#glasses would probably push down to his brain

[beomiracles]

「 CRIMINAL CONSCIENCE 」

SYNOPSIS moving rapidly through your career as one of the leading female investigators, you never once encountered a case you couldn't crack. though you never expected for your past mistakes to come back and haunt you in the form of an ex lover, accused of murder.

pairings criminal!beomgyu x investigator!reader warnings for tape 02 drinking, lightly hinted sexual themes, red flag beomgyu, mentions of drug dealing.

GENERAL WARNINGS ─ this story contains dark themes, portraying unhealthy and toxic relationships as well as substance abuse. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK.

✎ NOTE!, this story is partly told in flashbacks. beware of time stamps as present and past is mixed throughout the story.

#serene adds ✎... I've been doing a lot of thinking about how I want the dynamic between the reader and Beomgyu to play out. As the story progresses it will become a lot more evident, also gentle reminder that Beomgyu is a piece of shit with some morals (when it suits him).

the tape recordings

tape 02 ─ red lipstick stains

February 19th 2024 — present time 

“Is everything alright?” Huening’s light voice easily parts the dark clouds fogging your mind and your eyes snap to him as you blink a couple of times. “You’ve barely touched your food”, he comments as he casts a glance toward your almost full plate. 

Pushing said food around leisurely with your fork, you sigh, “I’m not feeling particularly hungry today I suppose”. Your colleague frowns as he sets his own fork down, “does it have anything to do with the case you were assigned this morning?”. 

You look at him as you gnaw on your bottom lip, you don't want to lie, especially not to Huening. But was it such a good idea to tell him about who exactly you had been assigned. You figured it probably wasn’t. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Huening kai, but if word got around the office, well it certainly wouldn’t look good on either yours or Yeonjun’s part. Besides, you really didn’t feel like pulling the whole story for him, not when you had already promised Yeonjun that you would later that night. 

“No, I’ve just been tired lately”, you shrug as you reach for your glass. Huening doesn’t seem convinced as he studies your expressionless face. “Sorry, I’m not exactly good company right now”, you mumble against the rim of the glass. 

“You’re always great company, noona” he beams and you smile. “You’re great company too, Huening” you say and your younger colleague blushes furiously as he occupies himself with his food. 

You liked spending time with Huening kai, he was so easygoing and the atmosphere would always feel light whenever he was around. The restaurant he had taken you to was a small family owned business, perfectly situated on the corner of the street in the most central part of your city. 

From your table by the window you had a perfect view of the large park, though the flowers had yet to bloom and the tree branches remained naked you still found it to be a beautiful sight. 

Beomgyu had rarely taken you out to restaurants. In fact he rarely took you out at all. Back then you didn’t see a problem with that, but then again, there were a lot of things you had disregarded in better judgment of Choi Beomgyu. 

31st March 2022 

It had been three long days since your first encounter with Beomgyu. And for those three days you hadn’t stopped thinking about him. On your way to class, in class, after class, on your way to work, during work, after work. 

He was everywhere yet nowhere. After the night you had spent together you had woken up to an empty bed, no note left behind. Beomgyu had given you no way to contact him. Perhaps that should have been your first warning. 

Had Kayla been right all along? Did he really never see the same woman twice? Yet his words remained engraved in your brain; 

“I like you dollface, I’ll keep you”. 

I’ll keep you. How did you keep someone you couldn’t even contact? Of course you had kept the whole encounter from your nosey friend. As Kayla pestered you about where you had gotten off to during the evening, without as much as a word to your bestest friend, you dismissed her, making up some bullshit lie about getting a cab home to not ruin her night. 

Perhaps you should have just taken a cab home that night, perhaps things would’ve turned out different if you did. But there was no changing the past. 

It was late at night when your usually dry phone chimed with a notification. Had you not still been up to finish your coursework you probably would have missed it. Grabbing the device, an unfamiliar number flashed on the screen. The text was short, only reading out one sentence. 

“75-4, Seongbuk-gu, Seoul, 1.30am.” 

You frown, an address? As you open the message you find that you can’t reply, how odd. Part of you knows better than to give the mysterious message more than another thought. But something about it felt familiar, was that strange to think? 

The sender had left no signature, yet you were almost certain who had sent it. 

What did you have to lose? With that thought in mind you swing your legs over the edge of your bed as you get up. 

Typing in the address on your phone you find that it’s, “a nightclub?”. It was situated in a part of town that you were unfamiliar with. The large buildings looked slightly worn down and as you dwelled deeper into the narrow alleyways you started to question your decision. 

But you couldn’t go back now, you had to find out if he was actually the one who sent the message. The night breeze causes shivers to ripple through your body and you pull your arms around yourself as you quicken your pace. 

Soon a faint light comes into vision and the thumping of loud music can be heard. You don’t know whether to feel relieved or not, but you keep on walking. As you double check the address on your phone you throw a glance at the time, 1.28am. 

You swallow hard, an attempt to cover the fast beating of your heart. When you approach the door a large man turns to look at you. He looked like your typical bouncer, absolutely fucking jacked and covered in tattoos. 

The man raised an eyebrow as he took in the state of you. “You lost, little girl?” he asks in an amused tone. Your throat goes dry as you look up at him, “I…uh”. 

He chuckles, “kindergarten is down the street and to your right”, he gestures with a large hand. The bouncer’s words cause a frown to cross your features, kindergarten? Sure you weren’t exactly your typical bimbo, but did you really look that out of place? 

Oh who were you kidding, of course you did. What were you even thinking coming here, on your own too. There was no way you were going to be let inside this club. What a waste of time. Internally groaning, you prepare to leave when a figure suddenly appears in the doorway. 

“Dollface, you made it”, Beomgyu’s dark eyes perfectly match the smirk playing on his lips. He pushes past the bouncer who immediately steps aside and gives him a quick bow. 

A ring clad hand finds your waist as Beomgyu pulls you to his side. Your eyes widen in surprise as you stammer for words. When you pass the bouncer Beomgyu mutters something to the man that you can’t quite catch. You’re unable to give it much thought as you’re led inside the beating club. 

The atmosphere of it all is no different from any other club you had been to, sweat, alcohol and sex filled the hot air. Yet there was something special about this place, it felt almost exquisite, and the people here seemed to be aware of it. 

Instead of a bar, drinks were being served by the multiple waiters pacing around the outlines of the dancefloor. Several booths clad in purple velvet filled the walls, you expected Beomgyu to lead you to one of them,though his eyes seemed to be set on the large staircase leading to the second floor as he pushed through the dancefloor. 

Immediately eyes were drawn to him as people stepped aside to make room for him to pass. What made him so special? You were barely spared a glance apart from an occasional glare sent by the many women surrounding you.

When you made it to the stairs, Beomgyu's hand traveled from your waist to your lower back as he guided you toward the large purple doors at the top. As the two of you approached, the bouncers stepped aside and gave Beomgyu a quick bow, he barely seemed to notice them. 

“Isn’t this the VIP section?” you whisper under your breath as you survey the area. It was much quieter here and the air felt almost cleaner. “Clever girl”, Beomgyu smirks as he leads you to one of the few larger booths. 

You quickly realized that the two of you weren’t going to be alone. A man in his late twenties sat by the booth as he swished a drink around in his hand. You didn’t recognize him and when Beomgyu called out to him, his name rang no bells. 

“Duri!” he exclaims and the man looks up from his drink with a grin on his face. “I was beginning to think you’d stood me up”, Duri says as he studies Beomgyu’s frame, gaze stopping at the way his hand rests on your lower back. “Though I now realize what kept me waiting”, his eyes shift to you as he gives you a wink. 

“I, uh…hello”, you give him an awkward wave and the man bursts into laughter, Beomgyu however doesn’t seem to share his amusement. “Pretty little thing you got there”, Duri comments as he reaches for his drink once more, “what’s your name, love?”. 

“Oh, it’s─”

“Dollface, this is my old friend, Duri”, Beomgyu interrupts as he gestures toward the man in front of you. “Duri, this is Dollface”. You glance up toward Beomgyu with a slight frown but he doesn’t seem to notice as he pulls you along to sit next to him. 

Duri hums as he eyes you carefully, “nice to meet you”, he then says. “Uh, you too…”, you mumble, your words coming out as a squeak when Beomgyu’s hand finds your thigh, cold rings stinging your naked skin. 

His free hand quickly calls over one of the many waiters and he turns to look at you, “what do you want, doll?”. “Oh anything is fine…I’ll just have what you’re having”, you tell him and Beomgyu smirks as he turns back to the waiter, “my usual, and make it two”. The waiter bows before quickly rushing off again. 

You lean back against the smooth velvet as Beomgyu and Duri indulge in a conversation regarding topics that made little sense in your ears. You wondered why Beomgyu hadn’t introduced you, was he ashamed of you? But why bring you along if he was ashamed, it made little sense. 

Suddenly you’re reminded of Kayla’s warnings, you realize what kind of people Beomgyu might have connections to. Was Duri one of those? Was that why he didn’t want you to give out your name? 

Your mind spun with different scenarios, much so that you didn’t notice your drinks arriving. Not until Beomgyu brings the glass to your lips and mumbles a quiet, “open up”. 

Doing as he says without hesitation, the warm liquor burns your throat. It was unlike anything you had ever tasted before and it was… “this is really good”, you murmur as you take the glass from Beomgyu’s hand. He smirks, “knew you’d like it, dollface”. 

Raising an eyebrow, you sip on your drink, “why, you seem to know everything about me already”, you grin. Beomgyu’s eyes twinkle in an unexplainable way as he brings his own drink to his lips. “You’d be surprised”. 

To Beomgyu’s right, Duri clears his throat, “well it seems my date for the night has arrived”. As he gets up he gives you a quick glance, “pleasure meeting you, ‘dollface’”, he says before making his way over to one of the many half naked girls crowding the rest of the booths.

Surprised at his sudden leave, your eyes follow the man before returning to the one next to you. “Who was he?” you ask and Beomgyu raises an eyebrow as he looks at you, “an old friend”. 

You frown, there was no way he was telling the truth, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to question him further, reminding yourself that you barely knew the man. “If he’s an old friend, then why didn’t you introduce me?” 

Beomgyu takes a sip of his drink before setting it down, his hand returning to your thigh once more, “I did”. Shaking your head you twist around on the spot to look at him fully, “why not my name?”. 

“What’s it to him?” he mutters as his free hand runs through your hair before stopping to rest on your shoulder. Your frown deepens upon hearing his words, “he’s your friend”, you state. “Perhaps”, Beomgyu says as he casts a glance toward Duri whose hand was down the skirt of the girl he had just walked up to, “but not a friend you should be acquainted with”. 

“Why?” 

He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth but doesn’t reply. “Did he do something bad?” you press but Beomgyu doesn’t budge. “Haven’t we all?” he says as he empties the last of his drink. 

“Yes but─” 

“Drop it, dollface”, Beomgyu’s voice is so cold that it could've easily brought back the ice age. Gulping you look down to your half empty glass, the drink seeming to have lost all its taste. 

His answer however made you almost certain of one thing, that Duri was a dealer, he had to be. That’s how Beomgyu knew him, it had to be. Then that would mean that Beomgyu also… No, maybe he just bought from him every now and then. A small amount couldn’t be that bad right? As long as he had it under control, and he did, didn't he?

Back then you didn’t know it, but Beomgyu loved his control. More than a lot of things, more than a lot of people. 

You glance up at him once more, a thousand questions prodding at your lips, you chose one. “How did you get my number?”

Beomgyu groans, “fuck dollface, you ask a lot of questions”. His hand on your shoulder moves to the nape of your neck as he pulls your lips flush against his in a hot kiss. Beomgyu was good at avoiding questions, perhaps a little too good. 

That should have been your second warning.

19th February 2024 — present time

Beomgyu hadn’t changed a lot in the ten months you had gone without seeing him. There were only a few noticeable differences. His hair had gotten longer, the ends looked thinner and less well kept. Dark circles clad the area under his eyes, it was something you had never seen on him before. 

His otherwise charismatic persona had yet to leave him as he cracked jokes at any given moment. Ah, and he was still a little too good at avoiding questions. 

“What is your relationship to Park Baekhyun?” you ask. Beomgyu twists the rings on his fingers as he hums softly. As his eyes find yours a grin spreads across his lips, “what’s your relationship to that guy?”. 

You frown, what guy? “I advise you to answer my questions instead of diverting to other─” “The guy in the doorway, from earlier”, Beomgyu interrupts you as his eyes scan your expression for answers, for insecurities. 

“That was my colleague”, you say, mentally scolding yourself for letting Huening drop you off at the investigation rooms after your lunch together. 

“Really?” Beomgyu’s eyebrows raise in a fake-surprise, “didn’t look like it to me”. You roll your eyes, “what you think does not matter, now if you would regain focus and answer my quest─” “He your boyfriend or something?” 

Beomgyu’s expression holds no hint of amusement as he leans back in his chair, rocking on its back legs. You almost wanted to laugh. After everything, he still thought he had a say in anything regarding your life, regarding you. 

“He might be”. 

“Bullshit”. Beomgyu leans forward again, the front legs of his chair slamming down on the stone floor. 

You don’t flinch at the sound, you don’t move from your position even when Beomgyu’s face comes so close to yours that you can feel his hot breath on your face. 

Fighting the urge to smile, you tilt your head to the side. “Is it so hard to believe?” You watch as Beomgyu bites the inside of his cheek as he studies your face, when he doesn’t find what he’s looking for he lets out a huff of air as he leans back again. 

“He’s not your type”, he then says and it’s now your turn to fake surprise as you cross your arms, “who says?”. Beomgyu scoffs, “funny, dollface”. “You forget, I know everything about you”, his tongue swipes over his bottom lip and you find your eyes lingering. 

“Knew”, you then say, “you knew everything about me”. 

Beomgyu looks at you with an expression that could only be explained as rage filled. “Things change, Beomgyu”, you then say, putting pressure on his name, “people change, I changed”. 

“It’s a shame you didn’t”, you give him a sympathetic look. Beomgyu’s fist slams down on the metal table, causing the cuffs around his wrists to rattle. You don’t flinch. It angers him even more. 

“I think it’s best we end today’s session here”, you stand up and straighten your shirt. Beomgyu remains silent as he glares at you. It isn’t until you reach the door, one hand on the handle, that he finally speaks again. 

“Is red his favorite color too?” 

You freeze, “what?”. Beomgyu chuckles behind you, but his laugh holds no warmth. You turn to look at him, what had made him bring such a thing up. It isn't until his gaze travels to your lips that realization hits you. 

You had meant to get rid of that lipstick months ago. You had simply forgotten to, right? It was a mere coincidence that it presented itself on your desk so prettily this morning, and you had been in a rush too, not looking to see which exact product you’d taken. 

Beomgyu smirks, “you still look fucking irresistable in it”, he says as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. 

Quickly composing yourself, you pull your eyes from his lips. “My boyfriend thinks so too”, you say and before he has the chance to reply you’re out of the room, slamming the door shut behind you as you lean against it. 

Fuck, he still made your heart almost beat out of your chest. 

That night had been a restless one, spent going through the few pieces of Beomgyu you had left. The pieces you had clung onto, like your life depended on it. And maybe it did─maybe back then it did. 

They were few but important, a necklace, a perfume, a shirt, polaroids and…the red lipstick. Turning the small shiny tube between your fingers, you admire it. It was the first gift Beomgyu had given to you. 

It came in a small box, wrapped in gold with a red bow on top. Beomgyu had watched closely as your shaking fingers ripped the packaging apart. When you so carefully lifted the lid to reveal the small product inside your eyes had widened. 

“I─ Beomgyu this is…” you had mumbled as your fingers grazed the outline of the lipstick. “Try it on”, he whispered as his fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face. 

You screwed the bottom of the tube, revealing its deep red color. With trembling hands you had applied it, it turned out to be rather difficult without a mirror. As you put the lid back onto the lipstick you turned to look to Beomgyu. 

The smirk on his lips widened, exposing sharp teeth, his thumb grazed your bottom lip as it swept away any excess product. “Now you look like a real doll”, he mumbled as he caressed your flushed cheek. 

“I’ll wear it”, you whispered as you leaned into his touch. Beomgyu hummed in approval as he pressed his lips against your freshly painted ones. 

“Good, red is my favorite color”. 

end of tape 02

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#txt #txt fanfic #txt post #choi beomgyu #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu #criminal au #criminal conscience beomiracles #beomiracles ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

[popcornhee]

#james fleamont potter #james potter #he wears contacts in my modern au #because he does lots of sporty shit #violent stuff #glasses would probably push down to his brain #give him brain damage #marauders fanart #marauders #prongs

[satoruxx]

thinking about since canonically Geto is more popular with girls than Gojo he’s gotten used to them looking past him to get to Geto but what if Gojo and Geto are out for drinks with the other teachers one night and he gets approached by the reader but he thinks she’s just coming over to ask him for Geto’s number and so he prepares his ‘responsible best friend’ act and then SHE ASKS ABOUT HIM INSTEAD, ALL BLUSHY AND STUFF BECAUSE HE LOOKED LIKE HE WAS GONNA BRUSH HER OFF

AHH I LOVE HIM SM 😔😔😔

pairing: gojo satoru x reader | 1k words summary: fluff, pining, reader is a simp but same, satoru is a good wingman but he needs attention too, au ig bc suguru's alive LMAO, idiots in love? rheya's note: oh my god shut up this is so cute and YOU'RE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT??? i can just imagine that he's gotten so used to judging whether or not the person is even worth suguru's attention before deciding to pass on his info...and after a while his brain just defaults to thinking that everyone wants suguru but he FORGETS that there are gojo girlies out there (me asf) !! thanks for the ask nonnie babes i love this idea so so much <33

OK SO

it's obvious that there are quite a few women at the bar eyeing the group. young, attractive teachers spending an evening trying to relax and take their minds off of the stress of jujutsu work. nanami is in deep conversation with shoko about something while ijichi quietly listens. further down the table utahime is quietly sipping her drink while mei mei orders another. shoko makes a comment and suguru bursts into unabashed laughter.

the flush of alcohol dusts over each of their cheeks, but satoru remans the only one who has barely touched his glass, the sting of the bitterness a little too harsh for him to enjoy. he opts for instead letting his eyes roam over the faces in the crowd, taking little notice of all the eyes and smiles sent in their direction.

well until he notices you anyway.

you're already looking in his direction curiously, face illuminated by the dim lighting of the bar as your friends giggle around you. when his eyes lock with yours, you immediately tear your gaze away, trying to play it off by immediately delving into conversation, though satoru can tell that there's a flush crawling up your neck now.

he doesn't look away though, too caught up in the crinkle of your eyes and the smile lines that grace your face as you laugh at something. a minute later you're looking back in their direction, and when you catch him staring, you turn away yet again.

satoru glances to his side, knowing that you're probably watching suguru take a sip of his drink and most likely falling for his charming smile.

typical and so predictable.

some time passes like this. you'll look, and turn away, and satoru will watch you do it over and over again. it isn't until a while later that satoru catches your friends pushing your shoulders and giggling, and he knows that they're urging you to come up and ask about suguru. you're shaking your head, the nervousness clear as day as your brows pinch. but eventually you succumb to peer pressure and stand up from your table, taking anxious strides towards him.

and usually, satoru will make a face or turn his back or do something to look as unapproachable as possible. because almost every person who comes up asking for suguru's contact info has been obnoxious as hell.

but you're quite pretty and you look sweet enough, and he doesn't think it'd be right to deter you.

suguru would probably like you too.

so satoru decides to let you try at least, and if you seem to be as nice as you look maybe he'd bridge the gap between you and his best friend.

you make your way up to him, and as soon as he finally gets a good look at you he's thinking you're a lot prettier up close.

dammit.

"hi," you say, face hot as you try your best to maintain steady eye contact with him. you look so nervous, fidgeting with the fabric of your clothes as you attempt to strike up conversation, and he doesn't have it in him to watch you struggle.

"yeah i can give you his number," he says, voice clipped as he tries to hide the disappointment in it. you watch him grab a napkin and begin scribbling something down, confusion clear as he hands you the digits.

"um…?" you look at the napkin and then at him. "sorry, whose number is this?"

satoru balks, lips parting as he mirrors your confusion. "uh…suguru's? the guy behind me?"

realization dawns on your face and you shift your weight from foot to foot.

"oh actually," you suck your teeth nervously, trying to hide behind an awkward little smile. "i came to talk to you."

satoru can only blink, cerulean eyes widening behind his glasses as he stares at you in surprise.

you take his silence as a bad sign, shoulders dropping and embarrassment settling in your frown as you look anywhere but his face. "s-sorry if that's weird. i don't wanna make you uncomfortable or anything so-"

he's grinning before he can stop himself, heart dangerously swelling with affection as he motions toward the empty stool next to him. "not weird at all."

the pleasant surprise on your face makes him bite back a chuckle, and you take the seat. "huh...i wasn't expecting you to be okay with it."

satoru raises a brow curiously, tilting his head. "why not?"

you shrug with a careless grin. "i had a feeling you were gonna brush me off from the moment i first looked over."

satoru winces, and he can practically feel suguru's knowing smirk on his back. he chooses to ignore that for now, eyes trailing over the mirth in your expression, and he can only smile helplessly. "no way in hell."

your laugh comes instantly, sweet and bright, and you take it as a sign to continue talking. satoru listens on, sipping his drink to hide his giddy smile and ignoring the sting of bitterness once again.

honestly, with the amount of sweetness he's just found, satoru would tolerate as much bitterness as he needed to.

#[𐐪— rheya’s writings. 𐑂] #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru headcanons #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #gojo x you #jjk #jjk x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk fanfic #jjk season 2 #geto suguru #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo drabbles #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #gojo imagine #gojo #[𐐪— asks. 𐑂]

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

come rest your bones next to me ; satoru gojo, suguru geto

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most. 

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes. 

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks. 

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth. 

it’s beautiful. 

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded. 

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere. 

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again. 

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling. 

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.” 

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face. 

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips. 

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs. 

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!” 

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there. 

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot. 

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.” 

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word. 

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology. 

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown. 

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again. 

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it. 

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.” 

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?” 

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.” 

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.” 

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow. 

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice. 

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter. 

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself. 

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest. 

he hopes it never goes away.

#genuinely fucked up that suguru geto isnt in my kitchen rn </3 #i just think sugu is such a caretaker. makes u breakfast and peels ur satsumas w/o u even asking. bc it makes him happy :’3 hes so Mother #i think he lowkey gets just a little bit uncomfortable when u or gojo try to do the same for him… he likes doting on u #but obv he deserves to be pampered too!! just gotta ease him into it #and i think gojo has a hole in his heart where love should be. bc he wasnt given enough as a child #im not sure what to think when it comes to his parents (since we know literally nothing abt them) but... #the idea of him finding some comfort in the memory of his mom…. maybe not realizing that he misses her…..… i think its very sad. and good. #listened to ricky montgomery while writing this i think it mightve healed me #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto x reader x gojo #gojo fluff #geto fluff #satosugu x reader #satosugu x you #satosugu x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #……… thats… a lot of tags.

[sanatomis]

⋆.ೃ࿔* ── 𝐃𝐈𝐘-𝐃𝐀𝐃!

it’s career day, and megumi has to bring his dad to school so he can tell the class about his job. the problem? he only has a 20-year-old sorcerer-guardian who has the brain capacity of a walnut.

content. canon divergence (suguru’s alive and studying to be a kindergarten teacher), possible ooc characters, female!reader.

notes. guys i’m a sucker for satoru who really, really tries and isn’t just a goofy man-child ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ also ! thank you all for your patience, it took me a while to finish this piece bc of uni, so i'm vv happy it's finally done <3

taglist. | masterlist.

“I don’t have a dad.” 

As cruel as it may be, a part of Megumi hopes that the sentence makes his teacher greatly uncomfortable. Demanding for a father to attend a Career Day at school simply isn’t fair to children without one—or, well, to the child without one. It’s not his fault his father hauled ass and left, so why is she making this so difficult for him? 

“Oh,” she mumbles. It seems his arrow hit the target, as her eyebrows pull together in a frown and she shifts her weight between her feet. “Well, you, uh, have a male guardian, don’t you?”

Megumi grimaces. Instantly, he thinks back to last week. Satoru Gojo, self-proclaimed strongest, had hit his head on a kitchen cabinet. With a dramatic pout and an overexaggerated wobble to his lips, he clung to you for hours. Some affection will make it all better!

Of course, when Megumi criticised his skills surrounding his infinity technique—because, really, how couldn’t it block a simple cabinet—the sorcerer opted to ignore him. He suspects there was some foul play at hand. 

“Barely,” he mutters, as the memory resurfaces. 

His teacher lets out a startled hum. “I’m sorry?”

“Nothing,” Megumi says quickly. He watches as she starts typing on her computer, and the realisation that she’s probably currently taking a look at his file isn’t a particularly welcome one. “What about my other guardian? Can I bring her, instead?”

“This event is geared towards fathers,” she explains. It’s obvious she forgot her reading glasses today, Megumi thinks, as she needs to narrow her eyes to read the screen in front of her. “I have one Satoru Gojo noted down as your male guardian. Surely, he will be able to attend.” 

Megumi pauses. He blinks up at her expressionlessly, and fights off the urge to push his teacher down a well. You often preach about being kind to others, and that wouldn’t be very kind. 

“Can’t I take my oth—”

“I’m afraid not,” she interrupts him before he even gets the sentence out. It irks him. Megumi isn’t fond of speaking to begin with, so when he does, he’d prefer not to be cut off halfway through. “An exception will not be made. Please, make sure to bring Gojo-san to school.” 

Megumi briefly, and for the very first time ever, mourns the fact that you and Satoru weren’t married. A small part of him calls the man a coward for not asking you to. If he’d simply taken the step, then Megumi would be able to pass you off as Gojo-san. Unfortunately, he can’t, and it’s becoming increasingly clear that there’s no way around this problem. 

“Fine,” he grumbles. It takes all of his remaining willpower to not stomp out of the classroom. Once again, he thinks of you. It’d be extremely bad manners. He can’t find it in himself to wish his teacher a nice day this time, though, and so she’ll have to make due with a slightly less polite Megumi for today. 

There’s nothing he can do about it. Satoru will have to come to the school. 

Megumi suddenly despises the idea of Career Day. 

“I need you to come to my school next week.” 

Immediately, all chatter around the dining table stops. For once, Megumi finds himself annoyed at the sudden appearance of silence. Before he said it, he knew his words would most likely have such an effect—he just didn’t expect it to be so instant. 

He tries his best to feign nonchalance, as if the topic that’s coming up didn’t make him feel stressed-out beyond belief. The confused, startled glances you and Satoru share don’t do much to help him, either. Perhaps it’s because Megumi is looking straight at him; him instead of you. Yeah, Satoru, he isn’t a fan of it, either. 

“Me?” The man asks then, and Megumi has to resist the urge to say, ‘no, I meant the snail in the backyard—yes, you,’ in the most sarcastic voice he can muster up. Satoru once again steals a look at you, ever so oblivious to Megumi's mental remarks. “Don’t you mean—” 

“I don’t,” Megumi cuts him off solemnly. His lips are pursed shut, and he pokes the slices of pork belly in his bowl with his chopsticks. One didn’t need to be of particularly high intelligence to notice the boy’s displeasure.  “I have to bring a male figure for Career Day.” 

It’s slow, the morphing of Satoru’s face, but it happens gradually and doesn’t stop until he’s positively beaming. Megumi doesn’t like it one bit. Nothing good happens when he looks like that, and he’s quite sure that all that will spew out of his mouth in a few seconds will be nothing except for pure nonsense. 

“Well, luckily, I will have the day off, then!” Satoru chimes, with a smile so wide it causes two dimples to appear on his cheeks. You copy his smile, and gently go to poke the little dent in his skin—Satoru lets you, as he always does. Megumi would think of it as cute if he weren’t so annoyed. “I will be there.” 

It seems he was right. Satoru’s words are pure nonsense.

“I didn’t tell you when,” he comments dryly. 

The sorcerer blinks. His smile is still on his face, but it’s fading, and the dimples do so with it. Your hand hovers halfway in the air, stuck with nothing to poke, and you slowly bring it back down to your side. It seems neither of you had taken time to think about that small fact—Megumi blames Satoru for dragging you down with him; him and those indentations in his cheek that you always seem to coo over. 

“Oh,” Satoru mumbles. A crease between his brows forms as his brain hurries to catch up with the newfound information. A few seconds pass, and then the previous bravado returns. “Well, it doesn’t matter! I can take the day off. When do you need me? Tell me, and I’ll be there.” 

Megumi very much doubts he can take days off all willy-nilly like that, especially after he pushed his workload onto someone else to attend his science fair last time, but then again, what does he know? If Satoru didn’t care about the consequences of his actions, then Megumi wasn’t about to break his own head doing so, either. 

“Next Friday,” he mumbles. From the tone of his voice, it’s quite clear that he’d rather be saying anything else. “We have to leave at eight a.m., please, be on time.”

“Sure thing!” Satoru chimes, and with that, Megumi thinks the dreaded conversation has finally come to an end. 

All in all—it could’ve gone worse. At least Satoru didn’t prolong it unnecessarily. Nor did he add a bunch of relentless teasing. He glances at the sorcerer. Satoru is happily munching on the dinner you’d prepared, both his cheeks stuffed full with entirely too much rice. It’s unbecoming, and a reflection of his poor manners, Megumi thinks, and he doesn’t understand how you look at the man with such hearts in your eyes. 

Though, your more than adequate cooking seems to have saved him from one of Satoru’s onslaughts. He’s grateful. Even if he doesn’t particularly enjoy the sight in front of him. 

“Hey, ‘toru?” You ask, breaking the silence with a slight hesitation to your voice. It nearly sounds nervous, and both Megumi and Tsumiki look up in alarm. Satoru hums, still chewing away. “What are you going to tell the class?”

Satoru stops eating. His chewing comes to a halt, and his chopsticks freeze in the air. A slice of pork drops from between them, and falls back into his bowl—It’s not hard to see the cogs turning in his head. “Uhm, I. . .” He swallows the food still in his mouth, and clears his throat. 

Right. It’s Career Day—but Satoru can’t tell a bunch of seven to eight-year-olds that he hunts and kills grimy, ugly, and freakishly scary curses for a living, now, can he? Megumi doesn’t think that would go over well with the other parents. The boy sighs. It’s just one thing after another. He grimly believes the world might just be out to get him. 

“I. . .Oh! I can tell them I’m a teacher,” his guardian scrambles for a solution, and Megumi can’t help but think it’s a little lack-lustre. Who would believe that guy is a teacher, anyway? Then again. . .Megumi doesn’t know a better fix for their current problem, either. He was so focused on the fact that it was Satoru that had to come to the school, he all but forgot about the fact that the dear thorn-in-his-side didn’t possess a normal job. “Suguru has told me a thing or two about his internship. I can take inspiration from there.”

Ah, yes. The famed Suguru Geto. Megumi has met him before. He hasn’t actually spoken to him, however. The man often visits, and has twin girls clinging to him when he does, and while Tsumiki seems to really like him—and them—Megumi doesn’t have an interest in seeking out some form of interaction, yet. Whenever he comes over, Megumi opts to hide in his room. Suguru never tries to disturb him, nor does he try to coax him into coming out. He’s very grateful for it. 

So, despite never speaking to him, Megumi knows about Suguru. Well, he knows enough. He knows Suguru went to school with the two of you, and he knows something really, very bad (nearly) happened that caused the man to take a step back from the world you all live in. What exactly happened (or what didn’t happen), Megumi doesn’t know for sure. You and Satoru almost never speak about it, and when you do, it’s in hushed voices—and you always stop immediately when he enters the room. 

But that’s okay. He doesn’t need to know. Suguru doesn’t force himself upon Megumi, and so he will extend him the same courtesy.  “I thought Geto-san wasn’t a teacher, yet?” Tsumiki speaks up from beside him, tilting her head to the side in confusion. “Mimi and Nana said he’s still learning. How can he be teaching, already?” 

“He’s not a teacher, yet, munchkin, well spotted,” Satoru answers with a proud grin. The nickname annoys Megumi—the feeling of irritation has been conditioned into his very being after Satoru chose it as the designated nickname for both of them. “An internship helps him build experience in the field. It means he is still learning, but he will do so while teaching.”

Tsumiki nods in understanding, her mouth opens and her lips curl into a small ‘ah’ as the information settles in. “So, you will pretend to be a teacher, then? At Megumi’s school?”

Satoru bites on his bottom lip, seemingly deep in thought. Seemingly—as Megumi is quite convinced he doesn’t ever think before he speaks. “I think so, yes,” he explains, and unknowingly retorates Megumi’s train of thoughts. How annoying. Satoru looks towards you for approval; it’s something he does very often. “It’s probably the safest route, no?”

“It’s our best option,” you say, and bring a thumb up to the corner of Satoru’s mouth. Gently, you wipe away a grain of rice stuck to his skin. It’s effortless, and nearly automated. Megumi wonders how many times you’ve had to do that. “Pretending to be a teacher shouldn’t be too difficult a task. Right, mochi?”

“Right,” Satoru echoes. His eyes track your every move, and the slight, pink colouring of his cheeks doesn’t seem to embarrass him even a little bit. Megumi thinks it should. Have some decorum. “I can do it, no problem.” 

“Alright then,” you say, and smile. First at Satoru, and then at Megumi. You look at the boy for a few seconds; you’re about to ask him if he’s okay with it. He knows you are, because you always do. “Is that okay for you, Megumi?” It’s like clockwork, almost. 

Megumi feels the need to answer with something snarky. Something akin to the sound of ‘What choice do I have?’ but he doesn’t—because you’re being kind, and you don’t deserve such a response. So, instead he turns towards Satoru.

“. . .Just don’t mess it up.” 

Satoru delivers a whole spiel about how ‘he’d never do that’ and that he’s ‘more than capable’ of telling a little white lie, but Megumi dilutes it to background noise rather quickly. He continues sputtering his nonsense when Megumi and Tsumiki stand up to clear the table, and still hasn’t stopped even when you and him start loading the dishwasher together—Megumi chooses to seek reprieve in his room while he’s distracted. 

It isn’t until many hours later, when Megumi leaves the sanctuary of his room to swipe a quick snack from the kitchen, that he first hears Satoru speak about something other than his great, and very much sufficient, ���capabilities’. Your voices are muffled, and Megumi has to focus to make out your words. His soft, inaudible padding down the illuminated hallways comes to a halt. As if that would make his ears function better. 

“Are you sure you want to do this, Satoru?”

The boy frowns. With such gentleness in your voice, it’s hard to identify the worry lingering beneath the surface. Megumi moves a bit closer. He stops one step shy of bumping into the wooden surface, and peeks through the groove. The door is ajar—it’s something that allows him to watch how your eyes follow Satoru’s large frame as he paces around the room. It’s strange. Seeing him so. . .frazzled. 

Satoru nods. “I can do this, I know I can,” he says, and quits his pacing to look at you. Megumi can’t see his face, but he can see yours. He might as well not have, though, as he can’t make out the emotion that fills your eyes. It’s not one he himself has in his repertoire, that he knows for sure. “He never asks me for anything, princess. I have to do this right.” 

Ah, this isn’t a conversation Megumi is meant to hear. He should probably seize his eavesdropping, he thinks, and winces a little when he properly analyses Satoru’s words. They’re truthful. Megumi doesn’t go to him when he needs something. His first thought is to go to you—and his second, Tsumiki. And if he’s being honest anyway, his third thought very likely isn’t Satoru, either; He’d try to solve it on his own if it came down to it. Megumi frowns again. He doesn’t like how that realisation makes him feel. 

A careful shuffle of footsteps breaks him free from his thoughts. Megumi looks up, and catches how you place a hand on Satoru’s cheek. “I’m sure you’ll do great, baby,” you mumble. There’s a small, soft smile on your lips, one that quickly makes way for the peck Satoru places upon them. 

“Thank you,” Satoru whispers. One of his hands reaches for yours, and Megumi suddenly feels as if he’s intruding on something when the man brings them up to his lips to press a tender kiss to them. Okay, no, definitely intruding—ew. 

The boy scrunches his nose up in disgust, and hurriedly darts back towards his room. Suddenly, he has lost his appetite for a late-evening snack. Megumi lets out a deep sigh once he’s all tucked into his sheets again. Perhaps giving Satoru a shot wouldn’t be that big of a problem. Just one, though.

. . .Yeah, just one should be enough.

It’s the final, conclusive thought Megumi has before dozing off to sleep. Blissfully unaware of the conversation you and Satoru share—now behind a very closed door.

You stifle a giggle. The disappearance of Megumi’s presence outside your bedroom was quick and rampant as soon as Satoru started to kiss your hands. Something the sorcerer did very deliberately. It’s as if the boy suddenly forgot about the very special, very effective pair of eyes his guardian possesses. And with a cursed energy output such as Megumi’s, it would be hard not to recognise his presence.

“You did that on purpose,” you comment. “How cruel of you, mochi.”

Satoru hums, and kisses the inside of your wrist. “Maybe, the little brat shouldn’t eavesdrop, then,” he defends himself. There isn’t an inkling of guilt to be seen on his pretty face.

. . .Though, both of you still take some extra care to shut the door next time.

Megumi faithfully believes that, as of today, he has used-up all of his luck for the next five, no, ten years. It can only go downhill from here. For some inexplicable, mind-boggling reason—Satoru is actually pulling this off. That’s not all; he’s not merely winging it, he’s genuinely doing well. The boy can’t quite believe his eyes.

When he’d walked to the front with such an overexaggerated pep in his step, and an overabundance of bravado rolling off of him in waves—Megumi couldn’t help but watch on with a grim look, and a healthy dose of negative thoughts. It only amplified the nerves he’d collected so far during the walk to school. Somehow, watching Satoru give your flashcards a frantic do-over did very little to ease his bubbling anxiety.

There were many of them, flashcards that is. All possible questions his peers or his teacher could ever think of are written on those little pieces of cardboard. Courtesy of you, and your boyfriend. Megumi’s able to recall all those nights the two of you spend at the kitchen table—practising. He thought it was silly at the time.

But, as it turns out, it works.

Satoru is fun. To other people; Megumi doesn’t share the sentiment. Against all odds, he’s dynamic, and speaks with conviction. His flamboyant hand gestures have others think of them as amusing—captivating, even. Satoru is talking, and they’re all hanging onto his every word. No matter the fact that they’re all cleverly disguised lies.

Megumi can’t wrap his head around it. He doesn’t need to, however. If anything, he’s relieved that his peers think of his guardian as cool. While he certainly does not share the opinion, he isn’t too dense to admit that such a belief will save him a lot of embarrassment in the future. So, for this one, single day, he will let Satoru Gojo be cool. His snarky comments can resume tomorrow.

“Ah, it seems you have a deep love for your profession, Gojo-san,” his teacher says. She interrupts Satoru’s rant, and catches his attention as well as Megumi’s. Her voice is light and airy, and carries nothing that should cause him to fear the worst. Still, the boy feels on edge. “Though, I don’t remember the grade you are teaching. Could you tell us, again?”

Ah, and there it goes. The very first card in the elaborately built castle of lies.

Satoru pauses. A second passes, and then two, and three, and so on. He doesn’t speak for a good thirty, and Megumi can nearly see his mind leaf through his beloved flashcards—flashcards that are now neatly tucked into his pockets and entirely out of reach. That’s good. Because the absolute last thing Satoru should do now, is resort back to the flashcards.

Megumi shakes his head no as a signal.

“Ah,” Satoru says. “I teach kindergarten.”

Satoru didn’t catch the hint. Megumi wishes the ground would swallow him up. It would have been the correct answer—it is the answer that’s written on the flashcards—if Satoru hadn’t decided to go off route. Getting too caught up in the story he’d been free-writing, and allowing himself to get carried away by the looks of awe is resulting in his downfall, which, consecutively, will end with Megumi’s downfall, as well.

“Huh? But! What about the science experiment that exploded?” One of the children in his class whines. “I didn’t get to do that in kindergarten!”

“And the backflip you taught your students!”

“What about the first prize in the talent show? I thought your students were famous!”

The little bit of colour that normally resides in Satoru’s face steadily disappears, and he clenches his fist at his side. Ah, it’s great to know he’s at least aware of his mistake. That won’t help either of them at the moment, though. Megumi’s eyebrows furrow, and a feeling of distress overtakes him. It shows on his face. He doesn’t exactly go through the trouble of trying to hide it—there are bigger problems right now.

How utterly humiliating to be caught lying.

Satoru’s eyes find him. They’re just as troubled as his own. It worsens his anxiety.

“Oh, uhm, you see. . .” Satoru stammers, and Megumi’s stomach churns when the children around them continue to ask more and more questions. The wince his guardian lets out does little to soothe him. Megumi sighs, and looks at the ground. “Ah, I see. It seems you guys saw right through me.”

Megumi slides down in his seat. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, the ground would absorb him. It’s currently looking like a preferable fate.

“. . .I’m actually a detective.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

“And. . .And for a detective, it’s very important to listen to what people say, because they could be lying!”

It’s a sad, pathetic excuse for a save. Megumi briefly ponders the distance between his seat and the door. Perhaps he could make a run for it. The subway station is very close by—getting on and travelling to an entirely new city to start a new life doesn’t seem like such a bad option. He sighs. No, that’s not possible. You and Tsumiki would be very worried. What else is there to do, though?

“You all picked up on my lie, which tells me every single one of you could make a great detective in the future.”

Megumi thinks Satoru might have some underlying mental problems. Though, they can’t possibly be as severe as the problems his classmates have—for they all believe the nonsense he’s giving them. Bright eyes, filled with hope and admiration, stare up at the man at the front of the class; impressed hums and entertained smiles get passed between the parents standing at the edge of the room. And Satoru, well, he seems entirely too proud of the fact that he made a bunch of children think they’re destined for a career in law enforcement. But, be that as it may, it works.

The children stir up unrest—the good kind this time, the kind that vocalises their excitement—and all rush to ask the detective a question. But, before they can even open their mouths, Satoru claps his hands together. It seems he has decided enough is enough, and it’s one of those very rare moments where Megumi agrees with him. The boy needs this to be over already.

“Alright, that’s it for today,” Satoru says, and feigns disappointment. He pretends to be affected by the sad groans of the children—keyword being pretend, as to the trained eye it’s quite clear that he wishes to leave. “I’m not allowed to tell you more.”

Ah, see, now that’s a good card.

“Wait, but, what about. . .”

“Ah, sorry, that’s confidential. Detective stuff, y’know?”

Confidential. Megumi thinks that might just be his new favourite word. The lingering feeling of anxiety slowly starts to subside with every step Satoru takes towards the back of the room—to the back, and away from the spotlight. His eyes follow the man’s large frame, but Satoru never chooses to look at him in return. His line of sight is firmly focused on the floor. It confuses Megumi, but he chalks it up to a mere whim.

All things considered (and minus the near cardiac arrest he went through), today went pretty well, after all. Much to his surprise.

Perhaps Megumi doesn’t hate Career Day. A strong dislike is more like it.

Megumi can’t count the times he wished for Satoru to be quiet. The exact number is much like the digits of Pi—huge, and absolutely never-ending. He can, however, count the times he didn’t wish for him to be quiet. As of today, that stands at a very solid one.

The birds around them chirp, and the bustle of other people is heard all around them—but they’re the only sounds gracing his ears. There is none of Satoru’s incessant chatter, nor is there even a glimmer of gloating about a job well-done. It’s eerily silent, and Megumi isn’t sure what to make of it. This isn’t quite how he imagined the walk home to go. Far from it, if he’s being honest.

“What’s up with you?”

It’s possibly the first time Megumi decides to break the silence, ever. The boy frowns, and fiddles with the straps of his backpack. There isn’t a middle-ground with Satoru, he has found out. Either he speaks entirely too much, or unnervingly little. There’s a tiny pebble in his path, and Megumi feels the need to kick it forward—so he does.

“I kind of messed up there, huh?”

The kick doesn’t have nearly enough force to it. Megumi watches as the little rock skips forward. Once, twice, and then it comes to a standstill again. “Yeah, kind of,” he agrees.

“I’m sorry,” Satoru rushes out. It’s said so fast, as if it physically pains him to say it. Perhaps it does. It’s sincere, however. There isn’t even a hint of a joke to be found. Something must be bothering him. “It didn’t go how I wanted it to go, and I don’t know why I went astray, and forgot about the cards. It—well, it was pretty stupid.”

Megumi doesn’t exactly feel the need to deny it.

“So, I get it, okay?” He continues, seeing the boy’s silence as an empty space for more conversation—more rambling. Since that’s what it is; rambles, plain and simple. Megumi doesn’t see the need for such a fuss. “I shouldn’t have strayed from the plan, and. . .”

“It’s fine.”

Satoru blinks at him. “What?”

“I said it’s fine,” Megumi repeats. Because it really is fine. Admittedly, it wasn’t smart of Satoru to all but discard your carefully planned presentation, but it ended well enough regardless. No harm, no foul. “Thank you for coming.”

That small, short sentence is enough to stop Satoru in his tracks. Megumi doesn’t, however. The man is very tall, he’s sure to catch up in a jiffy; he doesn’t need him to wait. There’s another small silence, though this one feels a lot more comfortable than the last. Satoru takes his time to process, and Megumi lets him.

“W—What?” The sorcerer stammers in shock. There is no need for Megumi to turn around and see—he can hear the smile curling onto his lips. “Did you just. . .”

“I won’t say it again,” Megumi grumbles definitively, and picks up his pace. The very tips of his ears heat up, and the apples of his cheeks turn red. The feeling of embarrassment. This wasn’t exactly how he’d envisioned it to appear when the day started.

Satoru attempts to run after him, to catch up. “Megumi!” He calls out, the very prominent, very familiar whiney lilt now back in his voice. Megumi didn’t miss it. “Wait for me, I didn’t hear you! Could you repeat that?”

“Yes, you did!” Megumi says, and throws him an annoyed glance from over his shoulder. He tightens his hold on the straps of his backpack. “Stop lying.”

“Nuh uh!”

“What are you? Six?”

Satoru’s toothy grin is infuriating. But—it’s familiar. And Megumi discovers he’s much more at ease when that grin is on display, than when the man in question is moping around. It’s a lot less alarming.

“And a half,” Satoru adds.

The scowl that’s on Megumi’s face appears almost instantly when he goes to ruffle his hair. For a man whose technique largely surrounds being untouchable, he has a surprising lack of awareness concerning this thing called personal space.

“Ugh,” Megumi groans, and pushes him off. It doesn’t work. Satoru gravitates towards him again—almost as if he’s a magnet. He doesn’t attempt to move a second time. In moments like these, it’s best to let Satoru get it all out of his system. “You’re so stupid.”

It’s true. He does think Satoru is stupid, but he can’t deny it—Satoru tried his very best today, and in the days prior. Which makes him one of the very small, barely existent group of people who have done so for him.

It seems one shot was enough, after all.

© MADE BY SANATOMIS — please, refrain from stealing, copying, or reposting any of my works.

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[fuctacles]

Under pressure

For @subeddieweek Day 1 | M | 1177 | accidental subspace, non-verbal communication, sleepover, Steve-instinctive-Dom-Harrington | Ao3

Eddie avoided fights because he was a coward. A pussy, even, he'll admit. But there was a whole other reason for him avoiding sports.

He wasn't a big fan of physical contact. 

But since he's become better friends with Steve Harrington, he's been discovering things about himself. Things he wished would have stayed hidden. Forever.

The first time, it was a tussle for the remote. Eddie refused to watch another episode of whatever the fuck capitalist media was trying to spoon-feed them, while Steve was adamant there was a plot that he was invested in. One elbow to the gut and some pulled hair later, he landed underneath the guy, his weight pinning him to the ground.

Melting his bones.

Soothing.

"You okay?"

Steve sounded concerned about Eddie's sudden silence, and his mind scrambled to salvage his dignity. All he could manage was a groan, which Steve thankfully interpreted as a sign of pain and not the sudden weakness that it was. 

He instantly hopped off of him, apologizing.

Eddie has been avoiding and yearning for the touch ever since.

He had never considered Steve like that, but apparently being sat on was the biggest turn-on for his poor little dick, and now it was all he could think of at night.

His doom comes when he has to sleep over after a night of drinking. Steve insisted they share a bed, that it was alright, and Eddie foolishly believed him. 

It is fine until Steve rolls over to put away his glasses. 

"Shit, sorry. I just gotta..."

They didn't think this through, because Eddie was the one next to the bedside table, the one Steve was trying to reach. He almost crawls over Eddie to accomplish it, his weight heavy on top of him, pressing him to the mattress and making his mind go blank. 

He bites his lip so hard he probably draws blood, but it doesn't stop the whimper Steve's body literally pushed out of him.  Steve freezes. 

"Are you alright?" He drops the glasses and shoots up. "Did I hurt you?"

Eddie can't answer. His brain is screaming at his mouth, but he can't manage a single word, all he can think of is Steve's body back on him, that weight pressing him down, immobilizing him. He could probably reach pure bliss with just that.

When he doesn't get an answer, Steve pulls on his shoulder to flip him on his back. Eddie whines in protest but doesn't have enough control over his muscles to stop him. His shame gets put on display and Steve's eyes widen.

"Eddie?"

His pupils are huge as he blinks owlishly up at his friend.

"You okay?"

Eddie nods.

"Do you need anything?"

You. On me, against me, in me.

He shakes his head slowly, not breaking eye contact. This seems to frustrate Steve.

"Eddie, come on," he groans. "Clearly something's wrong. Do you need water? I can bring you some." He moves to stand up, but Eddie's in the way. He has to throw his leg over him, and Eddie presses his eyes closed, begging his body not to react.

It's enough to alert Steve, though, and he freezes hovering above him, mid-movement. 

"Huh."

It's a soft sound, barely there, and Eddie decides to keep his eyes closed. Maybe if he does, whatever realization Steve has gets forgotten, and he moves on, brings him the damn water, and maybe throws it on him like on a horny dog. Maybe that would help him.

But no, the ‘huh’ is followed by Steve settling down on his hips.

Oxygen escapes him in a whiny breath, and his body presses up without his control, seeking that delicious weight of another body. 

"Want to make out about it?" Steve asks out of the blue like any normal person would in these circumstances. But Eddie doesn't answer him, he can't, and he doesn't know. He can only stare and writhe under him, making tiny sounds of need he can't comprehend. Steve frowns down on him, partially concerned, partially curious. 

"Don't feel like talking?" he asks. Eddie gives him a nod. He hums. "Can you answer some yes or no questions? Nod for a yes and shake your head for no."

Nod.

"You can blink twice if you don't know or don't want to answer. Okay?"

Nod.

"What do you do if you don't want to answer?"

Eddie blinks twice.

"Good. Great." Steve smiles, and Eddie mirrors it through his haze. "Are you feeling alright?"

Nod.

"Do you need water?"

Shake.

"Do you need the bathroom?"

Shake.

"A snack?"

Shake.

Steve considers him, perched on top of his body. Eddie tentatively reaches up, palms resting on his thighs. Steve's gaze follows his fingers, where they just rest with no ill intent, only there to touch.

"Will we talk about it more in the morning?"

Eddie hesitates. Does he want to talk about it? To bring his shame to the light of day, confess the budding crush on his friend? But Steve doesn't seem angry, he's not kicking him out of the bed. He's being soft and gentle and trying to understand. Maybe in the morning, they could understand it together. Tentatively, he nods.

That eases Steve's frown a bit, but he sighs when another problem hits him.

"I don't know what else to ask," he admits with a huff. 

Eddie wants to help, so he slides his hands up, towards his hips, and tries to convey as best as possible where he wants him. He stares into his eyes, begging him to understand.

"Want me to lay down on you?"

He nods furiously, excited to get what he needs. 

Steve looks down. It's a minuscule movement of his eyes, but it's there. He will know if Eddie's hard when he moves, but he needs the heads-up. The bulge in Eddie's sweats is noticeable but not fully there, to Steve's relief. Having his friend under him in such a pliant state is already overwhelming as it is, and he knows Eddie will feel his own chub when he moves. 

"We're just sleeping tonight, alright?" Steve clarifies and Eddie nods without hesitation. "And cuddle a bit, I guess." Eddie nods again.

He moves, watching his friend’s face for any sign of distress. Eddie’s hands slide around him in an embrace that's more comforting than Steve's ready to admit, and soon they're chest to chest, legs tangled, and he has to crane his neck to maintain eye contact.

"That alright?"

Nod.

Eddie's hands squeeze him minutely and Steve settles down against his shoulder, finally resting his full body weight against him.

The man underneath him sighs, and it's like his whole body deflates. He makes a content sound in the back of his throat, and Steve wants to cry. It's so endearing and so comforting to have Eddie trust him like that. To have him turn into mush in his presence. 

He hopes he's not overstepping when he presses his nose to Eddie's neck, inhaling him and softly caressing his skin when he murmurs a "goodnight, Eds."

#sub eddie week #sub eddie munson #steddie #mine #cj x subeddieweek #steddie fanfiction #steddie fic #steddie oneshot #stranger things #eddie munson #steve harrington #ff #st #stranger things 4 #steddie one shot #subeddieweek

[seeingivy]

heart to heart

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

**part of my best friend's (older brother) fic

previous part linked here

--

sukuna realizes that he’s falling in love with you on the anniversary of his grandfather's death. it’s rather morbid, but he deems that it’s fitting. 

the more that he lingered on it, the more he realized it. that family – good and bad – was always going to hum in the background to the two of you. though he supposes that’s just because you grew up together, that somehow you were intertwined in all of each other’s firsts. 

first day of school, first basketball game, first funeral. 

the day itself isn’t one that sukuna likes to dwell on – a memory colored dark, pushed so hard into the deepest, darkest spots of his mind, that sometimes he only realizes the day has passed a week after the fact. regardless, whenever the realization comes to a head – on time or not – the regret is so suffocating he can barely breathe. 

it’s why he makes every effort to avoid you when the day comes to pass. it’s something that he does with everyone – ignore them like he has the plague. but it’s a little bit different when it comes to you. it’s not personal, he muses, but at the same time, it most definitely is. 

you’re central to the memory. 

sukuna’s sitting up, an idle text being sent to both yuuji and his mom, when the knock on the door comes. and he can feel pressure increase in his throat at the sight of you – his brain feeling heavy, this time in a different way – as you balance two mugs in your hand. 

if it was any other day, sukuna would have found it very difficult to contain himself. the messy bedhead, glasses perched on the edge of your nose, and the fact that you’re drowning in one of his dress shirts. 

sometimes he wondered if you did it on purpose. tried to rile him up just to see how he would react. though on second thought, he almost knows for a fact that you hardly understood what exactly it was that you did to him. how you made his skin feel like it was on fire. 

you sit across from him, setting both of the mugs down on the nightstand, before you press your fingertips to his collarbone and push him back on the headboard to use his body as a pillow. you can hear a scoff before sukuna’s hands tangle around your waist, his fingertips ghosting the waistband of what he recognizes as his boxer briefs. 

“you know, part of your whole freeloading in my apartment agreement was that you’d steal my shirts. not my underwear too.” 

you poke his chest. 

“freeloading? need i remind you, that you basically beg me not to leave each time i’m here. and i’m sorry. i spilled the first batch of hot chocolate i made all over my pajamas and my spares are in the laundry.” you state. 

hot chocolate. 

sukuna knows for sure that you must be doing that on purpose. and that maybe you watch him as keenly as he watches you, because you catch on to his discomfort just as fast. 

“i’m sorry if it’s too much.” you whisper. 

you watch his adam’s apple bob in his chest, as he leans his head back against the headboard and shuts his eyes. you trace little stars into his skin, right under the tattooed flesh as you try to talk, as softly as possible. 

like he’ll run off if you push too hard. 

“sukuna. i-i know that this day can be hard. but we can do whatever you want today.” 

“i have work.” he states. 

“no, you don’t. satoru told me you took the day off already. that you always take it off. and suguru asked me to take care of you.” 

sukuna rolls his eyes. idiots. 

“what about yuuji? knowing you two, you’ve probably got some whole orate tradition you do. probably use my headshot as a dartboard.” 

“it’s actually your yearbook photo.” you defend. 

sukuna smiles. 

“megumi and nobara have got him covered. i’m here for you.” you state. 

sukuna looks down at you, before quickly looking away. he can’t stand your eyes. 

“s’just another day, y/n. if anything, you should get the fuck out of my house. make sure my sensitive brother is fine.” 

sukuna watches your eye twitch. he feels bad, but swallows it down. 

you lift your hands up to cup the sides of his cheek, lightly rubbing your thumbs under his eyes until they open. his light brown eyes flicker to yours and the message comes off just as he intends it. 

don’t. 

sukuna should have known you’d be stubborn about it. 

“sukuna. s’not really fair if we have a power dynamic.” 

“i’m two years older than you. you are well of age.” he deadpans. 

“i mean. when i tell you about what’s on my mind – insecurities or-or my fights with yuuji or even mazzy – it’s not just spilling out of me because you’re my boyfriend. like i’m so emotional that i rant about my problems to everyone. it’s actually more natural for me to put it away. and i purposely don’t for you.” 

sukuna’s intrigued. 

“i’m trying to do this right. like, not withhold things from you because i know that you would hate that. the same way that i would hate it, if that’s what you were going to do with me.” you respond. 

you rest your cheek against his collarbone, before bending down to press a kiss into his skin. 

“s’not a nice feeling. the conversations we have make me feel like i’m standing naked in front of a classroom on display sometimes. but it’s –” you start. 

“that sounds like an ideal situation to me.” 

you pinch his bicep. 

“i mean. it’s not always easy to feel so bare. but i know it’s the right thing to do. and you kind of have to let me in too. i know it might not seem like that to you, because you fell into the caretaker role so quickly with me, but – i’m usually the one who does that type of thing, with everyone else. and i’m not half bad at it.” 

sukuna watched you take care of yuuji his whole life. in the moments that sukuna wasn’t there, he knows that you were the one sitting at his side. especially when he took off so fast like he did.

it’s partly the reason that he was able to do it. because he knew that yuuji would be taken care of – and well, too. but it almost feels wrong, too immature of him to go to you with his problems. 

how are you ever supposed to come to him again? 

“c’mon, baby. anything you want today. we can go back home and eat at the diner. or go to his grave. stay in the entire weekend…” you hum. 

it’s the first time that sukuna’s ever heard you use a term of endearment on him. he was never short of them, a constant cycle of his favorites – pretty girl, doll face, angel. it almost seemed wrong to call you by your name at this point, not when he could so openly express his affections and watch you smile at the fact. 

but sukuna likes it more than he wants to. being called baby. he never wants you to say anything else again. 

he always thought it was a little stupid, an infantile or immature nickname when he watched satoru call suguru as such. especially the way satoru always seemed to beam whenever he did it. he’ll be sure to swallow his retorts the next time. 

“i want to go to the sushi place. back home.” he states. 

you scoff. 

“oh my god. i went on my first date there. got felt up near that fountain.” you respond, scrunching up your nose. 

“i got a handjob near that fountain.” sukuna states. 

“ew. don’t tell me you….in the fountain?” 

he only grins in response. 

“ew, sukuna! you’re such a dog.” 

“i’ll have mai bring me a nice dress. we’ll go the whole ten miles on a fancy date, like everyone from high school. if you’re lucky, i might even let you touch my butt.” 

“could i be so lucky?” he asks. 

you pinch the side of his cheek. his response is pressing a kiss to your knuckles. 

“do you have a pink dress?” he asks. 

“sure do. i’ll have her bring that one, okay?” 

--

sukuna drives you to the sushi restaurant. the ride into town is quiet. you’d almost think that sukuna was mad at you for pushing, but his warm hand resting on your thigh silences almost all the qualms in your head. 

when you make it there, the mere fact of being there with sukuna leaves you with an odd thought. that if things were different beforehand, you would have been fifteen standing there with him, instead of leaving the restaurant feeling oddly dissatisfied from a guy who really wanted nothing to do with you instead.

“sukuna. party of two.” 

“it’ll just be five minutes.” 

sukuna gives a kurt nod before dragging you to the other side to lean against the wall, his hand warm on your waist. you pick your brain at the best thing to say – his uncharacteristic silence brimming you with anxiety and making you particularly hyper-vigilant in choosing the right thing to say to him. 

"you're beautiful, you know that?" he whispers.

you fight the urge to smile so hard.

"thank you, sukuna. you're beautiful too."

he glares at you.

"you're shitty."

you smirk, before pinching the side of his cheek. of course that was his reaction.

"you're such a cutie pie little baby sometimes I just wanna-" you coo.

"shut the fuck up before I make you." he responds.

"ooh. so scary!"

“i came here for the first time with my grandpa. i'll even tell you about it if you stop being a little bitch for a second.” 

you stop.

“yes, sir. ” you respond, saluting. 

sukuna smiles in response and it makes your heart skip a beat. that and the fact that you swear you've never seen his eyes so soft.

“so basically –” sukuna starts 

“sukuna, y/n? is that you?” 

you look over to your left to find one of your old neighbors – so old that you can barely even remember his name – standing at your sides, excitedly waving at the two of you. 

“god, it’s been years! you two are so grown now.” 

“mr. soma.” sukuna responds.

you find yourself grinning ear to ear at the fact that one, sukuna’s tone is entirely displeased. and two, that there’s no pleasantry laced in with his words. 

“y/n. how is your dad? i haven’t seen him around in a while.” 

the taste in your mouth is metallic. 

“couldn’t tell you! i haven’t seen him either.” you state. 

his face pinches up, the pitiful expression that follows causing a subsequent clenching of your jaw. 

“sukuna. how’s your father?” 

“still a dick.” he states. 

you smile. the way he seems to flinch at the bluntness, at sukuna’s demeanor, is solace enough for the double dose of shitty dad comments. he gives you both a polite smile before skirting off, after an awkward round of small talk. university, work, yuuji and sammy and he's off.

you turn to sukuna, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“you okay?” 

“obviously. a dumbass with a shitty attitude won’t ruin my mood when i’m here with you. are you?” 

“me too.” 

sukuna smirks at you. 

“really? you're not internalizing every awkward experience that happens to you? have i entered a parallel universe today?” 

“i’m a mystery, idiot. you can spend forever trying to figure me out.” 

“planning on it.” he responds. 

sukuna splits all his sushi with you. if you like a certain plate, he almost refuses to touch it afterwards, just to let you finish all the pieces. and after you say you’re too full, he’s does the job for you – only because you say that you feel bad leaving it to waste when they took the time to make it.

it’s strawberry ice cream afterwards and he makes it very clear that it's only because it’s your favorite. you swing by the store when you get back into the city and eat straight from the tub on the kitchen island.

and over your shared spoon of dessert, sukuna’s voice is almost so quiet you can barely hear it. you think that the ice cold sensation curbs any warm anxiousness that would stop him normally from talking – and you thank your cravings for it.

“my grandpa was the first person who took care of me.” 

you press your cheek to his shoulder in response, rubbing circles into his palm as he talks. 

“I know it's a natural thing. that when you have a younger sibling, that it takes the attention away from you. i know logically that i had that attention, that i required it when i was a baby too.” 

"but?"

"but yuuji's so fucking likeable. i love the idiot and it feels like shit to admit, but i fucking hated that everyone almost forgot about me just because of him."

you pause.

“it’s hard not to like you too.” you state. 

“but you know what i mean. i liked taking care of him, until i didn't. he got older and...and sometimes it felt like he didn't even fucking care about half the things i did for him. at one point, i got sick of watching everyone fawn over him so much that it made me upset. i told my mom but...you know how she can be. didn't really register for her. ” 

you hum in response. 

“my grandpa must have noticed that i had a little bit of resentment towards him, especially when i was in eighth grade. started getting in fights and acting out and all that. and he brought me here. and-and i was pissed at him that i just started fucking yelling at him. about how he didn’t care about me and how i felt unwanted and under-appreciated and…and he agreed with me.” 

he pauses, bringing one of his hands up to your hair. 

“i like feeling appreciated. valued enough that someone will listen to me and actually believe it. that he wanted to be around me too.” he states.

you pause, your heart clenching so hard in your chest. your stomach nearly drops at the sentiment, at the memory that you can feel tears in your eyes. you’re murderous hatred for sukuna and yuuji’s dad only grows tenfold with every consecutive day – but feels particularly potent now. 

you immediately tilt your head up, in efforts to curb yourself from crying – when you’re the one who should be strong for him right now. he, of course, notices right away. 

“eh? what’s wrong with you?” 

“allergies.” 

“did you miraculously get stung by a bee in the past few seconds while we were sitting here?” 

you scoff. 

“you’re so obsessed with me. you even memorized my medical history!” 

“that was in no way romantic. god forbid i know a basic fact about you so you don’t like, literally die on me. now tell me what it is. you basically have to because my grandpa is dead, you know?” 

“are you really playing the dead grandpa card?” 

“the fact that you called it that was fucking offensive. now you have to tell me.” 

you roll your eyes. 

“i was just thinking about that day. it makes my heart break that you lost someone who made you feel understood. that you felt alone, even though we were all right there. i hope you know that i find it hard to drag myself away from you sometimes. you're like the only place i want to be." you murmur. 

the year before sukuna left, he got into fights often. you remember it vividly – the fact that his mom always seemed to be at your house crying to your mom, while you and yuuji lingered by the doorway for too long listening when you shouldn’t have. 

and he’d shuffle in hours later, a purple eye or bloodied knuckles – a wall of silence with zero explanation. 

but the worst part is that the one time he got in serious trouble, enough to constitute needing to be picked up from the police station, was cosmically the worst possible day it could have happened. 

because sukuna’s grandfather was already dead when you guys got the call. you had all been phoning him for hours and unbeknownst to you, the reason he didn’t pick up is because his phone had gotten taken away. and his mom, yuuji – they were so struck in their own grief that your mom had taken you and sammy with her to go get him. 

and now when you think of it – the thought of him sitting there all alone when you found him, the fact that he was sitting there feeling misunderstood made you cry. it was enough to know that you had all unleashed horrible news on him, but even worse to know you were the one to rip his grandfather away from his life. 

“i remember that you were the one who told me.” he states. 

you nod, affirming his memory. 

“you…you were all quiet. was kind of expecting your mom to give me an earful, about being responsible for my mom and yuuji. but she was just quiet. sammy didn’t even look at me. and when i saw you, you were crying. came up right by my side and apologized. you were the first person to give me condolences. made me hot chocolate when you got home because you didn’t know what else to do.” he states. 

“yeah. i wish i was more composed or…or could have at least said something better to you. and i still kind of suck with words but i…i hope this helps? at least a little?” you mumble. 

sukuna leans forward, curbing any follow-up sentiment you could have had with his lips. you can still taste the strawberry. you murmur against his lips – him pulling you back in every time you try to pull away. 

“did you kiss me to shut me up?” you ask. 

“do you want a cookie for figuring that one out, genius?” he responds. 

you lightly push his chest. 

“you’re such a dickhead! let me do the whole supportive, caring girlfriend thing. i can’t just leave you hanging, you know.” 

sukuna rolls his eyes.

“doll face.” he deadpans. 

you glare at him. 

“you are perfect.” 

you’re caught off guard. 

“i’ve never told anyone any of that before. never even met someone i’ve wanted to tell. quit fucking worrying yourself over whether or not it was good or bad. i’m half convinced that you could be my remedy to anything.” 

you can feel the heat rushing to your cheeks at the praise. you bundle the fabric of his collar in your shirt before you pull him forward, pressing your lips to his as softly as you can. 

“someone feeling bold today?” he murmurs against your lips. 

his hand is warm on your face, cupping the side of your cheek. and when you lean forward, the warmth that surges through you is so deep that you think you might have kissed sukuna too hard. because now you’ve backed him up against the wall, your fingers quickly rushing down the buttons of his shirt. 

sukuna’s quick to stop you. hands warm on your wrists and brown eyes widened. 

“what are you doing?” he whispers. 

“oh. oh, i don’t know. it…it just kinda came over me. sorry. just like..felt super close to you there for a second and i felt it like…rumbling in my chest.” 

sukuna’s brings his forehead against yours. his eyes are pinched shut, almost straining, his breaths quiet. 

“i want to do something. but you have to tell me if it’s going to make you feel uncomfortable.” you ask.

“okay.” sukuna responds.

“don’t even think about fucking lying to me. i’ll know.” 

"yeah right."

“i mean it.” you grates. 

“just tell me.” he responds.

“okay, but-” 

“y/n l/n.” 

you pause.

“can you take a bath with me?” 

he pulls back. 

“what?”  

“a bath. suguru gifted us these bath salt and stuff. he said it was a gift for you. told me you like that kind of thing.” 

“he's always gifting some weird therapy shit to me.” he states.

"therapeutic." you correct.

“one day i’m going to curb your fucking attitude and you’re not going to like it one bit.” 

you smile. 

“i hate you. i’ll take my bath on my own then.” you respond.

he yanks hard on his arm. 

“okay. if it's uncomfortable, we get out.” 

you nod. you get in first, quickly leaing against the wall and hiding under the warm bubbles, as he follows suit. weirdly enough, sukuna's first instinct is to go to the other side, the farthest from you, but you stop by pulling on his wrist.

"c'mhere. just lean against me." you murmur.

it’s a little bit awkward at first. because sukuna's the one wound up instead of you.

“can you relax for me?” you whisper.

“right. sorry.” 

he leans back, your skin prickling, as he settles his head against your chest. he's looking up at you, his eyes fixed on yours, but you can’t help but stare at his skin - freckles and moles that you’ve never had the opportunity to notice sparkling his skin. 

“thank you.” he whispers. 

“for?” 

he scoffs.

“y/n.” he chides. 

“use your big boy words!” you coo.

“shut the fuck up.” 

“c’mon. you've got it in you.” 

“you know what i want to say.” 

“of course i do. i know you’re really glad that i have an innie belly button instead of an outie.”

sukuna nearly chokes on his spit.

“i beg your pardon?” 

“i know that outies freak you out. you don’t have to say it.” 

sukuna stops himself from saying it. 

that he's falling in love with you. 

it’s right on the tip of his tongue. but he knows that it’s too fast so he swallows it down. that and the fact that it would be fucking insane if he said that to follow up your stupid joke about inne and outie belly buttons.

“baby, we should really donate your brain to science. i think you could advance neuroscience fifty years into the future.” sukuna states. 

“take that back, asshole.” you respond.  

“make me.” 

you yank hard on his hair, before fixing your hands back in his locks and pushing the matted wet hair off of his forehead. sukuna leaves a kiss in your hands, before he seems to wander off somewhere else, almost like he's deep in thought.

you grant him the quietness. sukuna loves you even more for it.

--

next part linked here

an: ICK CHAPTER BUT WHATEVER

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[nana-au]

JJK Men React to Finding Out You Like Them

G.Satoru, G.Suguru, I.Yuji, F.Megumi

(I got carried away with Gojo's.. mb)

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

G.Satoru: You could not stand him and his stupid, annoying, ugly (undeniably pretty) face.

Shoko and Geto swore you two bickered like an old married couple. The two of you would scoff, sometimes even pushing each other’s shoulders just to remind the other one who was stronger. It was down right childish the way you both interacted with each other. Pinching and hair pulling. Arguing over who was right and wrong, sometimes even arguing against obvious facts just to piss the other one off. You couldn’t stand his pompous attitude and he couldn’t stand the fact you weren’t in awe of him like he believed you should be. He made every hair on your body stand straight just by his voice or the way his figure loomed over you as he teased you. 

“What’s this for?” He mocked, pinching your cheek you dusted with blush. 

“None of your business,” you assured him, attempting to punch him in the gut. He would swiftly dodge it, continuing to mock you. 

“Surely it isn’t for a boyfriend. I feel bad for any guy dumb enough to be interested in you,” his glasses would slide down his nose as he looked over your figure. You didn’t hesitant to tell him to suck a dick, and it didn’t even cross his mind to not tell you that you wished you could suck his. “I’d never let you though,” he assured you and you would huff out a ‘thank God!’. You would attempt to storm off, but he kept body blocking you, and you were adamant on not making bodily contact with the guy. “Where are you going?” he quizzed and you begged him to drop it - that it was none of his business. You were getting really worked up, more so than usual. His assumption wasn’t necessarily wrong, you were trying to leave for your date with a barista from the coffee shop you frequented in Tokyo. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll have to let Sensei know. Can’t have you up to no good.” 

“Then go tell him!” you huffed. You were going to be running late if the asshole in front of you wouldn’t move. “God Gojo, you are so childish,” he only stuck his tongue out at you. You were about to start shaking with anger and against your better judgment you confessed to him. “Fine! It’s a date, make fun of me all you want when I get back,” your chest was heaving and your blood was hot. To your sudden shock, Gojo stepped out of your way wordlessly and watched as you took off out the doors. 

The next few days felt like the Twilight Zone. You did your makeup again and Gojo didn’t even bother to flick your cheeks. When you mentioned to Shoko how nice the weather was, he didn’t argue that it was ‘Just alright’. While Suguru, Gojo, and you were taking turns sparring, he didn’t hide the defeat in his face when you kicked dirt onto him after knocking him on his ass. To you, that was really the last straw. You started to feel evil for continuing your usual antics while he just took it. A few more days went by of you both ignoring each other until one afternoon you were eating lunch with Shoko talking about your date. Geto and Gojo took their usual seats across from you as you both discussed what transpired. “Maybe he doesn’t want to sound needy,” she said when you mentioned he hadn’t texted you back still. 

“He probably thinks you're ugly,” Gojo said nonchalantly. It was the first sentence he had spoken to you in days and you had to keep your jaw from dropping to the floor. You weren’t even sure if he really spoke or if you imagined it. Perhaps your brain was filling in the words you wanted to hear from him. Not that you wanted him to call you ugly per se, but the silence from him was worse than the insults. 

“So he talks.” His eyes rolled cartoonishly at your words. He stuck a spoonful of rice in his mouth before talking,

“Giv-up,” he mumbled, some rice spilling out of his mouth. Your face contorted with disgust. He swallowed, continuing, “You're unlikeable”.

“Yeah ‘cause you’re so likable yourself,” you scoff. He continued eating and the table dropped it, all choosing to change the topic. 

Honestly, you were sure that would be your last conversation with Gojo. You went about your days without his obnoxious presence. You went on another date and were getting fairly close with your favorite barista, even inviting him to meet Shoko. You all agreed to meet up at his cafe and you were awed as he described to you the drinks he made you two. You sipped them and listened as he rambled on about the ristretto shots and the milk foam. Shoko grew bored quickly, but she was happy you were happy. 

The bell attached to the door chimed, and the blood in your face drained, leaving you sickly pale. Gojo waved to you, pointing out to Geto where the three of you sat and dragged him along. “What is he doing here?” you frantically asked Shoko. She covered her face to hide her amusement, she had to give it to him, he was about to make this deathly boring conversation into an incredibly entertaining one. 

“Since when do you drink coffee?” Gojo asked you, pulling up a chair and sitting next to you. “I thought caffeine made you sick?” he pouted at you, pulling away the latte. He wasn’t wrong, you did tend to feel unwell after having caffeine, but since when did he care? 

“I can handle myself, Gojo,” you spat. Gojo ignored you, taking two big gulps from the mug and finishing it then and there. 

“Wow you made this?” he asked the guy. He nodded, looking incredibly confused. “Tastes like shit.” With a quickness you were out of your chair and pulling Gojo by the collar of his button down. “Be right back,” he snickered to the barista as you dragged him out the door. 

“What is your problem?” You begged. He looked shocked, telling you him and Geto were just walking by when he saw you and Shoko. You were bewildered by the way he was acting, completely stumped as to what you should even say. His hand grabbed yours that was still gripping his collar. He pulled it off and pushed it against the wall, his hand caging yours as he leaned against your intertwined fingers. His eyes watched your lips as you kept opening them to speak, but closing them when you kept losing your words. 

“Is this not what you wanted?” His words were breathy and hard to hear. “I know you are doing this-” His free hand gesturing to your figure, “to get a reaction from me.”

“You’ve really lost it now, Gojo,” you couldn’t hide the blush though. He smiled at you regardless, and your legs began to feel weak. It hit you like a truck. His smile was cocky and genuine. It wasn’t coated with his usual delusional smirk, but an all-knowing, teeth-showing grin. It was then you grew nauseous with the knowledge Suguru snitched on your drunk confession. 

You hardly remembered that night - Geto had shared his bottle of Jack Daniel’s and you were too much of a lightweight to keep yourself from admitting to him that you enjoyed Gojo’s teasing. That you were infatuated with the white-haired sorcerer and you had really started to like him. That his cocky attitude was not a turn off like you tried to convince yourself and that when he stood over you, making you feel small, you weren’t mad at him but mad you enjoyed the feeling of being towered over by him. 

“I’m not dating just to make you jealous,” you tried to stand up for yourself. You really weren’t, the guy just asked you and you had nothing better to do. You got free drinks out of it too- really that was all it was. 

“How could I be jealous when I know you like me?”

In Suguru’s defense, when you called him a traitor he assured you it was an accident. He just wanted to get Satoru out of his funk. The day he caught you looking all dolled up, just to find out it was for another man, he couldn’t get out of his own head. He also didn’t understand why he couldn’t. He pestered his best friend for days over it and Suguru had to throw in the towel. You liked him because he heard it from you. And Satoru liked you because he knows his best friend more than anyone. 

It was all worth it in the end, because things went back to normal. (Except for the small detail that Satoru and you were now a couple). 

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

G.Suguru: The older boy’s reaction made you swoon.

You were a year below him at Jujutsu Tech and you were in awe of his cursed technique and if you were forced to be honest, in awe of him. You must’ve looked like a lost puppy following him around when you insisted on watching him train, joining him to find a snack at the convenience store, and insisting on learning about all the curses he had under his control. He was so kind about it too - always dismissing Gojo when he would groan about how insistent you were. “How can you put up with her? She doesn’t have her own life,” he would say, poking his tongue out.

 “She’s just curious, Satoru,” he would reply. He wouldn’t kid himself though, he found you absolutely adorable and didn’t mind having you under his arm all day. You weren’t much younger than him, but you felt as though he held infinite wisdom. Your eyes would twinkle up at him as he shared stories of his missions and his lips would tingle watching yours twitch with ‘oohs” and “ahhs”. He adored the way you would watch him as he ran around the track, shirtless and dripping with sweat. When you joined him he couldn’t help but keep your pace just so he could keep his attention on you. You didn’t know this when you finally confessed, but he was as infatuated with you as you were with him. He was obsessed with how obsessed you were with him. He was by no means struggling in attracting women, but to have you be so casually faithful to him, it was too hard to not take advantage of. 

The day you decided to dress up really pretty for your weekly Tuesday walk to Tokyo for lunch at his favorite place was the day you officially confessed. You wore the skirt the two of you saw one day while window shopping - the one he said reminded him of something you would wear. You even applied lip gloss even though you despise the fact your hair always gets stuck in it. “What’s got you looking all pretty?” he would muse. 

“Sugu, I like you,” you admitted, quick like pulling off a bandaid. You hadn’t even made it out of the school’s grounds when you confessed. He held out his arm to stop you and blocked the way with his tall figure. 

“I already knew that, little one,” he cooed. “Let’s go, we don’t want to be late,” he grabbed your small hand in his and continued forward. It wasn’t an official response, but you knew him so well that it was official enough for you.

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

I.Yuji : You swear the boy must be dumb.

Your friends would definitely describe you as the shy type. You never talked out of turn or made your true feelings known so blatantly - but with Yuji - you were really trying. If Yuji said he was hungry, you would always be there to hand him his favorite candy. When his face was caked with dirt and sweat after a mission, you were there with a cloth to clean him up. If he so much as got a paper cut you would insist on applying a bandaid to his finger. You couldn’t tell if you liked helping him more than he liked being helped. He would always smile at you, warm and sincere. His eyes would hold yours, cheeks flushed a light pink. The way he would look at you, head angled down to get a good look at your face, the innocent scrunch of his eyebrows..

“You’re such an amazing friend,” he would say and you had to blink to keep your eyes from rolling back into your head. 

One day as he was happily sipping the ice cold tea you bought him, munching on the little pastry you went out of your way to get after he announced - very loudly - how starved he was, you decided enough was enough. 

“I like you,” You told him bluntly. He finished chewing his last bite before telling you he liked you too. 

“You’re a really good friend,” he smiled. You could feel your body begin to shake as you repeated what you said. 

“I like-like you, Yuji. Not friend-like. Like-Like.” Your hands went to grip the grass beneath you, desperately trying to ground yourself. His eyebrows scrunched, as if he was trying to process your confession. You couldn’t hold his eyes when he didn’t immediately respond. You turned your attention to Maki and Nobara who were training not far in front of you. Your eyes couldn’t focus on their figures as your body shouted at you to get up and bury yourself in bed for the day. His hand found your thigh, and you jumped slightly. When your eyes met him again, you swore you never saw him look so serious. His lips were in a thin line, eyes twinkling. 

“Maybe I like-like you too,” he spoke only above a whisper and you melted on the spot.

𓂃⊹ ִֶָ

F.Megumi: The boy was always in his own little world

That’s what you really liked about him. His ability to be quiet, observant, and at times lost in his own thoughts. All though, trying to get him to notice your crush on him would be harder than pulling all of your toenails off one by one. You would lay in Nobara’s bed as she admired the outfits she bought that day, trying her best to ignore your groans. 

“I should just give up now,” you whined. You had finished a long winded rant about Megumi, how he never reacted to your attention in the way you craved him to. 

“You should give up. I’m sick of hearing it,” Nobara lovingly teased. “Or you could just tell him,” You would gasp at the idea and bury your head into her pillow. 

You always found yourself to be the type of girl to read everyone’s feelings. People were like books to you, except for him. Before joining Jujutsu Tech, flirting was second nature to you. But when you saw his messy black hair and cold blue eyes your brain short circuited. You sure would try to flirt though. Giggling at his jokes he thought no one heard or playing with your hair in conversation. You would buy a new perfume and ask him to smell you, or ask if he liked the way you did your makeup that day. He would flush red and obey your asks. He would tell you that you smell great or that your eyelashes looked really pretty, but he would end it there. 

A couple days had passed since your rant to Nobara and the four of you were out in Tokyo. Yuji had insisted you all join him to the movies, and with nothing better to do you all obliged. At the theater you paid for your drink and popcorn and made your way to your movie when you noticed Nobara and Megumi weren’t following behind you. You shrugged it off and sat down with Yuji to watch the previews. The lights had already dimmed and the movie just started by the time Nobara came with Megumi in tow. “Sit,” she commanded him, referring to the spot next to you. You watched as Megumi - stiff as a board- took the seat beside you, and continued to shuffle around in his seat trying to get comfortable. 

“What happened?” you whispered to him, scared of what Nobara had done to make him act so odd. He didn’t respond and kept his eyes glued to the screen. It went on like that for a while, him still squirming awkwardly in his seat and when a jump scare came on screen and he didn’t react you turned to him again. “You act like you saw a ghost,” you joked to him. He replied dead serious.

“Just saw Nobara, that’s all.”

“What did she do?” You weren’t really sure you even wanted to know. After what seemed like hours of silence he asked if you really did like him. 

“Is it true what Nobara said?” Your mouth fell open and he was now completely facing you. You were all there for a screening of a horror movie and right now the main character was in a dark basement making it hard to see any light on Megumi’s face. From what you could see though, he looked flustered but maintained his eye contact with you. Thanks to Nobara it was now or never, and you meekly shook your head at him. He scratched the back of his neck and you could see his Adam's apple bob in his throat. Your face was hot watching him process your confession, not sure if you wanted to punch Nobara or thank her for finally putting you out of your misery. Even if it did mean Megumi no longer wanted to be near you. “I’ve just never had someone tell me that,” he finally spoke. ‘I don’t hate you, just give me time to process that,” he asked. You nodded and turned back to the screen, trying to focus on the protagonist dodging death. You had grown as stiff as him and noticing, he put his hand on your thigh, squeezing it lightly as reassurance. You both were red in the face, eyes glued to the front of the theater but not actually watching what was on it, lost in your thoughts. The process wasn’t smooth for you two, but your confession made Megumi realize his own feelings. Why he felt nervous when you were in the room and why he doubted his words before speaking to you. You both worked on it together, and your confidence with each other grew. It wasn’t long before you two went to Tokyo alone or sat in each other’s room late at night just talking. Megumi was your boyfriend by the end of the year, and you felt as giddy around him as the day you first met him. 

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #gojo saturo #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #geto x reader #suguru geto #suguru x you #suguru x y/n #jjk geto #gojo #geto #suguru x reader #yuji itadori #jjk yuji #itadori #megumi #fushiguro #yuji x reader #yuji x you #yuji x y/n #jjk megumi #megumi fushiguro #megumi x reader #jujutsu megumi #jujutsu kaisen megumi

[facefullofsadness]

Can I request sub!Sakura x soft!dom!reader? Basically fluff smut (-_-")

sakura unnie being just the submissive bby girl she truly is 🥰

content - loser gamer!sakura (bc she literally is just a loser who happens to be an idol u can't change my mind), smut (cunnilingus, corruption kink kinda but not really inflicted, reader is a lil intoxicated), fluff (I guess? like kinda?)

wc - 2148 (might've gotten carried away...)

sakura is a sensitive girlie.

and this doesn't just apply to in bed but in real life too. when you first met her, she was so shy and jumpy. seeing her at a pc café with the cat ear headphones she brought from home, wearing glasses, gray sweatpants, and a graphic tee way too oversized for her small body.

going up to her because u recognized her from your biochem class, asking if she did the homework yet.

"oh uh, hi, you know my name? uhm, sorry I'm a mess. wait a second, sorry," kura would stumble over her words, balancing her focus between the pretty girl talking to her and the intense league match she had going on.

sigh, how fucking adorable.

the way you grazed her shoulder with the tips of your fingers as you *intently* watched as she tried not to feed the enemy team (failing by the way). your focus was more on the way sakura's body tensed at the gentle contact.

it flicked a switch in your brain watching her bite down hard on her lip, trying so hard not to break in front of you. this only whirred you on, needing to see her desperate. and so you made it your goal to make this girl yours, in every way.

wooing her (easily bc pretty girl) into becoming your girlfriend, making her feel so loved and special, making her feel like you were the only person in the world for her. yes of course you loved her truly, but the switch that was on in your head always shone a light so bright that reminded you of how obsessed you were with the submissive aspects of this girl.

starting tame in your relationship, holding hands, cupping her cheeks and rubbing your thumbs against them, planting soft and gentle kisses on her, giving her sweet cuddles. it would eventually progress into brushing fingers against her sensitive waist, hearing as kura would release shaky breaths at the contact, deep and passionate makeout sessions where she would be breathless and sweaty under you, kissing and leaving dark marks on her neck and across her chest which would have her whining, trying to push you away because god how embarrassing it felt to be so small against you.

seeing her face so flushed pink and eyes dazed after an intimate moment drove you insane. you absolutely just needed to see more. and so when the first time you guys had sex, you had to remind yourself not to take it too far. after all, she's still your lovely sweet loser girlfriend who wouldn't hurt a fly (mostly because she's probably too scared of it).

and by sex, I mean eating out your precious girlfriend while she was gaming. you had gotten a little tipsy that night, drinking by yourself in the living room, dragging your body into kura's bedroom where she was focused in on a match of overwatch. too buzzed to act interested in her game, you pull yourself onto her lap and nestled your face into her neck.

you smiled against her skin as you felt the girl's breath hitch at the sudden gesture, your hot breath hitting her sensitive spot.

"y/n baby, I'm k-kinda busy right n-now..." she'd stutter, losing focus.

you shush her, planting wet kisses against her jaw and neck, "keep playing kura, don't worry about me. just focus."

the cogs in your brain speed and your heartbeat races with the corruptive thoughts running through your head. you feel yourself heat up at the need to feel her fall apart against you, shaking in your hold. hearing her shaky voice make callouts to her teammates over comms, your greedy hands brushing her sides and trailing her abdomen, mouth leaving wet spots across her exposed collarbone.

you moan against her skin, her body so tense when you touch her, exciting you more than you think is possible. though you wanted to be patient and gentle with her when it comes to intimate moments like this, in your drunken state, it was hard to think straight. and so it slips your mind when your hands trail up to cusp her tits, thumbs rubbing her hard nipples in circles.

your brain short circuits when you hear her whimper right against your ear, kissing her on the cheek and grinding down against her core. you push one of the headphone muffs back, whispering in her ear.

"do you like that baby, like when I touch your naughty little body like this? like when I grind against your aching pussy like that?" you rasp breathily, biting the lobe of her ear and chuckling lowly.

one of her hands fly off of the keyboard and quickly mute her mic, bringing her hand to tangle her fingers with your hair.

"ahhh fuck, y/n-ie, I'm.. that feels so.. ahh," sakura can't contain the moans slipping out of her mouth easily as your grinding continues and your fingers pinch at her hardened buds.

you pull your face away from her heaving chest and bring your lips to grace her own lips, "baby, why'd you stop playing? be a good girl and win for me."

how evil, sakura must be thinking in that little head of hers, clouded with lust.

she whines needily against your lips and you kiss her sweetly in response, "c'mon baby, I'll reward you if you listen to me."

and so she gulps and nods, leaning forward against you before unmuting and returning back to the game. hm, how easy it is to control you my love, you think sinisterly.

pulling ur hands away and getting off of her, looking up at her darting eyes, full of nervousness and excitement, you smirk at the sight. you bring your hands up to the waistband of her sweats, untying the knot and slowly pulling them down.

your eyebrows raise when you see how dark her panties have gotten, wet and practically soaked with arousal.

"you DO like this baby, don't you? looks like a little too much, what do you think?" you bite your lip as you drag a single finger across the whole length of her slit, feeling how damp her underwear truly is.

she whimpers uncontrollably above you, clamping her eyes shut and throwing her head back against the headrest, trying so hard to hold back. you just know her hands are gripped tightly into fists as you press your thumb firmly against her clit through the cloth.

"guys please, we're so close," sakura begs her teammates to wrap up the game, almost a double entendre to your ears.

you look up at her sweetly and innocently, "or take your time my love, I can wait."

she peers down to look at you and frowns, eyes welling up and face scrunched with pleasure. aww, my poor baby, she wants you to stop teasing so bad and just let her fucking cum.

you hook your fingers around her panties and pull them down to pool at her ankles with her sweatpants. you pull her to the edge of her gamer chair by her thighs, your strong grip pushing apart her legs.

"you'll get what you need so bad when you win," god you're so mean :(((

she's aching so bad, the way you can physically see her hole clench around nothing, just by your words and the sheer amount of arousal that courses through her. you can't just let her go untouched, so when you throw her panties and sweats off of her ankles and to the side, lifting her legs to rest on top of your shoulders, hearing her squeal at the movement, and hotly breathe out onto her core, you go dizzy. you swear you're probably much more fucking soaked in your underwear than she is by how turned on you were by the effects you had on her.

none of that mattered right now though, all that did matter and the only thing you focused on was sakura. your precious sakura and her leaking hole. you couldn't resist anymore, diving in and sucking her entrance directly, using your tongue to lap at all the juices that she produced messily all over her pussy.

"fuck y/n!" she moaned, not caring about the game and throwing an arm over her face, hiding behind it.

"shhh, play," you'd mumble against her, flicking your wet muscle on her bundle of nerves.

"I-I can't baby..." kura whined, hearing her start to sob.

no no, couldn't have your baby suffer now could you?

"you can do it, go kura, make me proud," you'd caress her legs sweetly, moving away from her center and kissing her trembling thighs.

"we.. I'm almost, d-done," she shakily said.

at that moment, you heard cheering explode from her headphones, sakura throwing them off and muting her mic.

her hands would fly to gripping one of your hands around her thighs and your hair, "y/n, please please please, god please it hurts so bad."

looking up at her pained and desperate expression, you smiled again, "don't worry, I'll give you your reward my good girl."

diving in greedily finally, thrusting your tongue into her hole, making the most graphic wet noises from your needy mouth and her leaking pussy. the girl above you uncontrollably moaning out your name, gripping your hand and hair tightly, it hurt.

it didn't matter to you as the juice on your tongue was so delicious, the whines filling your ears sounded like music, and the body you held was trembling with pleasure. you closed your eyes as you dug your wet muscle into her and brushed your nose against her clit.

"baby ahh! fuck fuck fuck, yes yes, please don't stop, please god, it feels sosososo good y/n, I beg you, your mouth is insane," sakura would ramble mindlessly.

you listened, being crazily pussy drunk, not being able to breathe but not caring, borderline deep throating her pussy with how deep you dug your face into her. being so horny yourself, grinding against the air and panting into her. your fingers gripped painfully against her thighs, forgetting your entire plan to treat her caringly.

not that sakura seemed to mind, her head was thrown back and mouth hung wide open, eyes rolled back and screaming out profanities with your name. her hand in your hair pushed you deeper into her, grinding her hips desperately against you.

you loosened your grip slightly to let her fuck your face. you wanted to see her lose control because of you badly, so you opened your eyes to look up at her, and you swear you could cum on the spot just by how sinful the sight was. you moaned deeply into her pussy, the vibrations making sakura go insane, her body started to thrash and jolt, humping your face even more.

you slurped hungrily at her, losing any thoughts of technique and simply eating her out how you needed to. after all, kura doesn't care and grinds against your face rabidly, everything feels too fucking good to think.

"CUMMING, CUMMING!" she'd scream out, grip on you tightening even more.

"cum for me," you try mumbling as much as you could, airways practically blocked with her pussy.

sakura's body convulses, shaking with a screaming orgasm, juices squirting from her and drenching your face, chest, and clothes. you almost drown at the contact, but drink all the arousal that escapes.

her body stops violently jolting, only jerking every now and then from the aftershocks of the mindblowing climax she just came from. you release your tight grip as she does also, caressing her thighs softly, and kissing all over her sensitive core and legs. poor baby is completely gone, dazed and exhausted. you pull away from her pussy but make your way up to her face, never fully ripping away from her.

cupping her face and looking at her spent figure. chest raising and falling, mouth open, drool leaking out, cheeks stained with tears, body limp, thighs marked red, neck littered with hickies, her eyes half-lidded, and mumbling.

"y/n-ie, I'm can't," you giggle at how fucked out she is.

the throbbing at your core hurts honestly, but you ignore it, carrying your baby girl off of the chair and onto her bed. your clothes were soaked with her juices, looking back at her desk and seeing remnants of it there too. you'd clean it later, what matters is taking care of your girlfriend now.

"you did so well baby, you can rest," you'd whisper comfortingly in her ear, kissing her lips softly.

"do you want me to get you water? I can run the bath for you?" you offer, rubbing your hands sweetly over her red thighs.

"no, need you here," she'd say, pulling you into a cuddle, passing out on the spot.

you smile and place a peck on sakura's forehead, "okay."

need her so bad...

#ffos reqs #sakura #miyawaki sakura #le sserafim #le sserafim fanfic #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim smut #fanfiction #kpop #kpop gg #sakura smut #girl group smut #chaewon #yunjin #kazuha #eunchae

[writting-stuff-sometimes]

We should be best friends too Lando X Fem reader

Summary: Y/n is Pietra's best friend, she considers Max to be a nice guy, but who she really can't stand is Max's best friend, Lando. At Max's birthday party, Pietra asks just one thing, an easy, fun night, but with Y/N and Lando in the same room, this is almost impossible.

Warnings: Bad words and alcohol.

Word Count: 15K Notes: I suck at second parts, so I'm taking my time with the pt2 of "Playing with fire". In the meantime, here's something new. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! Thanks for all your comments,

__________________________

"He's coming, isn't he?"

"Y/n, it's Max's best friend, please, please, please, no fights tonight"

"He's the one that always started them!"

"And you were amazing at going along instead of being the grownup and letting it go"

"Excuse me, who's your best friend?!"

"You, but please, just tonight, can you be extra patient with Lando?"

"I'll try"

Pietra had been dating Max for a year now, and it took four months for you to hate Lando. Almost every night you were together ended with a fight between you two. _____________________________

"Hey Mate, happy birthday!" You didn't need to turn to look at the door to recognize the voice owner. You sighed in annoyance.

"Friend of yours, I assume?" the guy standing in front of you, and whom you had been flirting with for the last hour, said with a sarcastic smile.

"Best friend" you rolled your eyes.

To keep your promise to Pietra you tried to stay away from Lando as much as possible and focus on the cute guy in front of you.

____________________________

"Let me get you a refill" Your date took the glass from your hand.

"Thanks"

"My pleasure" he winked at you and then leaned in to place a soft, quick peck on your lips. So far, the night seemed to be going better than expected, no interactions with Lando, and sex with a cute guy was coming your way.

"Isn't he a gentleman?!" His mocking voice was even more annoying.

You took a deep breath before turning around to face Lando.

"Fuck you"

"What's with the cursing? I was just making a statement, you seem to have great taste in men"

"Wish I could say the same about your date" You threw a quick glance toward the blond girl who had been all over Lando for the last 45 minutes, she had done nothing to you but you already disliked her and the childlike way she was giggling with her friends, probably talking about him.

"Ouch"

"Just move and stay away from..." you tried to walk past him but your stupid heel got caught on the carpet. Everything happened so fast. The Brit caught you mid-air, his arms around your waist as your hands fell on his torso, his black shirt was unbuttoned at the top, so your hand was against his skin.

"You ok?" You could have sworn you heard concern in his voice.

The tight grip on your waist and the feeling of his warm skin under your hand seemed to be a little too much for your alcohol-intoxicated brain to voice out a response, so you just nodded.

"If you wanted to cup a feel you could've just asked, you know you have a free pass"

And there he was again, the annoying self-centered prick.

"Please, don't flatter yourself, I would choose planking face first on the floor over this, any day." You pushed him hard, trying to shake away the feeling of his touch.

“And hurt that gorgeous face of yours?” His finger softly traced your cheek, down to your chin, but you pulled away “I would never let that happen. Also, I’ve been told my arms are nice and cozy.” He crossed his arms over his chest, making them seem even bigger.

“Too bad they are attached to a huge self-centered piece of shit like you!”

"Wow" Max's voice startled you. You had said that last phrase as the music changed from one song to another, so every person in the room had heard you, including the cute guy, who was now standing a couple steps away, staring at you.

"Y/n" the disappointed look on your best friend's face broke your heart a little.

"I'm sorry, P." You walked past Lando, took your bag, and left the flat.

A couple tears streamed down your face, falling on your cell screen as you searched for an Uber to take you home.

"Fuck!" you mouthed when the No cars Available text appeared on your screen. You closed the app and opened it again, wishing for a miracle. It was almost 2 am on a Tuesday, and getting an Uber in the middle of the suburbs was a nightmare, you walked to the end of the street, praying that from there, it would be easier to get a car, but again, nothing.

You closed your eyes and took deep breaths, trying to ease the tears, but the frustration and embarrassment were too strong.

A couple minutes later a car stopped right in front of you, from the engine sound it was a sports car, and you knew exactly who it belonged to. The driver's door opened, and you heard him walk towards you.

"Y/n" his voice was low.

"Go away" You didn't turn to look at him, your eyes were probably bloodshot from the tears, and you've had enough humiliation for one night. You opened the Uber app again to keep your sight down.

"Y/n, I'll take you home, come on" He walked to the passenger door and opened it.

"I'd rather crawl there" You answered bluntly.

Like a cruel joke, a sudden gust of wind blew against your body, and goosebumps covered your skin, it was unusually cold for July. As you walked to the threshold of the building, searching for some shelter, the bottoms of your feet reminded you of the heels you were wearing, if you dared to walk back home you might have to do it barefoot.

"Unless you're planning on going back inside, or a car has magically appear on the app..."

"How could I walk back inside there?" You cut him off "I just made a complete fool of myself because of you!" You finally turned to see him as a couple of tears threatened to fall from your eyes again. He looked down at the floor, he seemed embarrassed.

"Then please get in the car, I'll take you home...you don't have to talk to me if you don't want to" He offered you his hand.

You stared at him, he seemed honest and embarrassed. You hated yourself, the puppy eyes were actually working?

"Please, P and Max would kill me if I let you go home alone."

You sighed loudly and walked towards the car. You ignored his stretched-out hand, trying to make a statement, that you were doing it against your will.

As you got inside the car his scent hit you hard, you always claimed he used way too much cologne, but now it seemed nice, warm, almost pleasant, maybe finally being out of the cold was playing tricks on your mind.

The sound of his door shutting pulled you back from your thoughts.

When the car didn't move, you turned to look at him to find him staring back at you.

"What?" you asked in a low voice.

"The seatbelt" he answered as if it was obvious.

"Oh" you turned to pull on it as he started the car and drove away.

It was a quiet drive. From time to time, you discretely turned to look at Lando, whom you always thought was one of those annoying guys with sports cars that would find every little chance to show off, but he seemed to be a decent driver.

Your phone vibrated in your bag.

Pietra💗: Are you ok?

Y/n: Yes, I'm on my way home, I'm so sorry P 😔

Pietra 💗: Don't worry about it, Lando picked you up? He said he was going out to look for you.

Y/n: Yes 😒

Pietra 💗: Good, let me know when you get home, please don't kill him, he's truly embarrassed about how he behaved.

Y/n: Can't promise anything

"Pietra?"

"Yes" You answered without taking your eyes off the phone screen.

"Good to know I have witnesses in case I go missing" He looked at you with a mischievous grin as if you were great friends and this was an inside joke.

You turned to look at him, your face anything but friendly. Why was he acting like you were there because you were friends and not because he had been an asshole?

"Oook" He said in a low whisper and kept his attention on the road.

A few minutes later you heard a breathy laugh from the driver.

"What now?" You asked, breaking the silence.

"You look like a chihuahua"

"Excuse me?"

"You're trembling so much. Maybe you should have worn something more clothy" He stared down at your outfit, black shorts, a lacey bralette, and a matching black blazer.

"I was supposed to spend the night inside a flat"

"But you decided to throw a tantrum like a five-year-old and run out"

"It was all your fault! If you had stayed away from me, right now I would've been with..." You cut yourself off.

"With Mr. Charming?" He turned to look at you. "You just met him tonight." His tone was filled with judgment.

"Why do you care?" You turned to look at him with a raised brow. For some reason, the question threw him off balance, it was nice to be on the other end of the jokes and the messing around.

"Do you want me to care?" He turned to look at you when he stopped at a red light, your winning punch was short-lived.

"Pff, please." You were about to turn away when a sudden movement caught your attention. He turned his body towards you and his hand went behind your headrest. He stared at you deeply, and you stared back. What was he doing? He slowly moved towards you, and your breath quickened as you felt your body get warmer, why was he getting closer? Your mind screamed to move away, but your body didn't move an inch.

Your breath got caught in your throat when he was just inches away from your face.

"Here, put this on before you freeze" he whispered lowly, pulling a hoodie from behind your seat, his breath warmly caressing your blushing face. You stared at him confused.

"What?" He asked, a cocky grin on his face.

"Fuck you"

"If only I had a swear jar." He placed the hoodie on your lap and put the car in movement when the light changed to green.

You contemplated throwing the hoodie back to him, but the cold was teeth chattering, so you got it on. The smell of his cologne intensified, and it felt... it felt nice. You hated how much you seemed to like it. Maybe he had changed colognes, usually, you would find it repulsive.

He turned on the radio, that stupid grin still on his face.

You were getting close to your house, a weird feeling in your chest. Was it sadness? Why would you feel sad about getting home?

Suddenly, the car turned towards a Starbucks drive-thru.

"What are you doing?"

"You're still trembling and I'm out of hoodies, maybe coffee will help you get warm"

He got to the speaker and ordered your favorite drink and a hot chocolate for him.

“How did you know?”

“That coffee gets you warm? It’s basic knowledge, I know you think I’m stupid, but I know things, you know?”

“How do you know my coffee order?”

“Oh, umm the weekend you and Pietra stayed at my house in Mónaco I ordered coffee and P told me what you liked”

“It’s been ages since that happened"

“Yeah..." A weird look on his face, as if he had been caught red-handed. He turned to look away as he approached the window to receive the order.

"Here"

You took the warm cup off his hand. Who was this person?

You held the cup close to your body, giving in to the heat.

"Thanks" You smiled back at him.

"No problem" He drove off as you took a sip from the warm, delicious liquid.

"Is it working?"

"It is, it's nice... why are you doing this?"

"I don't want you to get sick"

"Why?"

"Because being sick sucks?"

"Why are you being nice?" You insisted

"I don't get the question"

"You've never been this nice to me. You're usually picking on me and... being annoying"

"I'm not"

"Yes, you are. You're always calling me names, saying I'm spoiled, uptight, a control freak, you also mock the guys I go out with, the music I listen to, the movies I like..."

"Weeeellll, you started with the name calling"

"Me?!"

"Uuh, yes"

“When?!”

“P’s birthday party last year”

“We had only known each other for like a month back then. What could I've done to you? I didn’t even talk to you that day."

“Well, it wasn’t TO me, but it was about me.”

You stared at him confused, and he continued.

“A friend of yours asked if you liked F1 and you said hell naw, they’re just a bunch of nepo babies that only know how to spin a wheel” He tried to mimic your voice. You were about to protest but he was right.

“In my defense, that was a private conversation... and the world does not revolve around you, I wasn't talking about you, I was talking about all the drivers"

“We’ll you were at a public party, and that statement doesn't really help your case"

You stared down at the coffee cup between your hands. This was embarrassing. Was all this feud with him your fault? You could have sworn he had started it, damn! You were a hundred percent sure it was his fault.

“Why do you hate us drivers so much?”

“It’s not you, it’s the sport… my ex was a big fan, and it ended up bad with him so..."

"...the breakup wasn't my fault" you quickly added.

"I didn't think it was" He tried to cover a mocking smile with his chocolate cup.

"Yeah, right" You rolled your eyes as a faint smile sneaked from your lips.

"Well, too bad an idiot made you hate us all"

It was seriously embarrassing, you could've sworn you were over the stupid breakup with Evan, but he seemed to still find ways to ruin your life even in an indirect way.

"I ...I'm sorry"

"That's new" He joked

"Don't make me regret saying that"

"Sorry" His big smile was kind of cute.

"But really, I'm sorry I was mean, I should not have projected my breakup on you"

"Well..." He parked in front of your building and turned off the engine. "I'm sorry I was childish and tried to get you to like me by bullying you, I swear I'm out of my 6-year-old phase"

"You wanted me to like you?"

"Yeah, you're my best mate's girlfriend's best friend, so if we're going to see each other so much, we should be best friends too. Also, you're actually nice, you don't have bad taste in music..."

"And I have a gorgeous face... your words, not mine"

The curly hair bounced as he laughed at your comment, and you could swear you saw him blushing.

"And you have a really, REALLY gorgeous face"

"Thanks" You framed your face with your hands in an exaggerated flirty way. "Sooo, drinking and driving is against the law even if it's nonalcoholic, and your house is far enough for your chocolate to get cold by the time you get there, as a peace offering, do you want to come up and finish our drinks in a warmer place?

"That would be nice" He smiled taking off his seatbelt fast, as if he was already waiting for the invitation.

He opened the car door for you and walked behind you, shielding your body from the cold British air. You had been so focused on hating him that you didn`t realize how polite and funny he was. It was like meeting a completely new person.

The elevator dinged, letting you know you had arrived at your floor. As you were about to walk out Lando grabbed your wrist and pulled you back in, making you clash against his chest, almost dropping your drink. He stared into your eyes, searching for any sign that you were uncomfortable. He must've seen the fire in his eyes reflected on yours, so he leaned in to kiss your lips, and you kissed him back.

The arm that held your cup wrapped around his neck as your free hand went to make a fist with his curls, one of his arms wrapped around your waist, and his free hand went to your neck, his fingers keeping a blood-rushing grip on it.

He broke the kiss and gave a soft bite to your lower lip.

"Sorry, couldn't help it" He sheepishly smiled as his hand moved from your neck to caress your cheek. "The sexual tension was killing me"

The elevator dinged again, and you were back down in the lobby. As the door opened, a young couple got on it. A knowing smile on their faces as they said hello.

You pushed the 7th-floor button again and stepped back against Lando's chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You could see the guy looking at the driver attentively.

"Hi, sorry to bother you, are you Lando Norris?"

"Yes" the Brit answered shyly.

"Damn, big fan, can I take a picture?"

"Sorry mate, I'm with my lady, but I can sign something for you if you want"

"Sure" He took a piece of paper from his wallet as the girl took a pen from her bag. "Thanks so much"

"Sure, mate, thanks for understanding"

The elevator dinged on their floor.

"Don't worry about it, have a good night." The couple exited and you turned to look at Lando as the elevator continued with its journey up.

"Your lady?" You asked with a raised brow.

"It sounds good, doesn't it?" He gave a small peck on your lips.

"I'll have to think about it" The elevator dinged again, and you took his hand, pulling him towards your apartment.

"Wait! Did you do all of this just so you could get inside my pants?" He pulled his shirt together, dramatically covering his chest, as you opened the apartment door.

"You wish." You answered as you pulled him inside.

Tag List: @wtrmlnsgr94, @ricsaigaslec

Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

#f1 fiction #f1 imagine #lando norris imagine #max fewtrell imagine #lando norris x reader #f1 x reader #lando x y/n #f1 x y/n #lando norris fluff

[pawified]

Okay but like imagine trying to visit father figure bf! Nanami while also trying to avoid seeing your dad o__o like Nanami’s probably all like never come see me at work or whatever & you just can’t help surprising him in his office or something n’ he just gives a slight scowl & a big ole kiss or something idk I’m in love

hweo littl anonie ! ur brain is so magical nd im obsessed wif it! here is a treat for waitin patiently for your request ! 𐂯 ! ⊹

to give everyone a break frm all da smut nd wht not here is a tiny but might drabble abt visiting your dad’s boss at work

( for more context read dis / / also !! i love private school uniforms so i gave this au a uniform for college! )

— pls dnt mind da spelling errors . . is almost 3 am nd im fully of energy

ding! you stepped off the elevator, thick mary janes clack against the marble floor as you reach two big spotless floor to ceiling crystal glass doors with a sign that read Jujitsu Law Firm.

you had just gotten out of school, you had no other plans for the day so you decided to stop by your boyfriend’s workplace and surprise him right after school.

the only issue is you’d forgot to pack a change of clothes in your bag for school so you have to wear your uniform. not that it matters but you’d have like to show up to your big time boyfriends job in more of a presentable manner than this but oh well!

pushing the door open, you are met with a big reception desk and classical music playing in the background with the ambient light accompanying. you look around taking everything in before being interrupted.

a women no older than twenty-eight, speaks. “uh, may i help you?” you look down at her desk, you spot a name plate; ‘Mako.’ you read.

“yes! hello, i’m here for Nanami Kento, please.” you give her a smile.

she stares back at you with a raised brow, looking you up and down, taking in your appearance. still sporting your schools outfit, you are dressed in a white button up polo, a red, white and gold neck tie, a oversized navy blue cardigan paired with a black skirt and leg warms.

“do you have an appointment with Mr.Kento.” she all but rudely says. An appointment? why would you need an appointment to see your own boyfriend.

“ uh no. could you please tell him that- “ she cuts you off before you could even finish. “sorry kid, but you can’t see him without an appointment.” her tone irritated with the interaction between you two.

kid? did you really look that young? you’re only twenty-three. before you could spit out a remark on her horrible communication skills, your dotting boyfriend appears from around the corner.

“ ♡ ? “ you turn around, seeing your boyfriend standing there with a surprised look on his face.

“surprise!” you said adorably, walking over and reaching up on your tippy toes to wrap your arms around his neck, his assistant long forgotten. he pulls away taking in your attire, cute as ever he thinks.

“what are you doing here, princess?” still surprised you came and visited him despite voicing your worries about your father being at the office nonetheless finding out about you two, but you put your worries aside and came anyways. kento’s sweet, sweet, girl.

“well i wanted to surprise you, plus . . i missed you.” you shyly stated at the end, looking down and kicking the imaginary dust off your shoes. kento thinks about how soft spoken and gentle you are..always wanting attention, he finds it cute; finds you cute.

“well considered me surprised baby” he almost can feel the heat radiating off your cheeks from how embarrassed you are, his heart almost gives out. “are you hungry puppy?” there he goes again, using that nickname that always leaves you wanting more. “have you ate?” he asks again. As if on queue your stomach growls, answering for you.

now in his office, stomach full and plate of food forgotten, you watch kento as he is working at his desk and you are sat on the opposite side. “staring is impolite you know?” he says assumingly.

“i- what, i- wasn’t staring at you.” you rushed out, flustered. kento laughs. his laugh is from deep in his chest, the one that warms your heart and makes you smile. “whatever.” you grumble out.

having enough of his teasing, you stand up from your seat and make your way around the desk, pulling his office chair out to make room for you to squeeze onto his lap.

you place your legs in between the arm holes of the chair that way you are blocking his view from the computer screen, “princess, i can’t see.” you loop your arms around his neck, “that’s the point, gimme kiss.” you whine, kento rolls his eyes playfully and chuckles “so needy..always kento i want , kento gimme, but you never say your please’s or thank you’s.”

he pinches your side, never breaking eye contact. “whoever is teaching you your manners needs to do better. you’re a spoiled brat.” he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, leaning in, kissing your cheek.

you huff, frustrated at not getting your way, “kento just gimme a kiss already-.” you hiss at the conact of a firm smack against your thigh, “so got damn bossy.” he leans in pecking your lips, two times before giving in.

slotting his tongue into your mouth. when kento kisses you like this, it’s like he is trying to take your soul and breath away, you whine trying to pull him closer you grip at his collar and rock your hips, you deepen the kiss by moving your tongue against his; its so messy, it makes your dizzy.

“please, please more gimme” you pant, trying to pull him even closer if that’s possible. his hands has a firm grip on your waist that youre sure will leave a bruise but you couldn’t care less, not when he feels this good.

kento could tell that you are getting desperate. he knows that you are probably teary eyed, sometimes you get to needy and desperate that you don’t think anymore.

“hold on pup, let’s take a breath, yeah?” you whine when he tries to pull away from you. kento is correct, your big doe eyes are teary and you look a wreck. your school uniform is disheveled, skirt is twisted; along with your cardigan that’s halfway off your shoulders.

before either you and kento could continue a knock comes from the door.

“Mr.Kento, Have you seen my daughter? i heard she came to stop by!” your father.



#˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ #𝑝𝑎𝑤 𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑠 . . .ฅ𐙚ฅ #𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑖 — ♡ ᵎ #kento nanami #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #father figure bf!nanami #jjk nanami #jujutsu kaisen nanami #nanami x you #nanami kento #jujutsu nanami #nanami smut #nanami calls reader puppy

[confused-pyramid]

You're the Only One Who Knows to Slow it Down | s5

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.

word count: 16.2k

warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, major character death, gun violence, drinking, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 5x01, 5x02, 5x06, 5x09, 5x10, and 5x21

a/n: This season was really hard to write at points (I think we all know which eps I'm talking about lol) but I'm looking forward to brighter days ahead:') Also we get some more tangible tension so yay! Title is from Look After You by The Fray

series masterlist

"We're not working a case," Derek states matter-of-factly when you arrive at the crime scene. You were woken up early the next morning after getting back from Canada, and on less than four hours of sleep, your brain is struggling to function.

"Why call us to a crime scene?" you ask, walking up to the front door of the house with the rest of the team.

He shrugs. "I was hoping you knew."

You look around, trying to find Aaron, but he's nowhere in sight. He had promised to put in the team request for a few days of leave, but you presume the call came in before he got a chance to do so.

The local police let you survey the scene, explaining that a Dr. Barton got a threatening letter that someone would be murdered everyday that he didn't give up his own son. Once you're done inspecting the body, you turn to JJ, lowering your voice. "Where's Hotch?"

"He's not answering his cell," she says, her lips thinning. "I assume it's on vibrate."

You nod. "I'll try him again."

You step away from the group and click his number in your speed dial, listening to the rings until it reaches his voicemail. It's unlike him to keep his phone on silent, but you know the previous night was tough on everyone. "Hey, it's me." You tell him the address you're heading to for the case, before turning towards the car and lowering your voice. "I know you're probably just asleep, but I don't know...I have that weird feeling again that you know I get...so please just call me back." You take a deep breath, hoping you're being overdramatic, and that you'll see him pull up in a few minutes. "See you soon."

When you get to Dr. Barton's house, he still hasn't called you back. You sit with the doctor, Prentiss, and Reid in his living room, going through his recent patient files, while Morgan, JJ, and Rossi head to the school to find his son.

"Something set this guy off," Emily explains as you start poring over the records. "Odds are it's in your files."

You manage to get through about a dozen before Dr. Barton stands up with a sigh. "My son is leaving school in five hours. There's no way we can get through all of these patients in time."

You check your phone again, mostly to see the time, but you also note that there aren't any new calls or messages. "He's right. We need more eyes on this. I can get Hotch and be back in a half hour."

"Keep us updated," Emily says, nodding at you. Concern flashes across her eyes for a millisecond, and you're sure it reflects the look in yours.

The drive to his apartment doesn't take long, and you stalk down the hall, all the way to the end, until you find his door. There's no answer the first time you knock, so you reach for the spare key he gave you, but before you can use it, you realize the door is already unlocked.

Your heart drops into your stomach and you pull your gun out, using it to push open the door carefully. "Aaron? Aaron, it's me."

When the door is ajar, the sight before you almost makes you drop your gun. There's a large bullet hole in the far wall, along with a patch of drying blood and bits of broken glass on the floor. His phone is on the ground as well, and his gun and holster are lying on his dining table.

You crouch down on your heels, trying to calm your breathing, as you take in your surroundings. You need to think logically about this, or you'll be no help at all.

A few things come to you as your mind clears.

His car is still outside.

No blood splatter around the bullet hole.

No drag marks.

You dig your hand around your back pocket and pull out your phone, dialing Garcia as fast as you can. "Overtime shift, Penelope speaking."

Her chipper voice usually calms you down, but right now you need to cut to the chase. "Garcia, it's me. Something's happened to Hotch. You need to get an APB out on him."

Her breath stutters. "What do you mean, something?"

"There's blood on the floor," you whisper, willing your voice not to crack as your throat thickens with tears. "There's also a bullet hole in the wall, probably a .44."

"I'll send the whole team," she says before you cut her off.

"No, don't call the team. They need to finish the case we were assigned. Just tell Emily, since she's expecting me back, but send every other agent in the vicinity."

"On it."

The line clicks off and you release your breath, before standing up again. While you wait for the crime scene techs, you poke around his things in the main area, trying to see if anything has been taken or moved. The only thing you notice before they arrive is that a page has been ripped from his address book.

"Agent L/N?" a voice calls from the doorway.

You lift your hand. "Yeah, in here."

They come inside and get to work immediately, so you step out, just in time for Garcia to call you back. "Y/N, I checked local hospitals for his name, and I didn't find anything at first, but then one of them told me something really strange."

"Garcia," you whisper through gritted teeth. You love her, but she needs to hurry up before you explode. "What was it?"

"Someone dropped off a John Doe at St. Sebastian hospital, and that someone's name was FBI Agent Derek Morgan."

Your vision turns black for a moment. He's back. Foyet's back.

You're rushing to your car before she has a chance to hang up.

***

He's still under anesthesia when you arrive at the hospital. He was stabbed nine times. That's what the nurse told you when you flashed your credentials and asked for any information she could give you.

Now, you're standing in his doorway, trying to build up the nerve to approach his sleeping form. Even with all of the bandages covering his arms and abdomen, he somehow looks peaceful. It's been so long since you've seen his brow unfurrowed, his forehead smooth, without the tension that invades his daily life.

After a few minutes, you take a step inside, then another, and suddenly you're right beside him, reaching out to clutch his hand over the bedsheet.

His skin is cold, and you wrap both hands around his to warm it up, if even by just a little. He's usually a furnace, generating his own heat even when it's freezing out, but whenever he gets hurt, his hands turn to ice.

After a minute, your phone buzzes in your pocket and you let him go to answer it. It's just Emily telling you that she's at the hospital with the rest of the team, and you walk out into the hall to talk to them.

Rossi is the first to reach you. He squeezes you into a hug before getting back to business. "You sure it was Foyet?"

"He had Morgan's credentials," you nod, rubbing a hand over the back of your neck. Derek glances at you then, and you press your lips together with a nod.

"Did they catch him on the security cam?"

"You could see him dropping Hotch off," you explain, trying to keep your voice steady, "but the camera's only on the entrance, so I have no idea what direction he went once he left the hospital."

Emily shakes her head. "It doesn't make sense for him to have brought Hotch to the E.R."

The nurse from earlier approaches you then, pulling your attention. "Agents, he's waking up."

You shuffle inside and take his hand again as everyone walks in.

His voice is soft when he opens his eyes. "Where am I?"

"In the hospital," Emily whispers, taking care to be mindful of her volume.

He shuts his eyes for a beat. "How did I get here?"

"Foyet drove you." Rossi doesn't frown often, but the lines of his face are clearer than ever. "Can you remember what happened?"

Hotch shakes his head, closing his eyes. "What did he take? The Reaper always takes something from his victims."

"There was an address page missing from your day planner," you whisper, finally finding your voice. "In the B's."

His eyes snap open and he tries to lift his head from the pillow, but he can only wince. "Where are my clothes?"

Emily hands him a plastic bag filled with his belongings, and he ruffles through them, until he finds his wallet. When he opens it, a photograph is stuffed inside, covered in blood spatter. Haley and Jack.

Your breath catches, and he seems to realize what it means at the same moment you do. "Haley's maiden name is Brooks. I always listed her in the B's in my personal information in case it fell into the wrong hands."

You squeeze his hand involuntarily, and he exhales sharply. "He knows where they live."

***

When the rest of the team rushes off to his old house, you stay with him at the hospital. You get a call soon from JJ that Haley and Jack are just fine, and you are finally able to breathe easy for the first time all day.

"They're okay," you tell him when you hang up the phone. "That was JJ. She said Haley was home and Jack's at a playdate, but Morgan is going to pick him up right now."

He nods slowly, his body relaxing into the bed. "Good. That's good."

"It is," you say, eyeing his movements. It's still enormously difficult to look at him like this, but you won't be able to move forward if you don't know the truth. "Aaron, what happened? What did he do?"

"I don't remember all of it," he says slowly, clearly taking his time with each word. There's no rush, and he knows it. Even if it takes him hours to get it all out, you'll still be here. "I remember him being there when I got home, after I dropped you off. He fired off a shot into the wall, and then I tried to tackle him, but..."

He trails off, and you squeeze his hand tighter, as though trying to tether him to the present moment. After a few shallow breaths, he continues. "I tried to tackle him, and I got him on the ground, but then he overpowered me." You can almost see it in your mind. The picture he's painting as he weaves over the details with startling clarity. "The first one hurt the most."

The first stab. Your eyes close for a beat, like you're trying to hide from his words. The first of nine.

"I don't remember much after that." You can tell he's leaving things out, but you also don't know if you'll be able to handle it if he does tell you everything.

"That's okay," you whisper as his eyes droop down. "You should rest."

He nods slowly as the exhaustion takes over and his grip loosens around your hand as he falls asleep.

You wait by his side for about a half hour, until you spot a familiar face (with a new haircut) dawdling in the hallway.

You stand up in a fervor. "Oh, thank god."

You rush over to Haley and pull her into a hug, which she returns just as forcefully. "JJ called us when she found you, but it's still really good to see your face."

"It's good to see you too," she says with an exhale before letting you go. You look down and see Jack standing next to her, his mouth downturned as his fingers twiddle at his sides. "Do you mind staying with him while I go talk to Aaron?"

You turn around and see that he's blinking his eyes open again. "Not at all." You take Jack's hand with a smile and lead him down the hall.

"I'm sorry if the big men scared you," you tell him once you find a few seats in the waiting area. "I know it was all very sudden."

To your surprise, his face breaks out into a big grin. "Uncle Derek let me turn on the siren!"

"Wow!" you smile, feeling warm laughter echo around your chest. "That sounds super fun."

He nods ecstatically, before leaning his head over to look back up the hall. "Can I see Daddy now?"

Your smile falls as fast as it appeared and you take his hand again, pressing his fingers between yours. "Soon, baby, soon."

***

He wakes up to the sound of faint talking. He can vaguely see you hugging someone, and he blinks a few times to clear his vision as you disappear down the hall.

"How do you feel?" Haley asks as she walks into his hospital room. She doesn't come further than the foot of the bed, but he's just glad to see her here, in one piece.

He clears his throat quietly. "I'm gonna be okay." She doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't want to focus on him right now. "Did they explain to you what's happening?"

She nods slowly, looking at him for another moment. "They said the Marshal's service is taking us straight from here and putting us into protective custody."

She looks upset, and it takes him back to the lowest moments of their relationship. "Haley, I'm sorry."

She looks down and the familiar urge to comfort her returns, even while lying in a hospital bed. "Do you know where they're gonna take us?"

"No, I don't." He tries to catch her eye but she won't look at him. "And that's the point. I can't know where you're going. If you have any contact with anyone, then he could track you."

She finally looks at him then, and her sadness is tinged with exasperation. "Jack has school. He has friends. I have a job now."

He doesn't know what else to say but: "I know. I'm sorry." He hopes he's conveying what he means, but it doesn't feel like enough. "We will catch him, and you'll come back, and I promise that I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you."

She nods minutely, and he takes the small comfort. "Are you sure that we're in danger?"

"Yes." There's little else he's been more sure of.

"And what about you?" she asks, her voice small. "Are you gonna be safe?"

He doesn't want to worry her, but he also doesn't want to lie. "He wants to see me suffer. Knowing that my son is out there and that I can't see him is better than killing me."

Her brow pinches and she pushes her short hair back from her forehead. "Jack wants to come in."

He tries to argue at first, not because he doesn't want to see him, but because it will only make it harder to let him go again, but eventually she convinces him to accede.

She leaves to go get him, and he leans back on the pillows, trying not to let himself sink inside.

~

Haley finds you in the waiting area, with Jack sitting on your lap, in the middle of a game of I Spy.

"Is he ready for him?" you whisper when you see her approach. She nods and you lift Jack off your lap and set him on his feet. "Off you go, buddy. Time to see Daddy."

"Yay!" he cheers before racing down the hall, you and Haley right behind him. She steers him into the correct room, and he jumps onto the bed before either of you can stop him.

There's a quiet chorus of 'be careful's before he grunts, "Don't worry. It's okay. The doctors made sure that I'm completely fine." He turns to the small boy with a smile you haven't seen in days. "Did Mommy tell you that you two are gonna take a trip?"

Jack nods once, moving his chin up and down dramatically. "Yeah."

"So I'm not gonna see you for a while."

Jack frowns. "Why?" The word sounds so small out of his mouth, and your heart cracks in your chest.

"Well, think about it like when Daddy goes away for work. Only this time you and Mommy get to go someplace."

Jack ponders this for a few seconds, before crawling up again and wrapping his arms around his dad's neck. "Are you okay?"

"I'm very proud of you." It's a father's answer. The kind of response that doesn't tell the truth, but hides the pain with love. "Every single day. I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Okay."

Haley says another goodbye and grabs Jack's hand before leading him out of the room. She gives you another hug, squeezing extra tight for the last second. "It's not his fault."

"Of course it isn't," you whisper, letting her pull back.

"No," she whispers, closing her eyes. "I mean, don't let him blame himself for this."

He's one of the most stoic people you know, but he can also be so transparent sometimes. "I won't. I'll be here."

"He needs you," she says with a sad smile. "He's always needed you, but he especially needs you now."

She doesn't let you respond before she's tugging Jack down the hall. You watch as she exits the side door of the wing, and only turn back when you can't see her anymore. She's one of your longest friends, and you won't be able to see her or her son for god knows how long.

When you step back into the room, you stand at the foot of his bed, trying to gauge what he needs from you, but then you see his expression. Tears prick the corners of his eyes and his mouth twists as you rush forward and grab his hand, squeezing it between yours with the grip of someone holding onto a life preserver.

"They'll be okay," you whisper, trying to keep your own tears back. "We'll get through this."

He nods, his eyes still shining. You move to sit in the chair beside him, but he tugs you back, pulling you closer. You understand the desperate look in his eyes, the need for connection and comfort from someone you care about that you've seen in yourself on so many occasions.

Slipping your shoes off, you tuck the sheet into his side and carefully climb onto the little hospital bed, taking care to avoid any of the wires and tubes. Once you're sure you're not pulling on anything, you curl up beside him and wrap yourself around his arm. His skin is warmer than it was earlier, and you take solace in the fact that he's going to be okay. Maybe not now, but he will be.

Your breaths synchronize with his and you listen to the beeping of the heart monitor as your own heart rate calms down. There's a feeling tugging at your spine, filling you up and threatening to spill over, but you shove it down, knowing it will be too much right now. You don't have the words to describe the emotions circulating through your brain, so you stick with what you know. "I love you." It's quiet, barely a whisper, but you know he can hear you. "Thank you for staying alive."

"You're welcome," he whispers back, his voice barely audible over the monitor. "I love you too."

***

You leave the hospital the next morning with a plan. He's still asleep when you wake up, so you get up carefully and thank the nurses one more time before heading out.

You make two stops on the way to his apartment, and this time, you use your spare key to unlock the front door. The crime scene crew cleaned the blood off the floor, and you told Rossi to get them to spackle the hole in the wall, for at least a temporary fix, but there's still an air about the place. It was just starting to feel like his home, and now it's soiled, once again.

You shut the door behind you and drop your bags to the ground, surveying the place one last time for any damage or mess you missed earlier. When everything seems fine, you get to work.

An hour later, you slump back against the wall and toss the packet of instructions to the ground. In front of you is a freshly installed security system, with a door proximity sensor and keypad for when he leaves the house in a hurry.

You can already hear the arguments coming, but you don't care anymore. You won't be able to sleep knowing he's in here, all alone, without anything to keep Foyet from coming back and finishing the job.

For someone who has as little of a technical background as you do, you're impressed with how quickly you were able to get the system running, and you test it a couple of times, turning it on and off and checking the doors, before you finally pull his door closed and lock it behind you.

***

The doctors don't release him until the end of the week, but once he's able to walk again, he calls you to get him from the hospital. By the time he signs his discharge papers and makes the phone call, you're already almost there, and as much as he hates putting you out on a weekend, he can't help the satisfaction that rumbles through him.

The drive to his apartment is mostly silent, with him just trying to stay still as you take the turns carefully, and drive five under the speed limit. When you arrive, you hold the bag of salves and ointments for him as you take his arm, helping him down the hall and to his front door.

He moves to grab his key, but you stop him with a forceful "Wait!"

"I can unlock my own door," he grumbles, but you just shake your head, taking the key from him and turning it slowly in the lock. The moment it swings open, a loud beeping fills the air, and you rush forward to type something into the keypad by his door. Wait...keypad? "When did tha-"

"Before you argue," you jump in, clearly anticipating his disgruntlement, "it's for me, okay."

He raises an eyebrow and you glare at him, but there's no effort behind it. "I mean, it's obviously for you, but still...it's for my peace of mind too."

You're rambling makes him crack a smile for the first time in days, and he nods slowly. "Okay."

Your mouth snaps shut and you look at him with a meek smile. "Okay."

You help him get settled on the couch, and he waits there as you scrounge up some food from the kitchen. He's not sure he has anything perishable, but you manage to put together a comforting bowl of pasta with jarred tomato sauce that makes him feel a little more at home.

As the evening turns to night, he catches himself glancing at his watch more often than not, and eventually you catch on too.

"Is it time?" you ask, your voice gentle.

After a breath, he nods, and you reach across the coffee table to grab his bag of supplies from the doctor. You lay the salve and extra gauze on the table, and wait for him to make the next move, a decision he accepts gratefully.

He's been injured before. He knows how painful it is to sanitize a wound, and especially one as deep and grotesque as his. He just needs a few moments to accept the fact that he's...scared.

"I can do it," he says once he's ready, before reaching for the salve. The simple motion makes him wince and you jump in right away, grabbing it for him and undoing the top.

"Let me," you whisper, your words somewhere between a statement and a question. "Please."

He can already feel his stitches pulling, just from the simple act of swiveling his body to face you, so he gives in with a quick nod.

He doesn't look at you as he undoes the buttons of his shirt. He's not embarrassed - you've never pitied him, even at his lowest moments - but he needs the semblance of privacy as he exposes his injuries to the open air.

The air feels cold as he pulls his undershirt over his head, and you get to work immediately, peeling back the old layer of gauze as slowly as you can. The sections directly over his wounds stick slightly, and he grits his teeth against the pain as you gently tug them free, making sure to avoid pulling his stitches.

"Do you want a break?" you ask once the gauze has been fully removed. He shakes his head, needing this to be over as soon as possible, but when he meets your eyes, he sees them welling up with tears.

He glances down at his bare torso, his eyes darting over the jagged scars ranging from his stomach to his collarbone. Your breath stutters as you take it in with him, and he looks at you. "He made sure we'd match."

He sees you rapidly blinking away the tears that rush forward, and he wants to comfort you somehow, but he doesn't know what to do. You help him lean back on the armrest, so you can apply the salve around each of his injuries, and as your fingers press into his skin, he can't help but be reminded of his childhood. The pressure of your hands as you wrapped him with bandages, the warmth of your breath when you leaned in to inspect your work.

It's usually a sad memory when he thinks back to his childhood, but with you, it was always good. He watches as you slowly tape the new layer of gauze around his abdomen, and even as tears slide down your cheeks, the way you look at him doesn't change.

"All done," you whisper after pressing on the final pieces of tape. "How do you feel?"

Anxious. Terrified. Lonely. Guilty. "Good. Thank you."

***

"Hey, it's Emily."

"What's up, Em?" you say, your phone pressed between your ear and shoulder as you hop around, trying to get your shoes on before work.

"How was your weekend?"

You pause. "Fine?" The question isn't out of the ordinary, you're just not sure why she called to ask you that when she's going to be seeing you in person in about twenty minutes. "How was yours?"

"Oh, you know." She sounds distracted, and you feel a smile pull at your lips as you realize she's avoiding something.

"Em...is there a reason you called? You know, given that we're both on our way to the same place."

She clears her throat, and you hear the indecision in her voice, even over the phone. "I know this is kind of a weird question, but would you mind if I picked up Hotch for work this morning. I left late last night, so JJ was able to brief me early, and I figured he could use a headstart."

You stop your movements, straightening up and lifting your hand to your cell. It's not at all what you were expecting her to say, but that's not all you're confused about. "Yeah, of course. You don't have to ask me first, though. We're all teammates."

She makes an little noise that you don't recognize. "Yeah...but you two are different."

You don't know what to say to that, so you just wait for her to keep going. Emily was never very good at uncomfortable silences, so after a few moments, she's back. "Anyway...I'll grab Hotch and see you in 30?"

You try to hide your grin, even though no one can see you. "Sounds like it."

"Bye."

The phone clicks off, and you tuck it back into your pocket, still smiling. You're already in a better mood than normal, because after 34 days of medical leave, Aaron comes back to work today.

You finish clasping your shoe and head out the door, more relaxed this time. With Emily picking up Aaron, you're not in a rush anymore. You take the drive at a leisurely pace, and when you arrive at the office, you run into Spencer by the front of the building.

"Wait up!" you call out, jogging over to him before he gets in the elevator. "Let me get that." You slide the strap of his book bag off his shoulder and sling it onto yours. He nods in thanks and tucks his crutch under his arm as he presses the button for your floor.

"I thought I'd be used to the crutches by now, but I keep tripping over everything." You scrunch your brow with amusement as he frowns down at his leg. "The doctors say it's healing well, though."

The elevator doors open and you step in front of him to get the door across the hall. "Does it hurt?"

He shrugs. "It really only hurts when I think about it, which is pretty much all the time."

The statement isn't exactly comical, but his deadpan tone makes you snort as you hold the door, and he smiles as he passes by you. You follow him to Garcia's lair, and she perks up upon seeing the both of you.

"My babies," she grins, pulling out a chair for Spencer. "Sit, sit."

You let out a laugh as you place his bag on the floor next to him. "I'm older than you."

"Who's counting?" she throws back, typing something furiously into her computer. She turns around a moment later, just in time to swat Spencer's hand away from the tin of cookies sitting on her table. "No, no, no."

"What?" he complains, gaping at her.

She swats him again, before pulling the tin away from him. "Get away, you. These are for Hotch."

"Butterscotch?" you ask, glancing down at the box. His preference for butterscotch cookies was something you used to tease him about when you were kids. Butterscotch Hotch.

Penelope nods and lifts the edge of the lid, implicitly offering you a cookie. When you take one, Spencer throws his hands up into the air. "Why does she get one? I get shot in the leg and I still don't get any cookies."

You laugh and break off half of your cookie, which he takes from you the moment it's in your palm. He stuffs the entire thing into his mouth, not bothering to swallow it before he pipes up again. "You know he's gonna hate the attention."

"It's cookies," Garcia pouts, "not cake."

Spencer shrugs. "He's probably gonna pretend like nothing happened, anyway."

"Well, it doesn't mean we have to."

You don't know how to weigh in to this discussion, mostly because you know more about how he's feeling than they do, but also because the idea of speculating on his recovery without him here feels like a betrayal.

"What do you think?"

You look up and realize that Spencer was directing this question to you. Swallowing down the last bit of your cookie, you cough once to clear your throat. "I think he's been through a lot, but sometimes coming back to work is the best way to take your mind off of things. Foyet was in his home. I don't think staring at the same walls that used to have bullet holes in them is exactly healthy either."

Spencer and Penelope both stare at you for a moment, before nodding and looking down. They remind you of two children who have just been reprimanded, and you smile to soften the sentiment. "I love you guys for caring about this, but we just have to trust that he's okay."

"Yeah," Penelope nods, reaching forward to squeeze your hand. "Are you okay? This can't have been easy for you, either."

"I'm fine," you say too quickly. "Nothing happened to me." It's not a lie, exactly. You weren't the one who was stabbed. Nine times. "I've just been keeping him company after work, and helping with some of his post-hospital care checklist."

"He's lucky to have you," Penelope says softly, to which Spencer nods.

"He was great too after I got shot," you add, feeling oddly defensive of your friendship. "He stayed with me for a long time when my dad was gone."

She smiles at you sadly, before holding the tin out for you. "Want another cookie?"

You let out a weak laugh as Spencer chuffs behind you, and you shake your head. "No thanks."

"Do you think he'll like them?" Her voice sounds earnest, and you nod, knowing what it's like to want so desperately to understand someone who's as closed off as he seems at times.

"Spence, Y/N, there you guys are."

You turn around to see JJ, her face lined with tension. "Are you ready for us?"

She nods. "Grab your go bag."

***

He's been erratic all day. When he snapped at Garcia earlier for missing the antipsychotics link, you wanted to throttle him, especially when you remembered the cookies she had waiting for him in her office.

The thought that maybe Spencer was right keeps flashing through your mind as you watch him get frustrated with everyone, including himself. When you all arrive at the Darrin Call's father's house, where he and a young boy he kidnapped are waiting, Aaron instructs Emily to speak with the lieutenant on scene to figure out what you're dealing with.

"The kid's in there," you hear him say, "We've got this. Tactical teams are covering the exits. Call needs a distraction. He's focused on the old man."

Emily glances back at the house as she ties her hair back. "For now. But we're gonna have to figure out the safest way to get that kid out."

"I've got a team in the back and one on the way. We're going to infiltrate."

"You do that and someone else dies."

The man just shrugs. "Either Call or a child murderer...flip a coin."

"It doesn't have to end like that." You can see how hard she's trying to make the lieutenant understand, but sometimes the locals just don't listen. "We get a confession out of Jarvis and he goes away, and Call gets his answers. No one else has to die."

There's movement behind you and you turn around at the last second as Aaron stalks past you and towards the house.

"Hotch," you call out, but he doesn't look back. "Aaron. Aaron!"

He's almost at the front door, and your feet start moving without you realizing it. You make it within a few feet of the front gate before two pairs of arms seize you from behind, halting your momentum.

"Let him go," Dave whispers as he and Derek release you. "We have to trust him."

"He's not thinking straight," you grit out, unable to tear your eyes away from the closed door as you step forward again. He wasn't wearing his vest, and you can't remember if you saw his gun in his holster. You close your eyes, wracking your brain. Think, goddamnit.

Derek grabs you again as you try to make a break for it, anticipating your movements before you even know what you're doing. "Rossi's right. We have to trust him. We can't help him if we rush inside now."

"We can't help him out here either!" Your voice sounds frenzied in your ears, but he doesn't loosen his grip, even as you try to shove him off of you.

"You know we're right." He looks at you sternly, and your resolve diminishes as reason starts to set in. "Going inside will only make it worse."

Emily comes up from behind you and takes your arm, leading you back to the street in front of the house. You back up, but you don't turn around, ready to rush in the moment anything changes.

"What's he doing?" she asks Derek, her voice quiet, like she doesn't want you to hear.

"Stalling," he says simply. "He's got nothing to lose."

Your breath catches and you lift your hand to your chest, clutching the top of your vest like it's a lifeline. You want to scream at them, scream that he has everything to lose. He has a son, and an ex-wife who loves him, and he has you.

"You got the shot?"

"Negative."

He suddenly appears in the front of the door, but you can tell he's angling his body to block the visual of the shot. What is he doing?

The door opens for a split second, and the little boy runs down the porch and into the arms of one of the SWAT members. It shuts as fast as it opened up, and you only manage to see his face for a moment before he disappears into the house again.

For a minute, there's only silence, until the air is pierced with the sound of three gunshots, one after the other. Your body visibly flinches and you throw yourself forward and over the gate, pulling out your gun at the last moment as you breach the front door.

When you storm into the living room, Aaron is putting cuffs on Darrin. The father is dead in his recliner at the center of the room.

"What happened?" Dave asks from behind you.

He purses his lips. "I couldn't stop him." It's then that he finally looks up at you, but all you can do is glare. You don't know if you've ever been angrier in your life, and definitely not at him.

His brow dips with a mix of confusion and remorse, but you just stuff your gun back in its holster, spin around, and stalk out of the house. The fresh air outside feels like a welcome respite from the emotions swirling around inside of you, and you turn your face to the sky as your brain fires off millions of questions at once.

When did he get so reckless?

Is this all because of Foyet? The need to feel like he's getting something done, with his family on lockdown?

He comes out of the house then, and you're practically shaking from the relief that he is okay, but the anger isn't fading. You can feel it flooding your veins with each breath you take.

He hands Call off and approaches you slowly, stopping in front of you with a look you don't recognize.

"This is the job," he says simply, his voice almost cold. "You know what you signed up for."

"I know what I signed up for?" Your face twists with disbelief and you look at him with contempt. "Fuck you, Hotch." His face drops slightly and it only feeds your fight. You know him better than anyone else in this world, and that also means you know exactly how far you can push him until he cracks.

"This is what we do." His voice is tight, and you see your anger reflected in his eyes. "You knew that when you joined the team."

Emily and Dave exit the house, and you can feel their eyes flickering over to you, but you can't bring yourself to care right now.

"No," you grit out, shaking your head. "You don't get to be angry with me. You don't get to say that to me."

He looks at you for a beat before his face falls and you see all the fight leave him. He sighs, his brow pinching. "You're right."

You can practically see the war going on inside his head. The battle between fear and action, where there are no winners.

You nod as you look down at the ground, and he reaches forward to take your hand. He squeezes it tightly, before lifting it to his chest. "Y/N." I love you, I'm sorry.

You nod. "I know." I'm sorry too.

***

You've been looking at the text JJ sent you for the better part of an hour. Something's going on. Strauss was in Hotch's office and it looked bad.

You're reminded of his suspension and the two long weeks you worked here without him, and you internally resolve that it won't be happening again if you have any say at all.

The next morning, you're one of the last people to arrive, and you walk into a conversation that Spencer is having with Emily at his desk.

"You're not gonna believe this," he says, turning to you and lifting his hands dramatically. "Some moron just posted a blog called 'What would Carl Sagan do?' and it's completely illogical."

"L/N, what did I miss?"

You spin around to see Derek strutting into the bullpen, his phone held up in his hand.

"What do you mean?" you ask with a frown.

He looks at you expectantly, and you start to feel like you're on the outside of something you should know. "All the emails from Hotch..."

You yank your phone from your pocket and refresh your email. "I don't have any new ones."

"Me neither," Reid chimes in from next to you.

Derek doesn't wait another moment before he's barreling past you and up the stairs to Aaron's office.

"What was that about?" Spencer asks, a confused look on his face.

"I don't know," you say honestly, "but I think we're gonna find out soon."

~

"You wanted to see me?"

He nods and you step into his office, shutting the door behind you. Ever since his private conversation with Derek this morning, you've been obnoxiously curious about what's been going on with the team, but you also know when not to overstep your boundaries.

"Take a seat." He beckons to the couch on the far wall, and he sits down across from you when you plop down. "We have to talk about something."

"If you say Strauss suspended you again-" He cuts you off with a lift of his hand. You look at him sheepishly and nod. "You were saying..."

"This is going to sound odd, but just hear me out." You're starting to get worried, but he doesn't look anxious, so that's a start. You nod, and he continues. "The bureau thinks that my ability to lead this team has been compromised. They've been questioning me since Foyet's attack, and they're not entirely wrong."

You want to refute this, but you've also been questioning some of his actions as of late. Nevertheless, that doesn't mean that you won't have his back if it comes down to it. "They can't fire you. The whole team will fight back if they even try."

He looks at you with something that resembles concern. Concern? "They won't fire me...because I'm stepping down."

"What?" you burst out, unable to help your volume. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm resigning as unit chief at the end of the week, but I'm not leaving this team."

You think you have an idea of where this is going, but his eyes are still tracking your movements, like they do when he's worried about how you'll react. You don't know how it could get much worse than this, but then you realize he hasn't told you who will be replacing him.

"I told Morgan to take my place until we catch Foyet."

There it is. You don't expect it to sting as much as it does. "Oh."

Your voice sounds small to your own ears, and you clear your throat to keep the emotion out. This isn't a personal decision, it's professional. If Strauss was telling you this now, it probably wouldn't faze you. So why does it hurt coming from him?

"Strauss wasn't happy with your decision to not take the New York position," he explains, his eyes finding yours. "You know I think you deserve more leadership roles. It was her that suggested Morgan for it, and I couldn't argue when she was already so unsure about letting me promote internally."

"I get it," you nod. Your tone a bit sharper than expected, even though you understand where the decision came from. Derek deserves this position too. "I do, I promise."

He raises his eyebrows with a check in, and after a moment, you finally nod. It's okay. We're good.

"I'll see you in the morning?"

You dip your chin. "Good night."

***

"I can't believe Hotch is stepping down."

Penelope, Emily, Spencer, and JJ are all unabashedly watching Derek as he briefs Strauss on the case he chose for today. You've been trying not to look, but every few minutes, something snags your attention.

"Morgan said it's business as usual," Emily adds, her brow furrowed as she watches them converse.

Penelope doesn't seem eased. "So we're just supposed to move forward without any discussion?"

Spencer shrugs. "After Foyet, I think we'd have to be ready for anything."

Derek finishes speaking with Strauss then, and you stand up as he asks Emily to call Rossi for the briefing. He looks official with his ironed button-down, and you can't help but wonder if he's trying to emulate Aaron.

You flash him a cheeky smile as he walks towards the conference room, but he just brushes past you. 

~

Derek steps into his new role effectively, and you even notice him provide extra feedback to everyone throughout the case. Hotch has a bit of a difficult time stepping down at first, but you know it comes from habit, not distrust.

When you're back at the office later that night, you look up to see that he is still in his office, furiously jotting something down, even though his responsibilities have been greatly diminished. You don't know why you expected the demotion to make him want to cut back a bit.

Derek is the only person still in the bullpen when you take a seat again. You finished up the last of your paperwork, so you start to pack up your stuff, but then your interaction from earlier crosses your mind again.

Latching your bag closed, you stand up and perch on the edge of Derek's desk. "Hey, boss, how's the responsibility feel?"

"Fine," he mutters, his tone snippier than you've ever heard it.

"A lot more paperwork than you were expecting, huh?"

He doesn't look at you, so you reach forward to tap the back of his hand. "Derek, come on, what's going on with you?"

You brace for him to snap at you again, but then he just sighs, setting his pen down. "You're not angry with me, right?"

"What?" You don't know where this is coming from, seeing as how he's been the one who's been avoiding you all day. "Why would I be mad at you?"

"Why?" he repeats, his face twisted with disbelief. "I basically stole this position out from under you."

You shake your head forcefully, putting your hand over his on the desk. "Not even close, hon. Anything on my end was bureau politics, but that's just one side of it. You deserve this just as much as I would have. You've even been at the BAU longer than I have."

He's silent for a moment, before he turns his hand under yours and clasps it gently. You give his hand a squeeze before bringing your other one up to his cheek. "You're doing a great job. You were an amazing leader out there today. Hotch picked you well."

Derek leans into your hand for a beat, before letting out another sigh. "Thanks."

"Seriously, Derek," you say with a smile. "This might have been one of his best professional decisions yet."

That makes him laugh, before shaking his head. "Nah, his best decision was bringing you to this team."

Your chest fills with warmth and you lean forward to pull him into a hug. His arms are strong as they wrap around you, and you settle into the hug, turning away from the office light upstairs and trying to ignore the fact that Aaron hasn't looked up from his desk since you started talking.

***

"Agent Hotchner, before you go, there's one final thing I'd like to share with you."

Karl Arnold, the Fox, has been taunting each of you throughout the whole day, and right when you finally thought you were done, he drew you right back in. You follow Hotch and Prentiss back into the interrogation room.

"So you think you found my admirer."

"No," Aaron says simply. "We found the killer."

Arnold grins. "With my help, of course."

"Your admirer is exactly like everyone who contacts you..." Emily sneers, "lost."

Arnold turns to her, and the look in his eyes makes your skin crawl. "My love, your guy is far from lost."

Hotch shakes his head, turning to the door. "We're done."

"So is he." All three of you spin back around, much to his amusement. "'Look at what I have done.' It's quite brilliant, you know?"

"We will find whoever sent you that."

"No, Agent Hotchner, I rather think he's already found you."

Aaron immediately starts flipping through the file on the table, shoving pictures and papers aside as he searches for something. Something about Arnold's tone sends your mind reeling and you grab the journal in front of you and start flipping through it as well.

"What's going on?" Emily asks, coming up behind you.

Arnold just laughs. "He's torturing him."

"Who?"

He ignores her. "It's great to see you squirm, Agent Hotchner."

You reach one of the bookmarked pages, and the symbol that greets you almost makes you drop the journal. "Aaron..."

His eyes snap to your hands as his skin turns white. "Foyet."

The three of you rush out of the interrogation room, accompanied by the disturbing sound of Arnold's laughter echoing behind you.

Just before the door shuts behind you, you hear his final words. "He knew you'd come."

***

The whole team spends days with only one goal in mind: find and capture Foyet. JJ works with you and Garcia to track prescription medications that he would be on given his self-inflicted injuries, and Spencer, Emily, and Aaron put together a geographic profile using the letters from the Fox and the proximity of nearby pharmacies. Derek's role as acting unit chief keeps him busy all on its own, but he manages to keep the team on track as he turns any new cases that come in to other teams.

When JJ returns from a local pharmacy with the discovery that many prescription meds have over-the-counter alternatives, the focus shifts. Garcia narrows down the list, and brings back a list of names that is way too long to feasibly question.

"153 names," you huff, leaning over her shoulder as she scrolls down the list.

Emily frowns. "Well, he's not gonna use his own name."

"What kind of aliases should we be looking for?"

You all consider this, before Derek chimes in. "He could have easily stolen someone's identity."

Hotch shuts that idea down immediately. "No, he's a narcissist in love with his own mythology. He'd use a name connected with the case."

"A victim, maybe," you guess, "or a cop?"

Garcia doesn't find anything on the initial search, but thankfully Spencer suggests another approach. "Guys, Foyet likes things to have meaning to him. The eye of providence, the addresses in blood he wrote on the bus that led us back to him. Maybe he's doing the same thing with the alias."

Emily frowns. "Like an anagram or something?"

Spencer walks over to the white board and writes out George Foyet, before fiddling around with the spellings of possible anagrams. You walk up behind him and follow his movements along the board. "You see something, Spence?"

He shakes his head. "Not yet."

"Spencer," you interrupt as the realization comes to you, "he named himself The Reaper."

He pauses for a beat, before switching over to scrawling out possible anagrams for The Reaper instead. After a moment, he's done. "Peter Rhea."

Penelope is already searching. "There's a Peter Rhea in Arlington."

Rossi nods, a satisfied look on his face. "We found him."

***

Garcia sends out the address of an apartment in his name, and you drive over with Hotch, who doesn't say a word the whole way over. You keep glancing at him, trying to be discreet, but the tension in his posture doesn't fade, even after the breakthrough.

The apartment ends up being empty, but when you all go inside, there's a laptop sitting on the center table. Emily dials Garcia the moment you realize that the files on it are being remotely deleted, and when she hacks in, she comes across a series of surveillance photos that make you gasp out loud. "Oh my god, isn't that-"

"That's the US Marshall protecting my family." His face looks frozen with stress as he dials Marshall Kassmeyer's number. When the call goes to voicemail, Aaron stalks out of the apartment and to the SUVs parked out front. He doesn't wait for you to get in, before he's already driving off.

"Where is he going?" Emily calls out as she exits the building behind you.

"Kassmeyer's house," you say, almost certain that you're correct. With the knowledge that his family is most likely in immediate danger, there is nothing anyone could do to stop him from trying to save them. "I'm gonna follow him."

"Here," Rossi says, tossing his car keys to you. You accept them gratefully and speed off down the road.

~

Kassmeyer is bleeding out when you get to his house. Aaron is already inside, trying to get him to explain what happened, and when he describes how Foyet taunted him and stabbed him, you resist the urge to take Aaron's hand.

"Sam," he says suddenly, leaning over him. "I need to understand. Does he know where Jack and Haley are?"

Your heart rate skyrockets as Kassmeyer mumbles another apology. If Foyet knows where they are, you don't know if any of you will be able to get there in time.

The paramedics rush in then, and they carry Sam out to the awaiting ambulance as he refuses sedation. Aaron runs out after them and throws himself into the back of the ambulance before you can catch up.

~

Without any new leads, there's nowhere for you to go, so you wait out front in your SUV as you wrack your brain for where Foyet would have told Haley and Jack to go. You don't know how long it takes until another agent calls you from the hospital with the news that Marshall Kassmeyer died in surgery.

The news hits you like a ton of bricks. One more body you can attribute to The Reaper. "Is Agent Hotchner there?"

The voice is tinny over the line. "He took one of the SUVs and left a few minutes ago."

"Where?" You can hear how frantic your voice sounds, but you don't care. "Where did he go?"

"I'm not sure," the agent says. "He sped away before anyone could ask."

You hang up the phone and turn the car on, before pulling onto the street and calling the team line. Garcia picks up on the first ring.

"Sam died in surgery," you explain as you turn at the end of the street. "Hotch is already gone, but I'm gonna go to the hospital now in case someone has more info."

"Okay, honey," she says, patching in the rest of the team. When they answer, she repeats your statement, before she gets cut off. "Guys, Hotch is calling Foyet."

"Patch us in," Derek instructs over the line, before going silent. You mute yourself as well, before turning back to the road.

"Agent Hotchner."

Foyet's voice makes you nauseous, and you can practically hear the grin behind his words.

"If you touch her..." Aaron doesn't even finish the threat, but you can feel the rage within it.

"Be gentle, like I was with you?"

Your eyes prick with tears as you remember the scars that are now a permanent fixture on his body. The matching scars. The idea of Haley ending up the same way, or Jack-

"What the hell took you so long?" Foyet complains, his tone playful. "I was beginning to think this phone was dead or something."

Aaron doesn't answer him, and the anger is almost palpable over the line.

"Why so quiet? You usually lash out when you're frustrated."

"I'm not frustrated," he finally responds. "You're more predictable than you think."

"Am I?"

He starts to recount the tale of Foyet's life, weaving in details that you didn't know from his childhood and the pain he was causing before he was even old enough to drive. You suppose this was what all of those late nights at the office were for. You hope they were worth it.

"That's the thing, George," he continues, his voice suddenly softer. It's like he's pleading with him. "This isn't a fairy tale. You don't have to write this story. Haven't you gotten what you wanted?"

There's silence for a few moments, and you can hear your heartbeat in your skull. Eventually Foyet comes back. "You know what I've been thinking? Haley looks pretty good with dark hair."

Your heart falls into your stomach. He has her. He already has her.

"She's lost some weight. Must be all the stress you caused her."

Just when you think that might be the worst of it, he continues. "Where's the little man? Oh. There he is. Does he like Captain America because of you?"

He has them both. You can barely see the road through the anger and fear that is coursing through your veins. Another phone rings and Foyet answers it, leaving his line with Hotch on as well. "Mrs. Hotchner. I'm here. Open the gate and I'll drive in."

You can't hear her reply, before Foyet returns to the call you're listening to. "Aaron? I really gotta go."

The call disconnects, and you can't breathe. Open the gate. The gate. What gate?

Think, think, goddamnit think.

The answer hits you like a truck. "His house. They're at his old house."

Emily whispers something that sounds like "shit" and you swerve across the lanes to make a u-turn. "I'm heading there now."

Assuming Aaron was already heading back after leaving the hospital, he would reach the house before any of you. You can only hope he'll be there in time.

Your knuckles have turned white from how hard you're gripping the steering wheel, and when Garcia patches you all in for another call from Foyet, the tears are already flowing down your cheeks.

"Aaron?"

It's Haley's voice. You gasp out loud from the relief that she's still alive.

"You're okay?" She sounds so scared, but at least she's alive. That's all you can focus on right now.

Aaron answers with a defeated sigh. "I'm fine."

"But...he said that..." The realization hits her, and she lets out a small sob. "Oh, Aaron."

"He can hear us, right?"

"Yes."

His voice is softer then, wet with tears. "I am so sorry. Haley, show him no weakness, no fear."

"I know." Of course she does. She was married to a profiler for years. She knows what all of this means, but she doesn't deserve any of it. "Sam told me all about him. Is he, uh..."

"No," he says gently. "Sam is fine."

Foyet's voice is like the hiss of a snake as it joins the call. "Aaron, Aaron, Aaron. Is that why your marriage broke up, because you're a liar?" His voice is too close to the phone. You want to scream for him to get away from her, but you're not supposed to be listening, and your car isn't moving fast enough.

"He's trying to scare you, Haley." His voice is trembling, and you can hear the tightness behind each of his words.

When Foyet mentions the deal, your stomach roils with nausea. You can picture the exact look on Aaron's face as he blames himself for this entire situation, even though it's happening to him, not because of him.

"Don't react."

Haley's voice is shaking too as she whispers, "What is he talking about?"

"Tell Jack I need him working the case."

"What?" She sounds confused, and that's when you remember the signal he told you about. The words that only Jack knows that are meant to keep him safe from situations exactly like this.

"Tell Jack I need him working the case," he repeats, his voice steadier. But all of it goes away the moment Haley hands her son the phone.

"Hi, Daddy."

"Hi, buddy." His voice cracks and you feel your heart crack with it. The tears are rushing down your cheeks now, and you wipe them out of your eyes with the back of your hand as you get closer to the house. But not close enough.

Aaron tells him to work the case again, and he gives Haley a hug before rushing out of the room.

"He's so cute. He's like a little junior G-Man." Foyet chuckles, before yelling out. "I'll be right up, Jackie boy!"

Aaron ignores him, and you feel his focus return. "Is he gone?"

"Yes." Haley's voice is strong, and you release a single sigh of relief as you press the gas pedal down as hard as you can.

Aaron's voice returns and you can hear the anguish as he speaks. "You're so strong, Haley. You're stronger than I ever was."

"You'll hurry, right?" The fear in her voice breaks your heart, and you want to assure her that you're all doing everything you can, but you're still a few streets away.

"I know you didn't sign on for this."

Neither did you.

She echoes your thoughts. "Neither did you."

His voice breaks into a sob. "I'm sorry for everything."

"Promise me that you will tell him how we met and how you used to make me laugh."

"Haley..."

"He needs to know that you weren't always so serious, Aaron." Her words sound so final, and you can't imagine what Foyet is pointing at her right now, but you can only hope that Aaron gets there before it's too late. "I want him to believe in love, because it is the most important thing. But you need to show him." She sounds almost resolute, and your body floods with hope for a split second. "Promise me."

His breathing is ragged as he whispers, "I promise."

Three gunshots ring out and the wheel jerks in your hand as a painful sob wrenches from your throat. No, no, no.

~

You race out of your car the moment you pull to a stop in front of the house. There's only one other SUV outside, and you don't give yourself a moment to think as you rush inside, lifting your gun at the last second.

The front foyer is empty, but then a jagged thumping fills the air and you dart around the corner to find Aaron beating Foyet to a pulp. You can tell from where you're standing that he's already dead, but that doesn't seem to matter to him.

"Aaron!" you yell, hoping to break his reverie. His hands are covered in blood as he pounds the man's face in, and he doesn't look up until you grab him from behind and yank his arms back. "Aaron, he's dead. He's dead."

He stops moving, and for one single second, everything is still. Then his body pitches forward and he breaks down as he sobs, his hands coming up like he's begging for the pain to go away.

You clutch him as tightly as you can, like if you hold him close enough, he won't fall apart. You can hear the voices of your teammates as they enter the house, but then his head lifts and he pulls himself up, dashing down the hall. You follow after him, rushing past Morgan and Rossi, and you realize where he's going in real time as he runs into his office and kneels down beside his desk.

Please, please, not him. Just not him. He opens the cabinet and you all share a gasp of relief as Jack's little face peeks out, his skin unmarred.

"I worked the case, Daddy. Just like you said."

Aaron reaches in and picks him up, before squeezing him tightly, his little face glancing around the room in confusion.

"You did a great job, buddy." He releases him after a few moments, before handing him off to JJ to go outside and away from the carnage littering the house. You press a kiss to his forehead before she lifts him up and walks out of the room.

Emily looks at you then, concern flashing in her eyes, but you just nod, and she follows JJ, pulling the door closed behind her.

You turn back around just in time to catch Aaron as he collapses to the floor. The weight sends you both to your knees, and he crushes you to him as you hold him as tightly as you can. His sobs mix in with your own, and you try not to let your body shake from the force of your crying, because you need to be strong for him.

He buries his face into your neck, his tears mixing with the blood on his face as it soaks your shirt and vest.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper into his hair. It doesn't feel like enough, but there's nothing else to say. "I'm so sorry."

~

Derek and Emily come back with the paramedics eventually to take him outside to check for injuries, and you're about to follow after them when something catches your eye. A pair of feet invade your periphery as you glance through a doorway down the hall. Oh god.

Your knees buckle and Derek catches you before you stumble forward into her room. You fall to your knees beside her, and you vaguely hear Emily whisper something behind you before there's just silence.

Her eyes are already closed, and if you really wanted to, you could try to pretend that she was just sleeping, but there's too much blood. You reach out to push her short hair back from her forehead, so that you can see her face one last time. One last time.

A sob rips out of you and you take her hand, pressing it to your lips. The scene is suddenly too much, and you close your eyes before letting out a shaky breath. You don't know what your life is going to look like without her presence. What Aaron's life with look like, or Jack's.

You squeeze her hand again before laying it on her stomach, and Emily comes forward then to help you up. Derek holds the door open as she leads you outside, and helps you tear your vest off the moment you hit the fresh afternoon air.

You bend over, hands on your knees, gulping back fresh air and trying not to throw up. Emily pats your back as you take in deep breaths, rubbing comforting circles that help to calm down your heart rate.

When you look up, you spot Aaron sitting on the edge of an ambulance. The medics are cleaning his cuts, and one of them is holding an ice pack to his head, when you walk over to survey the damage.

He doesn't look up when you approach, instead staring at his bloody hands with a look you can't discern. You can't imagine what he must be thinking right now, but if you know him at all, you know that sometimes you don't need to talk.

You reach down and take his hands, holding them in yours with a tight grip that forces him to look at you. Neither of you says anything, but it's okay, because there is nothing left to say. There will be soon, but not right now.

***

"We'll be back in a couple of hours," Jess tells you as she slings her purse over her shoulder.

You nod at her as you pick Jack off the ground and swing him up into your arms. "Take your time. We'll be hanging out here."

Aaron beckons for Jess to walk out in front of him before he dips his chin at you. "Thank you again."

"Of course," you smile, shaking your head. They're going to make the last arrangements for the funeral, and the absolute least you can do is watch Jack while they're away.

"Can we watch cartoons?" Jack asks the moment the front door shuts behind them.

"Soon, baby," you laugh lightly, before placing him on the ground and leading him to the kitchen. "We gotta make lunch first."

You throw together two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and bring them to the breakfast table, where Jack is obediently scribbling away at his coloring book. "Here you go, Jack-o-lantern."

He takes a massive bite before you can sit down, but over the next ten minutes, he only manages to finish about half of the sandwich. "I'm done."

"You sure?" you ask, scrunching your face into a playful frown. "I think you got at least a couple more bites in you."

He shakes his head forcefully, before dropping the sandwich onto his plate. You know he doesn't usually eat much, but he hasn't eaten since breakfast hours ago. "Come on, hon, at least another big bite."

"No!" he yells, pushing the plate away from him. Before you can stop him, he jumps off of his chair and races out of the kitchen, towards his bedroom.

You hear the door slam shut behind him, and you heave out a sigh before clearing away both of your plates and wiping down the counter. You don't fault him for anything, you just can't believe he has to go through something like this.

He's so young. Younger than you were when you lost your mom. There's some comfort in the fact that he likely won't remember this pain when he's older, but then comes the nausea. The sickening reminder that one day he'll forget about her. Haley, his mother, your best friend's wife, your friend.

You slowly make your way to his room, knocking on the door twice before calling out his name. When he doesn't answer, you twist the knob and gently open the door. "Jack?"

He doesn't say anything as you cross the room and sit on the floor in front of him. He's fiddling around with a set of colorful wooden blocks, and he only looks at you once you pick one up yourself. The edges have been worn smooth from being tossed around, and you run your fingers against them as you wait for him to speak.

"Did Mommy want to leave?"

You can practically hear your heart crack in two as the block falls from your hand. Tears spring to your eyes, but you blink them back, not wanting to scare him.

"No, baby, no," you say quickly, reaching forward to rub your thumb over his cheek. "She loved you more than anything in this world."

He still doesn't look convinced, so you rest your palms on his cheeks, trying to get him to look at you. "If it was her choice, she would have never left you."

After a moment, his lips jut out into a pout, but he nods once. "Is Daddy gonna leave too?"

The tears rush forward again. You want to tell him that Aaron would never leave him, that he may be gone most nights until after Jack is asleep, and sometimes even before he's up for breakfast, but he would never leave. But you also know that Haley didn't want to either, but sometimes the job takes more than you're willing to give. "He's not going to leave you. Not if he can help it."

That seems to calm him down for the time being, so you take his hand and lead him back to the living room. Once he's situated on the couch, you switch on his cartoons for him, turning the volume down low.

He settles into the cushion next to you, his arm resting on your thigh as he focuses on the screen in front of him, while your eyes wander down to the small tv stand. They land on a framed photo of Haley and Jess together, smiling at the camera as the sun shines down on their faces, and you lift your hand to your mouth to stifle the tears that rush forward.

When your eyes pan over to the photo of you and her, with Aaron and Jess right behind you, the tears stream down your cheeks, and you wipe them away quickly, trying to be quiet so as not to call away Jack's attention. But the cartoons are too quiet, and when a small sob escapes, Jack looks up, his brow furrowing with a look reminiscent of his father. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, baby," you nod, forcing a smile onto your face as you look down at him and press a kiss to his temple. "I just loved your mom very much."

***

The ground is still wet from the rain. It squelches beneath your feet as Jess clutches onto your arm, letting you lead her across the cemetery for the service.

You walk behind the pallbearers as they bring Haley to the top of the open grass and set her down carefully with a reverence that brings tears to your eyes again. You don't know if your eyes have been dry at any moment today, but the tears haven't spilled over yet. It's only a matter of time.

Aaron is ahead of everyone, looking down at the small sheet of paper in his hands, with Jack by his side. The young boy looks so small in his suit, and his eyes dart around the procession with a mix of confusion and sadness that pierces your chest.

When Aaron is ready to begin, Jessica lets go and walks up to stand on his other side, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Your arm feels cold where she used to be, but it doesn't last long as another hand takes its place. You turn your head to see Spencer, one hand on his cane, and the other on your arm, as he holds you tightly to his side, his eyes brimming with tears as well. You don't expect that there's a dry eye in the crowd.

Aaron starts his speech with a quote, but the steadiness in his voice starts to waver the moment he says her name. "Haley was my best friend since we were in high school."

You remember how fiercely he loved her, even back then. The tenacity with which he pursued her when he realized that she was someone he wanted to spend his life with.

His voice continues as his eyes dip down. "We certainly had our struggles, but if there's one thing we agreed on unconditionally, it was our love and commitment to our son Jack." Your tears surface again, but you suck them back with a deep breath. "Haley's love for Jack was joyous and fierce. That fierceness is why she isn't here today."

Aaron looks up then, and his eyes land on the casket in front of him. "A mother's love is an unrivaled force of nature. And we can all learn much from the way Haley lived her life."

His hand flexes at his side, and you wish desperately that you were up there with him, holding his hand like he held yours when your mother died.

"I will make sure that Jack grows up knowing who his mother was and how she loved and protected him and how much I loved her."

His voice breaks and he reaches into his pocket for the scrap of paper he was looking at earlier. "I met Haley at the tryouts of our high school's production of 'The Pirates of Penzance'. I found our copy of the play and was looking through it the other night, and I came upon a passage that seemed appropriate for this moment."

The quote comes back to you as he recites it, and your mind flashes back to those adolescent afternoons when you would watch him make a fool of himself trying to impress Haley at play practice. You can't help yourself as the tears finally fall, and you feel Spencer squeeze your hand tightly, acting as the lifeline you so earnestly need.

When he finishes his speech, everyone comes forward to place white roses on her casket before it is lowered into the ground. You wait as the crowd slowly dissipates, as everyone heads to the repast, and you hold Jess's hand while Aaron picks Jack up, holding him tightly.

"Blow Mommy a kiss," he whispers, before leaning over to let Jack place a rose on the casket.

His brow furrows as he straightens again, and you watch as the familiar stoicism returns to his posture. He isn't pushing all of his emotions down, exactly. He's just tucking them away, so as to be there for his son, who needs a solid figure in his life, now more than ever.

And that's what he'll be.

***

The repast is bustling with people from all eras of Haley's life, and you sit with the team at a large table, staring at your plate of food. When Dave pulls Aaron outside to talk, you watch them leave, noting the stiffness in his shoulders as he's forced to leave Jack with Jess again. She has been nothing but grateful to see her nephew more often than usual, but nonetheless, he wears his guilt like a jagged scar across his face.

Penelope clutches your hand under the table and you give her a weak nod, unable to do more with all of the energy drained from you.

"It was a beautiful service," Emily says, her eyes big and soft as they look at you.

You nod again, before turning back to your full plate. You can't bear the thought of stomaching any food right now.

Then just when you think the day can't get any worse, Derek and JJ's phones chirp with a message at the same time. No. No.

"They can't be calling us in," Emily sighs, her lips thinning, "not tonight."

JJ shakes her head. "I'm on it." She returns from her phone call a minute later with a forlorn look. "There's no other team available."

Derek gets up with a sigh. "I'll get Rossi."

When he returns with Dave, leaving Aaron alone on the deck, you squeeze Penelope's hand before walking outside. The air is cold, and you wrap your shawl tighter around your shoulders as you approach him.

"It's okay," he says before you can open your mouth. "I'll see you when you get back."

Mind reader, you think for a split second.

He has already given you the blessing you assumed you needed when you came out here, but it still doesn't feel right. "I don't want to go."

"It's your job," he shrugs. Like it's that simple. "It's okay."

"Are you sure?" You won't be able to do your job with him here, but even less so if you're feeling guilty the whole time. "I can take time off."

"No," he says quietly, shaking his head. He looks out into the night air, and you take his hand, squeezing it between both of yours. "It'll be good for me to have some time with Jack."

You can understand that. You pull him into a hug, before dipping your chin into a nod and leaving him out there again.

***

His return to work hasn't been easy. When Strauss gave him the option to retire with full pension and benefits, it should have been an easy decision, but something was tugging at his gut, telling him that would be the wrong choice.

Now he's sitting in his office, and all of his recent life choices are swirling around him like a hurricane ready to close in. He misses Jack like he's missing a limb, and he feels terrible for how often he's been relying on Jess to take care of him, even though she readily offered her help.

His emotions are a tumbling mess, and he doesn't notice that his fingers have been tapping the edge of his desk until you enter his office.

"Coffee?" He looks up with a nod, accepting the steaming cup you hand him, before you flop down on the couch across from him. "What are you thinking about?"

He swallows back a scalding gulp that likely scorched his throat on the way down. He wants to push his emotions down and say something quippy that won't distract you for more than a few moments, but tonight he needs reassurance more than he's willing to admit. "Did I come back too early?"

He expects an immediate and bombastic denial, but you just sit there, stirring your black coffee as you tuck your legs under you. "I can't decide that for you."

It's a diplomatic answer, but he needs guidance, and he doesn't have anyone else to go to. Not that he would go to anyone else even if he did. "Do you think I'm jeopardizing the team by being here?"

This time, the answer is immediate. "Of course not. You've been doing your job effectively, and no one can say otherwise."

He pauses for a moment, ruminating over your words. He knows he's not asking the right questions. He's just delaying until he has to accept what he's feeling.

With a shaky breath, he sets his coffee down and looks at you. "Am I jeopardizing my family by being here?"

Your brows pinch. "Jack will be okay. He's young, and he'll miss you, but you're his hero, Aaron. He loves you because you keep him safe."

"But I'm never home." His voice sounds ragged to his own ears, and he's certain you can hear the pain clawing out of his throat. "How am I doing my job as a father if I'm never there?"

"Aaron," you whisper, drawing his eyes back to yours. "You're keeping him safe by catching the bad guys. He knows that. And that's what he needs." You fix him with a look that makes his back straighten. "Okay?"

After a moment, he nods. "Okay."

***

"Hi, Hales."

You sink down onto the bench in front of her headstone, before pulling the baggie of peach rings you brought from your pocket. They were the only candy you liked from your high school's vending machine, and the two of you would share them between classes during your senior year.

"I should've come sooner, but work's been really busy."

You've only visited her once since the funeral six months ago, and you wish you could've come by more, but sometimes being here is just too much. It's too stark of a reminder that she's never coming back.

You pop another peach ring in your mouth, before breaking into a grin. "Jack's growing up so fast. He's so resilient, it's amazing." He has already adjusted to living in his father's apartment full time, and he seems to like hanging out with you or Jess whenever he's stuck at work late. "I wish you could be here to see it all."

You wish for a lot of things these days. The loss seems to keep piling up, and you don't know what to do or how to feel most of the time, but time keeps passing. And with it, so does the grief.

"Aaron's starting to get better too." You don't know what you believe, but a part of you suspects she knows all of this already. "The transition back was hard on all of us, but he doesn't look as defeated all the time anymore." Your lip twitches. "He even smiles at my jokes sometimes."

You swear you hear her laughter over the rustling of the wind, but it's probably just in your head. "Anyway, I just wanted to come see you. Let you know how much we miss you."

You stand up, grabbing the bouquet from next to you, and walk over to the headstone. Without thinking, you reach into your bag of candy and drop a peach ring into the dirt. It feels juvenile, even as you're doing it, but you can't help yourself. She would find it funny. You know she would.

You tuck the rest into your pocket and walk across the grass to another row of stones. It's not a quick stroll, but it gives you enough time to take a few deep breaths before you face him again.

Jeff Adler. The letters jump out at you like flashing lights, and you blink a few times as the magnitude of your loss washes over you. So many lives, so much love and warmth gone from your life.

Bending down, you place the bouquet of carnations in front of his headstone, before kissing your fingertips and pressing them to his name.

***

"You've got to be kidding."

He just shrugs, but there's a small smile tugging at his lips. You make sure to keep your voice down as you toss your cards into the center pile and lean back against the bottom of his couch.

After putting Jack to bed, neither of you could think of anything quiet to do until Aaron pulled out a deck of cards from below the tv stand.

"I hate that you're so good at this," you grumble, watching as he deftly splits the deck and starts shuffling again. This being Go Fish.

"You're good, too," he concedes, flashing you an amused look that you don't share.

"Yeah, but you're better."

"As with most things."

You throw a card at him, but he dodges it easily. When he's finished shuffling, he deals out a card, before pausing. "We can play something else if you don't think you can beat me."

"Just deal the cards."

He lets out a low laugh and deals out another card, just as both of your cellphones chirp at the same time. You share a look before dropping the cards on the table. He stands first and gives you a hand up, which you accept.

"I'll call Jess," you whisper as he strides over to his bedroom to get his go-bag. You dial her quickly, and get the confirmation that she's coming over, before grabbing your own bag and heading out to his car.

***

"Sorry to ruin your night."

Everyone is in casual clothing when you walk into the briefing room with Aaron on your heels. JJ shoots you an apologetic look which quickly turns to surprise when Rossi walks in wearing a full tux.

"What, are you working on, wife number 4?" Derek laughs as he sets his bag down.

Dave just grumbles. "I see you people way too much."

"I hear that," you grin before taking your usual seat between Aaron and Spencer.

"Let's get started." JJ hands out the case files and clicks the screen on. "All right. Anchorage field office is asking us to investigate a series of murders in Franklin, Alaska. There's 3 people dead in less than a week."

You scan the file as fast as you can, but Spencer beats you to it. "For a town with a population of 1,476, that's fairly significant."

JJ nods. "It's their first murder investigation on record."

"Who are the victims?" Dave asks, his eyes darting back and forth between the file and the screen.

JJ looks down at her notes. "Uh, Jon Baker, a hunter. Dedaimia Swanson, a schoolteacher. Brenda Bright, the first mate on a fishing boat. There's a new victim every 2 days."

Everyone seems to be thinking the same thing, but Emily gives it a voice. "Any connections?"

"Unfortunately, in a town this small, everyone's connected."

When JJ finishes up the briefing, Aaron stands up and grabs his bag. "We'll fly out tonight. Everybody can sleep on the plane. Garcia, I need you with us."

She shoots him a confused look. "Sir?"

"I've tasked a satellite uplink and it's your job to keep us connected."

"Yes, sir."

"This town's already on the brink," he continues with a sigh, "and if this pattern continues, we've only got another day until the next murder. Let's finish this fast."

***

After barely getting any sleep on the plane ride over, and a long day in the cold, the team holes up in the lobby of a local inn, warming up around the fire.

"I'm gonna pull an all-nighter," Garcia announces when you stifle a yawn behind your fist. "I'll finish going through the town records. Should have background checks by sunrise."

"Good," Aaron nods, sitting up on the couch. "The rest of us should get some sleep, start fresh in the morning."

At his suggestion, the innkeeper steps out from behind her desk. "I've got four of the upstairs rooms available."

"Uh, 4?" Spencer squeaks, his eyes darting around the room.

"Come on," the sheriff sighs as he stands up, "that's the best we can do. Your team is double the size of my department." He glances at Aaron and they share a nod. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Good night."

The sheriff walks out of the inn and you lean back on the couch, turning your head to the side to look at Aaron. The question in your eyes is implicit. What's the plan?

"It looks like we'll have to double up," Emily answers for you, her lips stretching into a grin.

Derek speaks up immediately. "I'm not sleeping with Reid."

Penelope reaches over and grabs Derek's arm. "Dibs."

Emily and JJ stand together and head upstairs, and you glance at Aaron with a nod. "Let's find one of the double rooms before Emily snags it."

"Guess it's you and me, kid," Dave says to Spencer as you grab a key from the front desk and pick up your bag. The inn is so small that all of your rooms end up being in the same hallway. You leave the door open behind you as you step inside and toss your bag onto the nearest bed.

Aaron enters after you and locks the door, before wordlessly moving your bag to the other bed, away from the door. It takes you less than a second to realize why. His protective nature was always strong, but over the past year, it has kicked into overdrive, especially around you and Jack.

"Do you want first shower?" you ask as you unzip your bag and pull out a tee shirt and some sleep shorts.

"You take it," he says, shaking his head. The chilliness of the outside air hasn't left your bones, so you don't wait for him to change his mind before grabbing your toiletries and rushing into the bathroom.

While you're in the shower, Aaron takes his time fluffing out the comforter and pillows on his bed. The room itself isn't very spacious, but he doesn't mind sharing with you. The close quarters remind him of his youth when he would sneak into your room late at night to get away from his family. Just the sight of the lights through your bedroom window used to bring him peace. When he glances over at your side of the room, a tranquility washes over him, and he realizes that the feeling hasn't really gone away.

"Your turn," you say a little later when you emerge from the bathroom. Your skin is still slightly damp, and your cheeks are pink from the heat of the shower, and he has to tear his eyes away as he nods and steps around you.

The tiny mirror in the bathroom is still steamy when he shuts the door behind him and pulls off his shirt, and he lifts his hand to wipe it off, before pausing. His scars aren't something he likes to think about often, but after saving Jack, they took on a different image in his mind. He felt less like a victim.

He rubs his hand against the mirror to wipe off some of the condensation, and his reflection looks tense as it stares back at him. Back in the room, your presence felt warm and comfortable, but in here, with the steam fogging up the glass, and the scent of your perfume lingering in the air, something else roils in his gut.

It's a not-so-unfamiliar feeling that used to be commonplace when he was younger. It hadn't reared its head in years, but lately, it's been so much harder to push it down. When he sees how much his son loves you, how much he looks forward to finding you in his apartment when he gets back from a late meeting. It's been...hard.

He turns on the shower and steps in, letting the hot water wash away the notions tickling the edge of his brain. When he walks back into the room, you are tucked into your bed, the covers up to your chin.

"You look like a burrito," he notes with a small laugh.

You shrug, though it's barely visible from under the comforter. "I find this is the best way to keep out the Arctic chill that seems to have invaded our lodgings."

"Fair enough."

He slides into his own bed and clicks the switch on the wall to turn the lights off. He tries to sleep for a few minutes, but even though he's exhausted, it won't come.

It's dark enough that he can't see his fingers in front of his face, but the uneven sounds of your breathing let him know that you're still awake.

"You should really sleep," he whispers into the darkness.

"You first," you say after a moment, before your voice lowers. "How are you doing? How are you holding up, I mean."

"How are you doing?" he asks, knowing he's being unfair.

You don't let it slide this time. "You're deflecting."

"I know."

There's a pause before he finally concedes. "I think I'm okay. The normalcy is coming back, and Jack is doing a lot better, which helps immensely."

"Me too," you say after a beat.

He wants to let the subject go and try to sleep, but the words are pulling at his throat. "I miss her all the time."

"Me too," you repeat. You huff out a husky laugh, but there's no humor behind it. "God, me too."

There's a tinge of bitterness in your voice that he recognizes in himself, but it's not something he knows if he can explain. He remembers how a small part of you blamed Jeff after his death, but that's nothing like what he's feeling. He blames himself for everything but the act itself, knowing that if he had just gotten there quicker, or taken the deal, or taken the transfer-

His breath catches and he hears you rustle under your covers. He imagines you turning to face him, and as his eyes slowly adjust he sees that he was right.

"Do you remember that time in high school," he says suddenly, not entirely sure where he's going with this, "when I got detention."

"I'm gonna need you to be more specific."

He laughs, in spite of himself, and turns over to face you as well. You're so far away, but he can just barely make out your face from across the room. "When you broke me out."

Your laughter is sudden and it echoes around the small room as the memory hits you. "I do remember that. I told them your grandfather was in the hospital so that they would let you out. God, Mrs. Parker was so upset when she went to get you."

"I think my favorite part of the story was that both of my grandfathers died before I could walk."

You chuckle, your voice softer now. "I know."

His chest warms at the memory of the two of you running out to your car and driving to get a scoop of chocolate at your favorite ice cream shop. Even afterwards, you had driven around town for hours, without a complaint, and he hadn't mentioned the time once. It was so soon after his dad's death, and he hated going home for so many reasons. Sean hated him, and his mother was sad all of the time, and it was like you just knew.

"You were good at reading me," he whispers, almost to himself.

"Were good?" you ask with mock offense.

He snorts. "Fine, are good at reading me."

"That's more like it."

***

You drop your empty glass back on the table, feeling the burn of the liquor as you swallow it down. It's your second drink of the night, and while you usually don't indulge in more than one, you welcome the chance to let loose.

Everyone else seems to be in the same mindset, because JJ, Emily, and Penelope are in various states of drunkenness around the booth, and the men are either nursing a drink or driving.

"Let's dance," JJ shrieks, lifting her head off of Will's shoulder and pushing herself up from the booth.

"Hell yeah," Emily grins, pulling you and Penelope up with her.

JJ tries to corral the guys to join, but they all stay firmly seated. Dave and Will look content as they sip their whiskey, and Spencer doesn't budge, citing his leg hurting (a lie). After a bit of targeted shoving, Derek chuckles and gets up for one dance, following Penelope and JJ onto the dance floor.

"Aaaaaron," you slur, tugging his arm. He doesn't move even an inch, but the corner of his lip twitches when you don't give up.

"You used to dance in college," you point out with a frown.

Emily hoots as she saunters over to the floor. "This I need to see."

Aaron just shakes his head with a smile, and you eventually oblige, joining the ladies (and Derek) for a few dances. The dark atmosphere of the club has you feeling looser than you have in a long time, and after the next song, you join Dave over at the bar to get another drink.

You down half of it before you leave the counter, and by this point, JJ has coaxed Will out of his seat, while Spencer rushes off to find the bathroom. The tiredness hits you as soon as you finish the drink, and when you spot Aaron by himself at the booth, you glide back to keep him company.

He doesn't notice you at first as you walk over to him, and you can't help but register that he looks good in his undone button-down. You take another step forward and a thin glint of metal around his neck becomes visible. A jolt of heat shoots down your body and you set your glass down on a nearby table without looking as you approach him.

When you reach the edge of the bench, someone walking by bumps into you and you stumble forward. Aaron grabs onto you as you fall forward, and you end up crushed in his arms, your face just inches from his. Your thoughts cut out and you don't make a sound, your breaths coming out in quick spurts.

Neither one of you moves as you look at each other, so so close, so much closer than you've ever been, than you've ever gotten to be. The faintest impression of a thought - the thought - crosses the deepest edges of your mind as you lean in infinitesimally. He doesn't notice, and you barely register it either, but you can't help but notice how easy it would be to just close the gap and kiss him.

Kiss him?

Your brain short-circuits and you just barely manage to keep your eyes from widening. You have no idea where that came from, but then again, if you are honest with yourself, it has always been there, buried deep down beneath years of friendship and history.

The question invades your brain again, and this time, you're unable to stop it. What would it be like to kiss him?

You can't keep your breath from catching, and he pulls back immediately, tugging you to the side and depositing you on the booth beside him.

Your mouth falls open as you try to meet his eye. "Aaron-"

His head turns and he stands up, his eyes dark under the soft lighting. "I'm sorry."

Before you can get another word out, he's gone.

TAGLIST: @citrusiove, @yiiiikesmish, @sanayikes, @mdanon027, @alice-w0rld, @beata1108, @bakugocanstompme, @raely-study, @himboelover, @hermionegalathynius, @rousethemouse, @calif0rniadreamin, @tolerateit13, @delusional-13s-blog, @madesavage05, @littlemisskavities, @love13tter, @domithebomi, @guacam011y, @averyhotchner, @silver-studios, @whosmys (message me to be added!)

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #hotch x reader #hotch x female!reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #criminal minds #penelope garcia #spencer reid #derek morgan #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #david rossi #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner series #criminal minds series #criminal minds season five #hotch fic #criminal minds fanfiction #anchor series #anchor

[mountainficss]

HIHIHIII 🦈 HERE !!! having a wonwoo thoughts again .. (im crazy in love with that man.) but anyways thinking abt him making u wear his glasses while he fucks u cuz it just turns him on ..

or vice versa where he wears his glasses just cuz he likes to see every expression and reaction u have while he fucks u😭😭😭

anyways love u take ur time cuz poopoo bum school is a pain in the ass giving u all these assignments u got important things to do. like writing these fics (super important business!!!) LOVE U 💗

-🦈🦈🦈

HIHIHI ANON I MISSED YOU AND I LOVE YOU SM! 🩶🩶🩶 no and honestly i feel you wonwoo is so pretty…i have the fattest crush on him it’s unhealthy. and omg i know school is so lame 🙄 it’s never even hard work it’s just sooo time consuming. i’m telling you my professors want me to be bored out of my mind. but anyway!

ohhh the idea of wonwoo being turned on by you wearing his glasses is so…UGH i love that. you’d probably just snatch them off his face for fun, running away with them and sliding them on to see his reaction. you’d smile at him widely and you’d be met with an astounded look from wonwoo. he would know you took them just to mess around and had an innocent intent, but oh seeing you in his glasses would turn him ON. his brain would flash him an image of you underneath him wearing nothing but his glasses, and he would feel his cock immediately stiffen in his pants. he’d hastily make his way over to you and pick you up, practically throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you to your shared bedroom. in seconds wonwoo would be tearing off your clothes, giving you needy kisses while you let out dreamy sighs. his glasses would still sit cutely on the end of your nose, and your eyes would meet his through the lenses with a dazed look. he felt like he was going insane seeing you looking so cute in his glasses. and your bare body would just make his cock throb harder. “keep them on,” he’d command breathlessly, tugging his shirt over his head and untying his sweats. “’m gonna fuck you while you wear those.” you’d smile devilishly at him as he fishes his cock out of his boxers, twisting his hand around it and throwing his head back in pleasure. “do i look cute in them?” you’d tease, reaching a hand up to adjust them playfully. wonwoo would groan as he peered down at you, fisting his cock faster at your actions. “you look so good,” he’d sigh, feeling you wrap your legs around him and pull him closer. “need to feel you.” he’d line his length up to your hole, pushing in slowly as both of you gasp at the stretch. he’d bottom out in one thrust, your tight heat making him feel dizzy. he’d study your face as he gives you time to adjust, admiring the soft blush on your cheeks and your cute expressions as he starts to rut into you. his cock always made you feel so full, and this time would be no different as he glides easily into you. he’d cup your cheek with one hand and you’d wrap both of your hands around his forearm, turning your head to teasingly kiss his palm. he mutters a small fuck and runs his thumb along the temple of his glasses, feeling you tighten around him. “can i take these back, baby?” he’d ask, his voice strained from trying to hold back his quickly-approaching orgasm. “need to see you. wanna see the faces you make.” you’d chuckle at him asking for permission as if they weren’t his glasses, releasing his arm to take them off. you’d slide them back on his face slowly, watching the moment he seems to really see you. his pupils would dilate at the sight of your lewd expressions, and he’d struggle to not roll his eyes back in ecstasy at the way you look at him. his hips would pound into you with quick thrusts, repeatedly hitting your sweet spot and bringing you closer to climax. “you’re so pretty,” he’d mumble mindlessly, leaning in to press a kiss onto your forehead. “really like when you wear my glasses.” you’d thread your fingers through his hair, gripping the strands as your orgasm washes over you in a powerful wave, threatening to send wonwoo over the edge too. he fucks you through your climax, feeling his cock pulsing inside of your heat and filling you full of his cum with a drawn-out moan. he’d hover over your weak form as you both try to catch your breath. “well,” you’d pant, releasing your grip on his hair and running your fingers through it to soothe the sting. “i like when you wear them too.” <3

taglist: @imprettyweird , @jeonghanpill , @bangantokchy , @caratboy , @bewoyewo , @c-hanniehae , @wonvsmile , @haolovre , @aaniag

#thoughts #seventeen #seventeen smut #smut #svt smut #wonwoo smut #seventeen wonwoo #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo #wonu #mountainficss

[tddyhyck]

hii!! i think that 26 and 30 would actually be perfect for jeno idk whyy but it’s just giving it 😭😭😭

kit kat [ l.jn ]

i think i’m really in my jenore (jeno whore) era

pairings ⇢ jeno x afab!reader

warnings ⇢ smut, masturbation, oral sex (f receiving)

prompts ⇢ “ come here, you can sit on my lap till i’m finished.” + “stop doing that.”

word count ⇢ 1.5k

masterlist

“how much longer?” you ask, leaning over your boyfriend's shoulder and peering at the screen in front of him. he’d been working on a paper for god knows how long and you just wanted 5 maybe 10 minutes of his time.

“not too much longer. come here, you can sit on my lap until i’m finished.” he offers glancing up at you before pushing his chair back and making room for you to squeeze onto his lap.

you slide in front of him lifting his arms to go around you breaking his concentration as he stares up at you, his eyelids slightly droopy and hair ruffled. you bring your legs to either side of him straddling him before sitting down squirming and attempting to get comfy. finally, you shift in his lap draping your legs over his, head falling into the crook of his neck.

once you finally felt comfortable tucked into his chest and listening to his fingers click the keyboard. you reach your hand up to brush through his hair twisting the ends between your thumb and forefinger. he feels so warm but not too hot, and welcoming like a warm fuzzy bed after a long day.

you study his profile, eyes dancing from the hair falling over his eyebrows to his glasses covering soft eyes that are flicking from his fingers to the monitor to his notes, drifting to his perfectly placed beauty mark, then down to his perfectly sculpted nose that you kissed more than really was necessary. your eyes finally stopped at his lips, a perfect supple pout, bottom lip pulled between his teeth in concentration. your digits still fiddle with the short hairs at the nape of his neck but your eyes didn’t move away from his lips.

mind drifting to thoughts good and pure like kissing him softly or feeding him strawberries while you sat on a picnic blanket. but then slipping to corrupt and vulgar like the way they wrapped so beautifully around your nipple while he looked up at you teasingly or how good they felt suckling your clit when his head was between your legs. you so enjoyed all the sweet words that fell from them but even more, so the dirty whispers that would tickle the shell of your ear while he was inside of you.

you really didn’t mean to make yourself horny and needy for his touch. you always felt if you were with him long enough your brain turned to disgusting slutty mush. desperate for any sort of friction to distract you from the heat pooling between your legs, your other hand drifted between your body first just laying over your core trying to seem inconspicuous.

you wondered how many words until he was finished and if you could type them while he ate you out. you didn’t realize you were pouting and holding air in your cheeks until he glanced down at you and smiled making you puff out the air and smile back. he didn’t look away letting his gaze linger on you for a moment more before turning his attention back to the screen.

“once i finish this page i’ll take a break,” he promised. it didn’t really register all you knew was that his lips were moving and sound was escaping. did they always look so pretty when he spoke, they probably did but you hadn’t been staring so intently at them.

you nodded pushing your hand to rub over your clothed clit. would it be so bad if you got off to your studious boyfriend who was perfectly placed in front of you? you tried to seem calm, cool, and collected as your hand kneaded your center letting your head fall back onto jeno’s chest.

you didn’t think he could tell he was way too focused on his paper to feel you start grinding against your palm right? or see you pull your lip between your teeth and close your eyes focusing on feeling relief from the pulsing between your legs.

“stop doing that,” you halt embarrassed, pulling your hand from between your legs but keeping your eyes closed, afraid to see his face. you could feel your cheeks warming and your belly flipping. “don’t act shy all of the sudden,” he says, gripping your wrist. you open your eyes looking up at him innocently. “what were you doing?”

“just, nothing,” he scoffed, leaning back in his chair you could feel his muscles tense beneath you.

“didn't look like nothing.”

“sorry I, just.” you pause trying and failing to find the words you wanted.

“why don’t you show me?” you didn’t expect him to say that if anything you expected him to make you go to the bedroom, strip, and wait for him.

“uh i,” you stutter.

“well go on. show me the nothing you were doing.” you gape at him as he releases your wrist bringing his arms from around you to rest behind his head. you bring your hand between your legs spreading them slightly, again focusing on your throbbing clit through your clothes. he brings a hand to your chin to grasp and make you face him. he stares down at you but his eyes are soft but his demeanor is assertive. you continue kneading and pressing against yourself but it’s frustrating through all the fabric and it makes you whine in annoyance.

“what is it?” he asks, tilting your chin up.

“not enough,” you simply respond. he doesn’t say anything back, letting go of your chin, putting a hand on each of your hips to push you up to your feet in front of him. you stagger caught off guard by the sudden movement. he reaches around you, closing his laptop and moving it along with his notes to the side.

“sit,” you put your hands on the table behind you before jumping up to sit. he pulls his chair closer, tugging at your waistband and pulling down your sweats easily, and spreading your legs. he looks up at you from his chair expectantly and you move your hand back between your legs. fingers brushing over the damp fabric of your panties, legs bucking.

“better,” he asks, fingers smoothing over the meat of your inner thigh.

“un huh,” you nod, digits figure-eighting your clit through your wet panties. his face moves closer to your covered core you can feel his breath fanning over your thigh as he moves closer. it makes you nervous but aroused at the same time the way he’s watching you grind against your quick fingers.

“did you think i wouldn’t notice?” he asks, quirking a brow up at you. you shook your head feeling your stomach tighten from the pleasure. his fingers dance closer to your core making your skin tickle and tingle from his feathery touches. he grabs your wrist stopping your movements and making you whine and pout but he just shushes you before jerking your hands away from your core.

you look down at him bucking your hips trying to protest, but he just smirks before bringing his hands to toy with you. letting his digits dance over your damp core watching the way your legs shiver with each of his touches. he uses one hand and pulls your panties to the side exposing your cunt, he blows cool air against your sticky center watching the way it makes you shiver and your toes curl against the edge of the table.

he brings his face closer licking a strip up your cunt letting it linger against your clit for a second before pulling his head back only to dive back in again. sloppily lapping at your clit before sucking it into his mouth the wet slurping sounds filling the room along with your airy moans. you lean back arms no longer have any use in supporting you sliding back against the cool table. he uses his other hand to press your leg back giving him more access to continue indulging in your taste.

“fuck, jeno,” you whimper between mewling into your palm. your other hand gripping your breast nails digging into the supple skin. “i’m gonna cum.” he doesn’t let up chasing your high for you, tongue lapping at your stiff clit perfectly. he wraps his lips around your sensitive bud again, the sucking sending you over the edge.

crying out and arching off the table and into him as you gush against his face and onto the table. chest heaving but he doesn’t stop slurping your juices from your fluttering hole and sending a shiver down your spine as he continues drinking you in.

your hand is gripping his hair trying to pull him away but he just moans at the touch flicking his tongue faster bringing you to another wave of pleasure. you let your legs shake and wrap around his head from the overstimulation at your center. finally, he pulls away looking up at you glasses foggy and mashed against his face and chin shiny and wet with a lazy smile.

“you made a mess,” he says, dipping back down to lick your cum off the table and smooth over your ass and lower lips. you jerk at the sensation way too close to your overdone core.

© tddyhyck

#tddyhyck #tddyhyck requests #jeno smut #jeno x you #lee jeno smut #lee jeno x reader #nct dream smut #jeno x reader #jeno drabbles #nct smut #tddyhyck prompts

[webslinger-holland]

Another Dream | Kaz Brekker

Summary: In which Kaz reveals what his true dream is.

Warning: slight angst...its short...and major fluff near the end

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader

Type: Oneshot

Word Count: 1.9k

The chapel hadn’t sustained much damage from the battle. A few wooden pews ended up getting pushed and overturned. A few shards of glass scattered across the floor from broken windows. Yet, the stainless window remained absolutely untouched. The image of the Saint Sun Summoner cast colorful rays of light onto the stone floor.

At the given moment, Y/n was sitting on the edge of one of the pews. Her eyes remained on the saint in front of her. She had never been the religious type; she often left Inej be the expert in that area. But she found comfort in sitting in the small chapel.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour ago when they almost lost their lives to the shadow monster they encountered in that very room. The crows had done risky jobs in the past, but none of them involved looking death right in the eye like they just did. She was still shaken up from the whole ordeal.

The familiar sound of a cane clicking against the stone floor could be heard behind her. The leader of the crows was making his way down the center aisle of the church, coming to a halt slightly behind the pew she sat in. She did not turn her head to address him.

“Lantsov paid up,” Kaz had come to tell her. “Everyone will get their cut.”

“Good,” Y/n nodded once. She looked over her shoulder, resting a hand on the back of the pew. “And Nina?” 

“She’ll receive a pardon for deserting and another for her Fjerdan. As long as he stays out of trouble, the charges will be dropped.” Kaz explained.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Y/n let out a sigh. She went to turn back around in her place. Her eyes naturally gravitating to the stain glass window once again.

Unbeknownst to her, Kaz began staring at her through the corner of his eyes. He felt his heart tighten in the confines of his chest upon just looking at her. He spent so many years admiring her from a distance, never being able to find the courage to act on the feelings in his heart.

He had known for a very long time that she did not want to stay in Ketterdam. There were too many painful memories to give her reason to stick around. She always loved to travel anyway. She wanted to move west as soon as the opportunity presented itself. Now that the fold had been destroyed and the job was complete, there was nothing preventing her from moving far away.

Just by looking at her, Kaz could tell that her mind was in a different place at the given moment. She was probably already planning about the adventure she’d be on, the journey across the sea, and the exploration of a new land. She’d be thinking about how great it would be to leave Ketterdam behind, along with him. 

Under the notion that the two of them would have very little time left together, Kaz tried being slightly sentimental for once in his life. He racked his brain for something that meant worthwhile and heartfelt.

“I also...” Kaz’s voice trailed off. “Wanted to say goodbye.”

“Oh,” Y/n said sadly. 

“Since I assume you’ll be leaving as soon as you find a ship,” Kaz predicted. She nodded her head at this. “As you should. It’s what you’ve always dreamed about,” Kaz said in an almost harsh tone. It sounded mocking.

“Well, what do you want me to say?” Y/n responded in retort. She spun around in the small wooden pew, staring at him with a strong him of confusion in her eyes. “What would you have me do? Stay in Ketterdam?” Y/n persisted.

In response, Kaz went to turn his head away from her to avoid eye contact at all costs. He wanted nothing more than to slip behind the facade he held, void of all emotions if he could help it. His face was blank as if she hadn’t just expressed the one thing he desired the most. Having her stay in Ketterdam.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had a dream,” Y/n scoffed at his stone cold expression. She faced forward once more. What followed was a moment of pure silence.

With a haunting past, Kaz Brekker was cursed with torturous nightmares most nights. However, on the rare nights that he had dreams, he always dreamed of her and absolutely nothing else. His imagination would run wild of the endless possibilities they could share together.

In his dreams, Kaz would find himself stroking up and down her bare back with his own hand. There’d be no gloves. No urge to pull away at contact. No memory of his past. It was just the two of them together. 

They would spend hours together in bed. He’d brush her hair away from her neck to grant him access. He’d burrow his face into the crook of her neck, placing the most delicate kisses along her kiss. He loved hearing the sound of her sighs in his dreams. 

He could see it all now. Her body lay underneath his. Her delicate hand trailing up the length of his chest, stopping to linger at his heart. He take her hand in his own and give it a gentle squeeze before leaning down to capture her lips.

His dreams wanted them to be together. He wanted to hold her in his arms and kiss her until she forgot her own name. Being brought back to reality became his nightmare. He came to realize that he’d never be able to have that and his dreams would never come true. His armor was still in place and she’d be leaving soon anyways.

After the moment of silence, Y/n had tilted her head to the side as if she was trying to look at him through her peripheral vision. She grew curious. Her mouth parted to ask a question.

“What is your dream, Kaz Brekker?” Y/n wondered.

Slowly, Y/n turned around in her place. She looked at him expectedly, patiently awaiting for his answer. She quirked her eyebrows to show her curiosity. He studied her face for a moment. He thought about his choice of words, struggling to express his true emotions. 

The old answers came easily to mind. Money. Vengeance. Jordie’s voice in my head silenced forever. But a different reply roared to life inside him, loud, insistent, and unwelcome. You, Y/n. You.

For a second, Kaz opened his mouth, but no words came out of his mouth. He was so close to confessing his true feelings to her. However, the fear quickly overtook him. He resorted to fortifying himself behind his walls again. He quickly tore his gaze away from her.

“To die, buried under the weight of my own gold.” Kaz claimed. 

She faced forward. She felt herself rolling her eyes at his answer, even scoffing under her breath. She couldn’t believe him. 

“More money. More scores to settle,” Y/n deduced. She quickly rose to her feet, which only took him by surprise. She went to approach him. “Was there never another dream?” Y/n tried one final time.

The silence to follow was enough reason to leave. She went to brush past him with the intent of walking away and never looking back. But as she began to walk away from him, Kaz reached out to grab onto her wrist. He stopped her.

“Stay,” Kaz pleaded. His voice was rough stone. “Stay in Ketterdam. Stay with me.”

Slowly, Y/n shifted her body to face him She briefly glanced down at the gloved hand which held her wrist captive. Her gaze shifted back to the look of desperation in his eyes, silently pleading for her to stay for his own sake. She could feel the tears begin to gather in the corners of her eyes.

“What would be the point?” Y/n whispered. She shook her head at the notion.

He only drew closer to her. He refused to look away from her now, knowing that if he did, he might lose her forever. He took a breath. 

“I want you to,” Kaz confessed truthfully. He saw the look in her eyes change slightly. She was taken back by this. He needed to make himself clearer. “I want...I want...you,” Kaz confirmed.

The two of them didn’t seem to realize how close they had gotten to one another. Their chests were pressed together and they were able to feel another’s breath fanning their faces. Either of them had been so close to anyone before. 

With great hesitation, Y/n had lifted her head to stare directly into those brilliant green eyes. She felt the tears streaming down the slides of her cheeks. She shook her head at his words.

“And how will you have me?” Y/n wondered in a soft whisper. “Gloves on? Fully clothed? With your head turned so our lips never--” but she was never able to finish that sentence.

Because the rest of her words were lost against his mouth. He had grabbed her face with his two gloved hands and pulled her into a captivating kiss. He kept his eyes squeezed shut so tightly as if he was trying to silence the voices in his head. He felt sparks of lightning tingling against his lips, knowing his mind was screaming for him to pull away. But he didn’t want to.

Yet, he kissed her so gently and carefully in fear of losing her forever. He felt her body begin to relax in his grasp. She gripped the lapels of his black trench coat, pulling him harder against her if that was even possible. His arms had shifted to circle around her waist, gathering her body against him.

A hint of pressure only caused a most delicate hum to escape past her lips, muffled against his mouth. If he could bottle the sound and get drunk on it every night, he would have without question. Their lips moved together in a synchronized harmony as if they were two puzzle pieces made to fit together.

The kiss had brought a newfound sense of warmth and comfort to his old stone heart. The memories of his brother, which were often brought from contact, hadn’t plagued his mind. He focused on the feeling the softness of her lips, how she tasted, and how she felt agains him. 

She couldn't believe what was happening. Even she had dreamed about what it would be like to touch him, but never so far as kiss him. He tasted like the expensive liquor from his flask, which he always kept in his coat pocket. His lips moved compellingly against hers as if they were fighting to persuade her to stay. And it was working.

With great reluctance, their lips parted ever so slightly from one another. Their breath held without thinking. The suspense in the air was caught at the top of their throats. 

The two of them had leaned forward to rest their heads against one another’s. They panted softly to regain their breath. They remained so close to one another that their noses brushed against each others. They stare down at each other’s lips, tempted to continue.

“You...” Kaz panted. He brought a hand up to cup her cheek lovingly, staring into the depths of her eyes. “You are my dream. You always have been.”

Upon hearing those words, Y/n felt any tension leave her body and she finally relaxed. She felt a small smile growing at the corners of her lips. She closed her eyes to savor those precious little words.

“Stay with me,” Kaz pleaded one last time. He nudged his nose against hers as if trying to persuade her and it was working. “Stay for me, my dear.” Kaz whispered.

She had never heard him speak so desperately. Though he was a master at crafting a lie, she knew him well enough to know that he’d never lie about his feelings. He wanted her and he was asking her to stay with him. 

Her eyes glanced between his own and his mouth. “I’ll stay...for you,” Y/n agreed.

Upon hearing this, Kaz felt like his dreams had finally come true. He inclined his face towards hers so that he could lay his lips against her own once again. He pulled her body as close to his as humanly possible, now knowing that he’d never have to let go. She was finally his.

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker fluff #kaz brekker angst #kaz brekker smut #kaz brekker oneshot #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker series #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x y/n #six of crows

[tarjapearce]

The Immorality Of Love (Pt. 1)

Duke! Miguel O'Hara x Courtesan! Reader.

WARNINGS: Mild angst, power dynamics, emotional distress, sexual tension, No use of Y/N, Mild smut, Oral (M! Receiving), implicit sexual activities. No proofread, Historical innacuracy for the sake of the plot

Summary: More than just directions and simple business.

A/N: ngl, nervous about this, but anyway, hope you enjoy <3. Inspired in the first scene of Pretty Woman <3

Random fact: poverty, insecurity, physical danger, alcoholism, disease and police harassment were just a few of the things that prostitutes around that time were subjected to.

The more papers and seals he went through, the more the need to rip his hair in a rage fit grew. Painfully as the thought was, he'd rather feel that kind of discomfit than keep absorbing the words coming from the other end of the line.

"No, no. It wasn't like that. You know I'm-"

Busy as usual. As ever and probably forever. Something Dana often seemed to forget.

The black and gold metallic tech device rested smooshed against his cheek and shoulders, its cord had tangled underneath his arm, making him fuss through, trying to pry his arm away from it's grasp.

An annoyed sigh escaped his lips as Dana kept complaining.

"Dana, corazón, look-"

His hand rubbed his heavy countenance, awash with so many things he thought his brain would collapse.

"Oh... Okay. Uh... Thanks for your time, ok? I... I had fun. Yeah." He fred himself free from the cord's grasp and put the letters in his free hand on his desk, "I'm sorry. Good luck."

He hung the call as his shoulders slumped with the toll of his stress baggage, that quickly was picked up again as soon as Peter came through the door.

"You're missing your own birthday party, Your grace." Peter loved annoying him with the formal title he strictly forbid him to use.

"My intention precisely."

Peter served him a glass of whiskey and pushed it to him.

"I believe Gabriel won't appreciate this little stunt. You're still working, missing your birthday party-"

"And Dana just dumped me." The chuckle escaping his plump mouth wasn't remorseful, but a relieved one. Peter's brow just quirked and sighed.

"That's perfect then! More reasons for you to just come down and enjoy your own celebration. You're turning Thirty two! Do you know how many people don't make it that far?"

"Are you calling me old?"

"A relic. And grumpy hermit too. Let's go."

Miguel rooted deeper in his seat and Peter's face went blank.

"Are you seriously doing this right now?"

"I just wanna go home for the night, Parker. Drink my new bottle and sleep." He slurred, tiresome.

Peter was about to come up with a quip but Miguel's stomach rumbled.

"Yeah, no, that ain't happening. Move it."

"I am the Duke of Nueva York, Parker. I will not-"

"And I'm your best friend. Move. You gotta eat at least something. Mingle a bit, make the celebration historical by actually remaining for more than an hour, then you can leave."

Miguel's lips twisted in a tired smile, with a resigned heave he gulped down the whiskey and followed Peter downstairs.

-----

As historical as his assistance was, the minutes had stretched incredibly long. His hand reached for his ever trusting golden pocket clock and scowled almost imperceptibly when he noticed the hours. A quarter past nine and his head started to hurt.

In fact, the boisterous mumbles from people had his head spinning. He was already making a fool of himself by faking a laugh to Gabriel's jokes and exchanging pleasantries with people that were only after him for favors or trying to get to know their single female relatives.

But enough was enough when someone begun slurring his words and dripping his drink on the floor. Alcohol became a bit too pungent when he approached the food table, so he turned left, missing some people, quickly nodding a hello here and there, swimming through the sea of unknown people until he reached the main entrance.

His heart dictated it was time to leave, it's powerful hammering resonating within his ribcage. He secured his hat on top of his head and marched towards the carriages.

Damned be his mind if he was to remain another second inside. But damned be his luck for not finding anyone to drove him home.

The door creaked and Gabriel's raucous laugh froze him in the spot.

"Where are you going, Miguel?"

The aforementioned tensed as he approached the carriage with the attached horses.

"Home. Where are the chauffeurs at?"

"Inside, in your party. Told them to take the night off. Go back inside, Migue."

"Ah, cómo chingas. Look... I'm tired, a terrible headache, got job to do and I can smell the whiskey from here on you. "

"You're the only person I know that hides from his own birthday."

Miguel hopped in the front seats of the carriage, the structure creaked and dipped under his weight as the horses tapped the grassy floor. Gabriel's mirthful laugh only deepened the scowl on his already tired face as he mimicked his eldest brother.

"And if I can recall you still fear horses, Miguelito."

"Cállate." He grumbled while securing his clock in his pocket, "Don't get too drunk, I've got enough complains of you to discuss with the king."

If none was to drive him back home, he'd make do. Even if the horses held a secret grudge on him. But if this was what it took to get out and be free to have his own personal celebration in his room, then so be it.

"Ajá. Ya, vete pues." (Right, go on now.)

The younger O'Hara chided as he watched his brother ready to depart. This gave him an idea.

Miguel fixed his hat again and took a hold of the reins. Gabriel approached, sauntering towards the horses and your grace's unsuspecting being.

"I forgot. Happy Birthday, brother of mine."

Miguel's eyes widened as Gabriel slapped the horse's rear, igniting their angry galloping, taking a cursing Duke away from him.

"Cabrón!-" 

-----

For how long had he been wandering the streets? He recognized some avenues and milieu, but a wrong turn had taken him to a relatively unknown area.

Although the buildings kept their refined air, the washed up and cracked walls started making an impromptu appearance in his line of vision. A couple of people stared his way to quickly scramble back into whatever business they thought better to attend.

Even the floor and smells had changed. The duke couldn't help but grumble as the stony and jagged texture of the floor made his carriage to bump and shake erratically. There was no smoothness to make the steering steady, the floral and occasional bakery smell was quickly replaced by the smell of opium, industrial filth and other unpleasant odors.

He didn't know what was worse, to admit to none but himself that he was lost, since his daily route was his manor, the king's palace and the office of his empire. Or the random smells that fought for a spot in his nose, pouncing on his senses.

His discomfort grew the more he ventured into the changing scenarios. But it also gave him a glimpse of those he was assigned by the king to protect and watch over.

Little were the things that managed to surprise him greatly, but seeing the scenery pass and turn into a more rundown, less fancy and acquainted place, got his skin crawling softly under the linens of his warm frock coat.

Even a man of his calibre knew to not tempt fate and with a whip on the reins, the horses galloped faster, wherever it was better than this part of the city he didn't know.

As spoiled as the thought was, he really hated not having his chauffer at his immediate disposition. He wouldn't have to deal with these situations, he wouldn't have to feel like a lost pampered puppy that escaped his guarded home, only to be out there by his own in the cold and unforgiving night streets.

Even the horses refused to keep going forward to a much more secluded and darker area, guarded by the slithering shadows that would play games with his mind if he stared long enough.

A breath hitched on his throat as the horses turned left and took the opposite road, away from the lurking danger. To his luck and awestruck, the horses indeed knew the route and guided him to an area that, although he had seen a couple of times, it ended up in a familiar environment.

The boutiques and coffee shops started to take shape as the galloping kept going through the enlightened stony and steady path. The wheels creaked merrily upon being on familiar territory again.

The crawl on his skin stopped only to be replaced by a sudden gasp when the horses stood in their hind legs as a stray cat crossed their paths out of nowhere, scaring them. Miguel barely could take a hold of the reins, as the horses pulled and his back collided against the hard wood of the carriage.

"B-Basta!" He huffed nervously while he held his hat as the other hand secured the grip on the leather ropes, trying to stop the horses, but they kept running, as if the black tiny monster with beady eyes chased after them.

"Shit!"

The carriage turned into to a bustling area and suddenly halted into a corner, Miguel bounced hard in his seat as the transport parked forcefully above the sidewalk, earning a frightful gasp and murmurs from the people around.

Without much thought he stepped off the carriage and released a breath he didn't know it had been stuck in his tightened throat for a while.

"Condenado gato, asustándome así." His nostrils flared with a heavy sigh, as his hands scrambled underneath the seat to see if he could find anything remotely helpful to guide himself back to his manor. (Fucking cat, scaring me like that)

Miguel nearly slapped himself upon finding a neatly folded map in the further corner of the seat. A hand passed over his impatient face before unfolding it and taking a good scrutinizing look in it. None of the names sounded familiar for him, not even the post with the signal Maxwell's Avenue before him rang a bell into his befuddled head.

Where was he?

The soft clicks of a pair of heels behind him made to look at the lady behind him.

"Are you alright, my lord?"

Even though her voice was sweet with  sultry undertones in it, Miguel could  recognize almost immediately her profession. A courtesan. A fancy and less crude word for a prostitute, whose soft and floral aroma tickled his senses.

"I'm not interested."

----

Upon hearing those words your brow quirked and stared at him for couple of seconds. He was definitely a nobleman, the tallest and most build up man you've seen so far, His frock coat and the golden chain attached to his chest where his clock was, said everything you needed.

A potential client. Although reluctant.

He could redefine the word handsome if someone took a proper look into his face. Sharp features that were as strong as his nose and angry looking eyes. Lips twitched with contained fury the more he stared at the map on his trembling hands.

Your attention wandered to said piece of paper only to let out a humored scoff. Brown eyes snapped your way  immediately upon the noise.

"You're holding the map backwards, my lord. Bid you a goodnight."

You turned around and walked back but his voice calling you with a 'Wait' made your lips stretch into a thin yet knowing smile.

"Yes?", wispy eyelashes fluttered with each blink you gave him.

The man cleared his throat and inched the map closer to you.

"Where am I?"

"Where do you need to go?"

His eye twitched almost involuntarily at your reply, but if he wanted to go home, at this point any help would come in handy.

"Babylon-"

The horses tapped the floor a bit more impatiently as they shook their mane. His hands tightened in balls in each side of him.

"Babylon manor."

Your brows puckered in as he kept turning and turning the map.

"I could take you there, if you wish to."

"No. I just need-"

The horse's forceful neigh made Miguel to clutch his hands tighter, nearly digging his nails in his palms.

"Shut up!"

He roared at the beast that only blew an annoyed sigh his way. Earning a giggle from you.

"You're making the horses and me nervous, my lord."

A heavy and blasé heave came from his nostrils, folding the map in a haste. Mirth crossed your features on his distress.

"Glad that at least I'm amusing you."

"Although, that's my job, my offer to take you there for a little fee, of course, remains."

With little to lose and patience he gestured you towards the carriage. With a proud smile you gave him a little curtsey and stepped on the same spot as he was sitting instead of the inside of the carriage.

His bushy brow quirked at your choice of seat but little he could do about it. You pulled a fan and blew yourself with it as your eyes studied every movement.

Reins a bit too tight on his heavy looking hands, frame so frigid and mechanic you thought he'd break upon sitting next to you, swallowing the space with his sheer size. Lips and brows puckered in an apparent permanent frown and his gorgeous eyes that hid a crimson glint in it, if you dared to look closer.

He whipped the ropes and the horses walked on with a pull that had you clutching to your seat. Fear however begun growing after the speed of their trotting increased, passing and turning blocks in a blink of an eye.

"Stop them!"

"I'm trying woman!" He hissed, more nervous than angered.

Without much thought you took the leather ropes from him and pulled back with all your might. If it wasn't for him placing an arm before you, your body would have lurched forward and off the carriage.

"My goodness..."

Both of your chests rose upon the short and quivering breaths your lungs exhaled

"Are you alright?"

You gave him a shaky nod, while your hand loosened the grip on the horse's command. In truth, Miguel's bile had rose up his throat. For a moment he really thought he'd lose control of the carriage and his name would be in the morning newspaper with the title 'The Duke crashed cause he's unable to drive by himself properly due an irrational equine fear."

"I should ask you that, my lord. You're paling."

But he didn't crashed nor would appear in the news, thanks to you.

"Should I take the lead?"

"You know how to ride?"

"That and more, yes. Though I rather the term drive" His brows crinkled upwards at your reply, taken aback by your quip, earning him another chuckle from you, "But I know enough to get my way around horses without being nipped or kicked."

Your hand caressed the neck and mane, in an attempt to soothe the beast's nerves. Curiosity tugged at his seams. A courtesan that knew how to drive.

Times change I suppose.

His mind mused, and his hands rested on his hips, without much thought he mumbled: "Be my guest, then."

"Hop in then, sir."

You got into the carriage front seat and patted the space next to you. He obeyed.

----

Against all odds, you took him home. Ride back happened smoothly without the horses trying to kill him, they obeyed without a hitch under your command. A clear screw you from the annoying beasts that made him look like an utter useless fool.

Once close enough, you gave him the reins back to him and got down the carriage before his staff approached, leaving his hand on the air while trying to help you to get down.

He followed and straightened his coat and hat.

"Safe and sound, aren't we?"

He nodded as your eyes locked on each other briefly before a valet took the horses away.

"Then, I'll be happy to receive my payment and leave you be, my lord."

The payment, of course.

"Right. And what is this fee of yours for helping a stranger?"

"You say so like I'm robbing you." he chuckled, "I'm sure twenty crowns won't make you less rich."

"They won't." He searched inside his vest and pulled out a 20 bill from his wallet.

"A pleasure to help you, sir."

You bowed to him with a satisfied smile and gathered your skirt.

"Just a quick thing, don't whip the horses too hard. They hate it."

"Noted." he nodded before approaching the door, "Be careful out there."

"Appreciate your concern, my lord. Bid you a good night."

With a final curtsey you turned around and walked towards the corner. Some of his staffs threw discreet glances your way others swarmed Miguel with their attention as usual.

The street had slowly turned less concurred as the night kept advancing, and too bad you had forgotten your pocket watch at home. Walking was always good for the health, but at this hour alone, you rather not poke at the devil's tail to see what he had in store for you.

Miguel watched you for a second, Securing the shawl on your shoulders, an ethereal soft gleam on your skin provoked by the post lamp nearby was quickly covered as you straightened your back, enhancing the sight of your mounds for a moment.

He blinked away the glimpses of your beauty to finally gather his thoughts and walk inside. Not that he was strange to courtesans, Gabriel had once arranged himself a night with a couple, only to be ditched as soon as they laid their eyes on him.

His frock coat and hat were quickly taken away to be hung. He ordered his new bottle of mezcal while his hands pulled and rolled up at the wrist of his sleeves up to his elbows.

His ears perked up upon hearing some jeering comments from a man outside. His steps guided him back towards he just came from. To jis little surprise there was a drunk man, barely supporting on the walls as he spoke your way.

"Kindly, fuck off you twat"

Miguel chuckled at your sharp and dirty mouthed reply to the man that quickly thought his words upon catching him peeking out of the main entrance. The Duke truly thought you had already walked away.

With half wobbly steps the man left as  you shot an apprehensive yet grateful look his way.

"Thanks."

His head bobbed in a brief nod, and slowly approached you again.

"Waiting for someone?"

"Maybe. Do you know them perhaps?"

Miguel quirked his brow with a bit of confusion. You sighed.

"My apologies, drunkards get me on edge. And I am waiting for a carriage to take me back to my district. Don't wanna risk myself at this hours into unknown territory."

He crossed his arms.

"Where do you head to?"

"Doubt you'd like to know that, sir."

Your eyes were keen in the horizon, but no carriage or known face approached.

"Time seems to be a problem for you."

"I'm working. Gotta make the most out it. But since this a new territory and I've seen nothing but empty streets, I'll go back."

A Hmm came out of him while he stood next to you.

"Alright, then how much for a night?"

You blinked while facing him, "Pardon me?"

"You're still... working, right?"

You nodded.

"Then, how much for the night?"

As unexpected as his question was, the words that flew out of your mouth surprised you even more.

"300 crowns." you blurted.

He pursed his lips in a pondering movement, then nodded.

"Alright. Let's get you inside."

In truth the quantity was just a coy to see if he bit the bait, and it was double the amount you needed to get that lovely perfume you so needed. But money was money.

"As you wish, my lord."

You didn't imagine he'd actually agree. But now that he had, you followed him inside. However, he told you to wait before disappearing for a moment, only to return with a coat and drape it around your shoulders.

"What is this?"

"A coat" Your face went blank, "It'll save us some trouble."

Once again your feet resumed their walking inside, and for a minute, you wished to have eidetic memory to remember everything, so you could print it all out and have a proof of the place's exquisite grandeur, and for Aveline to see this with her own beautiful blue eyes.

She always boasted with descriptions you'd only find in the many magazines Avy managed to steal from their unsuspected client's homes. But now, you were in one of them, walking up the  marbled stairs that were dressed up in a shade of velvet that could be mistaken for a rivulet of blood rolling down under your feet.

But there was not that coppery smell flooding your nose, no. Au contraire, the  place smelled like it was doused in a gentle breeze of vanilla, an appalling contrast to the lavender incense you were used to at this point.

It blended well with the delicate floral aroma oozing from your pores. A couple of staff members dallied around, interrupting with their greetings towards Miguel, some spared a glance your way and of course murmurs ensued. But it didn't matter, you were getting your new perfume and possibly a couple of brand new accessories for all you cared.

The room, the master bedroom you supposed, was as beautiful as the rest.  Majestic and powerful like it's owner. 

A few little statues here and there adorned his room, the smell of vanilla and a tinge of a liqueur you had never smelled before filled in your lungs pleasantly.

He went straight to his desk after closing the door behind him.

"May I remove this now?"

His hands rummaged through the haphazard stacked up papers while you removed and hung up the coat somewhere, not really waiting for his reply.

Your eyes still wandered around as you sauntered over his desk.

"With a place like this, I'd be gladly turn into a hermit. Are you by chance an undercover prince?"

Miguel chuckled and pulled out his pen while sitting properly on his throne

"Close. But no. I'm the Duke."

Your brows rose in surprise but quickly vanished into an amused smirk as soon as he started removing his vest and fiddled with the tie around his neck.

The knot tightened the more he struggled with it. You stepped closer and slid your hands briefly on his chest to have a good feel of him.

Solid, well worked, and a hundred percent real. Your fingers hooked in the tie and pulled him gently towards you.

His lips parted to then swallow an invisible lump at the action alone. Dexterous hands quickly managed to untie the tangled fabric around his too dressed up neck, freeing him from his temporary torment. His perfume was another smell to add to the wondrous list you discovered tonight.

Woody, a hint of cinnamon and a fine vanilla tobacco.

"Didn't know the Duke of Nueva York was afraid of horses."

He grunted and rolled his eyes.

"I'd rather not discuss that."

You chuckled while fetching your small hand purse. You pulled out a piece of hardened paper sealed and signed by a doctor, and placed it before him.

His eyes gazed at it curiously, to then widen softly at the different array of condoms you pulled from the sides of your boots to then seat on his desk.

"You might pick one after you've read my medical checks."

"Quite the safety buffet you have there."

Your shoulders shrugged, "You never know with royalty and I like to be safe."

He nodded with a tiny smile as everything was in order, the card had nothing but a couple of days old. Madame Lewis always insisted in doing regular checkups, and it paid off. You had learned how to recognize the symptoms of some popular diseases by now. Knowledge was sure a powerful tool.

He eyed the condoms and released a brief and deep chuckle. Upon silence you put them back in your purse and faced him once more with a sultry smile. Your spine slanted enough towards him to give him a better look of your mounds.

He wasn't immune towards a lady's charms. Your eyes caught his taking a quick peek.

"So... what now? What will you have me doing?"

"I don't know." his cheek rested against his knuckles and stared your form, even though a courtesan, your taste in fashion was refined and by the quality materials of your clothings, he assumed you were a middle class paramour, "I didn't plan on this, if honest."

"Oh? I see." Your eyes darted through the many papers in his desk, "You do seem the type to plan it all though."

"Of course, someone has to. Excuse my maners, but I forgot your name completely."

A smirk came to your rouged lips,

"How can you forget something that has never been given to you, my lord?"

His nostrils heaved merrily upon your comment while his head nodded approvingly.

"Touché."

You scoffed, "Violet."

"Violet what?"

"Just plain Violet. Yours?"

It was his turn to scoff in disbelief. Were you living under a rock?

"I apologize but, I refuse to believe you don't know my name yet."

It was your turn to laugh, "I'm sorry but, even if my clients won't shut about politics and royalty , I still don't know your name, your grace. It always escapes the confinements of my mind."

His eyes wandered a bit over your face, but quickly averted them, to focus on the flirty frills of your dress. You knew exactly where to flaunt and where to leave it au naturale. He'd be a liar to not say you were one of the prettiest courtesans he had seen so far. He had them twice in his life, and with this a third.

"It's Miguel."

"Oh," you tested his name in your tongue, it tingled with excitement, "I suppose it suits you."

"Does it?"

Miguel stood and served two glasses of mezcal, his hand offered you one. He approached the door and called for an assortment of fruits and other light snacks, then returned to his seat.

"I've never met a Duke named Miguel before. But it sounds... almost delicious to say so."

"Delicious?" He drank his shot in a go, a pleasant growl escaped after the liqueur burned good in his throat.

"Pleasant even." You followed into drinking your shot, face souring for a moment. His tongue swept over his lips, tasting the remnants of mezcal on them.

His gaze turned bolder with the passing of seconds, staring intermittently at your chest, face and neck.

After a couple of minutes a maid knocked, interrupting his line of thoughts and put the tray on a nearby table, gave a curtsey and left you alone again.

"How would you rate my performance as a Duke?"

The question as unexpected and random as it was, escaped his mouth. He was still into work mode and clearly not used to have company. It threw you off for a second.

Your brows rose in disbelief and amusement, "I assure you, that you won't like the answers, your grace."

That's when his shoulders shook with a brief yet genuine titter.

"That bad, huh?"

You shrugged while placing the glass in the table to lean his way, pushing your breasts to a more open sight. Inviting him in.

"Yes. But you aren't paying me to talk about work. Are you?"

"What if I am?" He slouched even more comfortably on his seat.

"Then I believe one bottle of this" You pointed at the mezcal, "won't be enough for neither of us."

-----

The clock had ticked eleven pm, conversation soon branched into different topics, from the ridiculous names some clothes were called, to a bit of surface personal information.

"How old are you turning, my lord?"

You popped a green grape into your mouth as he downed another glass if mezcal. The outer corset had been long gone, same as pretension and the accessories on your hair.

Even though still reserved, his whole demeanor had allowed itself to relax. He ate what he couldn't back at his own party and the mezcal bottle had decreased it's contents.

"Thirty two. Why?"

"Just curious. It has come to my attention that the Duke of Nueva York isn't a wrinkly old man. I'm quite surprised, if honest."

"I will be one in a couple of decades. That if work doesn't kills me first."

He had to order another platter of charcuterie since the first one was entirely devoured by him.

"It won't. You seem too stubborn for it." 

He chuckled, "You're none to talk about being stubborn."

You scoffed, faking offense, "I call it perseverance, and at least I know how to manipulate a map, my lord."

He didn't know if it was the alcohol slowly turning up his senses or your company that against all odds, had been one of the few things memorable for the night. He had lit up the fire to warm the room.

"The map was outdated." he grumbled without actual anger behind it.

You just nodded with a playful smile while sitting before the fireplace to get a bit of warm. He remained sat on his chair, legs comfortably sprawled open on top.

"Of course it was, your grace, I hope  it'll be updated soon so you don't get lost again."

The soft cracks of the wood reigned over the sudden silence. The fire's auriferous gleam bathed your silhouette, investing an ironically beatific sight on you.

"Hopefully not. I won't have the luck to count on your help, I'm afraid."

Your shoulders twinkled with the fire's light as they accompanied your sweet laugh and his eyes closed for a moment.

The day had been quite the feat, but before all of it played as a movie in his head and his mind recurred to the internal and ever pondering monologue, the warm touch of your hands in his thighs grounded him immediately to the present.

Right in the moment where your bare fingers roamed the territory of his clothed legs and hips.

"How are you able to keep this... physical condition?" your hands gave a brief and marveling squeeze and a twitch traveled all over his body.

"Hard work." He heaved when you stopped to rise on your feet, eyes glinting upon confirming he was looking.

Slowly, your fingers danced above your chest to then drag them through the fabric ans reach for the back buttons of your dress with expertise, freeing yourself from the inhibition with each unclasp, to finally remove the first layer.

"I see. It has paid off, I admit."

His lips curved proudly to quickly and subtly licks his lips.

His pupils were blown open when his unabashed stare darted from your mouth to the peeking taut nipples that pushed against the see-through fabric of your chemise, begging to be released.

Lovely, generous and perfect size for his hand.

If his demeanor wasn't trained for self-control, he'd definitely look like a precocious youngster, unable to talk because a woman was getting naked before him.

The right side of his head rested on his index and middle finger, his thumb rubbed in circles in the juncture of his jaw. Watching and enjoying the parsimonious and erotic dance your hands did to remove your skirt, revealing nothing but the long, sheer cream colored chemise that left everything yet little to his growing volatile imagination.

The bustier only donned your waist with a perfect dip to accentuate your also generous hips. His hands would undoubtedly fit perfectly in that curve.

Hid eyes darted to his hands but immediately resumed to your show to not miss anything important. Meaning everything. The lack of underwear in your body stirred up the crawling in his skin.

A calculated turn and bend to reach for your shoes gave him a proper display of what laid under the little remnants of clothes still clinging to you. Purposely torturing his psyche with the corruption of mind and thoughts.

How would you feel like in his hands?

Nothing but smooth and lovely skin. The stockings embraced your supple thighs in a way that for a brief fraction of time, he wished to be the elastic band around them.

He didn't know who to blame for his sudden flustered and urgent state. He could blame the top quality mezcal for making his skin thrum and burn with enough heat to turn it highly receptive to external stimuli.

Your shoes were removed, and soon your hands, deftly undid your bustier.

Or the lack of physical and willing altercation in his lavish bed eons ago.

Or you, for actually entertain him with more than he had originally thought.

Not even he was so sure about his tiredness anymore. Not when you prowled your way towards him, hips swaying in a sultry motion, breast bouncing softly at each step.

His breath hitched when the chemise was gone and you kneeled between his thighs. Dainty fingers unbuckling and undoing his belt and trousers single-handed and deftly. Nothing but the stockings adorned your form.

"As much as I'd love to keep talking," the inner flesh of his bottom lip was trapped in between his teeth as your warm and soft hand ventured within his trousers and grazed the velvet skin of his still trapped erection, "I also believe money must be earned properly."

Damn him for being such a primitive man to surrender so quickly under your touch. For purposely starving his body from the sensations he was going through at the moment.

Damn you for stroking his ego when your countenance lit up in surprise upon watching his cock springing alive in it's full and healthy glory a few inches away your face.

He shrugged nonchalantly and his eyes glued on your next movement

"Consider yourself lucky, my lord. I usually do not engage into the arts of oral pleasures," Your hand took a gentle yet firm hold of him, stroking enough to make him release a pleasurable yet quiet moan, "I'll make an exception for the night though, you're to be celebrated after all."

He gulped a blown breath before it could escape as you marked his skin with soft kisses until you reached his flushed tip.

"Happy Birthday, your grace."

And, oh damned you for taking the challenge between your lips and remind him how much of a man he was.

---

The bird's chirping was louder the more seconds ticked, but it was enough to finally ground consciousness to your body.

You bolted awake. Fear seeped in upon not recognizing instantly your surroundings, but when the bell rang with the memory, the urge to leave increased tenfold.

As heavenly as the bedsheets felt against your skin, you flinched from them and gathered your things, but hips protested. Despite having the experience, none had prepared you for taking The Duke.

A man that was currently missing and out of the rooms sight. The curtains were draped in enough to block the sun's glory to hit you right in the face. You changed as hastily as you could. After all his bed was behind closed doors.

Shit

Even though the walk of shame was unavoidable the least you could do was to look the least tussled as possible. Once you were dressed you searched in your purse, a couple less condoms in your repertoire, to finally reach for the tooth powder and clean your teeth.

One of the many important rules you had self imposed in your licentious life had been broken.

Do not overstay.

As it could only bring nothing but trouble your way. You didn't want a lover, much less to engage into a life that only happened to good and obeying women.

And you weren't good, according to none but your own musings, nor obedient. You secured your shoes and straightened up your posture as you draped your shawl over your shoulders that still tingled with the Duke's capricious hands.

Miguel had been a gentleman, he never once did something you didn't feel comfortable with, yet still, his pleasure was the main focus of everything. It wasn't personal, nor intimate, just plain old business, like you always made it.

You found him reading the newspaper on his desk, a cup of steaming coffee next to him along some other foods that without admitting made your mouth salivate.

His eyes rose to meet you

"Good morning."

"Morning. I overslept, my apologies, sir."

You bowed your head and he sipped his cup.

"It's fine. I didn't know what would you like, so, got you a bit of everything."

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously with a frown at both the food and him. A bit of crumbs of a round sweet bread still remained on the corner of his lips.

"I appreciate your... attentions, my lord. But I'm good and I've got to go."

His body was dressed up in a light vest, his shirt rolled up yo his elbows and pants, ready for another day of work.

"Of course."

He stared at your concern for a couple of seconds before standing up and reaching for his wallet.

He pulled a couple of hundred crown bills and placed it before you. The sooner you got paid, the sooner you'd get home, take a long bath and finally go get that perfume before sleeping properly the day away.

Your hands counted it in, and your frown furrowed upon finding two hundred extra.

"Your grace? Here." You placed the bills on the table where he could see them, "You put some more by mistake."

"Oh, no, it wasn't. They're, uh... they're yours. A gift."

His lips curved softly in a small smile that quickly vanished upon your next words.

"A gift for doing what you hired me for?"

Miguel blinked, "I didn't mean it that way. It's an extra for-"

You didn't know if nervousness or anger was coursing through your veins, but it was unpleasant and you needed it out of your system.

"Let's get something clear, your grace. I'm aware my job is anything but reputable. But I do not take charity nor pity from anyone. Much less royalty."

He gulped, genuinely confused and taken aback from your reaction.

"I-I apologize. thought that you-"

"That I'd accept it? No. you're sadly mistaken. I know life circumstances have pushed me to choose this path of living, but do not dare insult me. Do not mistake my work for affection you can buy."

You left the money on the table and rushed to the door.

"Wait! Violet!"

by the time he reached this bedroom doors, you were already descending the stairs, head high and proud despite the unbelieving and horrified expressions by the staff at your haste to finally leave.

His shoulders slumped with a dragging groan as he remained on the doorframe of his room.

"That's not what I meant at all..."

A misunderstanding with a courtesan was the perfect way to start his day. Gabriel had mentioned him a couple of times to never give extra money to the professional entertainers, selfless kindness wasn't a concept in their life's vocabulary and it could be often mistaken as something else.

Like what just happened.

"Gooddamit."

But there was little to do about it and his mind dragged him out of it to pull him on the working mode again.

----

In his many years of friendship, it was rare when Peter behaved evasive, and fiddled with his hands a bit too much. His friend's pacing over his office had Miguel dizzy.

"Can you stay the hell still and spit it out at once?"

Miguel's terse voice only provoked an annoyed groan on Peter.

"You..." Parker's nostrils flared up with a plucky sigh and faced him.

"The Prince is organizing a little vacation to his villa. He wants us there."

A bushy brow from the Duke raised to then roll his eyes and resuming his work into signing papers and reading reports.

"And?"

"W-What do you mean and? You know whose going?"

"Not really, nor care. I won't go."

Peter's teeth 'tsk'ed' at his reply. "You are to be there. The Prince invited you specifically, and you know how Osborn gets when you ignore his whims."

"Yeah, no wonder why his father doesn't trusts him with Nueva York and I have to correct his stupidities."

Miguel slicked a hand ovef his hair to accommodate the straying strands off their order.

"Right. You have to call Dana."

"She dumped me on my birthday and she's too far, remember?"

"Well, you'll need someone to go with. Everyone is tired of seeing you alone and sulking during those reunions."

"I've got-"

Peter interrupted, knowing his words at this point. "Priorities, I know. Want me to find you someone?"

"Appreciated but no. I already have someone in mind."

Peter blinked and immediately sat before him

"You do?"

"Yes. Where is Gabriel?"

"Traveling outside the city. He'll join us in the trip later"

"Ese cabrón siempre evadiendo responsabilidades... Let me know when returns." (That fucker's always avoiding his duties.)

"Do I know her?" Peter clasped his hands before him, trying to pry more information out straight from the horse's mouth.

"No, which is good and bad."

"You need to start speaking sense, Miguel."

"It's good cause none around here knows her, and bad precisely for that. But since you're eager to help me, you'll do exactly that."

He handed Peter a small paper piece with a name.

"Violet? What's with this?"

"It's the name. Give it to Lyla. She'll look her up. Need an address by the end of this week. Tell her to look up in the neighbor districts.

"What if-"

"There's no what ifs in here, Parker. Split the search."

"So this means you're coming?"

"If I say yes, will you shut up?"

"Say no more. I'll look for this Violet to you."

"If you find her do not approach her. Let that to me."

Peter didn't know whether to be excited or scared. But he trusted Miguel.

Still, he couldn't help but wonder, what had happened the previous night? Even better yet, who was this Violet?

-----

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