hands lathered in the same dripping scarlet, you thought you might’ve been too sick for whatever he wanted to do with you.
He held up a hand, two keys and their accompanying plastic tags hanging from each finger. “Pick a number, one through ten.”
You just wanted to get this over with. Then, you wouldn’t have to worry about monsters or mysterious men or any of this ever again. “Eight.”
“Oh, the honeymoon suite.” Your eyes widened, and he cocked his head to the side. “Kidding, kidding. That’ll have to wait, for now.”
The room was nicer than you’d expected. Not quite the oppressively beige monstrosity you’d feared, but not as far from the eye-bleedingly pink love hotel that’d be the permanent backdrop in your worst nightmares as you would’ve liked. Currently, you were sitting on the edge of a king-sized bed with faux-velvet sheets, staring at your feet as Geto washed his hands in the in-suite bathroom. So lost in your own spiraling thoughts, you didn’t notice the water shutting off, didn’t hear him approaching you until the mattress dipped at your side and a pair of hands came to rest on either side of your waist. In one smooth, effortless motion, you were hauled into his lap, left to balance on his thigh as his eyes raked over you unabashedly. “You should try to relax. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were afraid of me.” His hand fell to the hem of your sweater. You’d gotten dressed in a blind panic after waking up to an apartment crawling with those awful things, but now, you regretted not throwing on as many layers as you could, not putting as many barriers as you could between yourself and the feeling of his calloused fingers skirting over your skin. “I can help take the edge off, if you’d like.”
For the first time that day, you felt a spark of relief. “Do you have anything? I’m alright with pills.”
“I was thinking something more along the lines of…” His hand splayed over your stomach, his tone laced with a dark edge. “Choking you until you black-out, then having my way with your helpless body?”
“Oh.” Just as quickly, that spark was extinguished – crushed under an unforgiving heel and stamped into total nonexistence. “I… I think I’d rather be awake, thank you.”
He hummed, tapping two fingers against your hip. “Have it your way, little one.”
Without warning, you were thrown onto the center of the bed. Before you could haul yourself up, before you could fully realize what was going on, Geto was between your open legs, mouth latched onto the inside of your thigh and his hands tearing at your shorts. The flimsy material gave away easily, and your panties didn’t last much longer. You took back what you’d said about wearing less revealing clothes; making this take any longer than it already did would’ve been torture. As deftly as he worked, the knot of dread forming in your chest was faster, quickly overshadowing every rational thought you might’ve had in favor of telling you that you weren’t supposed to be here, that this was dangerous, that you didn’t know what was going on, that you—
His broad tongue laved over your now-exposed slit, and your panicked mind went completely blank. His mouth was hot, and he didn’t waste time, latching onto your clit and sucking before you could think to push him away. Your body, nerves fried by adrenaline and senses dialed up to the point of hypersensitivity, responded immediately, your back arching as you struggled to swallow back a fractured moan. He encouraged your reactions, laving over your clit as two of his fingers found their way to your now-dripping entrance.
His digits slipped into you without resistance, scissoring apart and splitting you open as your own hands balled around the sheets, as you locked your jaw into place and did what little you could swallow back any sounds that’d make you seem more pathetic than you already were. Your pitiful attempts at resistance earned a throaty chuckle that reverberated against your clit and made your thighs clench together. Vaguely, in the distance, you felt his hand curl around your ankle, then you were being bent in half, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he ate you out like a man starved. It was all you could do to keep your eyes shut, the tears that would’ve escaped otherwise safely locked away, to make sure you didn’t kick or thrash or do anything that’d make him decide you’d be more entertaining after you’d been half-mauled by one of his monsters. It was all you could do to keep your mind blank, to block out the terrible, wet noises rising up from between your thighs, to—
The door creaked as it swung open, and you scrambled to pull away from Geto, to cover yourself before someone saw you being brought to the brink of climax by a murderer. He held you in place, though, his grip turning vice-like as he kept you splayed-open and on-display for the familiar, white-haired stranger now standing in the doorway. “Satoru,” Geto started, still idly pumping his fingers into you. “How kind of you to join—”
He didn’t get a chance to finish. You closed your eyes, and when you opened them again, Gojo had him pinned to the far wall, a small crater blown into the cement where the point of collision would’ve been. You could see an orb of blinding, blue light forming in his other hand, but Geto only clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Keep your dick in your pants, pervert,” he purred, eyes flitting to you. “There are innocents nearby.”
The orb of light disappeared, but Gojo didn’t move. “I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.”
You watched a first form at Geto’s side, watched in a daze as his knuckles collided with Gojo’s cheek with enough force to send him flying across the room and into the side of the bed, fracturing the steel frame. “Me neither, ‘toru.”
Letting out a ragged exhale, Gojo pushed himself to his feet and their conversation devolved into a rush of blows and kicks and insults half-finished before Gojo’s fist collided with Geto’s chin or Geto caught Gojo’s throat in his teeth. Clothes were torn, blood spilled across cheap carpeting, and you blinked once, twice, before shaking your head and hauling yourself up and taking stock of the situation.
They were fighting. Eventually, one of them would probably win, and that winner would probably want to fuck you. Maybe, after that, one of them would also help you. Maybe.
Gojo caught Geto’s hair in his fist and pulled. You could’ve sworn you heard Geto moan.
Okay. Alright. Yeah. No. Fuck this, actually.
Slowly, careful not to make a sound, you stood up and pulled your sweater down to cover your still dripping cunt before inching towards the door which was, surprisingly, still in one piece (it would dawn on you later that Geto must’ve left it unlatched, if not open, much to your delayed mortification). You could figure something else out. There were two other people who knew about your monsters, which meant there must’ve been at least one more. Gojo had been wearing a uniform, when you first met him, running for your life from the mangled mess of teeth and claws that’d managed to sink its talons into you, and you thought you’d heard him mention a school. You could find someone else, someone who wouldn’t ask for sex, someone who wouldn’t know your name before you introduced yourself, someone who’d give you a protective charm or a talisman and then demand for money or unpaid labor in return. You could—
It felt like vertigo, like the surface of the Earth had shifted underneath you. Your body tilted, collapsed, and then Gojo’s arm was wrapped around your waist, his chest pressed into your back and his fingers burrowed into the flesh of your side. “Trying to get away?” His voice was raspy. Geto must’ve gotten his throat. “That’s not very nice.”
“You were the one who burst in uninvited and distracted me,” Geto muttered. His lip was busted, and he cracked his nose back into place as he hauled himself up from the floor. “If you hadn’t interrupted us, they’d still be cumming on my tongue so adorably.”
Gojo didn’t seem to pay him any mind. His attention remained fixed on you, his free hand drifting to your vulnerable pussy. Using his thumb, he gathered some of the slick staining your inner thighs, toying with it as he spoke. “I thought the first time I touched you like this would be more romantic.” He paused, his ears ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Or, the first time I touched you while you were awake, at least. It… it got harder to control myself, toward the end.”
You snapped to Geto, teeth bared. “This wasn’t what we agreed to. I don’t want to—”
“Don’t talk to him.” His fingers slipped into you, curling against the walls of your cunt. Your breath hitched in your chest, and Gojo pressed a fleeting kiss into your cheek. “Don’t look at him. He’s not supposed to be here.”
“I could say the same thing about you, Satoru.” Stretching his back, he made his way back to the bed and collapsed onto it, letting out a strained groan. “If I hadn’t been so kind as to donate all of those very valuable, very hard-to-come-by curses to your pitiful cause, you would’ve waited… how long? Another year before so much as breathing the same air as your little crush?” His half-lidded stare met yours, and he smirked. “You should have a taste. The poor thing is heavenly when they’re scared.”
“He’s always been this bossy. I’m sorry you had to deal with him on your own.” Gojo drew back, but didn’t let you go. Rather, he looped an arm under your knees and pulled you off your feet, carrying you back to that fucking bed. He laid you out with more care than Geto had, but his expression remained uncannily blank. He’d been blindfolded the first time you’d met, and whatever eyewear he’d come with had been either removed or torn away, revealing eyes that were almost painfully blue. The only mercy was his hair – long enough to fall over his face and obscure his empty gaze, his parted lips. His hand drifted to your injured leg, still bandaged from the knee down, and his lips quirked downward. “I’m sorry you had to get hurt, too. But…” He smiled, leaned in until his forehead rested against yours. “It’s good that we’ll get to be together, right?”
You wanted to scream. You wanted to tell him to stop touching you, to let you go home, but you couldn’t go home, so you said nothing.
Geto let out an exaggerated yawn. “I didn’t put this little reunion together because I wanted to hear you talk, ‘toru.”
“See what I mean? So fucking bossy.” And yet, one of his hands fell away from you. You heard fabric rustle, metal clink, and then his cock was free, prodding against the inside of your thigh. You could feel your heart drop into your stomach as your eyes broke away from his and raked over his pale shaft, his flushed head, already leaking beads of ivory precum. He was tall. They were both massive, but nothing attached to a human being should’ve been that big. “You’re lucky I’m letting you watch.”
“Who said I’d be watching?” So preoccupied by your own terror, you didn’t notice Geto shifting until you felt his hands on your sides, then at the hem of your sweater, pulling your only remaining protection over your head. You scrambled to stop him, but there wouldn’t have been much you could to do fend him off at your best, let alone in the state you’d been reduced to tonight. With a breathy chuckle, he finished stripping you down, his attention immediately falling to your chest. “You wouldn’t want me leaving you alone with him, would you, little one?” He bowed his head, catching your nipple with his teeth and pulling harshly. A pained whine slipped past your lips before you could choke it back, and he turned towards Gojo, grinning. “See? They like me.”
Whatever rage Gojo felt, he managed to bury it beneath a soft smile, a pulse of pure electricity in his eyes as he took his cock in his hand, dragging the tip over your entrance. You thrashed, kicked, fought, but he only cooed as he thrust into you, like he was trying to comfort you. Like you would need to be comforted if he just stopped.
He bottomed out, his hips pressing into yours with a blissful sigh, and you lurched forward, moving to claw at his eyes, to wrap your hands around his throat, to do something. Geto caught your wrists before you could so much as touch him, though – laughing as he forced your arms flush against the mattress. As Gojo started to move in earnest, Geto slotted his lips against yours, taking advantage of your distress to force his tongue into your mouth while Gojo fucked you open, whatever gentleness he’d been attempting to show you falling away in favor of burying himself that much deeper in your tight heat. As soon as Geto pulled away, Gojo took his place, his kiss not quite as aggressive but no less invasive, no less unwelcome. You should’ve never left your apartment. You should’ve never run from your monsters. At least they might’ve been kind enough to kill you quickly.
By the time he broke away from you, your vision was spotted with black, your lungs aching from a lack of oxygen. Jerkily, he straightened his back and raised a hand, his fingers soon tangled in Geto’s hair. You watched in a daze as teeth clashed against teeth and lips collided with a bruising force, and considered the terrifying possibility that you might’ve been the first person either of them had ever kissed.
Gojo’s pace turned erratic, his hold on your hip crushing. His pelvic bone caught on your clit every time he thrust into you. You’d been able to control yourself when faced with Geto’s teasing, but now, every little cracked moan and pained whimper slid past your lips, barely audible above the sound of slick squelching and skin slapping against skin. Unwillingly, you clenched around him, and Gojo doubled over with a throaty groan, burying his face in the side of your neck. You felt his mouth on your throat, then his teeth, sinking into your skin deep enough to draw blood. You clenched your eyes shut, willing your body to go numb to the pain, to ignore the coil of pure agony winding tighter in your core, but Geto caught your chin, forcing you to tilt your head back and stare up at him. “Trying to run away again so soon?”
“S-stop,” you half-sobbed, trying to pry his hand away from your face. “Don’t touch me—”
“We’ll have to bring a gag along, next time. That is, unless you learn to be more appreciative.” He shrugged his sweatpants below his waist, wrapping his fist around his cock and guiding it to your lips. “Open up, little one.”
You grit your teeth, keeping your mouth shut as tightly as you could, but Gojo bit down on your collarbone and you screamed, jerking against him. Geto took advantage of your misery, slipping a thumb into your mouth and prying your teeth apart, forcing his cock down your throat. “Bite down,” he muttered, voice low and tone sharpened, “and I’ll make sure he knocks you up.”
A wave of cold dread washed over you, but you didn’t have time to linger on your newly realized fear. Geto was already fucking your skull, already leaving you struggling not to choke as you tried to remember how to breathe around him. Where Gojo was uncontrolled, Geto almost seemed… unaffected, holding your head in place while he rolled his hips with the idle pace of a man determined to milk every second he could out of you. It was unbearable; the burning in your throat, the heat in your core, the feeling of Gojo battering into your cunt until you couldn’t stop your legs from twitching, your back from arching, your pussy from clenching around Gojo’s length and drawing a sinful noise from somewhere deep in his chest. You let out a ragged moan half-suffocated by Geto’s cock, and then you were coming undone around him, your body convulsing underneath his. Gojo wasn’t far behind. With a hitched groan, he pressed his hips into yours and pushed another open-mouthed kiss into your neck, making no attempt to pull out before flooding your pussy with something thick and awful.
Geto wasn’t far behind, his eyes falling shut as he came down your throat. For the longest time, neither of them moved, Geto forcing you to choke down every last drop of his cum while Gojo stare down at you, eyes blank and lips parted, his expression caught somewhere between tender and awe-struck.
Finally, he glanced away from you, looking to Geto instead. “Let’s switch. I want to feel their mouth.”
Geto let out a breath of a chuckle. With your body limp, your jaw slack, he pulled away from you, leaning just close enough to let his lips brush against your temple before straightening his back and moving to take Gojo’s place between your legs. “Whatever you say, lover boy.”
~
Hours later, when your skin was little more than a patchwork of hickeys and bruises and you couldn’t feel anything save for a constant, excruciating ache in your cunt, Geto had fallen asleep with his arm around your waist and Gojo laid next to you, head propped on his fist and a soft smile painted across his lips. You could see the sun starting to rise from behind the thin motel curtains, feel the dread that accompanied being in a strange place with strange men at a strange time, but it all seemed secondary, pushed to a distance by your exhaustion, your devastation. When Gojo wrapped his arms around you, pulling you out of Geto’s hold, all you could summon was a whine of protest, and even that was quickly glazed over with an airy laugh, a quiet hush.
Geto’s shirt (discarded three hours in, when he stepped aside for a shower while Gojo made you cum on his tongue for the fourth time) was pulled over your head, Gojo’s glasses (lost in the initial fight, found briefly while Geto was bouncing you on his cock with one hand and jerking Gojo off with the other, then lost again) snagged off the floor and pocketed. As he slipped out of the beaten motel door, you shut your eyes against the dim light, burying your face in his chest, and he encouraged you to, cupping the back of your neck as he pressed a kiss into your forehead. With his lips still lingering against your skin, he spoke, his voice muffled by his proximity. “It’s alright. You can sleep, if you need to.”
It might’ve been sweeter, if you hadn’t been able to feel every inch of his smile cutting into your skin.
“I promised I’d keep you safe, didn’t I?”
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marvellous1917 · 9 months
Text
Icarus
(Part 1)
Pairing: mob!Bucky x tattoo artist!reader
Summary: you come home from work, only to find a mob boss in your house looking for your roommate.
Warnings: mentions of a gun, mentions of arms and drug trafficking, murder, kidnapping, torture, swearing, tattoos, gambling, think that’s it
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A/n: I’m a simple girl. Mob!Bucky makes my brain go whurrrrrr. This is pure self service because I have this tattoo lol. Been along time guys what’s up?
————
“Late night?” The deep voice came from the dark.
“Holy-” fear spiked through your heart from the unfamiliar sound, your arms dropping the bags and your back crashing into the closed front door, “-who.. who are you?” You asked the unfamiliar voice. Turning slightly you see the long haired, leather covered man sat in the dining room. His left arm rested on the table, the prosthetic shining, the light from the street lamp outside shining through the window. His face was half shrouded in darkness, the other half showed his eyes, a little confused but also amused.
“You’re not Caleb.” He replied, sitting back in the chair, tilting his head to the side and moving something that looked suspiciously pistol shaped off of the table and into the inside pocket of his jacket, you reached up and flipped on the light.
“N-no no, I’m not. I’m his roommate.” You said, finally registering who you were talking to. The now fully visible metal arm was a pretty big giveaway, if nothing else. ‘There is a mob boss sat in my kitchen, what the fuck’.
“What do you want with Caleb? Does he owe you something?” The thought was out of your mouth before you could stop it. “Oh god no sorry forget I asked. Sorry... sir? I don’t-”
“I’m assuming from that reaction you know who I am,” He said, smirk on his face as he stood and moved closer, your back pressing flatter against the wall beside the door with every step he took.
“Of..of course I do, everyone in New York knows who you are..Sir” You replied.
“Hmm, I’m gonna take that as a compliment doll,”
“It is! Sorry! Congrats on all the… mafia shit.” Did I just say ‘mafia shit’ to a gangster.
The silence is awkward, his face blank and all you can think is ‘Oh my god I’m gonna die.’ His face twists into a …smile.. you think, y’know its hard to tell, fear has your vision all fuzzy.
He then starts to..laugh. He’s laughing? He’s actually laughing.
“Is this something you do before you kill people? You laugh, give them a false sense of security then shoot them?” You ramble quietly, confused at what’s happening.
He moved his left had to rest on his stomach, the metal catching the light, shining right in you eye and it fully registered that, holy shit, James fucking Barnes, The Winter goddamn Soldier is in my house. This man is literally wanted by every law enforcement agent in the country, he’s in control of one of the most ruthless organisations in the world, they traffic arms and drugs and gun down anyone that gets in the way. Apparently, at least that’s what the news said. The stories about him though, way more upsetting.
The rumor was that after he left the special forces, he was captured by an organisation that wanted him to work for them. When he tried to escape the first time, they took his arm, and he was stuck working for them for a decade. The story goes that after he finally escaped, he tracked down everyone that was a part of it and killed them all, by himself. Alone. Just him. On his own. Then he took over their supply and demand and built his empire from the ground up.
“Oh god.. ‘congrats on all the mafia shit’, that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in a while…” he pushed out while chuckling. “I’m gonna get that shit tattooed, I swear,” he said.
“I could do that for you,” it was out of your mouth before you could stop it. ‘Oh my god, shut up Y/N’ you thought to yourself.
“What?” He asked, eyes flitting over to yours, his piercing stare causing all sorts of feeling to rise inside your chest; fear, confusion, attraction. Attraction? What? Damn him and his pretty face. He’s a killer Y/N, remember that?
“Nothing, sorry” you answered, looking down at your feet.
“No what did you say Y/n?” He asked again, his voice more stern than before. If you weren’t so scared, you would have questioned how he knew your name.
“I said that I could give you that tattoo, sorry, just slipped out” you replied, unsure what his response would be to your completely unnecessary comment.
“Stop apologising would’ya doll, there’s no need.” He said, sort of sweetly, a small comforting smile on his face, the pet name causing all sorts of lovely feelings inside.
“Sor.. yes Sir,” you corrected yourself.
“And stop calling me Sir darlin, only my employees call me that,” he said, “well my employees and some others..” he said with a dirty smirk, causing your eyebrows to raise sky high.
“Sorry Sir,” you said quickly, not even thinking. “…shit.”
“Seriously doll, you don’t need to be so scared of me,” he stated, his right hand reaching out and landing on your shoulder, your muscles tensing for a second then relaxing when you saw the look in his eye, he was telling the truth
“Ok.. then can I ask why you are here?” You ask, some fear creeping it’s way into your voice despite his reassurance. He kept his face carefully still and he looked you up and down, the feeling of being examined was strong, like he was trying to decide if you were worthy of knowing his business.
“You got it right earlier, your roommate owes me something, and I came to get it from him,” he removes his hand from your arm as he spoke after a tense silence. He was being purposely vague, trying to gage your reaction, to see if you were really clueless or you were playing with him.
“It’s money right, I mean it has to be, what else could he owe you. I told him to stop freaking borrowing money I swear I tried to stop him, but he never listened to me..l”
“You’re rambling darlin, you realise that?” He cuts you off with a smirk on his face.
“I’ve been told I do that when I’m nervous. I don’t know how much Caleb owes you and I don’t know what the situation is but.. if you.. I mean..”
“What doll? What are you trying to say. I won’t be mad, I swear,” Barnes responds, one side of his lips tugging upwards at your mumbling.
“Could you give him some more time?”
He was not expecting that. ‘Brave little thing’ he thought.
“I mean I don’t know how long he’s owed you for but he’s getting back on track I swear, he’s getting better, he is, in-fact he’s at a gamblers anonymous meeting right now, and he has a job interview tomorrow so he can pay rent and pay back people he owes money to.” You rush out, trying to help your friend, “Of course he never told me that he owes money to a mobster but that besides the point” you add quieter, more to yourself than anything but Barnes still heard it. He chuckled and ran his flesh hand through his hair, pushing back the long strands out of his face.
“He does owe money to a mobster, quite a lot in fact so I’m gonna have to say no to that request darlin, I’ve given him long enough.” He responds, his tone dripping with authority, the Brooklyn drawl on the pet name he threw out made your heart beat faster.
“Please. Please just think about it Sir.. uh Mr Barnes.. Sir. Caleb’s had a rough go of it lately, he lost his father not too long ago and he’s been a mess ever since, if you could just give..”
“I already said no once doll, I don’t like repeating myself.” His tone was final, and even though his words were not that intense, the threat in his voice hung in the air like poison gas before slamming into your chest, the fear that had previously been quelled came racing back, sitting on your shoulders like a lead coat.
The silence stayed for longer this time, you eyes firmly fixed to the floor to a sound even the possibility of upsetting the man that had broken into your home.
“So you’re a tattoo artist huh? He asked, his low voice calming you some. Huh he’s trying to make me less afraid of him, what kind of ruthless criminal is he?
“Yes..um I am,” you answer, incredibly aware of the position you were in, better to go along with whatever he did.
“You got a flash book?” He questioned, genuinely interested.
“Uh yeah I do.” You reply awkwardly, not sure where this new line of conversation was coming from.
“Can I see it?”
“…sure,” the word came out as a question.
He nodded at you, and you took it as a sign that you were good to move. Turning slowly and moving away from the wall to your bag on the floor, you reach down and grab your flash sketchbook and hand it to him.
“Are all of these available?” He asked, flipping through the pages, taking in each design.
Seeing him like this, calmly looking through the sketchbook makes it very easy to forget who he was, a ruthless calculating Mob Boss, wanted for almost every crime under the sun.
“The ones with the X’s over them have been done before but could be repeated if someone really wanted it,” you answered, slightly more confident in yourself as you were talking about something you loved.
“This is Latin, right, what does it mean?” He asked, moving to stand next to you pointing to a design in the book, an alien inside a bottle of wine.
“‘In Vino Veritas’, it means ‘In wine, there is truth’” you say, “ I though it was funny, y’know.. ‘the truth is out there’..aliens..” you trailed off, not sure how to explain that design
He let out an quiet amused sound, his shoulder brushing yours, sending a trail of chills down your spine.
“This one is beautiful,” he said, pointing to a different design on the next page.
“Thank you, it’s Icarus, I have it tattooed on me, it was hard as hell doing it on my own leg,” you say, proud of the design you created.
“Icarus, what’s his story? I can’t quite remember, ” he asks.
“It’s a Greek myth y’know, Icarus and his father were held captive by King Minos in a tower, his father created wax wings so they could fly away from their captors. The father warned Icarus from flying too high or too low, but he ignored his fathers warnings and flew too close to the sun and his wings melted. It’s a moral story to warn against the dangers of complacency and hubris, but to me it’s just a tragedy.” You say, turning to face him, making eye contact with the man. He listened intently to the story, his face unreadable but you thought you saw a flash of something in his eyes, maybe he related to the myth, a man that was once held captive, now with everything in his hands, in danger of losing it all if he flew too close to the sun himself.
“A tragedy huh? I don’t think there’s anything tragic about it. He was warned not to do something dangerous and he went and did it anyway, it’s his own damn fault,” he stated, something slightly argumentative in his tone.
He looked straight at you while speaking and you couldn’t help but feel as if he was looking into your soul, like his statement was some kind of test.
“I agree with the idea that he got what he deserved, but I meant it as a tragedy for his father. Creating something so pure for you and your child to escape from captivity, only for your child to ignore your warnings and pay the ultimate price for it. His father probably spent the rest of his life regretting escaping his prison because that was the action that ultimately lead to his sons death. It’s heartbreaking if you see it from a different perspective,” you say back, not really expecting him to engage you in a philosophical debate.
“Hmm.. that’s an interesting way to see it, I’m not really one for looking at different perspectives, mine suits me just fine,” he answered, the fact that this man was dangerous came screaming back to you with the look on his face, blank like he was devout of all emotion at that moment. You got the feeling he wasn’t speaking metaphorically anymore.
The tension was palpable, you not knowing what to say next and him deciding he was done talking for the time being. He placed the book down on a side table, and turned back to you. “Y’know what, I want it.” He said, confusing flooding your brain.
“Want what?” You ask calmly, not wanting to push your luck with the man.
“That tattoo, the Icarus one, I want it.” He answers, leaning back against the side of the table he was sat at earlier. His crossed his arms, which should have been intimidating, but for some reason the only thought floating through your head was Damn his arms are bigger than my head. Gimmie.
“You want the Icarus?” You ask, somewhat stupidly and he had just said that.
“Yes I do,” he answered simply, “Are you free tomorrow?” He asks, smile on his face.
“Umm not really, I have a few appointments tomo..”
“Move them, hell cancel them. Block out a spot long enough for me to get this tattoo.” He states, cutting of your sentence.
“I can’t do that, it’s too short notice and I could loose..”
“I’ll pay what ever you lose for cancelling the appointments. I’m getting this done, tomorrow.” He cuts you off again, a finality in his tone that warns you it would be pointless and probably rather stupid to argue.
“Uh..ok” you respond, shaking your head a little, still trying to figure out what just happened.
“Great.” He clapped his hands together and the sound made you jump. Barnes either didn’t notice it or just didn’t care. “Give me your phone.”
“Huh? Why do you want my phone?” You question.
Barnes just rolled his eyes, walked forward until he was stood right infront of you, toe to toe, staring down at you with a semi amused look on his face.
“How am I supposed to find out where your shop is if you don’t text me the location?” He said sarcastically.
Literally a million different ways, google it for starters, get one of your goons to find it, stalk me and follow me there.. c’mon man think. Obviously you kept these thoughts to yourself but Barnes smirked as if he could hear them anyway. Pulling out your phone and handing it to him you ask, “What time do you want to come in for?”
“Around 1-ish doll, that ok?” He asked, knowing that it is, as he’s already told you to move/cancel your other appointments.
“That’s fine by me Bar..Mr Barnes” you answer, slipping up, almost forgetting the level of respect you should probably show to the gangster in your home.
He calls his phone from yours, adding the new number to contacts in both phones, “there, now you can let me know the address of your shop.”
“I’ll sent it to you tomorrow.. unless you want me to send it now?” You asked he hands your phone back , uncertain of what he wanted
“Tomorrows fine” he answers, walking backwards towards the front door, “I’ll see ya in the afternoon doll,” he says while opening the door and mostly leaving until he pauses completely, slowly turning back towards you.
This is it, he’s been messing with me this whole time and now he’s going to shoot me.
“Tell Caleb he has 6 weeks to get my money back to me or I’ll be paying him another visit, ok doll.” He says, no question in his voice. He waits until you answer with a “Yes, Mr Barnes,” and disappears into the hallway outside your apartment.
It takes about 5 minutes for the shock to fully wear off, and it causes you to stagger over to the couch, fall backwards onto it an ask into the empty room, “What the actual fuck just happened?”
As soon as the question was out of your mouth , your phone buzzed in your hand.
James:
Don’t ever call me Mr Barnes again Y/n.
It makes me feel ancient.
I hate that.
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halcyone-of-the-sea · 8 months
Note
Ahhhh I've been waiting for your requests to open, I've been following you since your first Price fic and never had an idea to request until like 2 weeks ago 😫 so, I've been thinking, what about being in a relationship with Keegan but getting separated when ODIN hits the earth and not meeting again until about 5 years later? 👀 Love your writing, hope you have a great day 🩵 :)
For The Weak And Weary
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PAIRING: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader
SYNOPSIS: When ODIN struck you had thought he had died, sky alight with fire. It had taken years to accept it, much less live with it. But after Dallas falls, would you get a glimpse of your Lover's phantom again?
WORDCOUNT: 6.2k
WARNINGS: Angst, depressive thoughts, PTSD insinuations, gore, wounds, blood, death, canon-typical violence, (1) suggestive joke, alcohol, hallucinations, fluffy reunion, tears, verbal arguments, etc.
A/N: Just because I'm a sucker for sticking to the game timeline I made it ten years, lol. Enjoy, Anon! Very fun prompt.
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
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You could never make sense of what Keegan went through in 2005 during Operation Sand Viper. It would be pointless to try and wrap your head around it from what little you knew. All that mattered was that when he came back on leave, something in his eyes was…damaged. Hell, he’d only been sixteen—the both of you had known each other since you were kids, you knew when something was wrong.
And this was entirely new to you.
He smiled less and snapped more; got spooked when you dropped something in his family's kitchen like a grenade had gone off. Maybe, you reasoned, he thought one actually had. 
But through it all, you could still see how much he cared about you. When you were old enough you’d both moved into a nice place in the suburbs and started a relationship—a life shared between the two of you. 
You knew he loved you from the way he’d grip you close at night and breathe into your scalp. How when you were sick from the take-out dinner he’d brought home, Keegan would hold back your hair and rub circles into your spine as you threw up. He never shied away from telling you how beautiful you were; prided himself on it. Keegan loved to show you off.
But there were times back then when you wondered if the same Keegan that had been so fulfilled to join Ghosts had died, and, in fact, a phantom was instead puppeting his skin. He was so quiet now.
If you’d known that the world was going to end on July 10th, 2017, you’d have never let him walk out that door angry. You would have grabbed his hand and pressed your lips to his, whispered affirmations into his flesh and sobbed at the cruelty of it all.
“I can’t keep pretending that you’re okay!” You yell, tears in your eyes, at the man standing tense in the kitchen doorway. Blank blue eyes stare lifelessly. “Keegan—this is killing you.” 
It was early morning by then, and the neighborhood was quiet. The house that the both of you had moved into years ago was littered with the remnants of a happy home. Pictures on the walls, dishes in the sink, and freshly baked bread on the counter. All you’d tried to do was give Keegan a hug, slipping your hands around his waist when you’d entered. 
He’d balked back, jerking to the side and nearly elbowed you in the gut before he saw your wide eyes and stopped himself. The way he’d looked at you…how could eyes be so dead?
“You need to talk to someone,” you put your foot down, shaking your head. “I-I don’t know a therapist or…or someone who can get you proper help because I can’t keep acting like I can live like this.” 
Every mission, every time he went away, it always got worse. 
Keegan’s eyes get sharp, hands at his sides clenching. He speaks in a low growl. “I don’t need to talk to a shrink, alright? I’m fine, you just startled me.”
“Bullshit,” your mouth hisses, glaring. “You thought you were back in ‘05.”
The man points at you, strong jaw clenching, “Don’t.”
“Keegan,” you plead, “please, I love you! I don’t care about this, I just want you to be alright. To be able to live your life—”
“What you want is to try and change me!” The black-haired man barks. Your eyes blink in shock. Keegan rarely yelled. “I already told you I was fine, why don’t you get off my back all the time?” His eyes flash, pupils going to slits as his hands shake at his sides. Why did he look scared? Your breath stills, lips slightly open, with tears dripping to the tile. “Fuck, it’s like I can’t come home without you pesterin’ me ‘bout something!” 
A stiff silence falls.
“Kee—” He snaps a hand to his mouth and rubs at his stubble, suddenly unable to look at you.
“...Forget it.” It’s low and shaky how he says it, eyes wide, before he darts into the foyer and slips into his boots. You listen to the sounds of panicked shuffling before the man wrenches open the front door and slams it shut behind him. One of the picture frames falls and hits the ground with a shattering of glass.
You flinch and tense, taking down a terse breath and sniffling tightly. Trying to get your lungs to work properly, your feet take you over to the picture as they feel weak and uneven; a stuttering mess of steps before you bend down. Your fingers bleed as they shift the glass away, taking out the image of you and Keegan on your hike through the mountains. 
Smiling faces mock you, and you break at the bright and open affection Keegan wears as he looks down at you—eyebrows curved up and smirk like a knife to the chest. 
You loved him so much it hurt to breathe when he was away. 
He had needed time, you knew, but what you didn’t know was that time wouldn’t be available. Around noon the world had opened into a ball of fire and death. 27 million dead. Los Angeles, San Diego, Phoenix, Houston, and Miami…all gone…at least, that was what everyone in Dallas was telling you. 
When Keegan had been away taking a walk to calm himself, you’d been home alone. The earth caved, the ground shook; houses burst like balloons. By the time you’d crawled from the rubble of your home, all you had was the picture and the clothes on your back. People were screaming—you were screaming. But you knew that you couldn’t stay here if you wanted to survive. 
And then you’d made it to Dallas by sheer luck and the few tricks Keegan had taught you; had thought that he had died in that first strike by the Federation. You carried that guilt and self-hatred for not holding your tongue for a few more hours. 
So much could have been different in these ten years. Better. You never got over him for even a second. 
But the reality was that you couldn’t think about all of that now, because if you didn’t focus on holding your breath you would be dead in the next three seconds. 
Your hand is anchored to the body of your sniper rifle, finger hovering over the trigger as you hide behind the outcropping of rubble in the decimated cityscape; the air is hot and humid despite the weight of the night. It sticks to your skin in a sheen of violent sweat. Yet it’s still not as potent as the blood. 
Teeth gritted, you hold back whimpers as Federation soldiers stalk the grounds, scores of them—legions. An entire army that had breached the walls and executed everyone insight, soldiers, civilians, if it once moved it didn’t anymore. The burning in your shoulder was agonizing, head smashing itself back to the rubble in an attempt to stifle your own ragged need to scream into the night as layers had peeled back to allow a bullet to pass through. 
In the ten years you’d been here, you’d taken up the mantle of quite the sharpshooter; pulling on Keegan’s lessons when he was on leave and wanted to bring you to the firing range. You had even picked a rifle similar to the one back in your destroyed home—held in a plastic case and treated like royalty by your long-deceased lover. It wasn’t the same, but the jet-black Lynx made you steady like the picture in your breast pocket did. 
A reminder of what was lost and why you had picked the knock-off up in the first place.
Footsteps get closer as the sweep of a flashlight cards above your skull, if possible you go even more still, lips pulled in and heart rampaging. There were barked orders and yelling, but no more screaming. 
How long had you been unconscious after taking that shot to the shoulder? Fear was breeding with horror—was…was everyone dead?
Spanish is loudly called not five feet away, and the flashlight leaves as your breath does. You let off a quiet gasp and suck down air greedily. Eyes flashing from one shadow to another, you look for any opportunity to slip away from the city. In the wind, you could smell fire, and taste it on your tongue as you licked your lips. 
All around you can see the limp shadows of bodies and the apartments, large skyscrapers were on fire deep in their frames. The city was entirely lost.
How the federation got into the walls you would never know, though there was concern about the enemy soldiers rounding up civilians outside the walls and executing them. Maybe one cracked before the bullet entered their skull.
You bite hard into your lip to force back your pain. Trying to shoot a rifle would be useless at this point, you might as well have lost the limb. Slinging the gun’s strap over your head, you look back and forth along your visible perimeter, checking for hostiles as you unsheathe your combat knife and cradle your limp arm to your chest. 
If only Keegan could see you now.
Rounds of gunfire make the air burn with urgency, and you take the time to peek out behind as sweat makes a trail down your dirty face, dripping off of your chin as you breathe like a wheezing dog. Your wound needed tending, and you had the med pack on your vest with the supplies, but you can’t do it here.
Where’s safe? If Dallas has fallen…is there anywhere that’s still standing? A location hits your brain as your gaze darts from one abandoned street to another. You take a deep breath and whine as you force your legs to stand and move quickly, feet shifting as quietly as you’re able to make them. 
“Fort Santa Monica.” Now a stronghold, you’d heard US soldiers here talking about the large presence of military power out in California—numbers so great they rivaled those that had lived in Dallas. 
You stumble over a spasming body and slam your uninjured shoulder into the bulk of the building’s wall, groaning loudly like a wounded boar. 
“Fuck!” If you made it out of the city, that would be where you would have to go; to warn them of what was coming. The Federation had found a way inside the Dallas wall, and that meant if they had enough tenacity, they could do it to them too. 
Everything would be done if another city fell.  
Holding your knife tighter, you push off the wall and grit your teeth harder, mind running on that edge of hysteria and forced calm. It’s in these moments where you have to pull on old memories to keep you going—even if they end up hurting more than the open wounds you carry. 
Keegan had his bad moments, but you always got through them together. Years and years of knowing each other inside and out; memorizing bodies and thoughts like they were second nature. He would want you to keep fighting, tell you to get your ass in gear and go…and you would never let him down. 
You owed him that much even if some days you wanted more than anything to join him. 
Blade in hand, you hear muttered speech from up the alleyway and pause, feet splayed but still swaying as you come to a slow stop. Your ears ring at garbled sentences, foreign words spilling into one another. 
Panting, you listen closely, limbs vibrating. More gunfire echoes over the air, screams and death that get ingrained into your head like a brand into sizzling flesh. Skyscrapers burned and buildings fell with great earthquake booms. Everything is under a sheen of distance.
Get out of the city. Get to Fort Santa Monica.
“Kill who I have to,” you slur out, itching at your neck as you leave a trail of blood behind you. A single pair of footsteps walk quickly forward near your corner and you hold your breath, bringing up your knife as pain pounds in your arm. 
Deep blue eyes sit in the back of your mind, counting you down as they always did.
Keep your arm steady for me, Doll, a phantom tells you. Breathe...
When the first shadow of a Fed soldier graces your eyes, you strike. 
It’s roughly nineteen days from Dallas to Santa Monica, and that was if you kept up at a steady walking pace. If the crude sling you’d fashioned from bandages found in your med pack was any indicator, it would be double that. 
On the first day, you had hiked half-dead over the destroyed landscape of what remained of the USA, licking your wounds and counting your losses. You’d had your pick of abandoned houses, taking a red brick one just because it looked nice and you were about to pass out from blood loss. The only reason you’d made it this far was that the bullet had thankfully passed right through you, making sure that if you moved too suddenly no more damage was being done internally. You packed it with a sterile rag.
Sitting in the home, pictures gathering dust on the fireplace mantle, you tipped back a bottle of whisky you’d found in one of the bedrooms, grimacing at the sting. It was better to be drunk for what you were about to do. 
Heating up your combat knife in the fire you had started in the hearth, you watched the metal grow an eye-flinching white as you stared off into nothingness. 
“You remember when you showed me that scar, Keegan?” You always talked to him. Others had given you shit for it, but they knew the purpose. If you didn’t talk to someone, even a ghost, you would give up. 
The guilt was eating you alive, and it would overtake you eventually. Hadn’t in ten years, but it would…you knew it, everyone did. 
Keegan was everything, and nothing looked the same when you lost him.
“The one on your thigh?” Pulling the knife back, you turn to the leaking flesh of your shoulder, gushing blood as black desecrates the sides of your eyes. You’d taken off your vest and shirt. If you tried hard enough you could imagine Keegan standing in the corner, watching. Always watching. “You said you had to dig a bullet out and cauterize the wound—when I asked you said you barely felt it over all the adrenaline.”
The ghost tilts its head, eyes sad and lips pulling taunt. Your lungs take in a shaky inhale and your hand quivers; only you feel how your eyes burn with unshed tears. 
“I never thought about it before,” right as you growl and shove the knife into your skin, you bark out in fear, “But I think you were fucking lying!” 
On day two, you knew you had to avoid the remains of Fort Worth, so you decided to increase your distance and cut that landmark out entirely—too many remnants of Federation. They were everywhere now, and you needed to keep low; get out of Texas. You scavenged properties and took stock. 
Four magazines for your Lynx, a pouch with five protein bars, one bottle of water attached to your belt, and your knife. Normally you’d have a pistol at your thigh, but you’d used it up in the firefight back home. When you’d woken back up, it had been gone.
And, of course, you had the picture. You kissed Keegan’s face and placed it back in your breast pocket, caressing the material softly before clearing your throat and addressing the obvious. 
With what you had getting to California was a pipe dream. 
You’d been on the radio all day, clicking through channels and pleading for anyone alive to reach out. Nothing. Static. 
I’m the only one left. The thought was intoxicating, pounding in your skull like your hangover. Everyone is dead. 
While you had become somewhat of a loner in the last ten years, especially with the few months you’d been by yourself in the beginning, Dallas had given you a chance to build bonds again. Ten years, and in an instant it was all wiped out. 
It rang a devastating bell.
Somehow, you had cheated death where so many others had failed—not only in Texas, but back with ODIN too. You had survived, but somehow Keegan hadn’t. 
Keegan, the one who never spoke about ‘05 and jerked awake from nightmares years later because of it. Keegan, who wanted nothing more than to stay at your side when he was home and keep you on his chest when watching movies. Keegan, the love of your life.
The only love of your life. 
“I really wish you were here,” you mutter, grimacing as your arm gets jostled as you stumble over a piece of rusted metal in the empty street. “Who gave you the right to go away before me, huh? We were supposed to grow old together, Russ. You promised me that.” 
Garbage gets blown over the road when a hot breeze shifts the air, bringing the scent of dirt and the noise of rustling trees. Nature has reclaimed the towns and suburbs—great patches of ivy and long grass that rise to your hips. But the silence was a curse.
The only thing keeping you going is the thought of delivering your warning to Santa Monica, from there…
Your lips thinned. What even was there left? How many times could you go from one place to another, starting over with stories of your past and having to brush the pitying looks off as you fake a smile? 
Shaking your head, you recall memories from the better days as the light gets low in the sky. 
“You’re doin’ too much, Sweet Thing,” Keegan mutters, and you turn from the stove top with a bright smile to face him. 
He had just gotten out of the shower, towel ruffling through his dark hair as he stands in the kitchen entrance and watches you cook for him. The shirt hangs off of his wide shoulders, and gray sweatpants are loose over his formed hips—his strong brow line raises in a casual expression. 
“Oh, don’t act like you don’t like it,” you tease, hearing his low chuckles as you turn back to your pan. “You look good, y’know.” 
“Oh, yeah?” Keegan grunts, smirking, and his feet pad over to you, tossing the towel to the counter as his presence looms over your back. Large hands grab onto your hips and a nose burrows into your hair; inhaling deeply before gradually melting to the curve of your spine. 
You smile and hum, pushing back so you can rest on his chest. A chin sets itself on your head, deep massaging fingers making you pur as they bunch your sleep shorts.
It was late—nearly two in the morning. Keegan had only gotten home a short while ago, but sleep wasn’t going to stop you from spoiling him. A wine bottle was on the island counter, two glasses, and the food was nearly done from what you could scrounge up on short notice.
“...Good to be back,” the man grumbles into you, kissing your head and slowly sweeping his arms around your waist as you sighed softly at the contact. 
Your face gains heat. 
“Well, I’d sure hope so, or else this would be awkward.” You huff to hide the bright smile in your voice. But like a moth to flame, you hear, as well as feel, Keegan chuckle against your spine. His grip squeezes you for a moment. 
“How was it when I was away?” He asks as you move around the contents in the pan, nose brushing your neck as his lips travel to kiss behind your ear. He breathes against the flesh as his low rasp makes you shiver. “Any trouble?”
“Negative, Sergeant,” you raise a brow and smirk over your shoulder at him, seeing his blues spark as he gazes hard into your eyes. A faint twitch to his lips is what you get before his hand captures your cheek; anchoring your face as he descends to connect his mouth to yours.
He sighs into it, arm still around your waist—tight as if you were a pillow. 
“Keep talkin’ like that and we won’t have to wait long for dessert, will we?” 
Days three through seven were uneventful beyond the constant agony of your arm and tired legs, but on day eight amid a waterless walk in the sweltering heat was when the hallucinations began. 
Keegan walks beside you, his footsteps mirroring your own as sweat pools down your forehead and drips off your nose. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t look at you—he just walks, looking exactly like he did the day he died. 
At first, you’d flinched back and blinked wildly at the sight, panting, but then he’d disappeared and your heart had shattered. It worried you with what you were seeing, but it was also a strange comfort to be able to ramble to…something, even if it wasn’t real. Hungry and with a dry tongue, you were on the verge of calling it quits.
So on day eleven, without a wild animal in sight to give you a proper food source and all the water having to be purified, you started talking to him while licking the inside wrapper of your last protein bar. 
“But I never understood why you hated sleeping in shirts,” you licked your lips to get the remnants of granola off of your flesh, pushing away the greasy sheen from your cheeks. Your arm was burning up—every heartbeat was felt as it moved the skin around red and infected flesh up and down. Puss was leaking out from the crude stitches you had made of embroidery thread from that first house you’d found. 
“And you always kept the room freezing.” Continuing, you drop the wrapper to the ground and then take the meat of your fingers and get what little flavor you can off of them, grunting through realization. “That was a ploy to have me use you for heat, wasn’t it? Jesus.” 
The man in the corner of your vision smirks, tilting his head and chuckling from where he leans against a tree trunk. 
“Yeah, that’s right. Knew it.” Glaring at nothing, you stand from your overturned stump and nearly fall right back over, stomach yelling at you as your vision swirls. 
You dig a hand into your hair and grip at the strands, pulling and groaning. “...God.” 
Keegan comes over and stands above you, your eyes staring down at his feet as you get light-headed. You focus on his shoelaces, counting the Xs and taking down shaky breaths. When you blink like a cat with dirt on its face, the shoes are gone entirely and you stand back up to your full height.
“...Keegan?” You ask after a moment, the words disappearing into the trees, but no one’s around. 
Your sight goes to your wound and your jaw tightens, moments of clarity slipping in as a knife would into your consciousness before the curtain settles once more. 
You bend over and vomit what little nutrients you had, spending day twelve sleeping through a fit of nightmares and fever-induced delirium.
Nothing about the remainder of the time you can recall to memory—bits and pieces always flash through on long nights, but they’re only walking montages. Dragging feet, looking at your hand as if it was a foreign object as you turned it back and forth; everything in a sheen of sickness. Days and days and days. Little food. Less water. 
More than one-thousand miles.
But somehow, the Wall peels out in front of you as you crash through the foliage, your body giving out and collapsing down a large decline. Bouncing and getting jostled by rocks, you come to a stop without the strength to get back up, staring blankly ahead as your head connects with concrete. Your mouth is open in broken inhales, pain not even registering. 
Shouts echo, the pound of rapid feet. 
Green eyes meet yours, a youthful face with a beanie and stubble. He’s saying something to you, glancing over your gear and your obvious near-death situation—his hand jostles the side of your face. But your eyes shift behind him gradually, attention falling to someone more important. 
Before you finally let yourself rest, you stare at the smiling face of your steadfast phantom.
The doctors and nurses at Fort Santa Monica were nice, if a bit secretive about the entire operation. Seeing as you weren’t an official soldier, no dog tags or patches—no name in the database—everyone was a bit hesitant to tell you anything. 
Until you said you were from Dallas, of course. 
But no one was eager to rush you in your state, even if the information was dire. You had been hooked up to an IV and bedridden for a week straight; talking to nothing on account of the dehydration and electrolyte imbalances. Some days you spend unconscious. 
But what really pissed you off when you got back into it, was the fact that they had taken your Lynx and your gear—your picture.
You’d almost grappled onto the first nurse you’d seen when you’d woken without it. It was a beacon, your prized possession of damaged corners and taped tears. Water damage that may or may not have been from sobbing fits in the first five years. 
In fact, that was the entire reason you had snuck out so late in the first place. 
Stalking down the hallway in the white shirt and camo pants that had been given to you on the fifth morning you had woken up here, you pad along with no shoes, only plain gray socks. You limp with bandaged flesh all along your healing shoulder and your feet. 
The doctor had explained that you’d entirely skinned the bottoms and your heels were a mess of blisters and open wounds. 
“Take my property,” you grumble under your breath, shuffling along and rubbing at the back of your neck. “What gives them the right?” 
You weren’t going to stop until you found it. 
Reading the name tags on the walls, you silently wonder where they would have taken your stuff as you slip out of the medical ward, listening to the buzzing of the lights and frowning. As you’re limping along the next hallway, a man suddenly turns the corner on nearly silent feet. 
“Woah!” You halt immediately, heart jumping in your chest. A hand catches your shoulder before you run headlong into him. 
Green eyes lock with your own, wide and blinking quickly. Brows furrow and you’re quickly looked over before a slow, teasing remark enters the air, you listen with a growing heat on your neck.
“Y’know, I could have sworn you were supposed to be in bed, Ma’am. I miss something here?” The man who had found you. 
“Wouldn’t know,” you say blandly, blinking up at him and taking a careful step back. This brunette had a casual air to him—still in his gear despite the time. He folds his arms and tilts his head at you, smirking. “If you’ll excuse me.” 
You begin to walk forward, slipping past him and hoping you won’t get snitched on. Except it seems you’ll be having a shadow, as not a few seconds later a smooth chuckle meets your ears and the man walks beside you. 
“I think I’ll be taggin’ along if you don’t mind. Security and all.” He turns to face you, sticking out his opposite hand. “Hesh.”
“That supposed to be some kind of nickname, Kid?” You raise a stiff brow but participate in the handshake nonetheless. His grip is firm but not hard. 
Hesh blinks at you, eyes swimming with amusement before he shrugs in a boyish way and shakes his head with a laugh. “Hell, you remind me of someone, Ma’am.” A moment passes in silence as you study the area. The man huffs, “Where exactly are we off to?” 
“Wonderland,” your lips grumble, tired and wanting to sleep but not until you find your picture. Hesh sighs but you can still hear the hilarity inside of it. 
“Alright then…don’t know if you’re going to be finding a shrinking potion anytime soon, though. We’re in low stock.”
“Very funny,” your eyes send a dry look, but you relent when he prods you with his eyes, taking a corner. “I’m looking for my vest.” Hesh blinks at you in curiosity, letting you elaborate as you motion to your upper shoulder. “My pouch has some of my personal belongings. I don’t like being away from it.” 
“Oh,” the brunette nods a few times, his beanie jerking along. “Yeah, that’s no problem.” A hand is waved and you stare in confusion as he pivots. “C’mon, I’ll get you there.” 
Your eyes burn into his back before you immediately speed after. 
“Why so eager to help?” Hesh smirks at your question. 
“As I see it, if you went over nineteen days of hard hiking just to get to us, you should at least be able to keep your stuff on you, Ma’am.” Your lips flicker in a smile. 
“You’d be the first.” You tell him your name and miss the slight emotion it provokes in his eyes, head lightly pulling to the side but ultimately saying nothing. Hesh shrugs with a grunt, leading you to a meeting room on the opposite side of the building. 
Yelling is on the other side.
“Elias, how long has this been kept from me?!” The voice makes your head perk, evoking something inside of your chest. Hesh seems taken aback too, holding up a hand to you for momentary silence—not that you had to be told. 
“Keegan, I can’t have that happen. She needs to recover and you being there could jeopardize that. We need what she knows about Dallas.” Your body stills to a near-frozen state, and it’s comedic how your entire face falls to a blank slate. Wait a second.
…Keegan?
“She belongs with me—I thought she fucking died and she’s been here for who knows how long?! Why wasn’t I informed?” Rampaging feet suddenly sound off, going to the door at break-neck speed.
“Son, that’s not a good idea. This is what I was worried would happen if you found out.”
“I didn’t exactly ask, did I? As far as I’m concerned, nothing else matters besides getting back to my Girl,” the bark is ferocious and violent, more of an animal’s than a man’s. “Now where the hell did you put her before I tear this damn fort apart and—” You shove at the door before Hesh can grab you, throwing it open and letting it hit the opposite wall with a great boom of wood. 
Your wild eyes instantaneously lock into sharp blues, pulse pounding in your ears. It’s like all the air is taken from your lungs in a great punch. 
Oh, he’s so similar to how you remembered him to be ten years ago. 
Keegan stands only a few feet away, turned in your direction with his eyes so wide and small you might faint. There’s black face paint in his sockets, making the cerulean all the more bright and shocking to the senses. He’s still tall, still built, if only a bit more rugged than when ODIN struck—there are lines on his forehead and his scars are more faded. Small differences in the way he holds himself like the difference between a rabbit and a hare. Keegan’s black locks are shorter now, but still…his.
Lips part in silent shock, an entire halt of your nervous system. 
The entire universe holds its tongue as you two stare at each other; walls and rooms blur into a mess of matter and reality—this couldn’t be real. 
Keegan’s feet shift for a moment as if to steady himself as his fingers twitch. In his hand, he holds your picture, his body covered in gear and weapons. He blinks as you tell yourself he’s a phantom, simply that same ghost come back to haunt you as tears sting the backs of your eyes. But then he speaks, and it’s the same voice you had slowly lost the ability to remember in year three. 
“...Sweetheart?”
His ghost never spoke. His ghost could not imitate the phonics of his speech or the rhythm of his throat. His ghost could not make you recall the memories you’d long since boxed up.
You jerk forward just as he does, bodies colliding into a feral grip of flesh and fabric, hands latching and faces burying. Sobs rip from you as Keegan’s shaky breath echoes right next to your ear—his chest hitching and arms snatching your waist and lifting you up as easily as he always had. He holds you up without any thought of putting you down, legging your legs dangle as Elias slowly exits the room and corrals a highly confused Hesh with him.
The door shuts, but neither of you notices. 
“Keegan—” Your voice is high with emotion, hardly believing what you're seeing—what you’re touching. “Oh, my God.” 
He had been alive all this time? Ten whole years and you’d thought he was dead. But by the way he was barely letting you breathe from in his iron clutch, you imagined Keegan had thought the same about you. It was…incomprehensible. 
“Shh,” he whispers, his shushes cracking and flinching between broken gasps of your name. “Shh.” He sets you down on the floor only to have his firm hands travel to your cheeks, turning your head to each side in a desperate need to understand if you were really there.
Keegan’s eyes are wet, but no tears let themselves fall quite yet. 
“I’m so sorry!” You hiccup and the man kisses your cheeks—your browline and nose. Every piece of you he can as you both stay so intimate you might melt into one another. “I thought you were gone, I-I should have stayed and looked for you, I didn’t—”
“You’re alive?” Keegan’s hands rub across your body, gripping and tugging you closer and closer. “My Girl’s alive?” 
His tears drip to your face as he hovers above you, and you both shake with the weight of years. 
“Me?” Your chuckle through sobs—you want to scream and wail at the same time. Blue eyes flutter and ragged breaths puff on your forehead. “What about you, you asshole?” 
Keegan shakes his head, and you stare deeply into him, hands coming up to cup his cheeks as he sags forward. He had stubble now, spreading out to grate your flesh. 
The man forces a weak huff. 
“Christ,” is all he mutters before he presses his lips to yours in a kiss so unyielding you expect to have your air stolen. Ten years to feel him kissing you again—to feel his warm flesh under your hands and his heart rampage into you. 
You’d do it all over if it still amounted to this.
Your body shivers and you reciprocate with just as much fervor; this emotion of relief is so overwhelming and all-consuming that it makes your head light. You suck down quick breaths between the sensation of your lips meeting, Keegan doing the same. 
Unconsciousness was better than letting him leave again, your lover sharing that sentiment as chests slid against one another. Soft hair slips through your fingers as you grip Keegan’s hair, cascading through locks as he groans into your lips and tries to hide his tears from you. 
He pulls away and immensely shoves his head into your neck. 
“You’re here,” he whispers quickly. A hand quivers at the back of your head as your tears wet his gear. “You’re right here. You came back to me, didn’t you, Doll?” 
You cry, “I’m here, Keegan.” The man sobs when he hears you say his name, his knees giving out as you both fall to the floor and not letting the other move beyond the caress of skin and lips.
“I missed you,” Keegan gasps, “so much. Don’t you understand? I was nothing without you. You took it all from me, everything. Every damn thing.” 
You press kisses to his neck and racing pulse, healing him inside and out without even realizing it; it was only fair, he was doing the same back to you. 
The picture lays long forgotten on the floor.
“Never let me go,” your voice forces out, as he rocks you back and forth like a child. “Never again, Keegan. Please, I love you too much to go through that again.”
“Never,” he immediately promises, pulling back and kissing your lips again—neither can stop themselves from this. Blues eyes blink quickly, cataloging your face and every little blemish he’d have to relearn and study; to find the story behind. Keegan had never been happier. He felt like he might break from it. “Over my dead body, I’m never lettin’ you out of my sight. You’re stuck with me.”
You laugh genuinely for the first time in ten years and say you’d like nothing better as he pulls you back in and plants his mouth to yours in reverent worship. His arms trapping you to him as yours do just the same.
Not to leave again anytime soon. 
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TAGS:
@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast
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gojonanami · 1 month
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❝ 𝐒𝐔𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐘, 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐀 𝐕𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐄 ! ❞
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❝ HONESTLY, I CAN'T BELIEVE I GET TO CALL YOU MINE !! ❞
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✧ pairing: professor! suguru geto x reader
✧ summary: it's your first valentine's day as a couple with suguru, but he's away for a conference in another city -- and you understand you do, but you can't help but miss him -- so what happens when he ends up surprising you?
✧ warnings: so fluffy!!, suggestive, mentions of nsfw, implications of smut, reader has graduated from her program, set after the events of the main series (including part 3), these two idiots are so in love its ridiculous, lingerie mention, wearing his glasses and button down
✧ wc: 1,206
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“I’m sorry I have to be away,” you smile at Suguru through the screen, knowing that you’d kiss his furrowed brow away if he was here, before finding his lips with yours. “This conference was last minute, I wish I didn’t have to go, but Yaga left me little choice but to go,” 
You shake your head, “We can celebrate when you come back, it’s not a big deal anyway. Just means you have more to make up for on White Day,” you tease, and he laughs, a smile on his lips for the first time the entire call, “don’t worry ok? I’m really not upset,” 
“I know, it’s just our first Valentines together and I know you had planned something for us. I really wanted it to be special,” his lips purse, arms crossed as he looks almost utterly hopeless (far too cute) and you can’t help but chuckle, “what?” 
“Never thought my hardass professor could be such a romantic,” you smirk, as his cheeks are tinted with a lovely red, “should I be giving you a poor grade for your tardiness?” 
He rolls his eyes, as his lips curl again in a smile that can’t seem to escape your presence, “Well, while I’ll definitely be making it up with some extra credit, I’d appreciate my favorite student to cut me a little slack,” 
“I recall you cutting me very little slack that first day,” 
“On the contrary, I think I was very kind, especially considering you were late to the very first class—“ 
“And what is this weekend?” You say in mock thought, “our first Valentine’s Day?” He huffs, and you smile in victory, “is this the first headache I’ve given you?” 
“Today? Yes,” and you gape at him, and it’s his turn to smirk, “I love you,” 
And your gaze grows soft, “I love you too, call me after the conference is done for today?” 
“You know I will,” and you both share your goodbyes and you’re left by yourself, as you lay back on your bed, a pout on your lips. Suguru had offered to let you stay at his place, but you know it would have only made you miss him more — being surrounded by his things, his scent, his clothes. You sighed as you buried your face in your pillow, glancing at the picture the two of you had taken in Kyoto at one of the local shrines, almost taunting you. 
He’d be back soon enough — right? 
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Sorry I haven’t been able to call again. It’s been a lot of late nights — too many networking dinners. I’ll call you tonight. 
It has been two nights now, and it was Valentine’s Day tomorrow. You had barely gotten a minute to speak to Suguru since your call with him on Friday. You sighed, sending him a picture of you in his button up you stole, along with his spare glasses he had left at your place, can we have a networking meeting? I’ll send an invite to your calendar. 
I’ll clear my schedule. You smile. 
Another message, as soon as I get back. 
You pout, you expected as much — you shouldn’t have dated such an indemand academic. The horrors of academia. 
You laid back, forearm over your forehead as you stare back at your blank ceiling. It was fine, you really understood that he was busy, but you just — turning on your side to stare at his smiling face in the framed image on your bedside table before your eyes flutter shut — missed him. 
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You stir awake to lips pressed at your neck, soft kisses that draw you from the heavy arms of sleep, as your eyes flutter open to see Suguru, at your side. 
“Sugu?” And his fingers trace your jaw, as your brow furrows in confusion, “but isn’t it—“ 
“Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart,” he pulls a bouquet of flowers from behind him — an arrangement of your favorites, as you blink, brain seemingly struggling to keep up, “you okay?” 
Your fingers find his cheek, “is this a dream?” And he chuckles, as he leans down to plant a sweet kiss on your lips, before his fingers lightly pinch your cheek. And you’re sitting up only to jump into his arms, a gasp on his lips, as he chuckles, arms curling around you, raking his fingers through your hair. The bouquet lays forgotten on the side because truly the best gift was in your arms. 
“I missed you too,” he chuckles, as you bury your face in his chest, breathing in his scent, as if he’d disappear any second. 
You lean back to look up at him, “What are you doing back early?” 
“Made a deal with Yaga that I’d go to all the networking events he wanted, if he let me leave last night,” he kisses your forehead, “surprised?” 
“I am, the best surprise,” you find his lips in another kiss, “I was fine with you being busy, but I just missed you so much. It reminded me of all the time we had to spend apart — and I just know I can’t spend another minute without you,” you bite your lip, “I was going to wait until the end of the night, but,” you bite your lip, “I know we discussed moving in before — and I think I’m ready to,” 
He blinks, before a smile breaks out on his lips, “Are you sure?” And you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him, lips sliding against his, as your hands slide back to cup his cheeks. 
You part, barely a breath apart, as you press your forehead against his, “Never been more sure of anything in my life — it’s definitely owed to us now, don’t you think?” 
He snorts, his eyes shining, as he presses another gentle kiss to your forehead, “Should we start looking for a place now?” And you grin, as you climb into his lap, a tilt of your head. 
“Don’t you want your Valentine’s Day gift?” You ghost kisses along his jawline, drawing a gasp from his lips, your hands guiding his own under his shirt you had stolen, “I had worn it last night just to try it on, but now,” you undo a few buttons of his shirt, a hint of red lace peeking through the undone collar. 
His clothed cock twitches through his slacks, as his fingers pull yours away, to undo the last remaining buttons to show a red and pink lingerie set — red lace hugged the outline of body with red hearts dotting along the design, sheer blush fabric left barely anything of your breasts and cunt to the imagination — not that he needed to imagine — he had practically memorized every curve and corner of your body. 
“Well?” And his fingers pull his shirt off of your body, as he’s gotten you pinned to the bed, as you giggle, lips parted, “I also baked you some sweet treats, baby,” 
His lips curl, as he leans down to meet your lips, as his breath warms your lips and his words warm your heart, “There’s only one sweet thing I want, right now.” 
The two of you never did get around to looking for a place together — not until the next day. 
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✧ a/n: this was supposed to come out earlier, but i fell asleep because i slept badly last night and ended up reading a manhwa when i got tired of trying to sleep. wrote this fic listening to laufey's valentine :) i also didn't tag everyone since this was kind of a last minute thing - sorry guys <;3
✧ taglist: @spider-fan72, @grunge-mo0n, @ameri-blog, @kentocalls, @peachyminx, @forest-fruits-jam, @hanxyy, @flyingtranscatofeffed, @sunflowmaryam, @regrettinglifechoices, @sugurus-fave-monkey, @atomicbxtch, @shinylightsalad
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ragingbookdragon · 2 months
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Price finds her in the equipment room doing a rather meticulous job of cleaning their weapons, but he also notices that the only set she currently has out, is none other than the side-arm and knives owned by their resident Lieutenant.
“Quite rare to see you here on a Friday night,” he says, taking a seat across from her, grabbing an oiled rag to start cleaning with. “Shouldn’t you be going out with Gaz and Soap for drinks?”
She pauses, looks up and then lowers her gaze back to the firing pin she’s cleaning. “Didn’t feel like going out tonight, Captain.”
“Didn’t feel like it or didn’t feel like seeing ‘you know who?’”
“You know?” She asks and he shrugs.
“It’s my job to know everything that happens within the one-four-one.”
“I thought that was Miss Kate’s job?”
Price smiles. “We share responsibility.” He methodically rubs the rag along the parts of the side-arm, his expression and voice becoming rather calm but she feels the air turn a little stern, if almost a fatherly stern. “You’ve been avoiding him.”
She makes a noise in her throat. “I can’t exactly talk to him. Look what happened last time.”
“He feels bad.”
“I’m sure he does,” she retorts, looking at him. “He really hurt my feelings. What am I supposed to do, tell him it’s okay? That we can move on like he didn’t tell me I’m clingy?” She stops, looks down at her hands. “I sound like a fucking child.”
Price hums. “You actually sound like a person who’s had their feelings hurt and you’re not sure how to proceed.” He dips the rag in a big more oil. “I know it doesn’t equate what he’s said to you, but allow me to fill in some blanks you might have on Simon.”
She cocks a brow. “Okay?”
“Simon was the oldest child of two. Abusive dad, terrified mom. Younger brother used to terrorize him too.” He goes back to cleaning the gun parts. “Nine-eleven had Simon enlisting, came back after a lull, kicked his dad out, got his brother sober and even found himself the proud uncle of a nephew named Joseph.”
“Where are they now?” She asks. “Simon’s from Birmingham, right?”
“He is,” he answers, but his face and voice are void of any hope. “But they’re not anymore.”
She blinks, feels the shift in temperature. “They…moved?” She hopes; he meets her gaze, and she knows instantly. “Oh…I…how did it…”
“I don’t want to divulge Simon’s past without his permission, because it’s also his own choice to tell you what happened, but I can tell you that Simon had a personal vendetta against the man and others who hurt his family. And he took care of it.” Price inhales and exhales. “In doing so…Simon sacrificed himself. He made himself—“
“A Ghost,” she finishes, and he nods.
“Simon, when it comes down to what he truly is beneath his cold stoicism, my dear, is simply a very tired and even more broken-hearted man who believes that if he keeps everything and everyone at a distance, then nothing can hurt him.” Price sets the weapon and rag down. “He likes to think he’s incapable of feeling but don’t let his demeanor or words fool you, Simon feels more deeply for the people he loves more than anyone I’ve ever met.”
Something aches in her chest, rising up to close around her throat as she asks, “A man like him…he can still love?”
He smiles half-heartedly. “I’ve seen the man run back through a burning building to pull Gaz out. I’ve seen him run through gunfire, take a bullet to the thigh and keep going to carry Soap.” He nudges her under the table. “I’ve even seen him pull your ass out of even stickier situations. If we viewed Simon how he wanted us to view him, it’d be easy to call him a heartless bastard. But he isn’t as heartless as he wishes he was.”
“That just shows he’s doing his job as our superior officer,” she counters weakly. “He’s doing it because it’s his duty to get his subordinates out.”
“Does it ever just feel like that?”
“…no.”
Price gazes on her like a father to his daughter with her first heartbreak. “What do you feel right now, puffin?”
She purses her lips, looks down at the various weapons on the table before she admits, “I’m still hurt. His words keep replaying in my mind. I’m clingy and I’m always around.” She fiddles with the fraying hem of the rag. “That I’m a bother.”
“Would it make a difference if I told you that I don’t think such things?”
She shrugs.
Price blinks, reaches up and rubs his chin thoughtfully. “You can be very excitable. Sometimes, I think you let it get the better of you and you often forget that others don’t always have the same personality as you.”
“Excitable is the polite way of saying annoying.”
“If I wanted to say you were annoying, I would’ve. You genuinely are a good and wholesome person, my dear. But you have to remember that everyone has a different level of extroversion. Sometimes, we have to tone it down a bit.” He meets her gaze and she knows his is full of honesty. “Simon doesn’t actually hate you. And he probably feels a tad bit of annoyance, but then again, he always does regardless of who it is, because Simon hates anything that makes noise. But I also know that he feels bad for what he did and said to you—and he wants to make it right.”
She takes in his words. “Do I need to engage him first? Extend some olive branch for peace?”
Price rises from the table and smiles, walks around and pats her shoulder. “Nah, let him come to you.”
“You really think he will?”
“I do. He knows what he’s gotta do and he’ll do it because he knows it’s the right thing to do. But he’ll be skittish. He’s like a newborn deer.” He winks. “Let him mull over how he wants to do it. As for you,” he points at her. “You’ve gotta move on from this. Learn from it. And stop ignoring him and avoiding him like you’re a ten year old. Be a grown-up. Act professional and be polite. I will not let this effect the team any longer than it is. Am I understood?”
She swallows thickly and nods. “Yes, sir, Captain Price. I promise.”
Price smiles and pats her again. “Go on. Soap and Gaz headed to Purecraft.”
“But the Lieutenant—”
“Is in the training room working out,” Price waves her off. “Go. Have some fun. Get some drinks, talk to Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”
As she gets up, she pauses and looks at him. “Captain?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you.”
Price’s eyes crinkle around the edges. “You’re welcome, Puffin.”
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silencesscreams · 3 months
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"is there any chance i can fix this?" where james and reader are best friends since birth but he begins to pull away and spend less time with her in favor of the boys, so she just cuts him out of her life and after a while he doesn't know how to deal with it anymore. hiiiii
sad beautiful tragic
james potter x fem reader (angst)
a/n: sorry about any grammar mistakes, english isn’t my first language (also i’m pretty bad at writing angst but i tried my best) also immediately thought of the title because of the taylor swift song, so hope you don’t mind the association. also the first kiss part came to my mind because of a tiktok i saw a few weeks ago but i don’t really remember who’s it was to credit them
warnings: friendship distancing, kissing, fighting, cursing, a bit short (sorry), happy ending
“i’m sorry, okay? i’m so sorry, honey, please. is there any chance i can fix this? just tell me, please”
you knew james potter and he knew you. knowing meaning comprehending each other, meaning that you stood by each others side for as long as you can remember.
he was your first friend. he was your neighbor and you both grew up together, it was expected that you both would know each other better than anyone.
sure, it felt different when you both started hogwarts and suddenly he had new friends, but so did you. you spent the time you could together, always saving a bit of your days for each other.
during the sixth to seventh year summer vacation, he had spent the whole summer with you, you both would hang out all the time.
until he kissed you.
it was the last day of summer and you both had spent the evening in his room. you were talking about a book you had been reading recently and he listened quietly, like it was the most interesting thing he had ever heard of. until you paused for a brief moment and he moved closer to you. you were sat on the floor with him, the carpet tickling your legs as you played with the fluffy yarn under you.
“honey” he said, you looked at him, doe eyed waiting for him to continue. “a phrase. two words, six letters, two vowels. guess.” he said lowly whilst looking at your lips. your mind went blank.
one vowel for each word. you still didn’t get it.
“what are the vowels?” you whisper back, he smiles.
“i and e” he answers, not taking his eyes from off of you for a second. you knew.
“kiss me?” and so he did. his lips met yours abruptly, his hands grabbed your hips and yours went straight to the back of his neck. it completely changed the way you ever saw him, hell, it completely changed your expectations to a kiss. it was better than anything you’d ever experienced and you loved it.
when you got back to school, it seemed like he didn’t do that, actually, it seemed like he didn’t even talk to you the whole summer.
sure, he did casually say hello in the halls and you might’ve shared one or two conversations, but what the hell? he kisses you like that and expects you to just forget about it? that was the most fucked up thing anyone could’ve done. as the semester went on, your mind was absolutely torturing you over that kiss.
it made you overthink every single thing you ever did around him. but maybe he didn't have time, maybe he was really busy with his studies and quidditch, right? that was probably it.
he saw you every once in a while, said an awkward hi or whatever that thing signaling head thing he did was.
the crush you had developed for him didn’t help at all. it made you crave his presence in your life, even now that you hated him more than you ever thought you possibly could. you missed his pet names for you, ‘honey’ and ‘sweetheart’ sounded so amazing coming out of his mouth.
but from the moment he started to ignore you, you decided he was absolutely done. he was never going to see a smile coming from you ever again, he was never going to get another hello, nothing. james potter didn’t deserve a single thing from you.
your friends agreed. they thought he was a piece of shit and said you should’ve cut him off a long time before.
life went on without him, you barely thought about him. your studies were going well, everything was great.
christmas break came up and when you saw james at the train station, you were pissed. you knew he was going to be there for christmas dinner, he was always invited alongside with his family. you didn’t know how he was going to act then, was he going to pretend it never happened?
when you got home, your mother instantly started asking you what you wanted for dinner and you were glad to be home, you just hated that he was in the house next to yours.
a few nights after you both got home, you were invited for a date by steven, who worked at a bookstore near the city park. you said yes, he took you to see a shitty movie and tried to kiss you after dropping you off at your front porch. you dodged it and gave him a good night kiss on the cheek. james saw it all.
once the date left, you heard him yelling from his porch:
“who’s that?” you ignored him and went inside, sure, you weren’t going to see steven again but james didn’t deserve to know that.
on christmas day you went to the potter’s for dinner, your parents insisted for you to go, even though you tried to fake being sick. sirius was there too, you politely greeted all of them them and didn’t bother to answer james’ “hey”.
when you sad at the side of the living room table james sat next to you, even though that wasn’t his usual seat. you played with your dress awkwardly and ate less, being there was making you so irritated you lost your appetite.
after taking a bite from your desert, you thanked euphemia for the food and told your parents you were feeling a bit sick and that you were heading home, telling them to enjoy the rest of their night.
as you were opening the door to head out, you heard footsteps behind you. you knew james was there and you had no interest to talk with him.
“don’t” you simply stated, stepping out and shutting the door lightly on him, he followed you during the small walk between both your houses.
“hey!” he shouted, trying to get your attention. you were about to shut the door to your house on his face, but he held it with his foot, going into your house.
he pulled you by your wrist but you tugged it away from him.
“don’t touch me!” you shouted at him, staring into his eyes for the first time that night.
“now you can talk to me, huh? ‘the fucks up with you?!” he shouts back, brows furrowed. you couldn’t believe him, what a fucking nerve he had.
“whats up with YOU?!” you step closer to him, throwing your keys on the coffee table in the middle of the living room. “you’ve ignored me for the whole semester and now you wanna talk?” he had never seen you like this. you had never been this angry at anyone or anything around him.
“i’m sorry?” he had no reaction, he knew he was wrong, he just couldn’t deal with it. with anything. he didn’t know what to do after he kissed you, he couldn’t handle any of it. he knew that if he spent more time around you he would fall harder, he couldn’t risk it.
“i’m sorry! now that you don’t have anyone else near for you to talk to i’m worthy of your attention? i’m so lucky, right?!” your eyes started to tear up, but you held it in, he was not getting to see you cry.
“honey, i’m sorry i didn’t talk much with you these past few months, but i tried to speak with you tonight and you didn’t even bother to answer me!” he ran his hand through his hair, looking at you as you sat down on the couch, staring at your hands.
“you didnt even look at me. the entire fucking night. one lousy ‘hey’ is not trying to do anything” he handed you a piece of paper, it was crumpled up in his jeans’ pocket. you knew he was bad with words, but the paper was written front and back. what was he even trying to do? did he think a letter was enough to fix the damage he had done?
“really? you’re a little too late for this, don’t you think?” you said, looking at him angrily.
“fine, don’t read it then. just keep it, okay?” he knew you were about to cry. it was the worst feeling he had ever felt.
“you don’t get to do this to me, james” you hold back tears once you say it.
“i know, honey, i know” he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, cupping your face as you try to not melt because of his touch. he kisses you, but this time you pull away.
“no. don’t do this to me” you say, a single tear streaming down your face, he wipes it off but more tears just keep coming
“im sorry, im so sorry for everything i did and-“ you interrupt him.
“could you just try to listen?!” you shout, pulling away from his touch again. “what makes you think that i want this? after all you did, better, all that you didn’t do?! you kiss me and expect me to forget about it? expect me to be okay with you ignoring me all the time just because you kissed me again? i can’t be okay with any of this unless you actually explain to me what happened. i really try to understand you, but all of this doesn’t help!”
“i love you” he says “i have loved you all my life and i didn’t know, after i kissed you it all hit me and i couldn’t trust myself around you anymore, i didn’t want to hurt you so i pulled away, i just didn’t know it would hurt you more like that. i’m sorry, but im here now and i want to show you how much I do love you” he pauses and sits next to you on the couch.
“i’m sorry, okay? i’m so sorry, honey, please. is there any chance i can fix this? just tell me, please” he wipes the tears from off your face again. you knew he meant it, you just didn’t know how to trust him again.
“i don’t know” you whisper, looking into his eyes, you had never seen him look this sad. you wanted to trust him, you really did, but how could you? how could you know he wasn’t going to pull something like that again?
you couldn’t be sure of anything, you could only hope for the best and be careful. so you gave it a shot.
“come here” you say lowly, pulling him in for a hug. he buried his face in the crook of your neck and gave you small kisses.
“i’m so sorry, baby” he whispered.
“i know” you whisper back, he looks at you and gives you quick kisses all over your face. you can’t help but smile.
it was going to take a while for you to trust him again, but you knew you could.
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tiredandlonelymuse · 11 months
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Hello. Hi. I know you want new music.
I want you to know that I am hard at work. There were some restrictions I was under, for a lot longer than it seemed, but they are no longer in the way. I’m sure you can fill in the blanks.
I’m always writing aimlessly and lawlessly as you know. But “album mode” is a whole other arena and the games are just beginning. I am working on some of my favorite stuff I’ve ever conjured. Wild to think that it hasn’t even been 2 years since IICHLIWP! I know it feels like so much longer. It does to me too. But there were 2 years and 7 months between HFK and Manic and honestly I think it was worth it. The time I took. And the growth that got me from that album to the next.
Thank you for having the patience and the faith.
It will pay off in the long run.
This feels like my debut all over again, in some ways.
Your love and support have carried me through a time where I thought maybe I only had a few albums left in me, but I know now that there are so many more than I could have ever dreamed.
Anyways, I love you.
Down the rabbit hole I go 🕳️
See you soon.
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westernsunshine · 1 year
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Living in a small town is conceptually bad on basically most if not all levels, but they went off with the communal village cat who lives in the church garden and can be visited at pretty much any time
#they were like. i know what’ll raise the serotonin levels of mentally ill 20-somethings. chonky cat#i go to see him so much now that he chirps at me and runs to the gate to greet me#he likes to sit on me too and i really need to start bringing a second jacket to lay over my lap so that he doesn’t nick me with his nails#i don’t think anyone is clipping them#but yes. shoutout to thomas for cheering me up after i had a job interview that i feel went badly#i mean the main part of the interview went okay but then the guy asked me to make a short introductory video to be sent to schools#and That part was kind of disastrous because i blanked on a major question#i hope he comes through for me and edits it down so it’s a bit less terrible. idk how zoom recordings work but if it creates a video file#i assume that can be done? he didn’t ask me to retake it so either he thinks it’s fine or he straight up doesn’t care#either way. i’m just glad that’s over. i really need to prepare my interview answers better lol#my answer to every single question cannot be ‘gosh i don’t know if i’ve ever thought about that before’#i am a ridiculous person. and the thing is i look so good on paper with my education and experience#but then you meet me and hear me talk and you’re like ‘who or what is this’#i feel like more than one prospective employer has gone away thinking ‘is she lying? is she committing fraud? whose master’s degree is this#it’s mine okay??? sorry that doing a master’s in english literature online during a global pandemic while living in a house with 3#other postgrads and slowly going bonkers didn’t improve my social skills#and sorry that my pgce didn’t improve my social skills either. all my students were teenagers who were basically catatonic as their brains#had been fried by tiktok during said global pandemic. i do not think any of this is my fault#anyway i’ll cut that impromptu rant off there#if you need me i’ll.. well i don’t know what i’ll be doing. a book i preordered arrived this morning and i said i’d read it#so maybe i’ll try. or maybe i’ll listen to a podcast and work on my latest knitting project (baby blanket for my goddaughter)#or maybe i’ll stare into space for a bit. who can be sure#personal
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