#it is a long-ass chapter considering

[freuleinanna]

trials (and errors)

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 AO3

Chapter 4: Liars

A perfect lie does not exist. Untether it from truth, and it's a mere fantasy. Weave truth into it, and it becomes a commemoration, for concealment is just an act of protection, and protection, well, is just an act of love.

Can you imagine? The chapter I started the whole thing for? Ugh. Welcome to the circus, aka the courtroom angst, aka Sturrock hardly dealing with those two and those two hardly dealing with each other

The hearing itself is a blur.

If they were to compare memories, both Marisa and Asriel would probably agree that what they remember most is endless bureaucratic gibberish and a whole lot of pretentious words flying about. Illicit affair this, conspiracy to murder that. Asriel powers through the whole thing silently agreeing to at least consider respecting the Authority should he miraculously manifest himself and strike down the bunch of dim-witted black-robed idiots blabbering about marriage institutions and the worth of a human life. Beside him, Stelmaria is unmoving, her eyes glide from one speaker to another, thoughts impenetrable behind the icy facade. Both of them exude the feeling of having much better and more important things to do with their time, which isn’t wrong. Both of them are fully focused on not looking at the opposite side of the hall where Marisa and her daemon are.

They climb their respective stands. They aren’t allowed to be seated. After all, it is a trial, and they are supposed to be defending themselves. Asriel has a feeling that neither him nor Marisa are interested in defense, simply wanting things to be over.

Stabbing each other in the process is just an extra perk.

‘State your name, please,’ Cardinal Sturrock is slumping in his direction. Asriel opens his mouth and doesn’t shut up out of spite listing his name, status, estates, and full heritage up to the seventh generation even when he’s interrupted – twice. His voice thunders through the room. People wince.

‘You did ask, Your Eminence,’ he shrugs coldly.

‘Thank you, Lord Belacqua,’ comes the most thankless tone possible.

Marisa’s answer, against his, is short and dry.

‘Marisa Coulter, née Delamare.’

With the precision of French vowels on née. Whether it’s pride or emotions that make her resort to the accent, or a simple habit of pronouncing it right, Asriel doesn’t really know. I love you, sea creature. He doesn’t look, but his teeth hurt from clenching.

And then it becomes very hard not to look because questions come one after another, and it’s their shared history that gets spilled on the floor.

‘Could you remind the honorable judges of the circumstances of your meeting?’

He stifles a groan. The only thing stopping him from suggesting the honorable judges to shove their honorable questions up their honorable asses is Stelmaria’s tail around his legs. She could have crushed the pathetic daemon-insects between her paws if she wanted, but she is playing impassive for his sake. Asriel burrows his fists deeper into his pockets and clears his throat.

‘It was a social event, I don’t remember which. Both Mrs. Coulter and I were present.’

Well, he made the whole board frown. Again. What, did they expect him to pour out every detail? Who cares, let’s cut right to the chase. They met, they slept together, they had a child, he killed her husband – that’s what everyone wants to discuss anyway. Dancing around the subject just takes the meaning out of it.

‘And how old were you?’

‘Twenty.’

‘And Mrs. Coulter?’

‘Why don’t you ask Mrs. Coulter herself?’ he snaps, patience is leaking out of him despite the decision to stick to his best behavior. Damn his non-existent tolerance for stupidity.

‘It is your account of the events, Lord Belacqua. We will address Mrs. Coulter when needed.’

Speaking of her like she isn’t in the room. The spot of blue color is very still in the corner of his vision as Asriel makes an effort to look straight in the Cardinal’s bloated face. He can’t lick Marisa’s taste off his lips. It’s distracting. Stelmaria moves her head in a warning: focus.

‘I believe, Mrs. Coulter was nineteen at a time.’

‘And is it correct that your affair started a year after that?’

To be fair, Asriel said so himself during one of the previous hearings because it was easier then, one on one with Sturrock and his henchmen. He said a lot of things. Now, however, with Marisa standing witness, the lies become palpable like rough stitches in the air. Seeing them, knowing them, how could anyone believe they lasted a whole year?

The truth is, the affair had started immediately. It’s just that the sex came well after, but she cheated on her husband the moment their hands met.

They would meet at the library. She would pretend to not notice Asriel’s presence until the last minute, but always made sure to wear the most flattering dresses. He would pretend he visited the dusty archives for any serious, adult reason except spending a day with Marisa.

She would smile politely as she saw him and say, ‘Lord Asriel. Here again?’ – in a voice that fit a genderless servant, not a woman of flesh and blood, but her eyes would spark with delight. Sometimes, he would approach to read over her shoulder, hardly seeing the lines from being struck on the head with the scent of perfume mixed into that of her skin.

She would turn her face half-round to ask, ‘I wonder, what do you make of the Bermundsen’s last paper on potential use of natural events, Aurora lights in particular, as a source of renewable anbaric energy?’

He would breathe ‘I think Bermundsen is flying pitifully low’ down her neck.

They would sit across from each other, shamelessly making love with their words and ideas, innocent to anyone who could see.

At times, she would make for the stepladder to take another book. He would take it for her, reaching over her head, almost pressing her into the shelf in the process. Their eyes would meet, and there would be that look in hers, all at once calculating and genuinely content, impossible to decipher all the way through. Not daring to allow their fingers touch over a book, they would pause. In the air, an instant collapse waiting to be released. They would both stand, undoubtedly imprinting one another in memory to imagine late at night for their own raw, secret pleasure. Adding a throbbing sensuality to that image on purpose.

At the end of the day, they both knew exactly what they were doing.

It’s a force Asriel, with his scientific mind, cannot comprehend or break down into a handful of co-applying laws physics has to offer. Something possesses him to take a look, something not entirely lost, that’s still trying to live and breathe despite his best efforts.

Marisa appears withdrawn. Empty, like she isn’t there at all. The harmony of deep blue with the gold of her daemon would be fitting to a saint, except that wearing a color besides black only paints her more of a sinner. Deep within, Asriel is admiring the defiance. His admiration is of dark, self-torturing quality.

Under a delicate hand, the golden monkey seems to have lost all life. Therein lies the Marisa effect.

‘Lord Belacqua?’

‘Hmm?’

‘Is it correct that your affair started a year after you and Mrs. Coulter had met?’

‘Yes. Yes, that is correct.’

***

Mrs. Coulter, he keeps saying.

I briefly collaborated with Mrs. Coulter on one of my branching research, she was providing theological base to…

When Mrs. Coulter and I had become involved…

… there was no paper correspondence, Mrs. Coulter insisted…

…Mrs. Coulter…

…Mrs. Coulter…

Some other woman she must be, that Mrs. Coulter, because Marisa doesn’t recognize herself in what Asriel is saying. The person he talks at such lengths about sounds rational and cold, plotting her way through the affair down to every breath she takes, and not at all in love. She remembers being in love. How does one pick memories clean off the carcass of that giant dead thing?

Bones are there, alright, but Asriel is lying. Tiny details get cloaked sometimes, and sometimes grand ones. Marisa isn’t fool enough to think it a protection, instead pulling herself together against what it really is. An erasure, utter and complete: of her, of what they were. Matter-of-factness, with which Asriel answers the questions, ultimately retelling the story in a way a dust-dry librarian would retell the plot of an exciting novel, is an act of killing. She is reduced to an outline, a character – someone unimportant, and only vaguely familiar.

A stranger, in a word. A stranger whose name he pretends to have never tasted on his tongue in moments of disarmed tenderness.

He said he wouldn’t spare her. Who knew it was to be like this.

Despite the indignation it pokes alive, his flow of immaculate half-truths has another effect, an unexpected one. They carve Mrs. Coulter into existence out of thin air, and the more Asriel speaks, the more real she becomes, allowing Marisa to dissolve in the image. Soothing her until she enters a state of tranquil trance, her tyranny buried into the golden fur. How easy it is to pretend uninvolved. It allows her some control – maimed, disfigured, but control still.

So she listens, and doesn’t object. Her hatred, now cool and steady as opposed to the fiery eruption before, listens too. Grasped by curiosity almost unhealthy, it wonders how much less emotional Asriel can make the whole thing sound.

And then, suddenly, it’s her turn.

And then, suddenly, it’s a full-blown interrogation.

Air grows thicker, as if molecules knit themselves closer together with every pair of disapproving eyes landing on Marisa. She tenses.

‘Mrs. Coulter, do you agree with Lord Belacqua’s account?’

Down to the detail, except where he left out that we actually had hearts, she says, yet the words transform in her mouth and leave it as a plain, ‘Yes.’

‘Very well,’ Sturrock locks his ring-laden fingers, leaning over them and resembling at that moment a fat hawk on the search for a prey. ‘Could you say for how long you had been married to Edward Coulter prior to meeting Lord Belacqua?’

‘Six or seven months.’

‘Are you not sure?’ the hawk frowns.

‘Seven,’ Marisa corrects, even though it’s not true, because the whispers start swishing and she needs some merit. Yes, she was still very freshly a wife when she broke all her vows, but at least she can track her own marriage. That must count for something, must it not?

It was, in fact, six months and eighteen days. She spent endless nights wishing she’d just waited for six months and eighteen days longer before allowing Edward to put a wedding band on her finger. Or that Asriel had come along that exact amount of time earlier. Either way, a fruitless endeavor, but it kept her up for hours.

‘And would you say you had amicable relationships with your husband?’

‘Quite.’

‘Mrs. Coulter, I’m afraid I need you to elaborate.’

They say, when vultures come, it’s already too late. Marisa stands surrounded by vultures, painting and repainting her cracking mask of humbleness to not let fury taint it. Even in death, Edward traps her. Say a few good words about him, and her sins become appalling in comparison. Say a few bad ones, and she’s obviously besmearing his memory with lies to save herself, a malign creature whose only hope is to pray for forgiveness. In a convent.

Very carefully, her voice treads across rows.

‘My husband was a man of politics, as you know. Often away. Amicable is the exact right word, Your Eminence, for we didn’t have much in common, nor did we spend much time together. There were always…other duties.’

‘Is that why you chose to betray your sacred union by infidelity?’

Damn you.

Is there any winning this at all? The Cardinal himself is pushing her onto the thinnest ice Marisa’s ever walked on. Everyone is waiting, everyone is angry. A bunch of men who’ve never known a woman’s touch behave like she’s been unfaithful to them personally, and that is a mighty dangerous sea to navigate. That collective ego can crush her like a wave.

Giving herself some time, Marisa strokes the gold. Her hand is hard despite the gesture, the monkey shivers under it. It might pass for embarrassment, his fear. Good. She tugs at the fur a little and greets the pain where, connected to her deamon, a part of her soul resides, stuck among arteries and veins in rivers of blood – the one thing she’s yet failed to dissect to understand the nature. Her insides yelp; it helps her think. She needs to think fast.

Truth, she decides, is the simplest thing to say. And the quickest way to try and thaw a few hearts that are so hung up on innocence.

She only makes one mistake. She looks at Asriel.

‘I was…’ in love, is what Marisa tries for, ready to play the cards, but that incomprehensible soul of hers… She would throw it to the wolves if she could. It makes the words cluster in her throat. It fights against every sound, clawing them down with a fierce proprietary desire to omit, to withhold, to never share a single meaningful piece.

‘Yes, Mrs. Coulter?’

Because it was theirs.

A young man bumps into her, rushing away from her husband like all dogs are on his tail, which is a bit funny since he’s being followed by a giant cat. A  leopard, alright. For the sake of precision, a snow leopard. The man’s face still carries echoes of an argument he’s very obviously continuing in his head even as he turns.

‘My apologies,’ he mutters, a hand on Marisa’s shoulder making sure she’s okay.

‘No need,’ she chuckles at how aggravated he looks, then nods to his suit. ‘You’ve spilled your drink.’

‘What? Oh–’

Something very inappropriate is about to leave his lips, but the stranger contains himself, albeit hardly. He does give an impression of someone who’s not used to doing it. A gentleman, then; sparing Marisa’s ears the horrors of hearing him curse. She smiles. It is a very expensive suit he’s wearing, of fine materials, clearly tailored. With a big wet whiskey spot on the left sleeve.

She lends him a handkerchief. Simple as that.

‘Seemed like you were having a hard time with Edward Coulter there.’

‘Politicians,’ the man scoffs, patting his sleeve dry. ‘A fine specimen too, pigheaded as they come.’

‘Hard to disagree.’

The man snorts.

‘Thank you.’ He looks up to return the handkerchief. For the first time, their eyes meet. Marisa feels blizzard skies touch her face.

Fathomless, untamed, impossibly blue.

Now she’s dizzy.

She has to blink and breathe before reinforcing a polite smile.

‘You’re welcome.’ There’s a little crack in her voice, through which something new seeds in, spilling gold all around. Everything is brighter. Warmer. And the stranger doesn’t help, the stranger is watching her with intensity so profound, as though taking his snowstorm eyes away would be death.

‘I don’t think we’ve been introduced.’

‘We haven’t,’ meaning to take the pitiful piece of cloth, she reaches forward, sly cruelty curling the corner of her mouth in anticipation. ‘Marisa Coulter.’

Now their hands meet. Now she shudders.

It’s against the rules, the anbaric charge running from her fingers and all the way down her spine.

The young man raises his eyebrows, glances over at Edward, then turns to Marisa again. She nods, enjoying the trick. Now he’ll say, ‘Forgive me’. He’ll say, ‘I didn’t mean to be rude’. They’ll laugh about it for as long as another minute will be merciful to last and by tomorrow, they’ll have already forgotten. Simple as that.

He sends her a grin with not a hint of apology in it and whispers, ‘My condolences.’

Their hands are still touching.

Now, Marisa falls.

How does one share… that?

‘I was weak,’ she says instead, hiding the truth so deep in the hardened soil that is her core now, it doesn’t have any chance of pushing back to the surface, ‘and easily seduced. A young woman, the high society. Getting plentiful attention from a handsome young man. It doesn’t excuse me, but the result is, I think, understandable.’

That should do it. That should be enough.

In years to come, she’ll bare her teeth at anyone suggesting that she was, indeed, seduced, for every time, this exact moment will come before her eyes. When she set the rumors free to cover her refusal, her actual inability to kill whatever love there was by laying it down before the judging eyes. When she stood lying her heart out to protect it. What a wild, unreasonable thing to do, lacking any logical backbone.

‘In your own words, Mrs. Coulter, could you describe the nature of your affair with Lord Belacqua?’

And she keeps doing it again, and then again. Before the board of the Consistorial Court, before the Authority himself. Before Asriel, to whom she has no means of explaining what she’s doing and why, and it’s too late for explanations anyway.

‘It was just that, an affair.’ The monkey’s frozen under the palm of her hand, but his heart is racing. He’s looking at Asriel, making her want to look. She can’t bring herself to, not with all the atrocities falling out of her mouth. ‘I never made any advances.’ A lie. ‘Our relationship was merely physical.’ A lie. ‘There were no high feelings involved on either of our ends,’ a preposterous lie, ‘and I certainly never planned for a child.’

‘Now, the child…’

And so it continues: a hook after hook, round after round of scrupulous investigation, escaping traps, spinning a detail or two into webs by myriads and morphing them to the point of striking unrecognizability, concealing what couldn’t be shared.

Marisa goes through humiliation of describing her pregnancy to a board of priests, each of whom, at some point, winces at the realness of their beloved sacred concept. She answers increasingly stupid questions, and grooms her voice to sound respectful and calm. She acknowledges her sins without ever raising eyes. She, for all means and purposes, survives.

There’s one moment where it almost goes downhill.

‘What were the circumstances of your conceiving of a child?’ Sturrock asks, cruelly overdoing the air of grave solemnity. Perhaps, Marisa is just too exhausted to be impressed anymore.

Are you stupid? she might have as well said it, with the way she turns to the man raising a brow, face completely unreadable otherwise. The fat hawk dives out of his papers. Without as much as a word, he gestures for her to talk, and Marisa, the perfect statue, feels the last crumbs of patience being incinerated within.

‘Physical intercourse,’ from her tongue, venom all but drips. ‘Am I supposed to explain to the honorable judges what that is?’

Well, now she’s done it. Caused a storm. Rows of black attires buzz in a unanimous disapproval. Marisa imagines Asriel chuckling. She doesn’t see him, doesn’t hear him behind the noise, but she’d like to imagine a smile. A half-hidden, proud smile he used to have as he looks at her stirring trouble.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! A gavel brings order by slamming the living demons out of the wood. The monkey’s tail curls around Marisa’s forearm. He scowls, and takes a step back. Closer to her. She doesn’t have shelter to offer, only her nails driven deep in the fur.

‘Let me rephrase the question, Mrs. Coulter, and from now on, please refrain from any irrelevant comments,’ the Cardinal grimaces. ‘Were the circumstances clear enough to presume Lord Belacqua to be the father?’

‘I am the father!’

Immediately – a roar, as if that man can’t speak in lower volumes. Always the roars with him.

Across the room, the whole magnitude that is Asriel comes alive, and suddenly Marisa knows – not even understands, it’s not a eureka, she just knows. Stelmaria paces, abandoning her sphinx-like grace; her hissing grows into snarls and back. Asriel is arguing with Sturrock who, without a doubt, is telling him to shut up, which Asriel, without a doubt, ignores. The voices echo. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that for all the lies they both told – the lies, she realizes, absolutely identical in their meaning and reasoning – this one he won’t allow. That single grain of truth must remain unmutilated, untouched by their game of erasure.

For Asriel loves that child. He loved it enough to name it, loved it enough to steal it away. He loves it enough now, to fight for it. And Marisa, while having the power to invent any obnoxious story and take his fatherhood away, won’t do it.

Because it’s theirs.

Because it’s the only thing they haven’t buried yet.

Because, as her love-stricken body never ceases to remind her, she didn’t want a child, but she also wanted his just a little.

So she bites her cool, steady hatred down and doesn’t ruin it all the way. For an act of killing, an act of mercy. Screaming: Here. Don’t you fucking dare say I didn’t have a heart.

‘My husband was frequently absent, sometimes for weeks on end.’ A sterile voice, devoid of anything but a drop of sarcasm. ‘As a scholar, I pride myself in knowing the basic mathematics to do the count.’

It’s hard to say if the Cardinal’s forehead is glistening with sweat of responsibility or mere frustration. He waves his hand, and doesn’t ask Marisa any more questions.

From the distance, Asriel is scrutinizing her. She can imagine gears turning in his head as he contemplates her actions. Imagining is the only thing she can do; to salvage something, something else must be sacrificed. Marisa fakes a cold smile. He frowns. Threads of Aurora colors are still hanging between them, uncut, piercing the space to weave the two together, but the ability to read them is lost.

***

Mercury. Lead. Cadmium. Aluminium. Any type of hazardous metals, Asriel is used to handling in his laboratory with according tools and protection, but when a tiny bundle nestles on the crook of his arm, he suddenly feels stupefied. What to do. How to hold it. How, for heaven’s sake, to not harm it?

Afraid of breathing the wrong way, he walks to the stairs. Thinks. Properly, carefully. Then sits on the lower steps, all the way making sure not to press the baby too hard, not to bump the head, not to… a billion other not-tos.

The tiniest face he’s ever seen wrinkles in sleep, and Asriel understands why it’s called ‘falling in love’. It is a fall. His heart plunges down toward something so entirely new, it’s torturing, yet rewarding at the same time. He felt it with Marisa but this, this is different. He stares at his daughter’s face with awe written all over his.

‘Won’t you introduce us?’ He’s oblivious to his own daemon approaching. Stelmaria rubs at his shoulder, her impressive might turned delicate, affectionate. Amber eyes find the baby. She gives the blanket a couple of sniffs and grumbles with content, tail slowly passing from side to side. Asriel feels holy.

‘Stelmaria, this is Lyra,’ he whispers proudly, stunned at the sheer strangeness of the words he never thought he’d use in a combination until he does. ‘My child.’

And then again, ‘My child.’ Like he’s perpetually amused by it. His chest shakes with a stifled laughter of joy.

The baby’s eyes aren’t fully closed, so he thinks he might need to ask Ma Costa if that’s alright. She’ll know. Still, the child appears happy in her slumber. His child, sleeping in his arms. Under her eyelids, a shard of blue. Gyptians say, everybody’s born with blue eyes, sky eyes, and only when spirits finish weaving the threads of one’s life here on earth, do they acquire their true color. What a bunch of nonsense. His child, Asriel knows, will have the bluest eyes forever, even when she’s all grown up. Because she’s theirs, Marisa’s and his.

A little mousy thing climbs from under the fold, yawning and squealing. Perhaps, it’s too hot there. The tiny daemon doesn’t even fully wake, slumping right back on his daughter’s chest and dreaming their little dreams.

‘Won’t you introduce us?’ Asriel turns to Stelmaria, echoing the question. The leopard comes to lick the mouse, her tongue as long as his whole body. A kiss of love, though she’s careful enough not to touch the baby. Small paws catch at the fur on her chin. She licks the daemon again, unmistakably pleased.

‘Feisty,’ she says with quiet fondness before resting a head on her human’s shoulder. ‘Asriel, this is Pantalaimon.’

‘Pantalaimon,’ the name settles over the little thing. Both little things. ‘Lyra and Pantalaimon.’

He sighs, content, amused. In love.

‘My child. My child.’

‘He was going there to murder my child, and I wasn’t supposed to intervene?’

‘Lord Belacqua, we’re not questioning…’

‘Where in your holy books does it say that a father should sit and let it happen?’

‘Your motifs are…’

‘Because I’ve read them, and there’s no such thing there! You know what else they don’t say? That a husband can kill the bastard his wife bore. And don’t give me the ‘violation’ speech, if he was going to avenge his wife, he’d have come straight to me. Edward Coulter chose to go and murder the child.’

‘Silence!’ Sturrock roars, banging the gavel in a deafening, psychotic rhythm for so long, the thing must have gone flat. The Cardinal drops it on the table before wiping his forehead for the umpteenth time. Another ink smudge appears. The man sighs. When he speaks again, his breath comes out heavy with wheezing. ‘As I was saying, Lord Belacqua, we are not questioning your motifs. But if the murder of Edward Coulter was indeed, as you claim, undesigned, the question remains: how did you know of his whereabouts?’

Asriel’s hands are itching to break something. The damn gavel, preferably. Preferably, against the Cardinal’s head. Conversations have been going in circles forever now, following the same patterns like figurines in a music box.

‘Once again, the gyptians sent for me,’ he grips at the sides of his stand until his knuckles show white. ‘I know you’ve spoken to Ma Costa and John Faa. I’m sure they told you the same.’

‘Did any of them know what Edward Coulter looked like?’

‘Why would they?’

‘So, a stranger shows up, and they immediately call for you? Certainly, you understand why I’m finding this peculiar.’

‘The man was ravaging their settlement, screaming my name and demanding to see the child. I doubt the dots were hard to connect.’

‘And you, luckily, showed up just in time?’

‘Luck, chance, divine intervention, I don’t care what you call it. Ma Costa sent a boy for me. As soon as I heard what was happening, I took his horse and rode. And yes, I killed a man, but need I remind you, I did so protecting my child.’

‘Yes, yes, you’ve made that abundantly clear, Lord Belacqua,’ Sturrock mutters, clearly irked, dropping back in his chair.

A short silence follows. A short time to regroup for another attack. What ticks His wheezing Eminence the most, Asriel thinks as he’s watching the man shuffle papers on the table, is that he does not exhibit guilt. Every fool knows it’s the surest way to win the judging party over, yet he disregards even the most basic of rules. Deep within, he can’t miss the appeal: a man of science facing a board of clerics and winning, slowly but surely. He allows himself a smirk. Right away, comes a cautionary glow of golden eyes. Stelmaria bares her teeth, just slightly. Nothing is over yet.

They are all tired, agitated, and way, way less patient. Sturrock finally stops pretending to be the all-knowing bringer of justice and sulks in his high seat, clueless as to what comes next. That makes him pesky, stubborn. From here on in, dangerous paths wind ahead.

‘Where is the child now?’ the Cardinal finally asks.

Ah. So they know.

Asriel draws air to reply when he notices a tiny movement. It only makes him pause for a fraction of a second, but his mouth grows suddenly dry as he realizes what it was. Marisa turns her head. Marisa, who, for hours, stood as  indifferent as a statue and seemed to be oozing nothing but quintessential, undiluted boredom with the fate of their daughter, turns her head, and listens.

‘Lord…’

‘Yes, I heard.’

He can feel Sturrock frown.

‘And?’

It doesn’t matter. Her listening doesn’t matter. The woman is a labyrinth, each turn a dead-end. A sea creature that learned to mimic humanity. It’s just his heart he needs to persuade, because, well… She told the truth. Threw away the best weapons she had and told the truth where it mattered.

‘Lord Belacqua, I have to insist…’

‘The Jordan College,’ Asriel barks, pushing through the pounding in his chest. ‘She’s in the Jordan College, in care of its Master.’

Come what may, he’ll fight.

‘So,’ the sweaty, round face of the Cardinal proves to be a surprisingly good distraction. Who could’ve thought. ‘How does a child, placed in a nunnery, end up in the Jordan College?’

‘I took her there myself.’

‘On what grounds?’

‘On the grounds of my doing whatever the hell I want, because this is my child!’

He shouts. Stelmaria’s roaring, carried by the echo, rambles through the hall, and a whole lot of bugs, spiders, and mice daemons hurry to hide in their humans’ sleeves. They don’t have anything against him, Asriel realizes with grim satisfaction. Better yet, they are quite afraid. He stands prouder, arms folded. The taste of victory grazes his tongue already, nearing in anticipation to that first sip of tokay as the liquid gold pours into a glass.

‘And did you not think to consult with Mrs. Coulter?’ Sturrock gestures innocently to the side. ‘Its mother?’

He looks a cheap magician demonstrating a trick, although why, Asriel can’t seem to grasp. Marisa has been standing there this whole time. It’s not like he made her appear out of nowhere. A thought stumbles on its own irrelevance, at once fading.

There’s something in Marisa’s eyes.

Something, he could swear.

She stands wearing her guilt, and shame, and sin like she would one of her ravishing dresses, and he could swear she gives him the smallest, sharpest nod.

‘Mrs. Coulter…’ Asriel begins hoarsely, then stops. Honey-spiked wine turns into a nauseating unctuous slush in his throat. With an effort, he swallows it all the way down. He’d swallow his own pride to keep talking. ‘Mrs. Coulter does not have a grain of interest in being a mother, Cardinal. As soon as the child was born, she wished for it to be sent away. She even went as far as telling her husband that it died at birth. That child never knew a crumb of mother’s care, so I don’t think Mrs. Coulter has a say in the matter.’

He never takes his eyes off Marisa. Treading onto the ice, waiting for creatures to come from the depths and devour him.

Take her away, Asriel. I can’t… I’ll hurt her, or do something, or… She will ruin everything, she will. I hate that. I hate… Just hide her, Asriel, please. Hide her from me. I’d rather hate her from the beginning than love her, and hurt her still.

Creatures never come.

The lie settles.

Hanging over the room, an uneasy silence: the entire board of the honorable judges grows quiet, shifting their gazes from one stand to another. There’s not a cough, not a chirp from their daemons. No minds able to unriddle that enormous magnetic charge pulsating in the air, created and sustained, it seems, in half-accidental, neither scientific nor theological, conditions of two people looking at one another. Each a defendant, each a prosecutor. Making their own gravity.

Which can only exist for as long as it’s allowed.

‘Be it as it may, Lord Belacqua…’ the Cardinal sounds a tad less sure now, yet there are no more grounds to surrender. ‘She is still the child’s mother, and in terms of the rightful…’

‘Your Eminence, if I may?’

A clear voice, so perfect in its tone against the angry, tired grumbles that have been bouncing off the walls for hours, it’s like a breath of air.

All Asriel can do is watch. It all depends on her now.

Sturrock pinches the bridge of his nose – needless to say, dripping with sweat – before addressing Marisa. Whether he’s contemplating his career, or wondering if the two of them decided to team up specifically to wear him down, Asriel would understand.

‘Yes, Mrs. Coulter?’

‘Let him do with the child as he pleases.’

What are you doing.

‘Again, Mrs. Coulter, any elaborations?’

‘None,’ she shakes her head. ‘Except that I have no intention of being a mother to, as Lord Belacqua so eloquently put it before, a bastard born of sin.’

What are you doing, goddamn you.

She stands there. Just stands there, with whispers and looks touching her face, her clothes, getting under it and branding her a monster. An adultress, twice sinner, a mother who left her child. They would be more merciful if she just played her cards. Everyone loves a sad story with a mother and a child somewhere in it, and none more that the church folk. She doesn’t leave them a chance to be merciful.

In her eyes, shards of sea-blue, so familiar it sends a violent thrust through his heart. The ones forever mixed into the blue of their daughter’s. And suddenly, Asriel finds himself nodding to her in the same hidden gesture she did.

That’s right. Hit harder. I know you can.

The golden monkey stirs. Behind her stand, Marisa is a mask of cold elegance. Right next to her, her soul withers in a white-knuckled grip. Then she blinks, and her sea-blue goes completely blank, and she looks away.

‘Is that your official request, Mrs. Coulter?’

‘If need be, yes.’

The Cardinal gives out an exasperated sigh. Then bangs a gavel.

‘So be it.’

***

The very last thing they do is sign the orders.

Marisa sways when she takes the first step, but simply because she spent hours on her feet, hardly moving. Not because she’s afraid of walking toward the inevitable end.

She doesn’t look at Asriel. He doesn’t look at her.

They’ve said all they wanted, agreed on all they needed, and lied the living souls out of themselves in the process, painting each other all colors of monstrous. The tainted mess left on the courtroom floor has nothing to do with what they really were. And that, perhaps, is the most victory they can share. With nobody knowing the truth, they might forget it too. Forget there was ever love at all.

Ugly, grotesque versions of them that will leave the room shouldn’t make it too hard.

Asriel is the one to leave first. Stelmaria follows him quietly, a ghost of a man and ghost of a daemon.

His signature is right there on the paper. Marisa hardly even reads what is above. She’s not to approach Lyra or visit the Jordan College, that much she heard from Sturrock’s lengthy speech. The rest, she couldn’t be bothered with.

She signs a confident ‘M’.

A less confident name, not yet understanding why.

Then shivers.

For whatever reason, her hand is aching to write ‘Delamare’. I love you, sea creature. Taking a deep breath, Marisa has to spend a good minute closing her mind, sealing it up for good. Resorting, ironically, to the very thing she and Asriel created together.

Marisa Delamare drowns at sea. From its depths, a creature emerges, as enigmatic and obscure as the black waters that have turned its blood cold all the way through to the heart, and its beautiful embrace is deadly.

The creature’s name is Mrs. Coulter.

#i'm SAD #i'm feeling SAD #it is a long-ass chapter considering #probably overly so at times but ok a just couldn't edit it anymore #and it actually turned out WAY softer than i anticipated #(which makes me contemplate the necessity of the last chapter but we'll see) #but also - for that reason - kinda even angstier? #i have so many comments i'd better just shut up but i hope the idea is even comprehensible through the writing #there's a lot going on #ALSO #some flashbacks #including papa azzy one that made me go fUCKing ballistic #alright im done #hdm #hdm fic #his dark materials #trials and errors fic #masriel #young masriel #marisa coulter #asriel belacqua #marisa x asriel #asriel x marisa

[frostedpuffs]

#it really is a testament to my dedication to this fic that ive managed to write two long ass chapters considering Everything lately #text post

[makiswirl]

chapter 2 of the jotaro fic is up!

“Can’t promise something like that.”

“Try,” his grandfather says. Jotaro’s eyes narrow farther. “Don’t you dare ever make the same mistakes the rest of us have.”

Jotaro just wishes that he could make sense of why the hell everyone wants him to live so badly.

He’s getting awfully tired of making promises that he’s not sure if he can keep.

--

Jotaro goes to Egypt, meets some odd friends, reads about the ocean, and bonds with his grandfather; all while wondering if the price of being loved is really worth the cost.

Word Count: (Ch. 2) - 13,154

Rating: Teen (warnings in second author’s note: ‘suicidal thoughts/ideation, gore, derealisation, mention of periods (transmasc character)’... will tag/warn appropriately as chapters are updated)

Fandom(s): ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure  

#sorry this took like a few months? I think??? this was a long ass chapter considering the circumstances #A lot happens!!!! In this one!!! Because it's SDC time baybey!!! #kiki's writing #jjba #jojo's bizarre adventure #FEATURED CHARACTERS IN CHAPTER: #jotaro kujo #noriaki kakyoin #dio brando #joseph joestar #stardust crusaders #sdc #jjba sdc #jojo's bizarre adventure stardust crusaders #jjba fic #jotakak

[linddzz]

Almost done with the full write up but lads it looks like this chapter of Audacity is gonna be my longest single chapter for anything yet jesus fuck

#listen idk if the kids these days consider that long #but usually i am for 5-7k per chapter word count #this is after i decided to move a whole ass scene to the next chapter jfc #Morpheus this is SO MUCH for a single date day #maybe some of mahrana or safe and distant had longer chapters???? i dont think so tho #also slight teasers in here

[orcelito]

OK. Can't report any more progress made on the chapter bc I got caught up reading a fic lmaoooooo

Oh well. There's always tomorrow.

#speculation nation #im gonna try to write before work. might write during work. #almost definitely will edit during work. tho i will also have work to do during work 😮‍💨 #considering what the last scene is i doubt it's gonna take me That long to write #if it ends up being over a thousand words tho i will be SO angry #we dont need 10k word chapters 😭���😭 im trying to not fall back on my old bullshit of massively long chapters 😭😭😭😭😭 #'but fanny' you may say. 'i like reading 10k+ word chapters' #listen. Listen. i know myself. with my 500k word fic i started out with 6-10k words as the standard. #then they kept getting longer and longer and Longer with the new standard being 13-17k ish #and several chapters being Even Longer. at most up to 27k words 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 #im trying to avoid that. trying to keep itnl as bite-sized chapters as possible #if not for readers' sakes then for my own. bc editing massively long chapters SUCKS #and means i go even longer w/o updates #the struggle of wanting to hit certain story beats every chapter... the word count just keeps getting higher and higher............. #anyways. yea id say like 90% chance of itnl update tomorrow. if shit sucks ass at work i might not be in the state for it #but im gonna try. i want this chapter out So fucking badly man. and it's so close i can taste it... #itnl shit

[atticrissfinch]

Always on the Tip of My Tongue | (joel miller x reader) (18+)

Part 6 of Meet Me in the Back

pairing: sleazy gas station clerk!joel miller x fem!reader summary: when you see joel flirting with another girl, you start to lose your head. warnings/tags: [18+ MINORS DNI] age gap (no specifics), size!kink, daddy!kink, phone sex, smoking, alcohol consumption, light ~sexual touching~ with an OMC (some of which could be considered dubcon but is ultimately consented to), some angst besties :), jealousy, pettiness, Feelings, all that fun stuff!!!  word count: ~7.6K | ao3 a/n: life has been kicking my fucking ass, and so has this chapter. for like 5 months. but I’m so glad to finally have it out.  title is from Hate to Be Lame by Lizzy McAlpine. listen if you want to cry over these two. enjoy friends :)

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Kofi

Blonde. Skinny. Around 5’3”. Flouncy little dress that’s too skimpy for the 40-degree weather outside. A six-pack on the counter and a pointed chin nestled in her palm propped by her elbow.

The last time you’d seen this charade, it had been you.

You flex your hand on the door handle, peering through the glass. Joel’s forearms are resting on his thighs, a smile tugging at his lips as he shakes his head at her.

Something claws at your stomach, propelling you forward. The door chimes. Joel doesn’t look.

“I’m sorry, darlin’. No ID, no booze. Just how it goes.”

Darlin’.

You slip between aisles, keeping a watchful eye on the counter – on Joel’s expression – as you pretend to scan the chips.

“I promise I’m twenty-one! Don’t I look twenty-one?” You can hear the pout bending her lips, the shrill lilt to her voice, the vocal fry that grates across her words. She bends steeper over the counter, the hem of her dress kissing the bottom curve of her ass.

Joel’s thumb swipes at his lower lip as you see his eyes light up in what seems to be a subconscious response to what is surely a devastating view in front of him. “Don’t matter what you look like, sweetheart. No ID, no booze.”

“And I can’t convince you otherwise?” The enticing drag to her voice sets off a flurry of something in your stomach again.

It’s not jealousy. It’s not. It has to be something else.

Your hand closes around a bag of chips absentmindedly as Joel dips further forward onto his forearms.

“You think you got what it takes to convince me, darlin’?” Joel smirks, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Cause I—”

The bag slips from your hand and plops to the floor with a squeaky, crumpling sound against the linoleum, and Joel’s head jerks up.

When his eyes meet yours they go wide, a fly nearly caught in a web. He straightens up, stiffens like a board, and makes a show of clearing his throat as he glances back at the girl at the counter. “I’m sorry, miss. I’m gonna have to ask you to leave and come back with ID. I can’t help you. That’s final.”

You see his fingers fidgeting against his jeans as he sets his jaw and avoids your gaze.

“Fucking seriously? Fuck you, old man,” the girl bites back, shoving the Coors Light across the counter so hard Joel has to shoot his arms out to catch it before it smashes to the floor. She’s out the door seconds later, leaving you standing in the aisle and Joel staring down at the case clutched to his pudgy stomach.

For a long moment the only sound is the buzzing of the lights on the ceiling. Then your footfalls clatter against the linoleum as you make your way to the counter. You slap your retrieved bag of chips in front of Joel and begin rifling for your wallet.

“Darlin’…” Joel starts, falling flat in the air between you. The absence of the telltale beep from Joel’s barcode scanner has you looking up.

Darlin’.

“Just the chips,” you state, brandishing your debit card between your fingers.

You spot something in his eyes. Hesitance. Anxiousness. You don’t dwell on it.

“Please,” you punctuate, signaling your disinterest in whatever the fuck is happening between the two of you right now.

“Darlin’, I didn’t know you—”

“Joel?” You interrupt firmly, and he almost flinches. “It’s fine. Just the chips, please.”

He eyes you warily as he takes up the bag, scanning it, and watching you slide your card into the reader. You stare down at the tiny screen taking an abnormally, cruelly, long time to process.

The lights buzz.

“Pretty young thing,” you mutter before you can stuff the words back into your mouth.

“Don’t be mad, sweetheart.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Promise, it wasn’t nothin’.”

“Wasn’t my business if it was.”

“You seem a little mad.”

You exhale heavily out your nose, fixated on the tiny spinning wheel on the screen that you’re begging to finally chime and tell you to remove your card.

“I’m peckish.”

“Hell does that mean? You wanna peck at me?” Joel asks, his stool creaking under him as he leans back.

You look up at him from through your lashes for a moment. “Means I’m hungry.”

“Oh.”

You arch your eyebrows once in acknowledgment, and the blessed machine finally beeps at you. You snatch your card back and shove it in your wallet.

“Thanks,” you throw at him as you gather your spoils and head toward the door.

“Sugar—”

“Later,” you call casually in dismissal over your shoulder and let the door snick shut behind you.

You slam your car door shut and collapse against the back of your seat, chips tossed to the passenger side.

It doesn’t matter. He can flirt with whoever he wants. He can proposition whoever he wants. The two of you are nothing. This is nothing.

You wrap your arms around the steering wheel and bang your forehead against it with a thud, groaning.

The hell is this shit? Whatever you’re feeling. This churning sensation that’s tightening your insides. Because it cannot be what logic is telling you it is. Because that would be fucking stupid. You are fuck buddies. Nothing more than that.

You fumble around inside the median compartment for a carton of cigarettes and a lighter, roll down the window to a burst of frigid air, and light up. The first puff only minimally tamps your nerves, so you keep inhaling. You pull out your phone, idly scrolling, cascading smoke out the open window from the side of your mouth as you tap ash onto the asphalt.

The sound of scraping footsteps on the pavement next to your car has your attention swiveling to the left, where Joel is traipsing closer and closer.

That feeling starts up again.

With no pretense, he plucks the smoldering cigarette dangling from your fingers and leans his arm against the frame of your car, taking a lengthy drag.

“I wasn’t finished,” you say, a hint of annoyance infiltrating your words.

“I’ll let you finish,” he mumbles around the filter, only removing it to billow smoke from his lips. “Always let you finish, don’t I?”

“Whatever,” you mutter, reaching out to retrieve your stolen cigarette and attempt to resume your stress relief. Unfortunately, the “stress” in question is tapping his fingers against the hood of your car.

The silence stretches on as the white fizzles down to dull copper and Joel’s eyes monitor the front of the store. The taptaptap-ing of Joel’s fingertips grinds at your nerves.

“Didn’t mean to upset you, sugarplum.”

“You didn’t upset me.”

“Seem upset.”

“I already fucking told you, dickwad. I’m not fucking upset,” you snap, chucking your spent smoke on the ground at Joel’s feet. “You can fuck who you want. No skin off my nose.”

Joel heaves a heavy sigh and snuffs the ashen cherry out under his shoe. “Just didn’t mean to…rub shit in your face like that. ‘S’all.”

“There’s nothing to…rub,” you insist, dropping your head back against the seat. “You’re fucking other girls. I’m fucking other guys. This is a non-issue.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Joel presses his back flat against the car, folding his arms across his chest with a wide stance. “Ok. Good.”

You stare out the windshield, the salty streaks of ice melt marring the surface of the parking lot.

“I’m… I’m bein’ safe. Just so you know. With anyone else.”

It takes a second for the meaning of his words to sink in, but when they do, you do a mental double-take. “Wait, like… protection? Like condoms?”

His head nods steadily, eyes staring off in the distance.

“You hate condoms.”

Joel nods again, turning his head to the side to peer at the back of the lot. And your ears are playing tricks, the wind is blowing too loud, the cars on the surrounding streets too noisy. Because you swear to god you hear him say something that sounds eerily similar to, “But I like you.”

But you’re sure he didn’t, because when he turns back he just says, “Just tryna be more careful. Don’t need any little critters crawlin’ around the family jewels, ya know?”

“Yeah, no, that’s smart. I, uh, I am too. Having them wear protection. Just so we’re clear.”

Joel nods resolutely once more. “Okay then.” He springs himself off the car and starts slowly walking backward toward the entrance. “You wanna…pop back in for a bit?”

You’re not sure you’ve ever turned him down before. He’s always got that naughty glint in his eye, that charming smile, that bulge in his pants. But this time…you do. Maybe to prove a point. Maybe more to yourself than to him. “Another time.”

Joel nods deeply and twists about-face on the heel of his boot, his hands tucked in his pockets.

The chill of the night finally gets to you, and you roll up your window.

-

It starts to fester. The absolute last thing you want it to do. A constant frustration clouds the back of your mind, slowly creeping forward.

It takes significantly more effort to focus on work, to go out with friends, to run errands. You see the inside of more than a couple men’s bedrooms, hoping the right fuck will clear the fog.

There is one guy. A friend of a friend of Mandy’s who tagged along to a bar one weekend and finessed his way inside you by the night’s end. Nate. He’s a douchebag, but he’s hot and his dick isn’t entirely forgettable.

It’s not his. It could never compare to his. But it’s something. So you’ve allowed Nate to become something of a repeat offender. An expendable piece of arm candy for when you’re with your friends. He fucks rough and dirty, he calls you a good girl.

He fills gaps. The gaps that have been left by him molding your body to his cock. The gaps that persist from you decidedly avoiding falling into bed with that disgustingly foul, devastatingly well-endowed man again for the umpteenth time.

Seeing him flirting with someone else that night set off an alarm in your head. Something that now persistently buzzes under your skin. You feel it sting when you think about him directly. Like your body is punishing you.

It’s been about a month since you’ve seen him. The cold winter has given way to a slightly warmer spring. He’s texted you sporadically since that night.

February 19

Joel: really didnt mean 2 upset u sugerplum

Joel: really srry

February 26

Joel: is it one of them wierd jumpy years???

Joel: LEAP YEAR

Joel: how do they exspect us to know wen those r???

Joel: checked the calender in the office. is feb 28 the leap day?

Joel: miss u

March 14

Joel: whether is real nice 2day. bet ur wearin one of ur skanky sundresses huh?

Joel: woudnt say no 2 a sneek peek 😉

Joel: no presshure tho

March 17

Joel: cant stop dreamin bout that tite fuckin slit

Joel: wanna b inside it again soon

Joel: ill make it sooooooo good 4 u

Those last ones come in quick succession late on a Friday night while you’re hanging at Mandy’s place with a smattering of friends, your leg draped over Nate’s as his hand slides up your inner thigh — as high as he’s willing to go in the present company. He’s not quite as bold as…some people. But you like that he doesn’t keep his hands to himself.

Nate’s preoccupied even as he strokes your sensitive skin, locked in a spirited debate with another guy about some inane bullshit.

Despite the typos, Joel’s words have your core pulsing. Flashes of his massive cock splitting open your pussy flutter across the backs of your eyelids as you attempt to soothe yourself and the stupid, horny bitch between your legs. Your eyes snap open in response to the unwelcome images and you take a steadying breath, adjusting your seat and covertly palming your clit as you tug down on the hem of your denim shorts. That gets Nate’s attention, and he squeezes your thigh, giving you an appraising look.

He leans into your ear and whispers, “You think Mandy would disown you if we fucked in her bed?”

“Yeah, she would,” you mutter back. “Let’s get out of here?”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he chuckles, giving your leg a final squeeze before stretching his arms above his head with a fabricated yawn. “Getting a bit tired. We’re gonna dip,” he tosses to the group, knocking his knuckle against your knee to indicate the we.

“Ok, I’ll see you later, babe,” Mandy throws to you from the couch opposite, giving you air kisses. You reciprocate the gesture and let Nate lead you out, his hand solid at the small of your back.

As soon as you arrive at the car, your back is pressed against the chill of the passenger side door and Nate’s mouth is on you. His hand wedges between your legs, rubbing up against your pussy through your shorts. You whimper quietly, but cup his jaw, pushing his mouth back from yours.

“Not here, dumbass. You’re gonna jizz in your pants again.”

“I only did that once,” he grumbles, huffing as he shoves off from the car and rounds to the driver’s side. You’re on the road soon after, his hand tickling at your inner thigh again over the center divider.

It’s not the hand you want. It’s the hand you should want. The one you want to want right now. You hate that it’s not. All because you bent over for that stupid fucking cashier one time, and now you’re here. A perfectly handsome man’s hand is making its way up toward your aching clit, hindered only by distressed denim, and you don’t give a shit about it. Because it’s not the hand you want. It’s not the cock you want. Not the filthy mouth you want.

Didn’t mean to make you upset, Sugarplum.

Fuck him. For so many things. The life-altering, reality-shattering dick. The soft, torturous glances when he thinks you’re not looking. The sly, knowing glint in his eyes when he thinks he catches something in yours. The stupid turns of phrase.

The shameless flirt in him, aimed not only toward you, but toward any pretty girl he sees.

Fuck. Him.

Ok, so maybe you’re a tiny bit upset. You’re dealing with it. And you’ll continue to deal with it. In whatever way you see fit.

“Can we make a pit stop? I’m dying for a soda,” you say, rolling your head against the leather of the seat to face him.

“You wanna stop for a soda?” He replies, a whine apparent in his voice. “I’m trying to get you naked as fuck as soon as possible. Don’t cockblock me.”

You roll your eyes. “But the more hydrated I am, the more hydrated she is,” you inform, tapping two fingers against your crotch. “Don’t you want her juicy?”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Quick stop.”

“Perfect. Take a right up here.”

–

You spy a sliver of his truck around the side of the building, so you know he’s here. You hop out of Nate’s car, and you have a few seconds to peer inside before Nate’s hand is at your back again.

Joel is right where you’ve always left him.

You can see the jiggle of his knee peeking over the countertop from his boot bouncing on the crossbar of his stool. His phone is discarded by the cash register, but he’s got a clipboard and pen in his hands this time. You see the flick of his wrist as he checks something off on it.

For a fleeting moment, you second-guess yourself.

But then Nate is at your back, hauling the door open for the two of you.

Joel perks up as the bell chimes, but you’re too attuned to the features of his face to overlook the slight drop in expression when he sees you. Sees Nate with you.

Maybe you shouldn’t be doing this. But he did it to you, right? Let him see how it feels.

“Evenin’, folks,” Joel gives a courteous nod, eyes snagging on you and taking hold.

“‘Sup,” Nate replies in passing, guiding the two of you back toward the soda fountain.

You want to turn and look back at him as he clears your view. You want to see the expression on his face now that you’re not observing him. Because you can feel him observing you. Like his eyes are piercing through the cotton of your shirt, through your skin, right to your heart that feels like it’s beating far too fast for a casual drink stop.

But you don’t. You grab your cup and start filling it with ice. You dispense your soda. And when it’s almost full, you feel the slide of Nate’s hand down your ass. He gives you a light squeeze, and it makes your face start to heat. Normally you wouldn’t give a shit. You’re not opposed to PDA. But he is watching. You know he is.

You’re securing a lid onto your cup when Nate’s hand slips lower, down the center of your ass, until you feel his fingers start to stroke over your pussy again from the back.

Before you can say anything you hear a sharp interjection from behind you.

“Hey.”

You both turn back as Nate snatches his hand from between your legs. Joel’s attention is trained on the two of you, a look of bored annoyance on his face.

Not exactly what you had expected.

Joel leans forward onto the counter and reprimands in a jaded tone, “This ain’t Friskies Night at The Calico Kitten. Keep your hands to yourself.”

“Huh?” Nate responds, a bit dumbfounded, turning fully around to face him. You follow suit hesitantly biting your lip as the guilt of this entire situation starts to set in. You wanted him to feel guilty. To feel sorry for making you feel bad. You’re not so sure you want that anymore.

“You heard me. ‘S a public fuckin’ place. And private fuckin’ property. Keep your hands off her.”

Nate takes a step forward. “You’re really telling me how I’m allowed to touch my girl?”

“Nate…” you warn softly, putting a hand on his arm.

“Why the hell are you even looking at my girl to see how I’m touching her, huh?” Nate continues, slipping his hand around your waist possessively.

Joel’s eyes flit over yours, and you’re not even sure how to react. You feel foolishly caught in the middle of a situation that you crafted. You don’t offer anything but a subtle shake of your head to Joel.

I’m not his girl. I’ve never been his girl. Please don’t make me say it.

“Part of my job’s to make sure beautiful women like her are safe,” Joel asserts, pointing a finger at you. “You feel safe, darlin’?”

Darlin’.

You swallow slightly and nod, your voice caught in your throat for some odd reason.

“You want him touchin’ you like that?”

“She’s totally fucking chill with it, dude,” Nate butts in, but Joel throws up a hand in a stopping motion.

“Don’t remember askin’ you a goddamn thing, son.”

You clear your throat and, with shaky conviction, announce, “Yes. I’m fine with him touching me like that.”

“Hear that, old man? Told you she’s chill with it,” Nate brags, giving you a swat on the ass that makes you jump. You restore your resolve quickly, sizing Joel up with your eyes and your renewed confidence. He doesn’t reveal anything to you that he hasn’t already let slip, and it almost disappoints you. His own gaze seems to be scrutinizing you in return, like he’s daring you to make a move.

“Come on,” Nate mumbles, grabbing your drink from the counter behind you and starting toward the cash register.

You see Joel shrug and chuck his pen onto the counter like a dart, skidding across the surface. As the two of you approach, he unmistakably says, “Far too pretty for a little boy like that, sweetheart.”

“Please,” Nate scoffs, plopping your drink in front of Joel absentmindedly as he tilts his head toward you with a smirk. “Says the dinosaur over here, running his mouth and playing the white knight like he’s got a shot in hell of scoring a sexy piece of ass like you.”

Joel snorts at that, eyes fixed on the barcode he’s scanning on the side of your cup. “Son, you are stumblin’ into a dick-measurin’ contest that you are embarrassingly unequipped for.” Joel glances directly at you with a smug look cemented on his face. “Ain’t he?”

Nate takes in your vague expression, then narrows his eyes slightly at Joel. “Why are you asking her like she’d know?”

Joel gives a little upside-down grin and a shrug, focusing his attention on his monitor. “I’ve found that girls have a pretty good sense for that kinda thing. Don’t they sugar…” he starts, meeting your eyes from beneath his eyelashes, “tits,” he concludes smoothly.

You see the glow in his eyes. The knowledge of what he wants to call you, but knows better than to divulge in front of an outsider.

Your heart throbs in your chest.

Even now, when you’re very blatantly trying to make him feel insecure, that unique Joel self-assurity shines through. Not only that, but the respect for you and the privacy of your little trysts stands unwavering between the pair of you. He could blow up your spot. He could tell Nate how unabashedly you scream on his cock, how your eyes roll back in your head every time he sinks inside you. How he’s trained you to call him “daddy” and trained your cunt to slide down onto his generous length with humiliating ease and reasonable grace.

But he doesn’t.

And that alone would win him any dick-swinging contest, if his staggeringly large cock hasn’t already.

“Fuck it, it’s on the house,” Joel says, waving his hand at the soda and jabbing his finger onto the touch screen on his monitor. He plucks a straw out for you from the cup stocked with them by the register.

“Wait, what? Why?” Nate challenges, skeptical.

Nate secures his hand around your waist again, but Joel doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t give it any attention at all. Just scoots your drink closer to you and says with a wink, “Don’t say I never did nothin’ nice for ya.”

You wrap your hand around the base of the cup, and when your fingers don’t meet each other around the circumference of it, your mind is flooded with images. When you glance up at Joel, it’s apparent that he’s already plagued with the same vulgar recollections.

Joel clicks his tongue against his top row of teeth and winks at you again in sendoff. He doesn’t say it, but the message is clear.

We both know what’s going on here, sugarplum.

–

Nate doesn’t get any. He doesn’t even make it out of the car at your place before you shut it down. And he is comically distressed about it. He calls you a bitch and a tease before peeling out of your apartment complex with screeching tires.

It sits heavy in your stomach how mortifying it would be for Joel to have seen that kind of behavior. But honestly, Joel probably pegged that attitude in him within seconds. He’s smart that way. Intuitive. God, it enrages you.

You saw the shift in him when he realized you were parading around with a sorry excuse for a man. Suddenly the threat he’d initially perceived was neutralized and it became more of a game to him than anything else. He was toying with Nate. While you stood there, battling with yourself over what you were doing.

Your phone vibrates when you step inside your apartment.

Joel: dont gotta b doin shit like that to get my attenchin sweetcheeks. u alreddy got it.

Something about the cocksureness in his demeanor earlier and the matter-of-factness in his text has frustration flaring up inside your chest.

You: Sure didn’t have it the other night. Some random blonde bimbo walks into the store and your cock is practically out.

You fling your phone onto the couch and head to the kitchen, pulling out a hard seltzer and cracking it open to down a generous gulp. Your nails clack against the counter as you see your phone screen alight over the back of the couch.

You don't particularly want to see what he has to say to your text. You had just wanted to say it. Maybe you shouldn’t have said anything. But you wanted to. You needed to. That’s the downside of texting shit like that, you suppose. The other party is probably going to respond.

Bitch, this is what diaries are for. Get a fucking diary.

Too late now.

You drag your feet over to the couch and drop heavily onto it, staring at the text notifications from Joel on your lock screen. Five of them. You take another healthy swig of your drink and take the plunge, unlocking your phone and swiping to your text thread with Joel. But you are not prepared for the deluge he smacks you with.

Joel: u excpect me to b a monk when ur not gracin me with ur presents princess?

Joel: shure askin an awfull lot of a guy who dicks u down like hes paid 4 it

Joel: ya its been a while but i kno 4 a fact taht lil creamie gusher btwn ur legs remembrs how ur daddys cock feels squirtin his lode deep inside it

Joel: u bein petty aint as cute as u tihnk it is little girl. ur fuckin with a grown man. not some pussy boy like that chode u was flawntin around me with

Joel: if ur planin on keepin this up u better at leest try a little harder

Fuck.

You’ve never heard him talk like this. Like he's pissed off. He’d seemed so calm and collected at the store. Like he couldn’t give two shits about who you were hanging around or who was touching you. Your eyes start to burn with tears as you read the texts over.

You responded to his sexts by dragging your fuck buddy into his place of work. What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to react to that? Of course he’s pissed off at you. Why didn’t you take two seconds to think through your shit before reacting?

Bitch. Get. A fucking. Diary.

The fist around your gut clenches when more text bubbles pop up.

Joel: fuck. im sorry sugerplum. idk y i just threw all that at u. that wasnt polite.

Joel: just a dumb ol basterd shovin my whole goddamn foot in my mouth

Apparently you both need diaries.

Your heart hurts reading his texts. You’re enraged at yourself for driving him to this, running him through the whole gamut of emotions that a person experiences when they see someone they have feelings for giving attention to someone else.

Someone you have feelings for.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

The fist around your gut is now joined by its twin around your heart.

You have feelings for Joel.

Deep down, you’ve known this for a while. It’s been brewing, whirring around your brain. You’ve shut it down every time it’s cropped up, wrapped your hands around its throat and squeezed until you’d sufficiently silenced it for the time being. Beat it into submission, starved it of oxygen, stuffed it into a box and set it ablaze.

Then you’d see him again and it would burst out of its charred prison, bigger, bolder, better than before. An exhausting cycle that you were only vaguely aware was occurring.

But that’s it. You have feelings for Joel.

So, you respond to him in the best way you know how, the way that you think would make him smile to himself the most.

You: Doesn’t even come close to what I can shove in my mouth

You bite the side of your thumb, a grin pulling at your lips as a weight seems to lift from your chest, as the fists begin to loosen. Your stomach flutters when the next message flies in.

Joel: cheeky girl

Joel: wheres ur boyfriend

Your smile broadens and you take another sip of your drink.

You: Got lost in the cavern you’ve made of my pussy. Might never see him again.

Joel: atta girl

You slap a hand over the cheek-bursting grin expanding across your face and toss your phone into your lap. But after a moment, when it dawns on you that you have no one to hide it from — not even yourself — you let your hand fall from your face and into your lap, your head leaning back against the couch as you beam up at the ceiling.

Another buzz.

Joel: hows about u make it up 2 me by showin daddy his cavern 😏

You giggle to yourself, hand already working on the button of your shorts.

You: Been a minute since the last excavation, might have caved in a little

Joel: daddy can fix that in a jiff. hes always got his tools with him

Joel: gonna jackhammer that little bitch rite open again while u scream on it. mine ur cave with my shaft til daddy finds gold

You whimper as you shove your shorts and panties off your legs, your mind rifling through all the sensory memories you have of Joel’s cock plowing through you in that relentless rhythm he’s perfected with you.

You spread yourself wide for your camera, your heels mounted on the couch cushion to maximize exposure, and even you are taken off guard from the wetness seeping from your opening just from his trademark filth. It’s like your pussy is hardwired to drench itself the second he speaks in that particular brand of dirty talk only he can pull off.

Your hands are shaking with eagerness and arousal as you send off a photo, your fingers descending onto your clit hastily as you await his response.

You feel so keyed up you accidentally drop your phone when it starts to buzz aggressively in your hand, Joel’s name and photo popping up on your screen with an unexpected call.

You recover and accept the call, fumbling to hit the speaker button to hear his voice.

“Shit, never locked that goddamn door so fuckin’ fast. Jesus Christ, baby. All spread and smilin’ at me like that.”

“Just from thinking about you, daddy,” you sigh, lying fully onto the couch and hooking your leg over the back of it to make room for your brazen depravity.

“Fuckin’ hell, darlin’ girl,” Joel groans, and he already sounds wrecked over the phone as you hear the muffled scrapes and scuffles of him releasing his length from his jeans. “Gash is dripping like a leaky faucet. Who’s it for, baby? Tell daddy who’s it for.”

“You,” you whine desperately, bucking into your hand at the grit and authority in his tone.

You hear a light tutting over the line. “You know better’n that. Tell me.”

You give a breathy whimper as you abandon all dignity for him once again. “It’s for Daddy Joel.”

A reedy groan travels through the speaker, followed by the easily identifiable sound of him spitting shamelessly into his palm. “Fuck yeah it is. That’s a good little slut.”

You can feel wetness dripping between your asscheeks as you rub at your clit to the reedy groans Joel gifts you with as the sound of slapping skin exposes his hand jerking his cock.

“Are you stroking yourself for me, daddy?”

“Hell fuckin’ yeah I am, baby. Right on our dirty little couch in the back. Can’t wait to bust you open on this bad boy again.”

You give a breathy laugh and say, “Is ‘bad boy’ referring to the couch or your cock?”

Joel lets out a low chuckle in return. “How’s about both? Wanna sit on this couch while you sit on me. Feel you bounce on it like the naughty fuckin’ bitch you are.”

You moan in response, your brain supplying you with memories of how it feels to drop down on his thick length until he bottoms out inside you. A wave of pleasure pulses through your body at the flashbacks, and you’re hit with how much you miss this man and his dick. How you crave the way he infiltrates your mind and your body in the most sinfully grotesque ways. You wish you had more visuals on your phone of what it looks like when he gapes open your cunt on his cock. That’s the first thing you want to do, you think, when you get your hands on him again. Make him film your defiling, showcase the stretch of your hole around his thickness as he retrains your body to take him after so long without him.

Your toy collection cannot do him justice. Maybe you bought a dildo that rivals his size, but it could never replicate the warmth of him inside you. The absolute control he has over you in those intimate moments when he lays claim to you. You can suction a silicone cock to a mirror and fuck your demons away as often as you’d like, but you can’t cup your own jaw with a heated, rough-hewn hand. You can’t fill your own ears with vile odes to the ways your bodies meld together, enrobed in that gritty southern drawl. Your imagination is only so colorful, and even if you had a thousand years, you could never amass the range of shades you would require to successfully capture his essence.

No, you could never paint him, even in your mind. You’re content to instead be a canvas for him. And as nit-picky as you are over your own appearance, whenever he gets done with you, a part of you feels like you could put an O’Keefe to shame. And he would undoubtedly agree.

But for the moment, you offer what little you can as your thoughts scramble by your own hand. “Yes, daddy. Wanna feel you fucking everywhere.”

“You stuffin’ that cunt full for me, sugarplum?”

You whine and tease two fingers down to your opening. “Not yet. Nothing compares to you.”

“Little boyfriend don’t stretch you out, huh?” Joel taunts, laughter in his voice as he baits you.

“He wasn’t my boyfriend. And no,” you admit, not terribly concerned with how easily you crumble over this man. You could argue back, stoke the jealousy, make Joel wonder exactly how he measures up next to Nate. But you’re done playing that card. Really the whole hand is blown at this point. He sees through you so effortlessly, you may as well have never had a poker face at all.

“Mmm, yeah, daddy knows how good he gives it. I told ya before. They all come crawling back to daddy Joel. You crawlin’, baby? You on them hands and knees for me?”

Your tail firmly between your legs like the bitch you were tonight, you whimper and say, “Yes, daddy. I’m crawling.”

“Lemme see.”

A whine escapes you, but you open your camera and maneuver yourself onto your hands and knees on the cushions, balancing your phone against the armrest to capture your compliance. The timer ticks down quickly and your wanton gaze stares back at you in a still image, your tits falling with gravity between your arms, your nipples peaked, your lips glistening from biting them subconsciously through your lascivious acts on this sofa tonight.

The picture whooshes off to Joel, and a gravely moan announces its reception. “Fuck me, little devil. Need you to drop those girls in daddy’s mouth so I can suck ‘em ‘til they’re raw.”

“Should punish them for getting us into this mess in the first place, shouldn’t we?” You purr, situating yourself on your back again to continue why you started.

“Damn well should,” Joel agrees, a grunt sliding into his words as he pulls at himself. “‘F’it weren’t for those knockers, you’d be down a twelver, some smokes, and a shit ton of good daddy pipe.”

“Especially the pipe,” you sigh, your fingers working ravenously at your clit. “God I love that big fucking cock, daddy. I’m gonna come thinking about it.”

“And I’m gonna blow my load all over my fist thinkin’ about your tight little gold mine. Shit,” Joel grunts out, the smacking sounds on the other end getting louder and faster.

“Oh, fuck, daddy,” you cry out as you feel that telltale warmth start to trickle through your limbs and the pulse of your pussy under your fingers.

“Yeah, fuck, come for daddy,” Joel growls out, followed by a series of curses and deep moans through the speaker as you assume he’s experiencing similar results.

As your adrenaline fades, you sink into the couch, and the weight of all your actions today start to sink with you.

“Shit, babygirl,” Joel exhales heavily as his own high dwindles. “Missed those sexy noises of yours.”

“Me too,” you admit, swallowing as you catch your breath. “Missed yours too.”

You hear a light laugh over the phone. Then silence starts to settle between the two of you. Time drips and each second feels like a drop into the pool sitting in your stomach, rippling and sloshing as you fight against being the one to spear through the quiet.

“Broken record here, but I’m sorry if I upset you flirtin’ with that girl, sweetheart. I didn’t know you were there. If I’d’ve known, I’d never…”

Something in your stomach goes tight again, and a burning starts behind your eyes. You hate that he keeps bringing this up. It had felt embarrassing enough in the moment. Mortifying enough to shut him out, to try and sort out the bullshit in your head about him. You’d made the mistake of trying to shove it back in his face, and it only made you feel worse. Every ounce of you just wants to move the fuck on from that night, from this evening, from this weird fucking limbo the two of you are stuck inside.

The words might have a little more bite to them than you mean for them to, but before you can pull them back you say, “Stop saying you made me upset. You have no idea how I feel.”

There’s a beat of silence before he responds, and it feels like your heart is palpitating to the passing seconds. When he speaks, his voice is bordering on defeated. “Startin’ to think you might be right about that. G’night, beautiful girl.”

A lump forms in your throat almost instantly.

“Joel,” you try to reassure, to prevent tonight’s exchange from ending on a sour note, but you watch the call end on your screen as you say it. That tightness in your stomach squeezes, the wetness brimming your eyes reluctantly spilling over.

You roll onto your side, drawing your legs up closer to your chest as you let your emotions overcome you for the first time in a long while. You beg the universe for him to call back so you can tell him what you discovered about yourself tonight. You can’t bring yourself to do it. You need him to do it.

He probably thinks I hate him.

I could never hate him.

You give yourself over to the sorrow and allow yourself to feel.

—

The skin around your eyes feels crusty and tight with dried tears when you blink awake. The apartment is still mostly dark, and you’re still half-naked on your couch.

As your memory from tonight pieces back together in the fog from your sleep, you pat around for your phone. 5:02 AM. No missed calls or texts.

You sigh, tossing the phone onto your coffee table and curling in on yourself again. The sleep has you thinking clearer.

You need to tell him. You can’t keep it inside when it feels like it’s boring through your chest. Especially when he’s sitting in that dingy store, likely thinking you can’t stand him. The hurt in his voice when he hung up a few hours ago is haunting. You never want to hear him sound like that again.

You wrangle your shorts back on, spruce up quickly in the mirror, and grab your keys.

You’re at the gas station in minutes, pulling up to the front. You allow yourself a single deep breath, not enough to second guess, and head to the front door.

The bell chimes tinnily, but the store is quiet. And Joel isn’t sitting on his stool. You don’t let it sway you.

You pass the first aisle. Nothing.

You pass the second aisle. Nothing.

Then you approach the third aisle, and you swear your heart skips. Joel is at work on the floor, kneeling on a foam pad and restocking the shelves.

“Be right with ya,” Joel says dismissively, reaching into the box behind him.

“What if I was upset,” you blurt out before he even has time to look at you.

Joel freezes for a moment as the sound of your voice flows from his ears to his brain. He twists back around as his gaze gravitates to yours, eyes widening in surprise as he pulls his hands from the box. His eyes roam over your body, toes to tits, then finally to your face. “Well, hello there, pretty girl.”

“Hi,” you rush through the word, fold your arms across your chest just for somewhere to put them. “What if I was upset.”

Joel studies you for a long moment, his eyes squinting slightly in scrutiny. He falls back onto his ass, wincing gently as the pressure is taken off his knees, and drapes his arms over the clearly aching joints.

“What if you were upset, you’re asking?” He repeats, his tone prodding for further explanation.

“Yes,” you reply simply.

His eyes float to the side, drudging up what exactly you mean by that, before nodding to himself once he thinks he understands. “Upset at me tryin’ to slip it in another girl?”

A flash of disgust splashed across your face before you can school it, but you nod. “Yes.”

“Well,” Joel starts, his eyes shifting to the ground between his legs before meeting yours again, “What if I didn’t like you flittin’ around here with some dipshit punk? What if that really fuckin’ pissed me off, actually?”

“It pissed you off?”

Joel raises one eyebrow and sets his jaw firmly in response.

A creeping satisfaction radiates in your bones at this revelation. It had worked. He played it off, but it worked. So your behavior hadn’t been all for nothing. The crudeness of which you’d allowed Nate to touch you in the dim light of the store, the sting of the slap to your ass, the tingle you’d felt when Nate brushed his undeserving fingers over your pussy under Joel’s surveyance — it all burrowed under Joel’s skin.

“I wanted it to.”

“I know,” Joel says lowly, almost like he’s ashamed he’d fallen for it.

The heels of his boots squeak on the linoleum as he fixes his attention on the half-stocked shelves.

Moments drag by, and it becomes apparent that Joel is leaving the ball in your court on where this conversation leads.

You sigh, kicking your foot nervously and barely grazing the floor. “What if I don’t want to see you fucking around with another girl like that again?”

Joel’s eyes are drawn back to you again. You can see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips before he says, “What if I don’t give a fuck about any other girl, even if they tried?”

A spark of light ignites in your chest as you battle with the smile pushing at your own lips.

None of this is even a solid answer. Not even a solid question. The open-ended what-ifs rallying back and forth, all at once saying nothing and everything you want to verbalize. But it feels right. It feels good.

Joel leans forward, a broad hand cupping around your calf, and your heart swoops. “Sugarplum,” he whispers, eyes locked on yours as his mouth brushes above your knee. Your eyes drift closed, luxuriating in the plush press of his lips on your skin, the gravity of the act somehow infinitely more magnanimous than it would have been at any time before now.

You’re both startled out of your skin as the bell chimes again and a breeze wending its way through the open door, a man in a suit heading straight back toward the coffee dispenser.

“Shit,” Joel mutters under his breath, pressing another kiss to your thigh before shoving himself off the floor and dusting off his jeans. You take a steadying breath and stem the heat in your cheeks with your palms.

Joel’s hands find your hips, stroking just under your shirt with his thumbs as a soft smile plays on his face. “Let’s talk later.”

You nod at him, pulling your lower lip between your teeth, suddenly feeling very bashful. “My place after I get off work? I’ll text you the address.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Joel affirms, his greedy eyes crinkle with his smile, and you’re not positive whether he’s undressing you or admiring you with them, but you ultimately figure it’s both. Always both. Joel’s lips find your forehead and it’s a losing battle to train your face into anything but exhilaration.

“Guess it does,” you reply softly, unable to stop yourself from raising your fingers, touching his lips that very well might be yours now, just as much as your own are.

Joel hums against the pads of your fingertips, pressing a delicate kiss to them and whispering, “My little sugarplum.”

Taglist Update: I have decided to decommission my taglist in favor of an updates blog! Please follow @atticrissfinchupdates and opt in for notifications to get notified when I post a new fic!

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #sleazy!joel miller #tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #katy wroted fic #mmitb

[peachsayshi]

cc x·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ thinking about...reader trying to break up with yandere gojo  

minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: yandere; dub con; lovesick gojo & he’s obsessive/toxic about it; he’s mean but yummy, okay?; size kink (ish?); gojo showing off his strength; sex without protection

notes: I had this written as an idea right after I wrote my hc’s for the jjk men in their yandere version. twylm readers, please forgive me for not posting the next chapter. I am working on it but I am really struggling - I had the worst burn out after the last chapter, and have been having a hard time trying to get back into the story >.< 

wc: 1,228

gojo plays with the hem of your skirt - the flat expression on his face telling you that he’s listening but appears unbothered by your statement. you can see the annoyance in his eyes, the irritation that you would say something so ridiculous in the middle of a make out session. 

his hands find the back of your thighs and with one swift motion he pulls you over his long legs so you’re hovering above his lap. the imbalance forces you to clutch onto his shirt with frustration, and he mindlessly reaches to undo his belt before tugging your underwear aside with his long, slender digits. 

“toru, are you listening to me?” you whisper in a small voice. 

“you want to take a break?” he repeats calmly, but those last two words are laced with disgust, barely slipping through his clenched teeth, and he lowers you down just enough for him to press the tip of his swollen cock against your slit. 

“I need to slow things down...” you breathe, lashes fluttering at the sensation from the contact. 

your thighs naturally start to tense up when he holds you there, and the pads of his fingers dig roughly into your hip to keep you in place. you hiss against the harsh touch, gazing down to find your lover pouting at you like a disappointed child.

any stranger would consider this an adorable expression with the way his big eyes widen while his brows upturn sorrowfully. 

to you, however, it was an entirely different message. 

“are you unhappy?” he asks, his words weighed down by hurt. 

a warm sensation travels up your calves as you try to maintain the pose and you shake your head no while squeezing him gently with reassurance. satoru flickers his attention back to the point of contact. your pelvis feels tight from holding this awkward position, and the ache to have him inside you naturally makes the space between your legs pulse with need. 

satoru gojo has given you everything and more. there is no reason for you to be unhappy. 

he made sure of that. 

“okay,” he confirms with a sigh, one palm moving to grope the curve of your ass while the other stabilizes your leg as he draws you down his length. “do you not love me?” 

a hard lump forms in your throat. 

you’re careful never to actually say those words to him. 

satoru’s devotion consumes your entire your soul - you can’t help but feel like you would be making a deal with a devil if you decided to admit your true feelings. 

you managed to keep his peace of mind this far by reassuring him with deep, promising kisses and strong acknowledgements of his feelings. 

technically you aren’t lying, but the reality is that you’re afraid to love him...and of what your love does to him.

giving him another silent reply, you nod your head as your fear creeps up the back of your spine. the only relief you find is the stretch between your legs, and your lips part into a circle as satoru gives himself to you inch by glorious inch.

your skirt flaps over you both, concealing him buried inside you. he arches forward to kiss your jaw, his large hands finding your breasts and he massages them over your fitted tank. 

he delicately trails his fingers down your waist to latch onto your hips once more. “then why...” he murmurs into your neck, “do you want to take a break?” 

your hand finds the back of his head, a moan leaving your parted lips when you feel him lick a stripe up the column before lightly nipping at your earlobe. 

“it’s just...” you gasp, feeling flowers of heat bloom in all the places he’s touching you, “I just feel like we are getting ahead of o-ourselves..ah...” 

he rocks your hips back and forth, moving at such a languid pace that you can’t help but clench your thighs around his own. your fingers curl around the snowy threads of his white hair, tugging at it gently before pulling his face away so you can meet his eyes. 

he looks smug - but he always does because he knows that you’re just addicted to him as he is to you. 

“isn’t that what we want?” he questions, the corner of his mouth twitching into a lazy smile as he takes off your top and unfastens your bra, “we’re already so perfect...” 

“satoru,” you whine, “that’s not the point-” 

this time he ruts his pelvis upward, interrupting your thoughts as he hits you at the right spot that makes your eyes disappear into the back of your head. he leans against the chair, maintaining full eye contact with you as he casually lifts you up before dropping you back down on his cock. “just want to make you m’pretty wife, is all...fuck you like this every single night...” 

you bite your bottom lip, frustrated with how wet he’s making you with his words. your body subconsciously succumbs to his demands and you slowly start bouncing up and down over his length. 

“that’s right, angel,” satoru grunts with approval, his hungry hands grab your ass roughly, and you squeak when you feel a slight sting from behind as the sound of his palm slapping against your skin echoes around the room. “see? I’m making you feel s’fucking good, your pussy’s so wet f’me...just for me...” 

when his mouth finds yours, you know you’ve lost the battle. his scalding kisses leave your lips swollen but you still search for him out of desperation to feel the fire. he’s reminding you how hard it would be to let go of him, reiterating that there is no man in this world who could ever love you as much he does. you feel silly for bringing this up, questioning your own trepidations about him and wondering if this is simply you sabotaging what you already have. 

you are in a daze from the way he fucks you but he isn’t slowing down his movements and you feel like he might actually split you in two. he would never speak to you with angry words, but you can feel it in his movements.

“gonna c-cum, gonna cum, gonna cum...” 

it comes out of you like a warning, but it only makes satoru go deeper and before you know it your vision is white. your body feels everything all at once, and the coil that’s been tightening around your lower belly loosens from the intense orgasm. the pleasure is euphoric, sinfully so, and it drains you of all the energy you’ve preserved. your body goes limp in satoru’s arms, and he keeps them wrapped securely around your waist as he pumps his cum inside you.

he holds you in this embrace, allowing the seconds to pass. his breath fans your collar bone while he tries to catch himself. your eyes feel heavy when you blink them open, and you cup his face in your hands as you seek to cool yourself down with his azure eyes.

“I’m never going to let you go,” he confesses with a sweet kiss to the inside of your palm, before placing another on your cheek while he tightens his grip, “so stop trying to push me away.” 

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #yandere gojo #yandere gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut

[gotham-daydreams]

Not Tonight

[Platonic! Yandere! Neglectful Batfam × Gender Neutral! Sibling Reader]

[Warnings: Mentions of Neglect, Reader generally not having a good time.]

(Not proofread. Not too much Yandere shown. Mostly angst with Reader. Set up(?))

2nd chapter here. Chapter 3 Pt. 1, Pt. 2. [Series Masterlist]

๑۩۞۩๑————————————————————๑۩۞۩๑

How many times have you heard them say that? How many times have you tried to do something with them, to share your passion — or even just have some coffee with them, only to hear them say that phrase time and time again.

"Not tonight."

Well, what if you didn't ask them during the night? What if you asked them in the afternoon, or just when they were already up and about?

"Sorry! I can't right now, patrol reeeally kicked my ass last night. Besides, I have some other things that I have to get done, but maybe next time! For sure!"

Okay, right. That makes sense. Sometimes their line of work can be tough and draining, especially when someone is trying to run Gotham to the ground that night. So what if you just try to ask them when they aren't so busy? It may really limit the times you can ask... but you'd still try. Maybe it could also help if you asked for smaller things, like if they'd just like to spend a little time with you before going out again, or if you could just hang around them for a while? Nothing big, and anything was fine. Even if it was just sitting next to them, and having some small talk. Or maybe just the sitting part if talking was too much.

You'd take anything at all.

"I'm actually heading out right now, so I can't stick around. Go ask someone else."

"Can't you see that I already have enough compang with Titus here? Go bother Drake or something, I don't care."

All you could hear was snores past the door when you went to ask. So you moved onto someone else, hoping for a yes as your heart began to squeeze.

Someone had to agree eventually, right?

You begged the Gods as you traveled down the long halls. The chills of reality creeping up on you.

"Sorry, I'm going out to hang with some friends, but maybe next time!"

"..." She just looked at you before shaking her head, and taking her leave.

"I've got something to do at the moment, sorry, but hey, maybe you could ask your old man? Oh! Or maybe Alfred. That's a good idea."

Dick was out in Bludhaven, and you didn't want to bother Barbara considering how bisy she must've been the other night. So, you had no other choice. You asked, heart bleeding from how hard it squeezed.

"Not now."

Simple, to the point, and sharp.

Bruce's words were as cold as ever, and yet the echo in the cave only seemed to make the gap between you and him feel so much bigger. Even as you just nodded, eyes pointed to the floor. Taking your leave with a soft sigh that barely escaped you.

The elevator ride was longer than you remembered. The cold chill in the air grew freezing even as you stepped out, and now stood in one of the many halls in the Wayne Manor. Portraits and pictures decorated the walls, their painted and photographed eyes staring at you. Their gaze far from soft, but at least it was present. At least they, in that way, felt present.

You swore the only times they ever smiled at you that wasn't faked, or just for the sake of appearances was in those paintings and photos. Honestly, it was also probably the most times they've even looked at you too, and as sad as it is — you did say you'd take anything, right?

A 'no' or 'maybe' was part of that anything, technically. It's just not what you were hoping for.

Sighing again, you stared up at one of the portraits, eyes shinging under the lights as everything you refused to say made itself so clear for a moment. You didn't want much, and never asked for more than what you were given. You didn't think so anyway.

You always followed the rules, you did more than just excel in all your classes no matter how hard it was for you to understand certain things, and you even tried to get into things your family seemed to enjoy without pushing too hard.

You studied up on all the pets Damian had so that you could not only care for them properly, but maybe even take care of them with him some day. You played games and read reviews on games you saw Tim play just for a chance that maybe you'd get the opportunity to play with him. You picked up boxing and have even been practicing your aim with an airsoft gun, and have also been going to certain place when you could to practice using real guns and learn about them just so you'd maybe be able to have a conversation with Jason, and even connect with him in some way. You even read nearly all the books in the library just to have a sliver of hope for something, anything.

You learned sign language in three different languages and tried to find out what Cassandra was interested in, just to have some kind of interaction with her. Even writing on small note cards in serval other languages in hopes she'd give some kind of response, even if you forgot to put your initials and such more than several times. You participated in gymnastics in hopes of getting closer to Dick. You tried to find out what Barbra was into so you could also hold up a conversation with her if given the chance. You've tried to match Stephen's energy and do things she likes and have even taken up material arts as a means to maybe be a little closer with everyone!

Yet it never seems like enough.

Your schedule was so packed and filled with activities and extra lessons of all kinds, just so that you could feel like you had something in common with someone in this family. So that, when given the chance, you'd be able to form a connection with one of them and your efforts and sacrifices wouldn't be in vain. Though that still had yet to happen.

You weren't even a vigilante as you tried to persue your own passion and dreams, and yet that one single thing seemed to be keeping you away from everyone else. The one thing you were unwilling to do for them just seemed to make the gap between you and the rest of the family grow bigger. They're constant and continuous dismissals only seemed to further that point.

Just... what were you doing wrong? Was you not being a vigilante and constantly putting yourself at risk every night really putting that much of a dent in your relationships? Did your dreams really get in the way of that? Just because you didn't want to put yourself in danger? Just because you wanted to pursue music instead?

You took up art despite not being super interested in it before. You've been reading all of your life. Your stretched, ran, exercised, cooked, cleaned, organized, sang, wrote, danced, and even sculpted. You picked up almost any hobby someone could have under the sun, even if it began to feel like a chore and a job to you, just so that you could have something, anything in common with this family.

Though now you've gone through countless 'hobbies', and dropped many more since nothing seemed to be working, it... it still didn't feel like enough. Like you had to be doing something more despite having lost countless hours of sleep, just to go through the list of hobbies you had written down that you had left to try. You even took up some sports you were somewhat interested in, and yet nothing clicked.

Though is that really surprising when no one noticed how many times you snuck out for lessons and practice, or how long you were out? When you'd even forget to return to the Manor sometimes, and anyone still had yet to notice you were even gone in the first place?

... You couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped you. It was broken in every way, and yet empty all the same. Maybe you were finally taking after Bruce, but you wouldn't get your hopes up.

You looked up at the painting as if it'd give you all the answers, and yet dismiss you at the same time. The disappointment you felt was normal to you at this point, but the aching pain that came after was always the hardest part. Yet you still stared at the painted faces as if they were your real family, and the people close to them. Looked at the calculated and skilled brush strokes as if they'd give you what your family couldn't. What they refused to give you at every twist and turn, no matter how much you tried to accommodate to them. To do things for them. To just feel worthy enough to stand by their side. To be closer to them.

Though in the end, it is only that. A painting. A well crafted piece that, no matter how skilled the artist, could never truly capture how distant and vague they felt when you were the one standing to the side. No matter how much experience the painter had, they'd never be able to express and show how this poor excuse of a family felt to you, because they were only like that around you.

Maybe you'd feel special if it didn't make you feel like you were wasting your life living like this...

Eventually, you were able to tear you eyes away from the painting. The moon beginning to rise as you were sure the Manor was becoming more empty than it usually was, as more of its visitors and residents left.

The painting itself was nice even if it was one of many that didn't include you, with the number of photographs without you in them being much higher. Honestly, it used to be one of your favorites despite how bittersweet you feel about it now.

You still remember that day, but that would be implying that you forgot the others.

Regardless, you managed to pull yourself away from the spot you had been stuck in for the few moments you were trapped inside your own head. You tried to make yourself feel a little better, and give yourself some reassurance that maybe tomorrow would be different some how, and if not? Perhaps the day after, and the day after that.

Yet it all failed as you passed by more and more memories. Some were events you had participated in, sure, but the pictures made it look like you were never there in the first place. Heartwarming moments littered the halls, but you only recall seeing them from a distance — or being aware that the moment had even happened only when you saw the picture be put up.

It was like the very universe was trying to send you a sign with your constant failures and your family's persistence, intentional or not, to keep you at a distance. You didn't even know if it was appropriate to refer to them as your 'family', and maybe it wasn't considering things, but you still weren't sure.

You had been fighting for a chance to talk with any of them about anything at all for the longest time, because you wanted to be a part of this family. You wanted to spend time with them and really give this 'new life' of yours a chance, but now that 'new' part of this life had worn off. It was hard and honestly more draining than it was rewarding at this point, but you still wanted to give it a try.

Sure, it had been years at this point and now you were just about to go into college, and when you had first arrived here you weren't even middle school, yet little to no progress had been made — you never gave up. You haven't given up. So maybe you could try for a little longer? Just... a little bit, not too much this time, and figure something out?

You almost felt a little sense of hope return to you, no matter how redundant and helpless this situation felt and seemed. Yet it all came crumbling down again when you passed by one of the rooms, and saw something taped to the door.

It was a flier for your performance. One that would be happening soon.

Since your siblings began to pay less and less attention to you as time went on, with your conversations with them growing even shorter, you opted to just tape fliers of your upcoming performances on their doors. Though only the performances you'd thought they'd enjoy, and just hoped that they would show up, if they wanted to, when you stepped onto that stage and approached the instrument you'd be playing for the evening.

You tried texting and other forms of communication at first, but those quickly stopped working and so you just opted for this, and of course it was just as effective as the others.

Alfred was really the only one who listened to your music when you performed, and you only knew that because you caught him playing one of the live performances you had done on the television one day. He not only going out of his way to record the performance, but also trying to find the channel it was broadcasted on.

Ever since you've tried to give him the correct channel number when you do live performances, but that still didn't feel like enough. You loved and appreciated Alfred from the depths of your heart and soul, but what would it take for one of your siblings or close family friends to notice you like that? What would it take for your supposed father to even care to listen to your music? To watch a performance? To not turn you away?

It was only in that moment did a new emotion fuel you. Crawling it's way up your spine as you carefully took the flier in your hands, looking it over before ripping it off the door.

This. This one small thing was all you wanted from them. Over everything else, you just wanted to see one of their faces, one time when you looked out to the crowd when you performed — but every single time, all you saw were strangers.

Every charity event, every gala, every party- that's all you were surrounded by, strangers. Even when you caught small glimpses of them, they were always doing something else, and completely off in a totally different world than your own. That distance along creating a large void-like gap between you and them, and yet it only ever continued to grow. Even when they stood next to you, it was like you couldn't be further apart.

The reality of everything was crushing. Near deadly as you could feel your chest and lungs tighten, with your fingers digging into the paper enough to tear it apart, and reaching your palms as they formed crescent moons, soon drawing blood. Yet nothing could compare to the weight of your heart, and how heavy it felt to carry in your chest.

As you finally moved on from the door, your mind raced. Memories and flashbacks filling your head as every word and notion flashed before your eyes. Barely even paying attention to where you were going, but not caring enough to pay attention.

Every dismissal and excuse thrown your way. Every head shake and blank look. Every confused look, and realization that you were standing there the entire time. Every birthday that passed with the same wish never being granted. Every celebration spent on your own. Every message left on read. Every note ignored. Every time you were forgotten. Every time you were left behind. Every time you brought yourself home, and every time they never noticed. Every night wasted, trying to come up with different things to do only for all of them to turn out fruitless. Everyday that 'maybe' never cones true. Every time you looked out to that sea of strangers, hoping to see someone you recognized, only to find none. Every hour you wasted trying to do something for them while they never once thought of you.

Maybe you'd cry if you could. Then again, maybe not.

You already had spent too many tears over failures you recovered and grew from, and hardships you faced and fought. You've already cried just a little too much during those night you just couldn't handle being so alone, in such a big place anymore. Besides, you've cried enough over people who've never once thought of you. Who never once tried to make time to even see one of your performances, or even allow you to spend a few minutes in their space.

You've given them enough, you think. Especially since after you spent years trying to just make it two thirds of the way — they couldn't even reach that one third of the gap you couldn't. They didn't even try, at least not anymore, and after you had tried to make it easy. Yet, you only hurt yourself in the end.

They never cared about you, and maybe they did once upon a time, but good does that do now when you're trying to go out of your way to make things convenient and easier for them, only for them to skip out on you anyway. No text, no call, no message, no indication, nothing. Just pure silence.

Maybe you were asking for too much, but was it really so bad to want to be loved? And by the people who are supposed to be your family no less?

Hah, who are you kidding at this point. You've just been living in a house full of strangers, and you're the only one who hasn't seen it yet. They've already long since cast you out, and it's only now have you come to truly realize it.

Especially now, as you stand in front of the foot of the door to the music room. Staring at the knob as if it'll turn itself.

You weren't surprised, honestly. Playing music had quickly become an amazing outlet for you, and you had always come here to seek out what little your family couldn't give you; comfort. So it was no wonder that as you collapsed mentally, you had subconsciously brought yourself here.

And yet, only one thought entered your head in that moment.

'They don't deserve to hear my music.'

Perhaps it was now that you decided they had lost the privilege to do so. After all, ever since you had started having performances, even ones in front of wealthy crowds, your 'family' had seemingly been avoiding them like the plague. Never daring to even attend one, for whatever reason, and sure you could understand why they didn't attend the ones you performed at night — but they couldn't use that excuse anymore. You have strictly been playing during the after noon, and at sunset at a push, for over three years now. You've been playing in front of crowds and releasing music for four.

So, you turned away, walking off to your room as your thoughts still stormed. Anger fueling you as you barely remembered storming into your room, collecting any valuables and belongings you had and stuffing them into a bag or two. Not caring about clothes, and only what you deemed important and meaningful to yourself as you just grabbed and shoved everything into a bag if you could.

You could clearly tell now that you obviously weren't wanted, and that no one here even wanted to do the smallest things with you. That even asking to just spend a few minutes with them was too much. So you were doing the only sensible thing, and getting the hell out of here. Moving so quickly that your breathing became uneven, but you didn't stop until you had packed everything you needed, or was important to you in some way.

You only really had a second thought about all this when you were at your window, just about ready to jump out until you paused for a second.

Looking back at the door to your room, you couldn't help but hesitate. There was only ever one person in this entire Manor who treated you like family, and actually put in effort to not only be with you, but to indulge themself in your passion. That met you at the half way mark, and even went a little over sometimes. Since even if everyone else had ignored you — Alfed was there, even if despite all of his efforts you still couldn’t handle this, and maybe that was also your own fault in some way.

You still didn't want to stay, you couldn't anymore, but shouldn't you at least say goodbye? Maybe? After everything... at least he tried.

...

You settled for second best.

Quickly, you grabbed a flashcard and wrote down something before pocketing it and moving back to the window. You may not have any equipment for this kind of thing, but you still managed to scale and work your way around the wall, and managed to reach the window to Alfred's room.

You took a little peak inside, and when you saw that he wasn't there, you opened up the window just a bit, place the small note on the windowsill, and closed it. Then, you skillfully and carefully made your way down, and snuck off to Gotham City. Making your way to a friend's place as you crashed there for the night.

Never once did you look back.

Nor did you ever feel inclined to.

------

Later that night, when Alfred read the note, all it said was:

I'm sorry, Alfed. - Y/n

Just with that alone, it was like he understood everything despite the little that was said. All he could wish you was luck, and that you'd be safe wherever you went.

Suddenly, just like that. The nights where melodies would lull the residence of the Manor to sleep, and bring a temporary, mellow peace to all who heard such a tune, were long gone...

Guess they'll just have to find it, and bring it back.

--------

Kind of rushed at the end there, hope it isn't too bad for a first post. There's probably a lot of mistakes, so apologies for that.

#this was all written in one go #so that's fun #more angst than anything honestly #not really any yan but it is supposed to be for yan stuff #platonic yandere batfam #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere x gn reader #gn reader #platonic yandere #neglected reader #sibling reader #reader tries too hard and does their best but finds out it isn't enough #some things just aren't meant to be #but that doesn't mean they get to run around scott free either #not series

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

✨Dress Up, Part 1: The Proposal✨

IT IS DONE HOLY SHIT! Yeah, I had to change this fic 3 different times, I'm really sorry this one took so long. Hopefully you all like this one and thank you for your patience <3

Consider this a reward for kicking Vox's ass in this poll and declaring our short king the ACTUAL hottest character in Hazbin Hotel lmao

Edit: This is now going to be a multi-chapter story! Look forward to more! Thank you all for the support 💖

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Lucifer x f!sinner reader

Summary: Lucifer takes you dress shopping for a special night out, but for some reason he's been acting a little strange lately...

Warnings: 18+, smut, public teasing, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v

Lucifer excitedly told you that he wanted to take you dress shopping today. It wasn't out of the norm for you two to go out on the town and indulge on some sort of spending spree together. Plus Lucifer absolutely loved buying things for you; whether it be precious jewelry, beautiful flowers, or brand-new clothes. But you had to admit it's been a while since you've gone out, what with Lucifer spending a majority of time at the hotel assisting his daughter Charlie. You were so happy that they were able to rekindle their bond after so many years of being apart. You were more than happy to help with the hotel as well! You found ways to help Charlie with whatever she needed, which somehow ended up being more than you initially thought. It was exhausting to say the least, but you enjoyed it nonetheless! You were very much looking forward to going out today with your beloved king. And of course he was taking you to one of the most esteemed shops in all of Hell, Vivacious by Velvette. He truly spared no expense when it came to you.

But for some reason, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was…off about Lucifer today.

He didn't seem upset or angry or anything of the sort. More like, he was scared? Or perhaps nervous about something? You couldn't think of anything that could be making him feel this way. The hotel was doing great, Charlie and Lucifer’s relationship was better than it’s ever been, and you and Lucifer have been nothing but enamored with each other. You were just clothes shopping after all. You two had been dating for some time now; you remembered how Lucifer used to be all kinds of flustered during your first few outings. You thought it was adorable the way he stumbled over his words when he brought up the newest duck he had added to his collection or when he complimented every single outfit you’ve ever worn. He still did those things, of course, but he slowly became more and more comfortable and confident around you. But today was something you’ve never seen before. The wary smiles he’s been giving throughout day, the jitteriness of his movements anytime you approached him, his rapid speech patterns…was he hiding something from you? You intended to get to the bottom of it.

You walked down the streets of Hell with Lucifer by your side, his arm linked with yours. You stepped into the lavish shop, dresses of all kids hung from the racks: ball gowns, sun dresses, cocktail dresses; anything you could think of was there! Lucifer told you to take your time and to pick out as many as you wanted to try on while he waited for you by the dressing room. Despite the plethora of options at your fingertips, you only found yourself intrigued by a handful of dresses. Some with more material than others but you'd thought you'd give them a try regardless; you weren't shy when it came to your body.

You grabbed the three dresses that appealed to you the most and made your way towards the changing rooms. Just as he promised, you saw Lucifer standing at the end of the hall waiting for you. But he didn't seem to notice you at first, his attention was elsewhere. Next to the changing rooms was the most impressive collection of wedding dresses you'd ever seen in Hell and even on Earth, each more breathtaking than the last. You noticed Lucifer staring at the wall of dresses with an almost wishful expression, reaching out to touch one of the dresses' lacy sleeve, gently massaging it between his fingers. You smiled and quietly walked over to join him.

"They're really beautiful, aren't they?," you said, snapping him out of his trance and making him jump a bit. He smiled at you, his hand still holding onto the sleeve.

"Absolutely stunning," he beamed. Although, with the way he was looking at you, it didn't seem like he was referring to the dresses. You felt a small blush creep across your cheeks.

One of the employees walked up to you and directed you to an empty changing room. Lucifer waited outside patiently, smiling at you as you closed the sort behind you. The first dress you wanted to try on was a simple black sheath dress. Once you slipped it on, you reached behind of and attempted to grab the zipper. You can only manage to pull it up so far before it wouldn’t budge anymore, causing you to huff in frustration. Slowly, you opened the door to see Lucifer’s eager face staring back at you.

“I need your help, hon,” you admitted. “I can’t reach the zipper.”

Quickly, Lucifer stood up and followed you into the changing room. You turned your back to him and lifted your hair up and out of the way so the zipper couldn’t catch it. Lucifer placed one hand on your hip and the other on the back of your dress. You heard the zipper moving, but it only took you a second to realize it was moving in the wrong direction. Cheeky bastard, you thought to yourself.

“Up, Lucifer,” you said with a smirk, glancing at him over your shoulder. You heard a light chuckle escape him.

“Sorry, darling,” he apologized almost insincerely, peppering kisses down your neck, “can’t help myself when it comes to you.” Lethargically, he pulled the zipper up to the top, finally letting your hair fall back down. If he wanted to play games, you were more than happy to participate. Because you knew how to win. And just maybe, you could get him to admit to whatever he was keeping from you.

“I wouldn’t start something that you’re not ready to finish, sweet pea,” you threatened with a smug grin.

Before Lucifer could get a word out, you spun around and pushed him gently against the wall, eliciting a small yelp from him. You placed both of your arms on either side of his head, effectively trapping him. His eyes widened, sucking in a breath as he realized how vulnerable he was in this new position he had found himself in. His head and hands became flat against the wall as he looked into your now ravenous eyes.

“My love, p-please,” he began to stammer, “I-I didn’t want to-HNG,” you effectively cut off his meek pleas as your one hand traveled down below his belt. You maneuvered your hand up and down at an agonizingly slow pace. Nonetheless, you felt him start to harden underneath his pants almost instantly. You flashed a devious smile, but he didn’t see it, as he had screwed his eyes shut. Baring his clenched teeth, he tried desperately to hold his breath as to not make any lewd noises. You took that as a challenge, of course.

“So it’s only alright if you get to tease me, is that it, Luci?,” you questioned, leaning your head forward with your lips now pressed against his ear. “Now that doesn’t seem fair at all, does it?”

Lucifer gulped as you continued your teasing ministrations. “I’m s-sorry, sweetheart,” he looked at you doe-eyed. “P-Please don’t-mmph…don’t do this, not here. I won’t be able to hold back, not today…”

“Oh, I’m counting on that,” you retorted. “You know you’ve been acting out of sorts all day, don’t think I haven’t noticed. Maybe if you tell me what’s wrong, I’ll show you some mercy.”

Lucifer audibly gulped at your words. "It's…it's nothing, angel, I promise, I just-fuck," you pressed your hand in harder against the growing tent in his pants, silencing his response.

"You hesitated just now," you told him. "If that's how you want it to be, so be it. You don't have to tell me. But you're not off the hook, not by a longshot." You pulled away from him, giving him a chance to breathe normally once again. You gave a quick glance to the mirror to finally get a look at the dress you had adorned. It looked nice! But it came off as something you would wear in an office setting; not really your style. You looked back at Lucifer who was instantly frozen in place from your gaze.

"I'm not feeling this one," you remarked, "help me with the zipper?" You turned your back to him once more, feeling his hand tentatively grab the zipper. "You can only touch the dress, understand? I'm off limits."

"M-mhmm," Lucifer agreed. He behaved and only tugged the zipper down halfway until you could reach it yourself.

"Good boy."

You discarded the dress quickly, leaving you in only your lacy black bra and matching black panties. Lucifer forced himself to look away from you, trying to reach for the door handle.

"And where do you think you're going?," you asked coyly, stopping him in his tracks entirely.

“I umm, just uhh…giving you privacy?” He tentatively went for the handle again, but your arm shot out, keeping the door in its locked state.

“Oh, we’re way past decency here, Lucifer.” You maneuvered him away from the door and sat him down on the large white bench that was affixed to the wall. You leveraged your foot against the area just below his hip and rested one hand on the top of your thigh, the other on your hip. “Besides, you’re not really in any condition to be in the public view” leaning forward and shooting a quick glance down at his crotch, “now are you?”

Lucifer could only shake his head.

"Glad you agree," you smiled and pecked his lips, a pathetic little whine leaving Lucifer's throat. "I have a few more dresses to try on. You can look, but you cannot touch unless I say, alright?"

"Yes, love," he murmured obediently. You smiled and turned around to pick up the black dress you had let fall to the floor. You bent over slowly to pick it up, giving Lucifer a lovely view of your barely covered ass. You heard a deep inhale behind you followed by a shaky exhale.

You hung up the black dress and moved onto the next dress; a beautiful lavender colored Bardot dress with sleeves that hung off your shoulders. Luckily this one didn't have a zipper, you only needed to step in and shimmy it up your body. You adjusted your bra straps and hid them under the sleeves for the time being. You liked this one more than the last, you did as few twirls in front of the mirror checking every single angle.

"What do you think of this one, hon?," you asked, looking at his reflection in the mirror. It seemed as though he was gripping that bench with just a little too much force.

"Ravishing," Lucifer breathed. You had given him permission to look, and he was taking fully advantage of your generosity. He was chopping at the bit, fighting every urge to pounce right then and there. Lucifer's eyes were hungry, his lips curled into a smile to try and hide how badly he needed you at this moment. You admired his will power…but how strong was it truly? You made your way back towards him, chuckling playfully. Without warning, your knees found their way onto the bench, now fully straddling the mess of a man beneath you.

"W-what are you-mmph!" Lucifer tried to ask you but was cut short by your lips suddenly on his. You wrapped your arms around his neck and placed a small peck to his forehead.

"You always say just the right things, Luci," you cooed as you began to shift your hips against him. Hearing the mangled moans coming from Lucifer was nothing short of euphoric. You noticed he had released his grasp on the bench and began to move towards your hips. You gripped the back of his head, his hair firmly between your fingers, and tilted his head back gently. Lucifer grunted softly as you brought your lips to his neck. "Ah, ah, ah, what did I say, love? No touching," you scolded, now sucking and nibbling at his tender skin, desperately needing to mark him.

Lucifer whimpered and reluctantly brought his hands back to their original position on the frigid bench that paled in comparison to the feeling of your warm body that was pressed against him. "I-I can't do this f-for much longer, darling," he whimpered, "I can only h-handle- hnng, so much, I…ssshhhhhhiiittt-" Lucifer's hot breath became increasingly labored as you continued to rock your hips against his painfully growing bulge.

Just then, you heard the sound of a door closing. Someone had just entered the room next to you. With the threat of being heard now looming, you lifted yourself from his neck to see that Lucifer's eyes had turned an ominous red. It felt as if his slit black irises were staring straight into your soul, attempting to burn you from within. He was losing control fast. But you weren't done with him just yet. With a smirk, you placed a finger over his soft lips. "Shh," you whispered almost inaudibly, "you may want to keep your voice down from now on."

A low guttural growl erupted from Lucifer, not of anger, but of pure lust. His obedience hanging by the thinnest of threads as you removed yourself from his lap and stripped yourself of the purple dress. At this point, you couldn’t really care less about the dresses. This was much more entertaining.

The last dress you had grabbed was a form fitting strapless dress decorated entirely in ruby colored sequence with a long slit up the side. You held it against your body in the mirror, but something didn't look quiet right. But then in donned on you, and a devious thought had crossed your mind. You made your way over to Lucifer once more, noticing his claws were now digging into his thighs.

"Can you hold this for just a moment, dear?," you asked innocently. He looked up at you with his still crimson eyes, outstretching his hand silently. Once he was holding the garment, you reached around the back of your bra and unclasped it, letting it hit the floor with a soft thud. Lucifer's eyes became saucers, bunching up the dress in his hand with a clenched fist. Your soft and tender breasts were mere inches from his touch and yet he found he could only sit there motionless, writhing under each new temptation you threw at him.

"You…you are…" Lucifer began, finding it agonizingly difficult to steady his breathing.

You smiled and tugged the dress back from Lucifer's powerful grip. "The dress wouldn't look right with the bra on, silly! I should have brought one of my strapless ones, but oh well, live and learn!" You giggled to yourself and turned away from the fallen angel who's resolve was deteriorating with each passing moment. And with that final move, you had definitely won the game.

Or did you?

While you were mentally congratulating yourself on your perceived victory, you hadn't noticed that Lucifer had moved from his seated position, picking up every article of your clothing that you used to torment him. All you felt next was something wrap around your waist tightly. Was that…his tail?

"What the-AHH!," you tried to question, only to be pulled backwards through a portal that had been summoned, dropping the red dress in the process. The pale white dressing room vanished from sight and you were left standing in the middle of your bedroom. “Lucifer, why did you-" but you couldn’t finish your question. When you turned around, your lover was on his knees behind you, his demonic horns now on full display. He lifted his head, his eyes brimming with tears that threatened to fall at any moment. "Oh, Luci…"

"Please forgive me, I-I'm so sorry, my angel," he cried, "I know I've been acting strange all day and I know that you know I've been keeping something from you. I swear on my immortal life that I will tell you, but I'm begging you…" you kneeled down with him, cupping his face with your hand, "no more teasing. P-please…I-I need you…"

You gave him a loving smile and brought your lips to his. He melted from your touch, grabbing at your hand that held his cheek. "You know I love you, Lucifer," you breathed as you pulled away, "I'm sorry if I took things too far back there, I never want to upset you. You don't have to tell me anything if you're not ready to do so. I can wait. But first…" You stood from your kneeling position and offered him a hand up. The way his demonic form had taken over from just your teasing had you desperate for him beyond belief. Not that your previous bouts of teasing him hadn't worked you up already. You needed him too. Now.

You laid flat on you back against the soft sheets, beckoning him closer with a curl of your finger. Lucifer finally flashed you a toothy grin and in an instant, snapped his fingers, completely removing all of his clothing. Normally he liked to make a show of his undress, but you were both too far gone to care at this point. His tail swished behind him as he excitedly climbed up to join you in bed. He stared down at your crotch, licking his forked tongue across his lips. Without hesitation, he removed your panties and spread your legs apart, taking in the sight of your completely drenched pussy. He leaned down quickly and began to leave sloppy kisses and nips along your inner thighs before stopping right at your entrance.

You chuckled lightly at his eagerness to please you. "Luci, you know you don't have to do this. Especially not after what I put you through today."

Lucifer, in response, let two of his fingers slide against your folds, earning a hardy moan from you. "Trust me when I say this, darling," his voice was low, dripping with lust, "I will never deny either of us this pleasure." You felt his steamy breath against your womanhood as he looked up at you with half-lidded eyes, sending a shiver down your spine. "You may want to hold on, sweetheart."

Without another word, Lucifer ran his snake-like tongue against your cunt like a starved man. You arched your back in pure ecstasy, unable to focus on anything other than the way he was making you feel. He hooked his arms underneath your legs and brought you as close to his face as physically possible, digging his claws into your soft thighs and wrapping his tail around your calf. You realized what he had meant with his last statement and reached out to grip his devilish horns. Your grasp forced a moan out of him as he worked his tongue on your sensitive nub, circling it relentlessly. You knew how skilled he was with his mouth, but it never failed to awe you every time he used it. It wasn't long before you felt a different sensation, that of two clawed finger thrusting into you at a rapid pace.

"Lu-Lucifer, fuck, f-feels so good," you whimpered in between your heavy breaths, "right-SHIT… right there, d-don't stop, please don't stop!" Your pleas only fueled Lucifer’s hunger for you and his desire to make you come undone around him. His tongue and fingers worked in tandem, bringing you closer and closer to your release. Your knuckles were turning white with the amount of force you were using to hold onto his horns. You let one hand drop to tug at Lucifer's hair, another broken moan escaping him as you did. His fingers curled up into you, hitting your g spot repeatedly as his lips sucked on your clit with reckless abandon. That coil in your stomach was on the verge of snapping. "S-so close…gonna c-cum, fuckfuckFUCK LUCIFER!," was the last thing you could utter before your walls clenched around his fingers, feeling yourself pulsate with waves of pleasure. Lucifer helped you ride out your orgasm while lapping up every drop that escaped your body as if it was the nectar of the gods. Once your body finally relaxed, Lucifer removed himself from your thighs, your mess glistening off his chin. He flashed you a wicked grin before using his tongue to clean up the remains of your essence from his face.

The King of Hell crawled up the length of your body until he was hovered directly above you. "I can truly never have enough of you, my queen," he praised. Through your lustful haze, your barely rational mind latched onto what he'd just said. Queen?, you thought, he's never called me that before. Not that you minded in the slightest, you loved it, in fact. Regardless, you clearly weren't in any condition to question his choice of words. Not when you were desperate for his cock to be buried inside you already.

Lucifer caught your lips, his tongue begging for entrance, to which you happily obliged. You could still taste a faint amount of yourself on his lips as your tongues met in a fiery display of passion, twisting and fighting against each other as if trying to establish dominance of the other. You pulled his head closer as he devoured you, saliva dripping down the side of your mouth as his tongue explored every inch of your mouth. His tail refused to recoil as it kept its grip on your lower leg. His hard on pressed against your thigh and you were becoming increasingly impatient. You whimpering against him and bucked your hips up, essentially begging for him to take you completely.

“Please…” was the only word you could force out once you pulled away from his lips. Lucifer smiled, pressing his lips against your ear just as you had done to him earlier.

“Your heart’s desire is my command,” he cooed as you finally felt that familiar pressure between your thighs that you so desperately craved. You felt the head of his cock finally press into your sopping wet cunt, slowing inching himself into you he bottomed out inside of you. You moaned together, now feeling completely whole. Together as one again. Out of nowhere, Lucifer’s wings sprang out behind him once he was fully sheathed inside of you, adding a bright angelic glow to his otherwise hellish appearance.

He was beautiful.

He laughed awkwardly, a hard blush spreading across his face. You reached up and captured his lips once more. He hummed into you, folding his wings around you, completely blocking the outside world. In that perfect moment, the only thing that existed was you and him. After what felt like an eternity, Lucifer finally began to shift his hips, pulling himself out only to thrust right back into you. Slowly at first, relishing every single mewl and whimper you let escape your throat as he rutted into you. But it wasn’t long until his pace quickened, the sound of your slapping skin driving him to the brink. He rested his forehead against yours, refusing to look away from your loving gaze. You felt that coil in your stomach begin to clench once more, making it near impossible to form any coherent sentence, the pleasure his cock was providing was overwhelming you in the best way possible. He noticed this and brough his hand between you two and started circling your already overstimulated clit. You were not going to last much longer. And you could tell his composure was falling apart at the seams as well.

"Hng…fuck…me," Lucifer stammered, his breath hitching on every word "close…I'm close, g-gonna…c-ffffuuucckkk!" He resorted to latching his sharp teeth onto your shoulder, causing small patches of blood to flow out as he came, his hot seed painting your walls white. His wings twitched and spasmed when he finished inside you. His orgasm coupled with his hard thrusts and torturing of your sensitive nub pushed you over the edge for a second time, screaming his name as you clenched around his thick cock. Lucifer lapped up the blood he had drawn from you before he collapsed on top of you, his demonic form finally subsiding, as you both tried your best to catch your breath. You both laid there for a minute or two before even thinking about moving again. Besides, you loved the feeling of his full weight on top of you, it was comforting.

"Remind me to tease you more often," you joked, running your fingers through Lucifer's soft blond hair. He shot his head up and glared at you with a clear 'don't even think about it' look. "I'm kidding! Mostly…" Lucifer rolled his eyes playfully and planted a small peck to your lips. He finally found the strength to pull out of you and roll over onto his side, exhaling heavily.

"That…didn't really go as planned," Lucifer chuckled nervously. Up until now, you had completely forgotten what had even led up to this moment! You guessed you weren't getting a new dress after all, not that you minded, you had more than enough in your closet as it was. "What SHOULD have happened was you were going to pick out a new dress, I was going to take you out on a beautiful romantic candlelit dinner, and then I...I was…" he paused and gulped. "Oh, to hell with it!" He quickly sat up straight and turned to you, using both of his hand to grab onto yours. You sat up as well, your stomach filled with butterflies for a reason you weren't really sure of. "You were right, you know. I was keeping something from you. I am a very bad liar and I'm even worse at keeping secrets. Especially from you. You told me that I didn't have to tell you right now. But that was the problem! I was fighting with every fiber of my being to not tell you immediately! Because I love you with all of my heart and soul and I want to spend the rest of eternity with you by my side and...and..." he exhaled harshly. With a wave of his hand, a small black velvet box appeared. "My love," he opened the box to reveal a ring, "will you do me the incredible honor of becoming my bride?"

You looked down at the precious jewelry before you. A golden snake for the band, with its body wrapped around a beautiful ruby gem in the shape of an apple. Your eyes swelled with tears, you couldn't stop them from flowing down your face. Lucifer panicked and started to wipe them away.

"I-I'm sorry! Please...please don't cry! I didn't mean to-HMPH!" His apologies were cut short when your lips found his. After you pulled away, you laughed, tears refusing to stop. Lucifer's mouth was agape.

"Yes, Lucifer," you bawled, "yes yes yes, a million times yes! Of course I'll marry you, I've never wanted anything more!"

Lucifer sat there in disbelief. But only for a moment before joining you in your crying, wrapping his arms tightly around you, both of your sobs echoing throughout the room.

"You've made me the happiest person in all of Hell, my dear," he cried as he peppered kisses all over your face, clearing away more of your tears. "I love you, from now until the end of time. I promise to be the best husband I can possibly be."

"You're already the best person for me, my King," you smiled. "You don't have to change a thing. I love you, Lucifer Morningstar."

"And I you, Mrs. Morningstar."

~~~~

Congrats on becoming the new Queen(s) of Hell babes 😘

Taglist: @alastor-deer-demon @kermitdafroggy @thonethatflies620 @luc1fersducky @a-okay-rj @bat-boness @myhornybrainonlyknowsthis @misfitgirlwrites @animationmovieshipps @orbitinglumps @ramenkitten @blaackbiird @bigfatbimbo @lucisaspen @bvnnyangel @seulace9 (I'm sorry if I missed anyone!)

#hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel smut #my writing #IT'S DONE IT'S FUCKING DONE AHHHHHHHHH #beat my word could by a fucking 1000 words lmaooooo #enjoy!!

[thatdeadaquarius]

About your language brainrot. I see your "Reader's writing can't match tyvat's long and flowery writing" and bring you "Tyvat isn't used to books over 50 pages long so a short story to the Reader is a whole dictionary to tyvat readers".

Seriously, have you seen how thin the books are? They don't wrote novels, they write short chapters formatted in the way really old stories are. As in, summarizing all the events down into one smooth story then adding a few quotes. Fanfiction writers are insane. They will willingly sit down and write hundreds of words at a time. To them, a proper modern day story of maybe, oh 10k words or so, would probably be like the Oddessy itself.

If we were to combine the two headcanons. It would end up as many historians being intimidated by this insanely long written scripture in the language of the forgotten.

I'm going to take this a step further and say that if the creator asked some people to proofread their things, it would establish a hiarchy of who is able to actually finish the book the creator read and who isn't.

NOW THIS, THIS IS MY FUCKING JAMMMM

I'm so sorry this is so old!! u probably all know this by this point that I've really slowed down as the year has gone on, but I graduated university and then got my first job so its been pretty crazy!

Sun: Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: dash of all the book/nerds of Genshin, heavy on Sumeru?

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Cussing, 16+ Mature Audiences, Spoliers for Sumeru Archon Quests/Scaramouche, & Trigger Warnings: mention of shipping/characters shipping themselves with you.

Comment if any missed, please.

☆

FULL STOP.

THE AKADEMIYA, FONTAINE RESEARCH INSTITUTE, HAVE BEEN WAITTTINNGGGG ON YOUR ASS LMAO

You fall from the fucking sky like a 5 star, or pop out of the Irminsul or whatever

and immediately are mobbed by scholars. LMAO jkjk (not really, bc that's what it’d feel like)

can you even imagine the dread older stories(”the classics” to them), that was instilled in the poor students around Teyvat??

id like to think ur works are the most preserved over the thousands of years of Teyvat archeologists excavating them, in comparison to other authors (teyvat just likes you more, suck it William Shakespeare)

also, bc I cant resist language differences/world building I'm sorryyyy 😭 😭

the vocab of Genshin lang vs. ours, has significantly less vocabulary like their actual dictionary is 1/3 the size of ours type of energy

(Omfg all ur fanfics being considered like insanely long realistic romantic classics or tragedies like Jane Austen-level, and only the richest and biggest play companies put on plays about ur stories bc the script goes on for hours)

(ur plays only get put on for rlly big events bc of this, like Lantern Rite or like a Summer/Winter festival/your birthday, which is, yes, an international holiday)

dude the sheer power move of anything you’ve written being essentially “Journey of the West” to them, like Damnnn.

endless like adaptations, plays, Teyvat-short stories condensing it, (THEIR OWN FANFICTION ABOUT UR STORIES)

the power is, in fact, going to your head every time another scholar both deflates at how long ur stuff is, but also lights up bc they get to read it

speaking of scholars… you know who snatched you up first. you know. you don’t even need to read the next line.

Alhaitham.

sneaky bastard he is, absolutely manipulated, mansplained (and manwhored bc he knows he’s handsome, cheeky little shit) his way into getting you to sit down with him and interview you about both translating other classics, your own, giving your own analysis of others works and ur own, and picking ur brain apart of how/why you wrote urs, etc. its fucking endless,

Kaveh had to come rescue you bc u were starving to death after getting stuck with the Haravatat scholar in his office for nearly 7 hours of interrogation discussion about literature

and Alhaitham wasn't even nearly done, he’d informed you as you left that he already had another appointment for later conversation scheduled (how?? you don't even know ur own schedule??? you have a schedule???) and was looking forward to more of your “creative and enlightening input” :)))

(you’re never going to escape him, not even Nahida herself can save you from his stubborn ass)

On another note, Xingqiu is quaking when you agree to autograph his copy of your stories (of which he has all hard covers of the first edition translations)

Zhongli/Rex Lapis is known for having a near-lifelong passion for searching for your works specifically, and learning how to translate them better into Teyvatian vernacular

like the same way he can absolutely speak on Rex Lapis facts/rocks/adepti info, is the same confidence he speaks about knowing ur work lol

(yes he did also ask for several autographs and another sit-down talk about the works, tho a lot more sneaky then Alhaitham bc he just casually gets u guys into it during dinner)

Barbatos/Venti has written some of the most famous songs based on your stuff, he has his favorites too,

but he always claims the best songs are any that have been written in the story, like either when a character sings something, or there are like quotes from songs ur fanfics are based on lol

(he also demanded to hear what they actually sound like from you, yes, you have to sing them for him lol)

Venti also can surprisingly drunkenly ramble the entirety of at least one of ur stories, like, word for word lmao

(Diluc gave in and did give him a drink on the house for that one, just once, Venti doesn’t remember it lol)

(I forgot to mention, u guys still speak the same language, just like, different versions of it)

ur works being one of the few things all the Archons can freely talk about with each other, like it’s neutral ground bc they’re all fangirling about it lmao

Furina and Neuvillette have had like,, fierce debates over the decades about character dynamics and the general drama of ur stories, they’ve gotten into it enough they’ve stopped talking to each other for a couple days a few times lol

Albedo, Sucrose, Kokomi, Yae Miko, Ei, Raiden, have read every single work they’re gotten their hands on in Teyvat (it took them like a literal year or longer)

Albedo drew you fanart for every single story, bc he’s hyperfixated on everything related to you ngl,

Kokomi had commissioned smaller pocket versions of ur works (which later got popular thanks to Yae Miko) both the OG and the Teyvat shortened versions

THE HARBINGERS ARE THE MOST DOWN BAD LMAO

Childe has literally tried to recreate battle scenes from ur works lmao

and gets especially riled up about fighting someone who resembles any characters from them (esp villains, what a cutie)

You cannot fathom the amount of research throughout Teyvat that has been secretly or indirectly funded by Pantalone/Tsaritsa

from the experts to analyze them, to funding play companies to act them out, to actually excavating places to get more of ur stuff unearthed

(the Harbingers absolutely are the first group of people that got to read several of ur stories first bc of this, like the world’s most exclusive secret book club lol)

Scaramouche used to clown on Childe all the time about how he was too impatient to even “sit down and read the King’s classics”, and he was downright insufferable when he found out about Tartaglia’s habit of recreating battle scenes/that being what motivated him to fight sometimes lol

that being said, Wanderer surprisingly never forgot ur stories.

Even when his memories were wiped for a bit, he found comfort in these fantastical epics still sticking around, even when his old names did not

(he mayyyy or mayyy nottt have secretly namedhimselfafteroneofthetragicprotagonistsherelatesto- )

oh btw, Nahida also found joy and comfort in ur stories when she was trapped, they also helped her literally grow as a person bc she had ur stories to help her sort of process the world/what life was like outside of her dreaming prison 🥺💔❤️‍🩹

◇

OMFG

ANYWAY FULL TONE SHIFT LMFAO-

the ABSOLUTE SPIRAL-RED-STRING-CONSPIRACY-THEORY-BOARD ENERGY IF THIS WAS A BLUNT LANGUAGE AU LMAOOOO

like specifically how Teyvatians like to give all the context ever thru their words, but older deities/beings like you just do simple phrases that can have deeper meanings (whereas teyvat just explains all the meanings behind their words)

STOP there’s like an official display at the Akademiya and Fontaine Institute of red string theory boards 😭😭 (look what you’ve done to themmm LMAO)

for like every story of urs, INCLUDING THE FANFICS STOP

IMAGINE THE SHIPPING WARS IF U EVER WROTE ONE THAT WASNT EXPLICIT OR LIKE ONE OF THE MAIN ROMANTIC INTERESTS HAD CHEMISTRY WITH OTHER CHARACTERS HAHAHAHAA

that's actually what Akademiya scholars argue about the most viciously, it’s like politics you can’t just bring up ships from ur stories casually in regular convos 💀

(poor Cyno has to deal with a shipping war once a year bc someone always makes the mistake of reading ur work for the first time (without being told to not talk to others abt ships lol) and it starts an all out brawl in the cafeteria every time LMAO)

Also yes.

Cyno is a fanboy.

(he has read Creator x Reader-insert fanfiction.)

(As have most of the characters mentioned, and those not lol)

…

(I'm gonna make a whole Creator x reader fanfic post one day i stg lmao)

☆

an iced coffee? for me?? :0

ok but real talk…

wtf do you guys wanna see for new years!!

i didn't do a inktober/october days thingy bc i felt too unprepared (and bc id wanted to post that 1000+ followers eldritch au for Halloween)

but now i kinda wanna, at least for a few days :o

ill post a poll in a minute, so check it out!! but still, please feel free to comment some ideas here! :)

Safe Travels Deafening Dreamer,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily

#this looked a lot longer on desktop #fuck it #anyway sorry if im slower again guys! #i got sick again :( #my voice was completely gone for days #im onyl just recovering #so finally felt decent enough to write more #check out my other posts for the poll btw! #genshin sagau #genshin impact #sagau #genshin isekai #genshin imagines #genshin impact sagau #aqua asks #genshin x reader #self aware genshin #genshin self aware #more like isekai heavily but this does rely on u understanding they could/have had ur stories for years in their world #so kinda #<3 u guys but DO NOT TAG AS YANDERE/DARK #bc its not <3 #gonna start putting that reminder in the tags

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

I never really made a request before so that's my first time wish u like it

So I was thinking about some fluff drunk y/n acting all stupid and flirty to bakugo who doesn't like drinking around her because he knows that they both won't have someone to send them home if they got drunk

[Secretly caring]

*Whispering* he also gets a bit touchy if she let's him

*friends to lovers thing*

Wish my explanation was good enough and can't wait for the next chapter of FBRC <3

OUUU this is such a cute idea ! i’m so happy, this is my first request as well so we both have a milestone LMAOOO ! i tried to honour your request as best i could ! <3 (OU and AAAAA im glad you like FBRC ! i hope you’ll keep reading !)

bakugou katsuki considers himself a mature, mostly rational person.

despite what others, media outlets and even his own damn friends might say, katsuki thinks he’s really not that bad.

sure, he’s flipped off a camera man, cursed out another one…and another one—but who doesn’t have a bad day once in a while ?

he’s changed since he was a kid, he doesn’t get set off as easy anymore most days. he’s learned to be more patient, a little more levelheaded. that’s at least something his shitty friends will tell you.

he’s changed from when he was a kid, he’s grown now. he’s a man.

but right now katsuki feels like smashing your head in with a brick.

"kah-su-kiiiiiiiii... m'sleeppyy" you whine, leaning against his shoulder.

katsuki doesn't regret a lot, but he sure as hell regrets accepting to go out for drinks with you. again. you had said something about 'celebrating getting a day off after a while'.

"never should've accepted goin' out with yer ass." he laments grumpily. despite the fact he says this every single time he goes out to drink with you, he never seems to learn his lesson. he never seems to want to learn his lesson.

truth is, katsuki has grown a lot since his UA days but one thing he hasn't outgrown is his giant rampant crush on you. it's embarrassing how tightly you've got him wrapped around your finger, how easily you can get him to do whatever you want as long as you just asked him to.

he complains and grumbles about it but he'll never, ever, say no to you.

which is how he always, always, ends up in this predicament.

katsuki snaps out of his thoughts when he hears you sniffle.

"y-ya don't like.." you sniffle again " ya don't like hangin' out wif me ?"

fuck.

immediatly it's like a switch had been flipped. he moves his arm so he can wrap it around you and have you lean against his chest. you always got emotional when you were a little too drunk, that usually meant it was time to go.

"no—no, s'not that. i—" he sucks in a breath, cheeks heating up despite the fact he knows there's barely any chance you'll remember this. usually he'd remind you of your embarrassing drunk moments as revenge for making him take you home and taking care of your ass because you were too drunk to, but he'll refrain from mentioning this part.

"i do like hangin' out with you, dummy. quit talkin' stupid." he shushes you softly, unconsciously rubbing your arm comfortingly.

"b-but you said, you regretted goin' out wit me" you pout. fuck, you're cute. katsuki has to fight off the urge to lean down and kiss it away.

"i say a lot of stuff i don't always mean, sweets. you know that." he replies " 'f i didn't wanna hang out with ya, i wouldn't."

you hum pensively, leaning against his shoulder as you think. you smell like something sweet, he can't quite track down what it is, but it's making him dizzy. you've always had the ability to make him lose focus. you're so close and you smell so good and katsuki feels like he's drunk.

"mmyeah...guess that's true" you hiccup. you raise your hand up to trace his jaw line with your finger and he refuses to look at you but he can hear the cheeky little smile in your voice "you like hanging out with me, right ? that's why you always say yes when i ask !

he scoffs "i only say yes 'cuz i know you'd just end up goin' out anyway, you'd get yourself in trouble." he's stiff as a fucking board, he feels like if he moves a little too much he'll say something he shouldn't.

"no i wouldn't" you argue, then you reach your whole hand up to squeeze his cheeks "but even if i did, i know you'd come to save me, mr. dynamight" you giggle

he's so sick of you. katsuki's been in plenty of situations where he was this close to death, but he's certain you're gonna be the death of him.

"time for bed" he grumbles. he lifts you by your shoulders slightly until you can properly stand on your feet "m'getting you home, yer too drunk to be up right now" he asserts, chuckling when you pout at him when he flicks your forehead

"you're not the boss o' me ! 'm completely—oops" you trip forward but katsuki catches you with ease, he's always there to.

you look up at him innocently and he looks down at you with one eyebrow raised "you were sayin' ?" he sassed.

you roll your eyes at him and push off him slightly to stand more comfortably, you stick your tongue out at him. " i said—i'm fine..but if you wanna take me home that badly, i guess i'll allow it" you shrug. katsuki squints then shakes his head, smiling to himself. you catch him and giggle, he can't cover up his chuckle fast enough. you must look stupid to the other people in the bar just sitting there giggling at each other, he realizes. then he remembers he could honestly not give enough of a shit about what these other drunk losers thought, the only drunk loser he cared about was right here in his arms.

right where you belonged.

you're out like a light by the time katsuki's brought you back to your apartment, but he doesn't mind, he'd expected it anyway. he carries you like a sack of potatoes to your floor. he's glad he'd managed to grab your keys before you fell asleep, having to wrestle the keys from you and risk you getting cranky at him doesn't sound all that nice right now.

he helps you take off your shoes and he's extremely grateful you're just lucid enough to change by yourself. he helps you clean up and brush your teeth, then carries you to bed even though he knows damn well you could walk just fine. not before getting you to down a glass of water.

you're annoying when you're drunk and sleepy, you're whiny and everything is too much work for you. katsuki grumbles right along with you, calling you a pain in the ass, then promptly taking it back when he sees you tearing up again. he grumbles and complains but he knows he wouldn't let anyone else do it for him. not only because he's sure whoever it is wouldn't even be able to do this half as well as he does, but also because despite his better judgement, despite the fact you piss him off to no bounds, you're his to take care of. and he'd be damned if he let anyone else take care of what's his.

so you whine, and he complains, but he truly wouldn't have it any other way.

you insist on wanting him to stay with you and he knows he probably shouldn't. he likes you too much to just casually stay here with you, he knows he won't be able to sleep and he's just going to keep staring at your lashes fluttering as you dream. but you pout at him and plead him so sweetly, he really can't say no to you.

he likes you too much.

he steals one of your hoodies and a pair of sweatpants (he technically isn't stealing—since they're both his to begin with) and climbs into bed with you. you immediatly latch onto him, nuzzling into his shoulder before thanking him.

"for what ?" he mutters sleepily, slowly wrapping his arms around you.

"for.." you interrupt yourself with a yawn, he chuckles "for always takin' care of me..you're the best."

if you were more sober, he'd simply answer with a cocky "tell me something i don't know." but you're not and katsuki's already too far gone, so he squeezes your waist in appreciation then responds " i'm always gonna take care of you."

he's suprised by how soft and sappy he sounds but you suprise him even more when you lean up slightly to press a feather light kiss to the underside of his jaw and whisper a sweet little "love you."

he lays there for a good long while without response, you don't mind because you chose that exact moment to fall asleep. he lays there and he's sure he won't be able to fall asleep now. fuck you for knocking out and leaving him like this, he thinks. he's trying not to give himself false hope, maybe you meant it platonically. he keeps trying and he keeps thinking all night but he's still impossibly giddy.

he was contemplating not telling you anything about last night, but he can't help himself. he's nervous—god, he's so fucking nervous when you wake up while he's getting comfy in your kitchen like it was his, making breakfast. you look groggy and sleepy and hungover, but to him, you still look adorable.

when you're awake enough, munching away at the breakfast he's made, he tells you about last night and his heart slams against his chest when he mentions what you had told him.

though, when he sees how you choke on a piece of your toast, and how flustered you look, like a deer in headlights, his heart beats hard against his ribcage for a completely different reason.

the next time you go out for drinks, it's to celebrate the start of your relationship.

AAA first request done ! hope you liked this anon <3 if you guys have any request pleassseee lemme know !

#i didnt rlly know how to finish this i wrote sm lmfaoo #hope yall liked it tho ! #this was super fun to write ! #i ended up writing too much again part 935947398 #s'okay its katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugou imagine #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou fluff #katsuki bakugo fluff #katsuki x y/n #katsuki x you #bakugou x you #bakugou x y/n #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you

[strawbeerossi]

August || Chapter One

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Chapter Description: After a few days, you are back at the office whenever you have an emotional outburst over the JJ/Spencer situation. That leaves you to have a soul shattering boundary you need to put into place.

Content/Warnings: Drama in the workplace, mentions of questioning self worth, Penelope is the best friend ever (duh), horrible friends, Spencer is an ass (again, sorry lmao)

WC: 2K

Navigation || August Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Request

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“I don’t think I can come in today. I’m sick." You spoke to Emily over the phone, even feigning a cough, as you were just hoping she’d fall for it. It was only a few days after the wedding, the whole water in the face incident creeping up to embarrass you. 

“You can’t avoid them forever, you know. Now come to the office. All you need to do is work and then go home. No need to talk to JJ or Spencer.” The unit chief spoke over the phone, her tone making you just feel the disapproving look on her face. 

“Fine..” You huffed a bit while pushing yourself up from your couch, already dressed for the day, anyway. “I’ll be there soon.” With a defeated sigh, you were hanging up the phone and pocketing the device. It would be a good day, right? All you had to do was get through it.

The drive to the office was horrible, feeling nauseous with each mile you drove. Most people would assume that after your small outburst at the wedding, you’d feel better. That was far from the case. The action just made you feel worse, knowing that Spencer nor JJ attempted to follow you out, to explain themselves. There was radio silence from both of them.

You probably should’ve expected that. 

As you arrived at the dreaded building and parked in the parking garage, it wasn’t long until you were on the elevator and on your way up to the floor you needed to get to. The more you stood there, the sicker you felt. Facing two people who you are forced to work with is going to do nothing but hurt you even further. You could quit, although then you’d be homeless. Putting in a transfer was a good option, even if you’d miss your other teammates. 

The sound of the elevator’s ding was tearing you from your thoughts, your steps deliberately smaller and slower just to take the last few seconds to prepare yourself. The minute your hand was on the glass doors of the bullpen, you knew there was no more hiding. 

Much to your surprise, the team was too busy at their desks to even look up. Thank god. You quietly approached your desk, your purse being placed underneath, as you took your seat. That got everyone’s attention.

“Hey.” Luke spoke first, a smile on his face. “You’re later than you usually are, was worried we’d have to come get you.” He joked, causing Tara to laugh softly from her desk.

“We would’ve been there too. It isn’t a good workday when you’re not here.”

At least you knew the rest of the team considered you as a friend. No way they’d ever do the things JJ and Spencer did to you. Just thinking of them had a frown on your face, your eyes on a file that you’d opened previously. 

“Well, I couldn’t leave my favorite people hanging, could I?” You finally broke the silence while offering a forced smile. The idea of a transfer just made you feel horrible now. You were stuck here, no escape in sight.

While you were working on a case file you’d neglected, it wasn’t long before the door was opening again. This time, there was laughter and lighthearted discussion from two very distinct voices that you recognized. God damn it.

It was best to keep your eyes down, even though you could feel every person’s eyes burning into your skin, just waiting for a reaction. You felt like a circus act, expected to perform based on one interaction you had a few days ago.

The three of you didn’t even have to look each other in the eyes in order to make the whole room thick with tension that the strongest knife couldn’t even cut. “Can we be adults? I really don’t wanna discuss what happened.” JJ spoke up, knowing the attention was on all three of you. 

The audacity of her wanting to move on was what made you finally turn around, your ears heating from the anger that was still deep inside you. “Are you kidding me? You wanna be an adult and not get questions?” You asked, unable to help the laugh that fell from your lips. “Here’s a question that I know you want to be asked; How’s Will doing? Judging by how you wasted his time for.. Eleven years? Better yet, how are Michael and Henry? I think that someone needs to look out for them.” Venom seeped deep into every syllable.

She had a family. A husband who loved her, children who adored her and needed her. Yet here she was, with a man who she hadn’t even shown any interest in. The whole situation made you sick to even think about.

“That’s not fair.” The blonde spoke up, visibly hurt by the topic being brought up. The absolute fucking nerve. 

“You’re right. It’s not fair. It’s not fair to Will and the boys at all. I guess you didn’t stop to think about them, did you?”

“Enough!” Emily snapped from the doorway of her office, arms crossed over her chest. “This is ridiculous. The last thing any of us need is you two bickering all the time. I suggest you solve this and let it go. I will not deal with the bullshit. I’m sorry.” 

The frustration of your unit chief made you take a breath, putting your hands up. “I can’t pretend like this is right and I will not endorse this fraud of a relationship. If you choose to fire me, that’s fine.” Your built up anger and hurt made you push in your chair, your purse on your arm as you were storming out of the bullpen.

Penelope was the one that caught you in the hallway as you were making your escape. “Wait!” She screamed, quickly following behind you and grabbing your arm before you could make it to the elevator. “Come hang out with me for a little bit. Don’t make any rash decisions.” 

You didn’t answer, instead just letting the tech analyst pull you behind her into the safety of the batcave. As soon as that heavy door was closed and you realized you were with one of your best friends, it was like the dam holding in all your tears had been burst open as a hot stream of tears was running down your cheeks.

“Oh, honey..” Penelope frowned softly as she was letting her arms wrap around your body, giving you a tight squeeze as she was rubbing your back. “It’s okay, you can sit in here as long as you want. We will just tell Emily that you need some Garcia time.” Everyone could benefit from such time. 

You were forced into one of the chairs while the bubbly blonde grabbed one of her many phones to inform Emily on what was going on. “Just so you know, I don’t think you’re wrong for feeling the way you do. I would be just as upset.” She assured, the woman now sitting down beside you while gently holding your hand. “I just think that you should maybe calm down a bit. We don’t need any physical fights.” 

“I can’t help it, Pen. Why? Why would JJ encourage me to tell Spencer how I feel about him and then jump on him at the next opportunity. She has a family.” You knew that she wouldn’t have a concrete answer for you but you had to admit, it was nice just ranting to her about it. “It also hurts knowing that Spencer just.. Stopped talking to me. It made me feel like I was a placeholder for her. Like he was just entertaining himself until what he truly wanted came around..” 

There was a soft silence between you both, though it was soon being broken whenever there was a knock on the door. “Come in!” Penelope called to the mystery guest, although the both of you were in a stunned silence whenever Spencer Reid was poking his head through the door. 

“I come in peace, just let me talk.” 

“Too little, too late. I don’t wanna hear it.” You spoke, standing your ground.

Instead of taking the hint, the man just entered the room before closing the door behind him. “I understand that you’re mad at me, pissed at me even. I can handle it. That being said, I don’t want trouble. I came to personally apologize. I was a shitty friend to you these past few days with not reaching out.” 

“You are a shitty friend, Spencer. You know, I thought you were supposed to be by my side. I don’t expect you to be madly in love with me but what kind of friend ignores someone for days? What kind of friend makes their friend feel unimportant and makes them question their self worth?” You asked, keeping your composure as you were going to put everything on the table.

“I think you’re a horrible friend. Not just to me but to Will. I think you’re a horrible person who broke up a family. JJ may have left Will but you didn’t even stop and try to make her consider her husband. You were selfish.”

It seemed like a sobering realization, judging by the way Spencer’s eyes widened and his body went stiff. He needed to hear that, even if he wasn’t planning on changing things. “I- Wow. I don’t know what to say,” He let out an awkward chuckle as his hand rubbed the back of his neck. 

“I’m sure you don’t. Doesn’t sound like a good situation whenever someone says it out loud, does it?” You asked, voice cracking toward the end of the sentence as you were clearing your throat. “I just want you to know that I have no interest in talking to you outside of work. I think it’s best for you just to stay away.” A necessary boundary that killed you inside, however it needed to be put into place. 

“You don’t mean that. I don’t wanna lose you permanently like that. Please, just take some time to consider.”

“You lost me the moment that you chose to devote every ounce of your time to someone who didn’t ever say that she wanted to be with you until the night you were in a hostage situation together.” 

“We weren’t even dating, listen to yourself. We had sex, what, a few times? I hardly find that as something serious, especially whenever you never even seemed like you objected to the thought of something casual.” 

“Spencer Reid!” Penelope’s horrified voice was what solidified that you weren’t crazy, that he was in the wrong just as much as you could be.

You wanted to scream, punch him, cry, and just lose it. This wasn’t the place for such outbursts but you knew that the minute you got out of everyone’s line of sight, you were going to shatter. 

Your nights spent with Spencer were something you cherished. The way he’d touch you, the way he’d hold you.. It just felt like there was something real there, the potential for a love story that you could read about in novels, see in movies, even hear in songs. Instead, you were casted off as a casual plaything. There was no care behind the long nights spent tangled in one another’s embrace. 

“You know,” There was a laugh erupting, your arms over your chest. “JJ is gonna get bored of you. If she can leave her husband, she will leave you too. I think the day she does that is the day that you will feel the same way that I do. And you know what? I hope it fucking hurts. I hope she keeps you up at night wondering why you weren’t good enough.” 

With that, you were done. Emily would most definitely be calling you in her office for a meeting in the morning, so you just grabbed your bag and walked to the elevator.

You said what you needed to say and you thought it would make you feel relieved, instead, there was more hurt than you could’ve possibly fathomed. 

How stupid you were to think that he actually saw something in you.

#criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fandom #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid au #spencer reid fanfic #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #strawbeerossi august series #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid scenario

[awearywritersworld]

the day of my execution

sukuna x reader summary: gojo, yuuji, and sukuna discuss what happened at the store. sukuna begins to consider your mortality like never before and takes care of you when you're sick. w/c: 2.7k tags/warnings: fluff. mentions of attempted kidnapping. banter. reader has the flu. aged up!yuuji. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. a/n: sorry for disappearing for so long, but here is the long awaited next chapter. i've put a second a/n at the end, so i hope you'll read it. please excuse me talking out of my ass trying to rationalize my application of jujutsu, but if gege does it, so can i. i hope it kind of makes sense though. series masterlist // masterlist

truthfully, yuuji expects his wednesday morning to be as uneventful as any other, but when he stands in front of the bathroom sink to brush his teeth, his eyes are not the only ones staring back at him.

"what d'ya want?" he groans. "it's too early for this."

"we need to talk."

sukuna doesn't give his vessel a chance to respond before he begins recounting the events of the previous night, a story which has yuuji's face cycling between surprise, worry, and dismay. "the man claimed someone sent him?"

"that's what i said," sukuna responds impatiently.

"why would anyone be after her? i don't understand."

"would it kill you to use your brain for once?" sukuna questions, having had the entirety of the night to ponder the situation. "think, idiot. who would be interested in using her in some ploy? against you. against... us."

yuuji's eyes widen. "the higher ups?

"no one else would be so brazen."

it strikes sukuna as ironic that just days after he relayed the cruelness he endured at the hands of jujutsu society's higher ups a millenia ago, you too almost became one of their victims. it's a reality that he despises.

"i should call gojo—"

"that is out of the question."

"do you want to keep her safe or not?"

sukuna scoffs. "this is how we keep her safe. if the higher ups are after her, we can't trust other sorcerers."

yuuji almost seems offended on gojo's behalf. after all, he's known him for the better part of a decade. "i'd trust gojo with my life."

"well this isn't your life we're talking about. this is much more important."

yuuji chuckles. "i know. that's exactly why we need help."

before sukuna can protest, yuuji's dialing his old sensei and asking to meet somewhere they can speak privately.

that's how they end up at a small bakery on the outskirts of tokyo, sukuna relaying the story for the second time that morning.

once he finishes, gojo leans back in his chair and folds his hands behind his head. "well, i don't think you're wrong about the higher ups being involved."

"so what are we supposed to do?" yuuji asks. "they might use her to get to me, but you don't think the higher ups would actually put her life in danger, do you?"

though yuuji's question is directed toward gojo, it isn't him that answers.

"you're as naive as ever," sukuna scoffs. "they'll stop at nothing to achieve their own ends."

gojo grimaces, a silent agreement with the assertion. "i can do some poking around, see who ordered it to be done."

"and what exactly is that going to do? there's no reasoning with them."

"a fact i am well aware of," the white haired man narrows his eyes at the king of curses. "but there is leverage in power, something i happen to have more of than anybody—"

"almost anybody—"

"so as the strongest, i'll take care of this as soon as i can."

"hey, um, so as productive as all the dick measuring is," yuuji interrupts. "it doesn't keep her safe in the meantime."

"i have an idea in that regard," sukuna says. "it's an ancient practice, and while it doesn't offer any protective measures, it will allow me to find her if they make another attempt like last night."

gojo leans forward, clearly interested to hear more.

"i can imbue a talisman with a part of myself and if she wears it, it will act as a beacon for her location."

"with part of yourself? as in, your cursed energy?" yuuji speculates. "wouldn't that do more harm than good? attract cursed spirits and whatever?"

"no, i'm not a fool. it's not cursed energy."

sukuna is hesitant to clarify further. he'd done something similar when creating his fingers, but it was different then. it was a selfish endeavor to preserve his life long after it was his time to die. it was a dark sort of jujutsu, one meant only to bring destruction.

but intention is important in sorcery. it can change the very essence of the practice.

for the first time in his life, sukuna is acting selflessly, concerned only with your protection. it's a pure sort of jujutsu this time around, one that allows him to impart a piece of himself that isn't tainted by cursed energy.

and because of that, that part of him would be unprotected. it'd leave him uniquely vulnerable. it's a steep and dangerous measure. that's why the practice had been forgotten long before the modern age.

"then what could it possibly be?" it's quiet for a moment as yuuji's question hangs in the air.

"it's your soul, isn't it?" the disbelief lacing gojo's voice is quite plain, but he's heard whispers of such techniques. "you'd give her a piece of your soul."

sukuna's never been one for unfinished business, so it's no surprise when he finds himself on the couch, intent on finishing the stranger. besides, it had become clear he'd been focusing on the wrong aspects of the book when he first began reading it.

he's three chapters from the end when he hears a loud shatter from the kitchen, followed by a sharp gasp. the broken glass hasn't even finished sliding across the floor before he's at your side.

"what happened?" the alarm in his voice doesn't go unnoticed by you.

"nothing, nothing," you assure him. "i just dropped my cup."

crouching down, you reach for one of the bigger pieces before your hand is swiftly smacked away. "don't."

"it's fine. it's only a little glass."

when you reach for it again, he grabs your wrist. "you troublesome little thing. do you ever listen?"

"i don't make a habit of it."

"i know. the question was rhetorical."

sukuna's already noticed the shards of glass surrounding your bare feet, so he wastes no time in picking you up and placing you on the countertop.

"don't move." he says it in such a way that, for once, you don't even think about disobeying him.

he all but stomps out of the room, returning moments later with a broom and dust pan. there's a small smile playing on your lips as you watch him gather the larger pieces before sweeping up the rest.

and you know, it's really not fair. sukuna could even call it a cosmic injustice, the way he has to worry about broken glass and fragile fingertips.

but he likes you and he likes the pads of your fingers, particularly the way they feel against his skin and run through his hair, so he swallows his pride.

it's been consuming him lately— the fact that you are just as easily broken as the glass that littered the kitchen tile. he never considered just how many ways there are for a human to die until you were nearly taken from him.

so once he's done, he rests the broom and dustpan against the wall and stands in front of you, his hips situated between your knees.

reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a necklace and your mouth falls open in shock. a delicate chain is threaded around his fingers, while its ruby pendant dangles in the air. "i want you to have this."

"what.. what is it?"

he snorts. "you don't know what a necklace is?"

you let out a breath of a laugh. "of course i do. i'm just surprised."

you hold up your palm and he places the necklace there gently. inspecting the gem, you notice it bears a striking resemblance to the color of his eyes.

strangely, it's almost as if it's heavier than it should be— like it's weighed down by some importance beyond your comprehension.

"it's beautiful," you tell him honestly. "are you sure?"

"sure of what?"

"that i should have it."

he pauses before responding, taking in the way you're so gingerly holding it. he's scared you've realized what he's actually giving you. that you're repulsed by it.

he's hesitant when he asks, "why would you think otherwise?"

"i didn't do anything to deserve something like this."

sukuna breathes a sigh of relief. "you are ever the fool."

his hands find your hips, pulling you off the counter and onto your feet. he plucks the necklace from your hand, then shifts to stand behind you.

moving your hair to the side, his fingers brush lightly against your skin. "the necklace is undeserving of adorning your neck. not the other way around."

and he knows it's the truth. a piece of him, attached to a creature so lovely she should be out of his reach... well, that's just unseemly, isn't it?

"but promise me something anyway."

"anything," you say without delay.

he situates the chain around your neck, the pendant lying in the space where your collarbones meet, and fastens the clasp. when you turn to face him, you're met with an alarmingly grave expression.

"promise you won't ever take it off."

you fiddle with the ruby somewhat nervously, feeling as if you're missing some important piece of the puzzle.

you nod in response to his request, but it isn't enough for him.

"say it."

"i promise."

he can see that you're biting back questions, so he explains, "if you're wearing that, i'll always know where to find you."

it finally dawns on you, for the first time, how much the incident at the store truly affected him. it's not the way he ended those men that clued you in, nor is it the way he pleaded with you to forgive him.

it happens in this moment. it's the gentleness of his voice, despite his underlying desperation. it's the way he's watching you carefully, as if you're likely to disappear. it's the fact he wouldn't let you clean up a mess of your own making, because he can't stand the thought of seeing you bleed.

"i... i don't know what to say."

"well, that's a first."

"shut up," you punch his shoulder. "you're ruining the moment."

"right, my bad," he chuckles and glances down at the gemstone. "do you like it?"

you let out a breath. "of course. i love it."

he smiles at your words— soft and genuine— truly a rare sight. "good."

you notice that he's looking at you. really looking at you. his eyes shift away from yours and over to each of your temples. then down to your nose. your mouth. even your chin.

he takes in every detail and he feels like he's in your debt simply for gazing at your countenance.

you almost regret it when your hands curl around the collar of his shirt and pull his lips to yours. you should have savored his smile, spent time committing it to memory.

although, that's soon forgotten as you feel the curve of his mouth deepen while his lips move against yours.

it isn't until day three of your ceaseless coughing and sneezing that sukuna adds them to his list— broken glass, fragile fingertips, coughs, and sniffles.

his concern is clear from the way he dotes on you. he brings you cold cloths, makes you tea, massages your neck, runs you baths.

now he's on his way to a twenty four hour pharmacy to pick up more medicine to reduce your fever, and while it's only a block away, he's still doing it alone.

but not even for a moment does he consider running off to burn the world's largest city to the ground. the streets are crawling with people, but he finds himself avoiding them more than anything.

he has to get back to you after all.

the only thought on his mind other than you is the ending of the stranger. the main character, while awaiting his beheading from his prison cell, conveys his final words to readers:

for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, i opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. finding it so much like myself— so like a brother, really— i felt that i had been happy and that i was happy again. for everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, i had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators on the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate.

in sukuna's first life, perhaps this line would have resonated with him. it was a life where he had resolved himself to the idea that nothing really mattered, because the alternative was too painful. it didn't matter that jujutsu society betrayed him. it didn't matter that he stole people's lives out from under them. it didn't matter that he was alone.

and while he would have never surrendered himself to execution, if that had been his fate, he would have preferred to go out surrounded by living reminders of all he had accomplished. surrounded by all the people he had ruined.

however, when he imagines such an occurrence happening in his present life, there is only one face throughout the entire crowd and it belongs to you.

the very thought makes him sick with grief.

looking up, he realizes that there are no stars in tokyo anymore, that there is no feeling of indifference when it comes to you, and that there is no happiness to be had when you are not by his side.

he knows he'll never shed another drop of innocent blood if it means you'll always have that look of adoration in your eyes when your gaze falls on him.

so his trip to the pharmacy is short and hurried.

opening your apartment door, he's careful to be quiet in case you're sleeping, but he finds you peering at him from the couch.

your hair is disheveled. there's a sheen of sweat across your forehead. your eyes are beyond tired. your shirt is wrinkled.

you're still the most pleasing thing he's ever laid eyes on.

"you're back," you rasp.

"i'm back," he affirms, slipping off his shoes.

you sit up and quickly regret it, your hand coming to rest against your stomach. "god, i feel like i'm gonna puke."

"charming."

you use all your strength to throw a pillow at him, which he easily catches before tossing something small in your direction— a ginger chew to help with the nausea.

you unwrap it and pop it in your mouth. "thanks."

he hums in response, settling down in the spot beside you. once he pulls the medicine from the bag, it's followed by two bottles. "got you these, too."

recognizing them as your favorite drink, your exhausted and delirious brain makes your eyes well up with grateful tears. "you're so sweet."

"yeah, whatever. don't get used to it."

"but you are. you're sweet and kind, except i'm the only one who knows it," you pause before continuing, your head falling onto his shoulder. "why is that?"

he contemplates denying that he possesses any such quality, but decides against it. "you're the only one who's ever cared to know."

he can feel the heat of your temple through his shirt, so he opens the box of fever reducers and pops out two tablets before handing them to you. "take these. you're burning up."

you do as he says without protest. standing up and stretching your arms above your head, sukuna's eyes wander to where your shirt rides up and reveals your stomach.

"c'mon, let's go to bed," you yawn.

he follows after you wordlessly, carelessly pulling off his shirt and climbing into bed beside you. curling up against his side, your head comes to rest on his chest and it's quiet for a few passing moments.

"you can't see the stars from tokyo anymore."

"what?" you ask sleepily.

"the stars. there's too much light to see them from here."

"oh, yeah. we can take a trip to the mountains soon. you can see them pretty well from there."

"i'll hold you to that."

and so with the promise of a beautiful night sky, with the company of someone who means the world to him, and with the feeling of your body pressed against his— sukuna feels that he had been happy and that he was happy again.

a/n 2: hey! so i'm sorry again for stopping updates without really saying anything. i think i just needed to step away from tumblr and writing for a while because i was getting a bit overwhelmed. i was also a little unsure about the direction of this chapter. i was struggling to incorporate the necklace part without it seeming cheesy or weird. that being said, thanks as always to everyone for your support of this series. it's really heartwarming and much appreciated. if you have any feedback, i'd love to hear! i'm not sure when the next update will be, but i'll do my best to keep you guys posted. all my love - m<3

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#m!writes #sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna imagines #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna imagines #sukuna fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk fluff #ryomen sukuna fluff

[confused-pyramid]

I’d Like to Think That You Would Stick Around | s6

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: 15.5k

warnings: SMUT, oral (m!receiving), masturbation, canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, guns, drinking, angst, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 6x06, 6x08, 6x17, and 6x18.

a/n: Sorry for the long wait guys, school has been kicking my ass, but here's the next part! We're getting a lot of angst this chapter, but we're so so close to the good times ;) Hope you enjoy! Title is from Love Song by Lana Del Rey

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Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You are talking to Prentiss across the bullpen, laughing about something he can't hear, and he's freaking out. He shouldn't have left that night. He knows that. He just didn't know what else to do.

Never mind the fact that he has no idea how much you remember.

When you bumped into him on the way out of the elevator this morning, he swears you jumped back, but then you smiled at him, and he was able to convince himself that it was all fine. So why does it still feel like you are avoiding him?

He can still picture the dark expanse of your pupils as you leaned in closer after stumbling into him; he can still feel the rush of your breath as your gaze met his and his fingers tightened on your hip.

He walks into his office, before sitting at his desk and dropping his head into his hands. His blinds are just shut enough that no one from down in the bullpen can see into his office, and he welcomes the privacy as he rubs a hand over his face and forces his eyes away from the photograph of the two of you on his desk.

'Aaron...'

Your voice had sounded so soft, so hurt-

He shuts his eyes again and tries to think about anything else (maybe even the paperwork he's supposed to have been doing for an hour now) but every time he blinks, he sees your face again.

He has suspected the shift in your feelings for a little while now, but that night at the bar confirmed something he isn't sure he's ready to handle. He feels it too - of course he does - but he can't think about it. He can't.

He's floundering with Jack, with trying to be there for both him and the team, and he just lost Haley. God, he just lost Haley, and the idea of losing you too because he fucks it up just like he did with her is unimaginable. They were together for decades - they had a child together - and still he couldn't give her what she needed. Your friendship means everything to him, and if he does something to ruin your relationship too, he wouldn't be able to live with himself.

He glances out his window and sees you still talking to Emily, both of your heads now bent down to look at an open case file. She says something to you, and your face lights up as you grin at her. Something that feels like lava pools in his gut and he swallows thickly as he turns back to his paperwork.

***

You head back to your desk and drop the case file down as you resist the urge to glance up at his office window. He hasn't looked at you once today, and you can't help it as your mind goes to the worst case scenario of losing him forever because of one stupid moment.

You had considered pretending that you don't remember anything from the bar, but he just left you there. That isn't something you can forget so easily, and even as you're trying to ignore it, you don't want to avoid him. But it isn't that simple.

You're simultaneously hurt and embarrassed, but it isn't even your own feelings that are at the forefront of your mind. You haven't been to his place in over a week, and you miss Jack and you miss him. You haven't gone this long without talking to him in years. 

Fuck.

***

Your quest to stay out of trouble results in you staying late at the office to get ahead on all of your work. Most nights you were staying even later than JJ and Aaron, but then JJ got sent to the DoD as a media liaison, and the work started piling up.

You did what you could to intercept some of the paperwork before it landed on his desk, especially since Jack was so close to starting preschool and you know Aaron wants to take any extra moment of face time he can get, but it wasn't a foolproof system.

That's why it's almost midnight after getting back from a case in Ohio, and Aaron's office light is still on. Knowing it's about time you broke the cone of silence you've been under, you walk up the stairs, giving yourself ample time to change your mind.

A minute later, you knock on his door, before pushing it open gently, waiting to see the look on his face.

"Oh, you're still here," he says, his eyes lingering on you for an extra moment before turning back to his work. "Come in."

You shut the door behind you and sit in the chair in front of his desk. It doesn't sink like it usually does, and it takes you a second to realize that he finally replaced it. After all this time...

"Are you heading home soon?" you ask, trying to feign nonchalance. You can't remember the last time you overthought every single thing you said to him.

Yes, you do, your brain mocks you. A film reel of your awkward senior year of high school starts playing in your mind and one lone thought sticks out among the cacophony of memories. You loved him.

"Yeah, I'm almost done," he says with a sigh, his eyes still trained on his paper.

You frown. "Really?"

"No."

That surprises a chuckle out of you and you lean forward in the chair. It's stiffer than you're used to, and it creaks as you slide in closer. "Want any help?"

He shakes his head. "You should head home. It's late."

You don't say anything and when he finally meets your eye, you shoot him a look.

He sighs, begrudgingly handing you a stack of files. "With JJ gone, it's been a little hectic. I have to go through the new cases coming in, as well as completing the post-case paperwork."

"Shit," you whisper, not knowing what else to say. Even as you tried to cut down his workload, it wasn't even scratching the surface. "I didn't realize that was all on you."

"Yeah, for the time being," he shrugs, raking a hand through his hair to push it back, even as it bounces right back into place. "But it'll be easier when they bring us someone new."

That stops you in your tracks. "How new? Because you know I really liked Jordan, but she was too green for the BAU."

"Newer," he says, his voice tinged with amusement. "They're considering some Academy cadets who are finishing up their remedial training."

"Cadets?" you echo, your voice rising an octave. "They're babies."

"They're at least 25," he states, the corner of his lip twitching. "Besides, their remedial training would have been with the BAU, so they'll know what they're getting into."

They'll know what they're getting into.

It's not a dig, but the juvenile corner of your brain hangs onto his words, trying to make out some double meaning.

"That's some relief, I guess." You flip open the first file, trying to pay attention as you scan the brief, but it just reminds you of how much you miss JJ.

"She was so much better at this," you groan, flipping the page. "I'm not sure anyone can replace her."

"I'm definitely sure that no one can," Aaron says simply as he glances up at you, "but we'll take any help we can get at this point."

There's a layer of subtext behind his tone, and you don't know if you're equipped to decipher it right now, after being up for almost 24 hours. Nevertheless, you don't give in as he looks at you, refusing to break eye contact. 

Please be okay, your mind begs as the corners of his eyes crinkle. Please say I didn't fuck this all up.

His eyebrows raise slightly, checking in on you for the first time in so so long, and another thought takes over your mind. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Blinking away the thought, you nod, but you can't stop yourself as you clarify, "It's just a temp assignment, right?"

He finishes the sentence he was writing before looking up. "Yes. It's only temporary."

***

"Daddy, don't look at me."

Jack's voice filters out from his bedroom and he looks at Jess with a small laugh as she pretends to lock her lips and toss away the key.

"I'm not looking," he calls out. "Are you almost ready?"

There's a small sound of affirmation from down the hall, so he stands up from the couch and reaches for the little jack-o-lantern bag that Jack wanted to use for trick-or-treating.

When he looks up, his son is emerging from his room, dressed incredibly unlike the comic book character he wanted to be for Halloween.

"Whoa," Aaron says, his voice a low rumble. "That is definitely not Spider-Man."

Jack just shrugs. "He's not a real superhero."

"He's not?" He looks at his son again, trying to discern which superhero wears a suit. "Okay. I give up. Who are you supposed to be?"

The answer is immediate. "I'm you, Daddy."

Jess nudges his shoulder with a laugh before she walks forward and swings Jack into the air. "You look just like him, bud!"

He opens his mouth to add onto that sentiment, but his throat thickens with emotion and he has to clear his throat to get a word out. "You tied my tie so well." It's the best he can do with his eyes burning. All he wanted was for his son to feel safe and loved. Maybe I'm doing something right.

"Alright, buddy," Jess smiles, setting him down. "Grab your coat and shoes and we'll head out."

Jack runs off and she smiles at him again, crossing her arms over her chest. "You're a great dad."

"Thank you," he says simply, his lips curving up into a smile. She says it a lot, but for the first time in a while, he's finally starting to believe it.

Jess opens her mouth to say something, but she pauses for an extra second, piquing his interest. "I haven't seen Y/N around here in a little bit."

There it is. He should've seen it coming. "Yeah, she's just busy."

His words don't sound convincing, even to his own ears, and Jess shoots him a look to match. "I happen to know you quite well, Aaron. So if you're overthinking something you shouldn't be, let me be the first to say, you're being an idiot."

He lets out a surprised snort. "Thanks, Jessica."

"I'm just saying," she shrugs, tucking a strand of curly hair behind her ear. "I see things...and I know both of you, so it's not hard to read into things."

He takes a deep breath, pushing his hair back from his forehead. "It's not like that."

He expects her to push back, but she just presses her lips together and shrugs her coat on. "Either way, Haley saw it too...and she seemed happy about it."

Before he has a chance to fully process her words, Jack rushes out, barreling into him. "I'm ready!"

"Alright, my little G-man," he grins, pushing her words out of his head for the night. "Let's go get some candy."

***

Things have been shifting at the office. Ever since JJ left, the team has felt smaller, and with your unintentional (okay, maybe a little intentional) avoidance of Aaron, the office hasn't felt the same in a long time.

Everyone has been taking on more than they're used to, and when Penelope had to fill in for JJ in a press conference during your last case, you couldn't help but notice how she turned to Aaron for support whenever she felt unprepared.

Your curiosity about their shared secret was eating at you all day, until you received a mass email from him to the whole team. Re: Garcia's play, Tolgate Theater, 8pm

You didn't have any plans tonight anyway, and after long days in a seemingly endless rotation of slacks and blazers, you welcome the chance to dress up a little bit. It's not like you go out often (or at all) unless it's with the team.

Pushing to the back of your closet, you rifle through the longer dresses and gowns you own, before landing on a light green, silk number. It has a halter neckline that drapes loosely around your neck, and you haven't worn it since before Jeff died, because it always felt like too much.

But Emily messaged you after getting home with a photo of her dress too, and even though it may be a lot for a little neighborhood theater, you're excited about something for the first time in a long while.

After putting on the dress and doing your makeup a bit darker than usual, you grab your keys and head out.

~

He got to the theater a bit earlier than the rest of the team, mostly to apologize to Garcia and warn her about the onslaught of support she was going to be getting, but he also wanted to get there before you did, so he could save a seat for you beside him.

From an outsider's perspective, he imagines there wouldn't seem to be anything different or wrong with your relationship, but he has been feeling the frustrating tension between the two of you since that night out.

Speaking with Jess on Halloween felt like a welcome reprieve from his cycle of self-loathing, and he finally feels more free than he has in ages.

Emily, Derek, and Spencer arrive a short while later, and he points them toward the seats he booked out, before heading back to the lobby, where family and friends of the performers are milling around.

When Dave arrives, he's also dressed in a suit. "We certainly clean up nicely."

He coughs out a laugh. "I haven't pulled this suit out in years."

"Well, aside from the cobwebs," Dave jokes, brushing an imaginary piece of dust from his shoulder, "you look classy."

"Thanks," he smiles, patting the older man's arm. "You should head inside. We're sitting about halfway up."

"You coming?" Dave asks as he steps around him.

Aaron shakes his head, glancing back at the door again. "I'm going to wait for...everyone to get here. I'll meet you inside."

He nods, before smacking his shoulder once and walking into the theater. When Dave's out of sight, he turns back around and pulls his phone out, trying to look busy.

He scrolls through a couple of his latest emails before tucking his phone away. The front door of the theater opens then, and when he looks up, all of the air leaves his lungs.

It feels like the world is moving in slow motion as you glide inside, your dress billowing down as the breeze from outside settles. You look incredible, and he feels like a teenager again, when he was so in love with you he couldn't breathe.

He watches you glance around, clearly searching for a familiar face, so he walks up, approaching you slowly to give you time to notice him.

"Oh, hi!" you say, your lips curving up into a smile as he tucks a hand into his pocket. "Am I late?"

"Not at all," he says, hating how strained his voice sounds. "The play starts at the top of the hour."

"Perfect," you smile, removing your shawl from your shoulders and folding it in your hands. "You clean up well, by the way."

There's a slight tinge of humor in your voice, and you're looking at him expectantly, likely waiting for him to lead you to the seats, but he can't move. He's terrified of what he's feeling, but you look amazing, and he's surrounded by people he doesn't know, so he doesn't overthink it as he reaches out and slips a hand onto your waist.

You clearly aren't expecting it as he pulls you in closer, his fingers sliding across the silkiness of your dress. You smell like flowers, and he can't help himself as he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. "You're beautiful."

Reality doesn't set in until he lets you go. Your cheeks are slightly flushed and he can't think straight, but the moment you step away from him and head to theater doors, the fog clears.

What is he doing?

The rational part of his brain takes over and he mumbles a curse under his breath before jogging forward to follow you inside. At least for the time being, he has the play to cover himself, but when morning comes, and brings with it the harsh light of day, he's fucked.

***

His skin is burning. The temperature in his office feels like it has been turned all the way up, but even as he undoes his cufflinks and rolls his sleeves back, the heat doesn't abate.

He is loosening his tie when his office door opens, revealing you in your rumpled button down and slacks. He opens his mouth to ask why you're still here, but before he can get a word out, you're shutting the door behind you and locking it.

"What are you doing?" he asks as you saunter over to him, stepping around his desk and pressing your hands to the armrests of his chair. "Y/N, it's late-"

"Shut up," you say firmly, twisting his chair toward you with a strong pull. He moves to get up, but you push his shoulder down to keep him in his chair.

He already doesn't know what to say, but every thought leaves his brain as you sink down to your knees before him.

"Don't move," you whisper, your eyes glinting up at him as you deftly undo the buckle of his belt and yank his pants open. "I'm in charge now."

He lets out a gasp as you tug his pants down in one go, and before he can do anything, your fingers are on him. Your lips curve into a smile as his breath hitches, and even with the thin fabric of his boxers between you two, the sensations coursing through him feel so magnified and new.

He is already hard as a rock, and you've barely even touched him. Teasingly slow, you pull his boxers down, watching as his cock springs free from the confines. Without wasting another second, you run your tongue up his length, and he grits his teeth to keep the groans in his throat from spilling out.

Your lips slowly close around his tip and the wet heat makes his head fall back as he tries to calm his breathing down. His chest is heaving like he just went for a run, but when you hollow your cheeks around him, he can't keep the moan inside. He loses control for a moment as he reaches forward to grasp onto your hair, but that only seems to spur you on, as you bob your head even faster.

The wet sounds of your mouth sliding over his cock fill the office, and he clutches his armrest with one hand and uses the other to guide your head.

He's already so close, and the soft grip of your hands on his thighs aren't helping as he tries to hold off, to prolong this feeling. At the last second, you swirl your tongue around the tip, and he chokes out a gasp, but then-

His eyes fly open to the lonely darkness of his bedroom. The room is warmer than it usually is, and his skin feels sticky with sweat under his covers. His mind, on the other hand...

He doesn't remember every moment of the dream, but the message was clear enough. His boxers are still tight from the memory, and he tries as hard as he can to think about anything else, but he keeps going back to the image of you, in front of him, kneeling-

Throwing the covers off, he sits up quickly and climbs out of bed, needing to clear his head in the only effective way he knows of. He shrugs his clothes off on the way to the bathroom, and he turns the shower on, making the water steaming hot, before stepping inside. The steam fogs up the glass around him, but he can still see the bare outline of his shame in the mirror across from the shower.

But now isn't the time, not with his skin burning and his cock pulsing in his hand. He pumps a few times as the hot water cascades over him, trying to set a rhythm, but it doesn't feel right. He keeps nearing the edge before the wave pulls back, and he lets out a soft groan in frustration as he presses his forehead to the glass.

Just once, he thinks as he grips himself again, his mind shifting back to his dream. Only this once.

His brain fills with the images from earlier: you on your knees, your mouth warm and wet over him, the pinpricks of sweat across the swells of your chest where your shirt was unbuttoned. He pictures your mouth as he ruts into his own hand, pretending, wishing, it was you instead.

It only takes a few more pumps before he finishes, spilling onto the white floor of his shower. The energy leaves him as he slumps against the wall, twisting the knob to a cooler setting, before shutting it off completely.

He still has a few more hours of sleep left before he has to get up for work, but he spends all night tossing and turning in the wide, empty expanse of his bed.

***

"What do you think he meant?"

"Maybe it's like a new manual, or guidebook."

"What are you two on about?" You walk up to your desk and slump down into the chair as Emily and Spencer look up with meek smiles.

Spencer is the first to crack. "We were discussing what Hotch might have meant by a 'different tactic' to solve this case in New Mexico."

You frown. "The gated community one? I thought Dave was just flying over ahead of us to get a head start."

"Nope," Emily shakes her head, before turning around. "He's in Hotch's office right now."

You look up just as Aaron and Dave exit the office and begin their descent down the stairs. Dave is ahead of him, with a big smile on his face, as he pushes past all of you.

It's only after you turn around that you realize who he's looking at. The woman he pulls into a hug is young - Academy cadet young - and she's pretty too.

"Ashley!" Rossi exclaims as he lets her go.

Hotch walks up behind them and shakes her hand. "Agent trainee Seaver is on loan to us from the Academy."

He introduces her to each of you, and you reach forward to shake her hand, a big smile on your face. After he told you that the bureau was considering someone new, you have had your guard up, but you don't want to make a bad impression in case she's here to stay.

"It's great to meet all of you," she says with a meek smile.

You pat her shoulder before walking past her to speak with Aaron about whether Seaver was the the new addition he was talking about. But when you lift your hand to get his attention, he turns away without looking at you, and leads Rossi out of the bullpen.

~

In the New Mexico gated community where three women have been murdered so far, Emily and Derek split off to check out the last crime scene, so you stay with the rest of the team and Seaver at one of the model homes to go through the evidence.

You can't help but notice how Spencer's eyes keep flitting over to the new girl, and a grin crosses your lips as you nudge his shoulder later.

"You totally have a thing for the new girl."

"Wha-what, no?!" he sputters, his face twisting into an unconvincing frown. "I don't even know her."

You just shrug. "You can still think she's pretty."

"That's irrelevant," he mutters, nudging you back and grabbing one of the files in front of him. "Do you think we can trust the local police?"

"I don't know," you sigh, letting him change the subject. "We definitely can't rule them out, especially in a community as clustered as this."

You glance across the room to Aaron and Dave, who are standing hunched over a laptop with the local detective. They're brows are all equally furrowed, and Aaron looks so focused you doubt he would hear you if you yelled his name right now.

Dropping the file onto the counter, you step around Reid and walk over to the trio, listening in as they start speaking.

"You interviewed every adult male in the community?"

The detective nods. "More than once. They're all digitized."

Aaron glances up as you approach, but when he realizes who it is, his eyes dart back to the screen. His eyes meet yours for the briefest of seconds, and he sees a frown cross your face out of his periphery. Fuck. He has to be more careful. You're a fucking profiler, for god's sake.

"Were all the interviews confrontational like this?" you ask as you come up beside him. He can feel the warmth of your arm inches away from his, and he leans his weight to the other side, trying not to think about his dream while you're standing this close to him.

"Is that wrong?"

Rossi raises his eyebrow. "You didn't get much out of them, did you?"

The detective shakes his head before skipping to the next interview, and everyone leans in closer to get a better look. With four of you surrounding the screen, it's harder to see, and when you press your hand to his shoulder to balance yourself, he all but flinches back from your touch.

The movement is harsh enough that everyone but the detective notices. His eyes fly to you as shock and confusion cross your face, and before anyone can say anything, he mutters something that sounds like 'sorry' before rushing out of the model home.

~

You're chasing after him the moment he's out of sight. Dave reaches forward to catch your arm but you shake him off, rushing out of the house and onto the street, which has been cleared by the local police since you arrived.

"Aaron!" you call out as he walks ahead of you, his hand raking through his hair. To his credit, he comes to a stop the moment he hears your voice, and you catch up to him quickly, stopping just short of him on the sidewalk. "What is going on? I thought we were okay?"

His eyes close for a beat, before his face hardens into a steely calm. You can no longer pretend like everything's fine. It hasn't been for a long time - not since the bar, and maybe even before - but you've always been good at compartmentalizing what you don't want to feel. With your mom, and Jeff, and Haley, you could push down the hurt until it dissolved into your bloodstream, spreading everywhere. It wore you down and thinned you out, but at least it wasn't overwhelming.

Looking at him now - your best friend, the man you...love. Your breath catches in your throat and he shakes his head, not looking at you. "What do you mean, Y/N?"

You wish you could keep pretending, like he seems to be able to, but it's just not fair anymore. Not to him, and especially not to you. "No, don't do this. Don't act like I'm the only one who sees how wrong this has been for the last few months. I used to talk to you everyday, Aaron. We've barely spoken in weeks!"

His face cracks for a moment and you see the glimmer of pain in his eyes before the wall comes up again. "I don't know what you want me to say. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" you yell, your tone more forceful than you expect. "What are you sorry for, Aaron?"

He looks at you then, the facade falling away as your words sink in. The lines of pain and tension settle in and you're almost relieved that he's finally showing you the truth instead of hiding away what he's feeling. But then the despair returns as his lips thin into a line, unable to answer your question.

"What," you repeat, your words tinged with malice, "are you sorry for?"

He whispers your name softly, like it's an apology on it's own, before using his next words to tear you to pieces. "Don't make me say it."

A soft gasp leaves your mouth and you involuntarily take a step back, like he's slapped you in the face. He runs a hand over his neck and a sudden feverish anger rushes through you as you shake your head, blinking back tears. "Don't do that. I know it's not just me, Aaron. It's not-"

"Please," he whispers suddenly, cutting you off. "Please don't do this."

It's almost like he's begging you, and you jerk back, unable to look at him. Men have hurt you before, in so many ways, but nothing has ever cut deeper than this. You don't think your bullet wound hurt this much, and at least then you had him to support you. Now you're all alone.

The aching heartbreak hits you all at once and you brush a loose tear off your cheek before turning around and leaving him out on the sidewalk, watching you walk away.

***

"Something's up."

Penelope bumps Emily's shoulder to grab her attention. After a second, she looks up from her desk. "What was that?"

"Something," Penelope repeats, her eyes darting back and forth between you and Aaron, "is up. Y/N and Hotch haven't looked at each other in like four days. Earlier, she was talking to someone on the stairs and he literally walked out of his office and then back inside again."

Emily looks at her. "Are you sure you aren't reading into anything?"

Penelope shoots her a look that can only mean 'you're kidding, right?' "They're inseparable. Something must have happened in the last few weeks that we don't know about."

Before she can stop her, Penelope stands up and barrels over to you, with Emily on her heels like an owner who just dropped her dog's leash.

"Y/N!" Penelope calls out as she approaches you. You look up from your desk with a frown, before your face breaks into a forced smile that both of them can see through immediately. "We wanted to catch up."

You glance at Emily, who shrugs, earning a look of chagrin from the other agent.

"Okay, what do you want to talk about?" you ask, your forehead crinkling in a manner reminiscent of your boss.

Penelope pauses for a moment, like she's trying to think. "Uhh, I'm not sure. Maybe about...you and Hotch?"

"Subtle," Emily mutters under her breath as your face scrunches into a confused frown. "She just means that you two have seemed kind of off lately, and we were wondering if everything was okay."

You press your lips together, unsure of how to broach this topic, even with some of your closest friends. "It's nothing."

That pulls a frown from both of them, and you sigh, doubling down on your feigned nonchalance. "It's really nothing, guys. I just...can't see him right now."

You turn back to your work and Emily and Penelope share a look, twin realizations clicking in both of their minds. They rush back to Penelope's office, and Emily shuts the door behind them, before they both blurt out something that sounds like: "We all know what's going on here."

"We have to make him jealous," Emily agrees with a nod.

She pulls open her desk drawer and pulls out her address book. "I have just the thing."

***

"I messed up, Haley."

The ground is hard from the chilly December air, and he sits uncomfortably on the familiar granite bench before her grave. There is a bouquet of dried-up flowers leaning against her headstone, and he doesn't have to think too hard to figure out who they're from.

"I'm trying not to," he whispers, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets to warm them up, "but I keep messing up."

A cool breeze wafts over him and the rustle of the nearby trees feels like an acknowledgement. Like she's really listening.

"She hates me," he sighs, his chin dropping to his chest as he shuts his eyes. The wind picks up slightly, and it's like he can hear Haley's voice in his head. She doesn't hate you. She's hurt.

"I know." He runs a gloved hand over his face, the cold sending a small shiver through his body. "It's my fault. I just don't know what to do or how to fix it."

Her reply in his mind is almost immediate.Yes you do.

He shakes his head, feeling like an idiot for talking to himself, even though it's helping him work through his emotions. "I don't. I really don't."

For a few moments, all he can hear is the rustle of tree branches and the low whistle of the wind blowing around the headstones. You have to tell her how you feel.

His chest tightens and he lifts his face, letting the cold air sting his skin, like some kind of penance. "Don't you think I want to? Every time I look at her, I'm terrified it's going to come out, but I can't say it." He takes a deep breath as the words start to flow out. He hasn't said them out loud to anyone, but right here feels like the safest place to let them out. "I love her."

Three simple words and it's like a weight lifts off of his chest. He still doesn't have the answers, but at least he can admit it to himself.  "I'm in love with her, Hales. The only person in this world that I love more is Jack."

He can practically see her smile as he glances down at her name etched in stone. Then what's the problem.

"I'm gonna fuck it up. I always do." The words come out before he has a chance to think, almost like they've been sitting on the tip of his tongue for ages. He looks down at the ground again, imagining her sitting in front of him. "I did with you."

This time, his mind doesn't have the answer for him. He's finally in a good place with his son, and with the addition of Seaver to the team, his work load has been marginally cut back, so he doesn't really have an excuse anymore. It's just his fear of losing one of the only good things in his life that keeps holding him back.

But you're already losing her. 

It's his own voice berating him this time, instead of Haley's. 

You're trying so hard to hold her at arm's length that you haven't even noticed that she has stopped pushing her way in.

The wind rushes over him and he looks at the headstone again, his eyes tracing over Haley's name one more time, before he stands up and walks back down the hill.

***

Dave's annual new year's eve party has always been a fairly large spectacle, but when Aaron leads Jack up his driveway that evening, the sheer number of (expensive) cars lined up outside is nearly staggering.

He knew it wouldn't just be the team here tonight, but he wasn't expecting the sheer scale of the party, especially while his mind has been so pre-occupied with the prospect of seeing you outside of work for the first time in weeks. 

The front door is unlocked when they reach the top of the porch, so he carefully pushes it open and leads Jack inside. He's only an hour late, but the hallways are already crowded with groups milling around, having loud conversations with a drink in their hand.

He doesn't recognize anyone until he gets to the kitchen, where he sees the rest of the team (minus Dave) chatting around a small snack table.

"Y/N!" Jack shrieks when he sees you, letting go of his hand immediately and running forward. You turn at the sound of his voice, and your face breaks out into a wide smile as the boy barrels over and throws his arms around you.

"Jack-o-lantern!" you gush, lifting him up and hugging him, your eyes falling shut as you squeeze the boy tightly.

Any onlooker can tell that his son loves you. For a while after Haley's death, Jack was closed off to every female figure in his life - even Jess - but he never shied away from you.

I love you, a voice in the back of his mind whispers as you set Jack down and press a kiss to the top of his head. I love you I love you I love you.

~

After Dave returned from the back patio and whisked away Aaron and Jack to meet some of his other friends, you loitered around the kitchen for a while, chatting with Derek and Spencer about their resolutions for the new year.

You're refilling your glass with some diluted punch when JJ and Emily sneak up behind you with matching mischievous expressions. 

"What did you guys do?" you ask, gulping back some punch in preparation for whatever they're about to spring on you.

"There's someone we want you to meet," Emily grins as she reaches forward to loop her arm through yours.

"Oh, no way," you say, already shaking your head before they can elaborate. "You are not setting me up with some random bureau guy again."

"That was only one time," JJ pouts, before beckoning to the hallway across from the kitchen. You glance over her shoulder and spot Will standing with a man you've never seen before. "I had Will bring one of his single friends tonight. He's an architect, and he's super smart and super cute. Totally your type."

You raise an eyebrow as you inspect the man from across the room. He's definitely easy on the eyes, but he's also not your type. There's only one man who fits into that box.

"I don't know," you sigh, setting your glass down on the table behind you. "It's very sudden."

"C'mon," Emily urges, her eyes glinting with amusement. "It'll be good. Just talk and flirt a little, and if you're into it then you have a new year's kiss locked up!"

Kissing someone you just met in front of all of your colleagues sounds like nightmare fuel, but you can't think of another way to get your friends off your back. "Okay, fine, I'll meet him."

~

After leaving Jack with Henry and the other children, he heads back into the main section of the house, hoping to run into you. He doesn't know what he would say if he does, but anything is better than the avoidance game you've been playing.

He sees Penelope and JJ first, but you're not with them, so he continues forward, deftly stepping around throngs of people conversing in little pockets around the house. 

"Hotch, over here!"

He whips around to find Derek, Will, and Dave waving him over to join them in the kitchen. He grabs a piece of cheese off a platter on his way over, and Derek pats him on the back when he reaches the three of them. 

They return to their prior topic of conversation, and he tunes them out as his eyes dart around the room, still looking for you. He's about to give up when he spots the familiar hue of your hair down the hall. His lips curve up in a small smile as he watches you lean your head back with a big laugh that he swears he can hear even from all the way over here. He's about to excuse himself from the guys when a hand reaches out to gently touch your forearm, and you don't shake it off.

It's only then that he notices the man you're talking to, and how enamored he looks as you burst into another bout of laughter. Something that feels like ice settles in the pit of his stomach and he turns back to the guys just as they notice what he's been looking at.

"They seem to be hitting it off," Will grins, crossing his arms over his chest. "My friend's a good guy, and he mentioned wanting to meet her after they crossed paths at one of me and JJ's dinner parties."

He notices Dave glance at him out of the corner of his eye, but he can't bear to look at the older man, for fear that he'll give something away. Aaron feels the nauseating pit of jealousy in his stomach, but it's not fair. He pushed you away.

He turns away from you and tries to focus on literally anything else, but it's not long before he's unable to fight the urge to look at you from his spot in the kitchen. You can't see him watching you, and it gives him the obscurity he needs to observe you from afar, but it also makes it much more conspicuous to his friends.

You don't leave the company of Will's friend until much later in the night, and soon it's almost midnight. The countdown starts as everyone in the house lifts their glasses and latches onto their significant others.

"Ten, nine, eight..."

He's turning before he knows what he's doing. He can't help it, it's almost magnetic, the pull you have on him. 

You're not looking at him, and he can only see your side profile as you glance up at the clock as it ticks down.

"Five, four, three, two..."

He turns away at the last second, unable to stomach the thought of you kissing someone else, but when the crowd erupts into cheers, he looks back to find that you're gone. His heart rates spikes and he pushes through people, ignoring the pats on his back as people wish him a "Happy new year". 

He eventually spots you through the back windows, and he steps out into the frigid air to accompany you on the back porch steps. You're sitting on the top step, your bare arms wrapped around your body for some semblance of warmth, and for a moment, he can't move.

He can't decide if he should go to you or let you have the space you so clearly wanted, but then a voice in the back of his skull yells at him through all the noise. She's your best friend in the world. A few months ago, the answer would have been obvious.

A switch flips and he steps forward, sliding off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders. You let out a soft sigh as he sinks down next to you, and he watches as your eyes glisten in the lamplight. 

You don't look at him as you press your elbows into your knees and rub a hand over your neck. "How did this get so fucked up?"

He sighs too, a heavy sound. "I don't know." 

He's still looking at you, at the tears in your eyes, when you finally take a deep breath and turn to face him. A tear slips down your cheek and his brain fires off sparks again. I love you, I love you, I love you.

He wants to say it so badly, but then the newest factor in all of his confusion jumps back into the forefront. The Pakistan assignment. He has been trying to push it off, but he's getting so much pressure from the brass, and that's just one more thing he's hiding from you. 

He breaks your eye contact and you let out a slow breath, almost like you felt him lose his nerve in real time. Without another word, you wipe the tears from your face and stand up, leaving him out in the cold once again.

***

The bureau gives you a week off at the start of the new year, but you can't enjoy any of your alone time. Every second you let your mind wander, your thoughts are invaded by the look on his face as he turned away from you. 

You had seen it in his eyes out there, in the freezing cold air as the clock struck midnight. At least a small part of him felt for you the same way you felt for him. But it's not enough.

You've been alone for so many years. When you married Jeff, you were done. You didn't think you'd have to ever feel this kind of heartbreak again, but now that you feel that kind of love again, you refuse to settle for anything less than what you deserve. And what you deserve is someone who can show you how he feels. 

Nevertheless, you can't control your subconscious. 

That's why you're laying in bed at the end of the week, staring at your nightlight across the room and somehow managing to simultaneously miss him and hate him. It's well past midnight and you can't sleep, but you don't want to give in to the urge that's been tugging at your gut all night. 

You're so angry with him, but he's also the only person you want to talk to when you're feeling anything you can't explain. It only takes another minute before you're giving in and snatching your phone off your bedside table.

It rings for a long time before he finally answers. 

He whispers your name softly, his voice gravelly as though he just woke up. He sounds confused, but it has to mean something that he answered his phone at this hour.

"Are you okay?" Aaron asks, his voice still a bit gruff from the tiredness. "What's wrong?"

I miss you, you want to say. Instead, you panic and ask the first question that pops into your head: "Why do you think The Beatles broke up?"

The line goes silent for a moment before he sighs quietly. "Everyone blames Yoko but you know I think they just stopped working well together creatively." 

"It was probably Lennon deciding to leave the band," you say, unsure where you're going with this. "Yeah, that makes the most sense."

"Maybe," he says, his voice a low hum.

There's no tinge of impatience or irritation in his tone, but you still feel awful for waking him up in the early hours of the morning to chat about a band. 

You take a deep breath, trying to prepare yourself for what you're about to say, but the breath catches in your throat as a small sob escapes. "I'm so mad at you."

There's a pause on the other end of the line, before Aaron exhales sharply. "I know."

Your resolve fades almost immediately and you sink back into your pillows. "I'm not mad at you." He quietly huffs out a laugh, but you can tell his heart isn't in it. "I'm hurt, and yeah, I'm kind of mad at you, but the only person I want to talk to is you."

You can hear his breath stutter over the speaker, and he rears up to say something, before thinking better of it. "It's late, Y/N. You should go to bed."

"Yeah," you say eventually, rubbing tears of frustration from your eyes. "I'm sorry, yeah."

"No," he says quickly, his voice hurried as though he's afraid you'll hang up. "Don't apologize. I'm glad you called."

Your heart flutters pathetically. "Okay."

"Why were you up anyway?" he asks after a moment.

You shrug, even though he can't see you, wiping away the last remnants of your tears. "Couldn't sleep."

Something that sounds like a quiet chuckle floats into your ears. "Try turning off that massive nightlight."

Your eyes widen and you inadvertently glance over at the beacon of light plugged in across the room. "What nightlight?"

He hums again. "Goodnight, Y/N." I love you.

"Goodnight, Aaron." I love you too.

***

It started when Emily arrived late to the briefing. She was never late, so that itself was enough to set off your alarms, but then you noticed her fingers. She's biting her nails again.

Aaron finishes briefing you all about the two families murdered in house fires in the DC area, before you disperse and head back to your desks to read up about the evidence.

When you drop your bag down and sink into your chair, you don't miss how Spencer visibly flinches in his seat, his eyes twitching with exhaustion.

"Sorry, Spence," you say earnestly, turning to him with an anxious look. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah," he answers quickly, his eyes darting back down to the case file. "I'm... I'm...I'm sure these victims overlap somehow. Garcia pulled their phone numbers, but so far I can't find anything."

You've been working with him long enough to notice when he's deflecting, especially when he's doing such a bad job of it. "Spencer, you just jumped."

He takes a deep breath and you're suddenly grateful that his shorter haircut allows you to get a better view of his expression, even with his head down. "I've been having these really intense headaches lately." "Have you seen a doctor?" you ask, sliding your chair in to get a better look at him. "Yeah, a few. None of them have been able to figure it out." "I'm sorry," you say genuinely as guilt and shame flood your veins. You've been so preoccupied with your own drama that you haven't been paying any attention to your friends. First Emily, and now Spencer. "Does anyone know?"

His lips press into an adorable line. "You." "I won't tell anyone," you assure him, your eyebrows scrunching down. "I'm glad you're telling me now." "I know," he nods. "I just didn't want you to worry."

"I won't make a big deal out of it," you tell him, your lips curving up in a playful smile, "if that's what you were worried about."

"Thanks," he mutters, but you can tell his heart isn't really in it.

It's been so long since you sat down and caught up with your teammates, and given how weird Emily has been acting, you figure it's about time. 

~

"Have you noticed anything off with Emily?"

It's Penelope who comes to you first about the change in your teammate's disposition. You had clocked the small jab Emily had thrown at her after the briefing, but didn't want to intrude in case it was personal. You're starting to realize it might be a lot more personal than you originally thought.

"I have," you say simply, glancing back at her across the bullpen. Her head is down and her shoulders are hunched forward as she quickly types something out on her phone. 

She waits for another moment before jolting upright and standing up. Before either of you can get a chance to ask what's wrong, she is jetting off to the bathroom.

"I got this one," you tell Penelope before strutting off to follow her.

She's looking at her phone again when the bathroom door shuts behind you, and you approach her slowly so as not to spook her. "Hey, I just wanted to check up on you. You sped out of there."

"I'm fine," she says, trying to brush away your worry with a wave of her hand.

You frown, taking a step forward. "Are you sure? I noticed you've been biting your-"

"Don't profile me, Y/N," she snaps, her head turning to level you with a glare that would have scared the shit out of you if you didn't know her so well. It doesn't last long though, and before you can get another word out, she's already apologizing. "I'm sorry. I-I'm gonna be alright. I promise. I'm just having this nightmare."

She details her dream to you, and the profiler in you can't help but relate it to her own lack of trust, but then she looks at you with a genuine smile and you just have to smile back.

"Somehow, you.." she pauses for a beat. "You always make me feel better. I don't think I've ever thanked you for that."

Her words feel so final, like she's saying goodbye, and a bolt of terror shoots through you before you decide you're being dramatic.

She's your friend. She's gonna be alright.

~

Emily's gone. She slipped out during Aaron's multi-agency task force briefing, and none of you noticed.

How could you not have noticed?

You're kicking yourself as Spencer pulls out a sheet of paper from one of Emily's contacts, with a list of undercover names all with the initials L.R. 

"Prentiss is the last name on the list," Rossi deduces as you mentally check back into the conversation. Your eyes scan the board with the name 'Lauren Reynolds' written at the top. "That means she's on Doyle's list too."

"Guys," Aaron calls out from Emily's desk, holding up her things in his hands, "she left her badge and gun."

"Why would she do that?" Penelope asks, her voice small like a child's. "We're her family."

That's when you finally find your voice. "She ran to protect us." You turn to Aaron then, your eyes flashing over his like it's the first time you've ever really looked at him. "How do we find her?"

"We need to profile their behavior," he instructs, moving to the front board. "Doyle is our unsub and Prentiss is our victim. We treat it like any other case." 

There's the small sound of a door opening and Aaron looks up, beckoning his chin to the back. "Because terrorism isn't an area we specialize in, I've reached out to an expert from the State Department...someone who can also shed light on Prentiss' past."

You whip around to the sight of a familiar head of blonde hair walking into the briefing room. The tension in your shoulders abates for a split second as gratitude cascades over you. God, you missed her.

JJ saunters forward and nods at each of you, her expression already rigid with concentration. "Let's get to work."

~

Profiling Emily takes you all to Boston, where the evidence from the previous victims adds up to the conclusion that Doyle is a family annihilator. When you also find out that he has a secret son, you and Derek lead the team to the warehouse where the son was last taken, in the hopes that Emily would have made the same connection.

The sound of a loud crash sends you running, but Derek is faster and he gets there before you. You enter the back room to find Emily bleeding out on the floor, a large wooden post stuck through her abdomen.

"I got her!" he yells into his comms before pressing his hands onto her wound. "Prentiss. It's me, I'm right here."

She mumbles something that sounds like his name and your chest floods with relief. You step out of the room to call for a medic, but when you get back, she isn't moving.

"Emily!" Derek yells as you sink to your knees beside him. Your pants are wet with her blood, and it feels like ice against your skin. How can there be so much blood in the human body? 

"Come on," he pleads, tightening his grip on her hand. "Stay with me!"

"Emily, please," you whisper, your throat hoarse from the unshed tears. You press your fingers to her pulse. "Please."

The medics come eventually, and she is taken to the hospital, where the whole team is holed up in the waiting room. Spencer hasn't stopped pacing since she was taken into surgery and you can't seem to take your face out of your hands, even as people press comforting pats on your shoulders. 

You don't notice anything going on around you until JJ comes back from speaking with the doctor with tears in her eyes. No, oh god no.

You barely register her words as she whispers, "She never made it off the table."

It's only then that you stand up. You're not sure what you're planning to do, but as soon as you try to move, your legs start shaking, like you're slipping in quicksand. Aaron steps towards you just as your body gives out and you collapse onto him, quiet sobs bubbling out of your throat.

"She was just here," you cry into his chest while you clutch his shirt as though your life depends on it. "How can she be gone?"

His hands rub comforting circles into your back as his arms tighten around you, keeping you upright, and you can't help but imagine that this picture looks vaguely reminiscent of his home last year when you held him up as he broke down. 

Emily's gone.

You can't even remember why you were so angry with him before. Everything outside of this moment feels so trivial, like you've been wasting so much time. You need him now, and you're so thankful he's here to hold you up even though his pain is just as big as yours.

Aaron wraps himself tighter around you, fighting the tears that are rushing forward, because they just aren't fair. His whole team is falling apart in front of him, and he's one of two people here who knows the truth.

You choke out another sob and he tugs you upward, helping you stand again as you wipe the tears from your face. Out of the corner of his periphery, he sees JJ pull Spencer into a hug, and she meets his eye over the younger agent's shoulder. So much pain.

"What are we supposed to do now?" you ask suddenly, your voice so small he's sure he's the only person who can hear you. "How are we supposed to keep going?"

The familiar echoing emptiness of guilt swallows him whole and he sucks in a sharp breath in a futile effort to keep himself from drowning. Your glistening eyes are so wide with despair, and he pulls you back into his arms, mostly for comfort, but also because he can't stand to see you in pain for much longer. When he finally finds his voice, all that comes out is, "I don't know."

***

You can barely remember the funeral. 

When you try to think about it, there are flashes of white gloves and red roses and rough, brown dirt, but the only thing that really sticks out is the pressure of Aaron's hand over yours as you stood in front of her casket while they lowered her into the ground.

So many funerals, so many gravestones. The eery familiarity that has made you numb to the loss, even as it threatens to tear you apart each time you let yourself think about her.

It has become a regular passage in the story of your life: meet someone new, learn to love again, and then lose them.

Tears prick your eyes as you settle into the stiff wooden chair in your kitchen. The team has been organizing impromptu get-togethers all month, mostly at the last minute and usually late at night. That's when the loneliness hits the hardest. 

You figure you should be used to it by now. Deep down, you know it's not something anyone ever gets used to, but believing that the pain will abate is easier than realizing it'll always be there, buried in your bones. 

The pain of your mother's death is still a phantom bruise under your skin, always there, but never at the forefront until you press hard enough. Losing Jeff was a whole other monster, hiding under your bed and within the confines of your mind, ready to pounce the moment you closed your eyes. Haley, on the other hand, was a fresh wound; sometimes, you still aren't sure that the gash has fully closed, but with time it has gotten easier to pretend that things aren't awful all the time.

You wipe a loose tear from your cheek as you check your phone messages and tidy up some of the plates from your table. Aaron came over last night, and you both sat in silence for a long time, until a photo of Emily on your computer brought you to tears again. He held you for hours as you shook in his arms, trying to keep yourself together, but ultimately failing.

The silver lining of his renewed presence in your life doesn't feel as sweet as it should, given the circumstances, but you'll take any win you can get. If nothing else, you missed the feel of his arms around you.

You flinch as the dishes clink together loudly when you set them in the sink, and you watch the water dribble from the faucet for a long time, pretending that all you see isn't her blood.

***

He doesn't know what to do. He wants to be there for you more than anything else in this world, but seeing you break down is like being stabbed all over again, only this time it's his own fault. 

When you called last night, he couldn't stay away. He misses you like he's missing a limb, and even if he wanted to stop himself from seeing you, he knows he couldn't. Your grief has brought you back to him, but it feels wretched, even as he shoves aside his guilt for an evening to comfort you at this low.

He had lost count of the number of work-related things he had kept from Haley when they were married, but he always had the excuse that she didn't need to know. That her life would be better without the knowledge of all the horrors that circled them everyday. 

He doesn't have the same excuse with you. You are well-acquainted with the tragedies that life brings, and if it was up to him, he would spill every secret he has ever hidden, because he loves you, and you're one of the last people in this world who still trusts him, and he's so scared that after this, he'll lose that too. 

But he keeps his mouth shut. And when Garcia invites him to a get-together at your place, he politely declines, because if he knows you all have each other, then he can take one night off from the debilitating guilt he somehow still hasn't learned to shoulder after all these years.

***

"Come on in."

Spencer, Derek, and Penelope shuffle into your house, handing you bottles of wine and bags of assorted snacks, before plopping down on your couch and making themselves at home. They've been over so many times in the last few weeks that you figure it basically is their second home at this point, not that you mind. 

None of you want to be alone, and that's why it works.

"What are we watching tonight?" Derek asks, his voice nonchalant, like it's just another movie night with your colleagues. He always starts the night acting like everything's fine, and it really irked you the first time he came over, until you realized it was a front that he just needed time to shed. "Didn't you say last time that you have the original Jaws DVD?"

"What if we watched The Empire Strike Back?" Spencer asks timidly from under a slew of blankets that Penelope has covered both of them with. His nightly ritual involves suggesting one of his favorite movies, even though it always gets immediately shot down. 

Derek chuffs, snagging some of the blanket from off your lap. "Maybe another night, kid."

"I don't care what we watch," Penelope sighs as she pulls open a bag of popcorn and chucks a handful into her mouth, "as long as it isn't sad." That's her only request. Nothing sad, please. Your nightly ritual is like a practiced dance. Each of you playing your parts, reciting your lines the same way, keeping it familiar. Establishing a routine.

You stand up, taking your cue, and grab a random DVD from your cabinet. Ten minutes later, you're all watching The Empire Strikes Back, and Spencer cracks something that looks like a smile for the first time since before the funeral.

You watch the movie in silence, and when the credits roll, you watch the names scroll over the screen as you muster up the energy to find the remote. When you finally click the TV off, the silence feels suffocating, and you hear Penelope sniffle from next to you.

Throwing your arm around her shoulder, you all squish yourselves together, like the pressure will keep the emotions in. 

After a long pause, Spencer is the first to speak. "It'll get better, right?" 

"It has to," Derek sighs, his chin falling to his chest as he takes in a deep breath. You know him well enough to be able to translate his exasperation into anguish, even as he tries to hide it.

"It will get better." You glance around the couch at your friends - the people who have been here for you through all of it - and nod your head, choosing this moment to really believe it. "It will."

***

It doesn't.

A week later, you are storming into Aaron's apartment after he dropped Jack off to stay with Jess, your words already pouring out even before he can shut the door behind you.

"How could you take the assignment?"

Your tone is laced with malice, but he can still hear the hurt underneath.

"How could you leave us here after everything that happened?"

This time the pain is clearer. Your voice breaks at the end and he steps forward to do something, but you twist your body away.

His hands fall hopelessly back to his sides and he doesn't know how to explain this to you, when he can't even explain it to himself.

"Strauss left your brief in the conference room." Your words are stronger now, and he looks up, his eyes squinting with anticipation. "You've known about this since before the new year."

You're right. He's known about the prospect of this assignment for almost a year, and then after, when it became a real possibility, he still chose not to tell you. Maybe before, he had the excuse that you weren't speaking to him, but after Emily...he doesn't have a leg to stand on.

"Why wouldn't you tell us?" you ask, the anguish coming forward in full force. "We need you here. Jack needs you. I need you."

He needs you too. But he also needs to stop hurting you. And he can't see that happening while he's still here.

"I'm sorry," he whispers softly. I love you, I'm sorry.

You let out a sigh and your shoulders fall, like you've lost all of the fight within you. You look so defeated, and it feels worse than when you were yelling at him. 

You're right here, but you feel so far away, like he's looking at you through tinted glass.

"Fine," you say after a beat. "Call me when you're leaving."

Your shoulder brushes his as you whip past him, and he doesn't muster up the courage to speak again until you're already gone.

***

The call comes soon. Too soon.

You meet him at his apartment, and Jack immediately gives you a hug before latching himself back onto his father. You don't know what Aaron told him, given how you don't even know how long he's going to be gone, but you can't imagine it was helpful to a six year old boy who only understands that his father is leaving for a long time.

"I called Jess to pick him up," Aaron explains in a hushed whisper as Jack runs out to get his shoes, "but she's busy until the afternoon."

"That's okay," you say, crossing your arms in front of you. It's a defensive maneuver that's about all you can muster up right now. "I can drop him off at her house after we get you out of here."

You try to say it lightly, but your tone sharpens at the end, making him flinch. You sigh, an apology in itself, because you're trying so hard to be supportive. You know you're mad at him - no matter how hard you try not to be - but this isn't the time to show your anger.

Jack comes back into the living room, and you usher the young boy out the door as Aaron lugs his duffel bags behind you and out to the car. The drive is mostly silent, and Jack doesn't say a word until you help him out of his carseat and onto the tarmac at the base. 

"I'm gonna miss you, Daddy," he whispers, his little hands reaching up to grab his father's hand. "Come home soon."

Aaron picks him up and squeezes him in a big hug, before setting him back down on the ground. He looks at you then and you shrug, pressing your lips together. "What he said."

"I don't know how long this is going to take," he says, mostly directing his words at Jack, even though he keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. "Probably a few months though."

A few months. That shouldn't feel as long as it does. 

"Bye buddy," he says then, kneeling down to hug his son again. "Go sit in Y/N's car so I can talk to her about some grown up stuff for a minute."

Jack bounces back to where your car is parked, and you watch him get in before turning back to look at Aaron. There's a resoluteness in his expression that shouldn't surprise you, given how driven he is by his sense of duty, but it still catches you off guard.

"You'll be okay there?" you ask, needing to get that out of the way before the rest of it.

He nods, before inching his hand forward to brush against yours. It's a small gesture, but you're not ready yet.

"I'm still angry," you whisper, pulling your hand back slightly. "I don't want to be, because you're leaving, and I want you to have a clear head out there, but I can't help it."

"It's okay," he says softly, his brow furrowing.

"No," you sigh, shaking your head. Your throat is thickening with the threat of tears and you don't want to cry in front of him now either, but there are too many emotions swirling around your brain to keep any of them straight. "I'm not really mad, okay. I know you're trying to do the right thing, but she's gone, and the team is not okay right now, and I need to find a way to handle it on my own."

I can't do it by myself, you want to say. I'm in love with you and you're making it seem so easy to leave me here to shoulder the burden of everyone's grief.

"I'm sorry," he says again, his voice softer this time. 

You're so much better than me, he thinks as he watches you stand so stoically before him. I love you and I can't bear to see you in pain when I'm part of the reason why.

"It's okay," you repeat after a beat. Then you reach forward and take his hand, like he tried to do earlier. His hand is warm and calloused, and it feels rough against your palm, but it grounds you, tethering you to this moment. "I'll see you when you get back."

He nods, before pulling you forward gently into a hug. Your chin tilts up to sit on his shoulder and he squeezes you to him once before letting you go.

When he lifts his bags and walks toward the loading ramp, Jack leaps out of the car and grabs your hand as you both wave goodbye.

He flashes you both one last smile before waving back and disappearing into the plane.

***

The first month is the easiest. You let the futile anger take over; let yourself pretend that you don't actually miss him. 

Seeing Jack and Jess makes it less painful, and you slowly find yourself spending more time with them than at home. Jess tries to spend time with Jack at Aaron's apartment to help him maintain a stable environment, but with his father gone, it doesn't help you notice the absence less.

"He's not eating as much," Jess mentions to you one night after she puts him to bed and joins you out in the living room. At first, being at his place without him felt intrusive, but you've gotten used to being there. "He was picking at his food all through dinner."

"I noticed that," you agree as you pat the spot beside you on the couch. "I'm sure it's just a picky eating phase. Once he settles back into a routine with you it should be fine."

"With us," she corrects with a small smile. "I need all the help I can get, and I really appreciate you being here so often."

"Oh, honey, of course." You give her forearm a squeeze before grabbing both of your empty glasses from the table and taking them to the sink. "I was worried I was becoming more of a burden on you by being here so much, but I'm glad it's welcome company."

"Always," she says, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. You set the glasses down and turn back to see her staring at the tiny picture frame of her and Haley on her counter. "She always made it look so easy."

You nod, not wanting to interrupt her moment. After a beat, Jess releases a heavy sigh and shakes her head. "She was the perfect mother. If I can be half as good of a caretaker for Jack as she was, I'll know I'm doing something right."

You smile unconsciously, remembering a moment from years ago. "I swear Aaron said the exact same thing once. He was upset about leaving work late again when they first had Jack, and I had to assure him that he wouldn't miss every childhood milestone just because he had to work late once in a while."

He was so terrified of being anything like his father. You tried your best to show him how impossible that was, but those are the kinds of things people have to learn on their own.

Jess looks down, deep in thought, and your phone chimes then with a new message. It's from Derek: Hotch sat phone call, 15 mins

"Jess," you whisper, getting her attention again. "Aaron is scheduled to call us over the satellite phone in a little bit. I'm gonna go into the office to see if I can talk to him. Is there anything you want me to tell him?"

She thinks for a moment before shaking her head. "Just that Jack and I are doing well. And we miss him."

You nod and press a kiss to her cheek before grabbing your coat and driving over to the field office. The sky is dark by the time you arrive, and it feels foreign to walk into an empty bullpen. The team has shrunk so much since he left, and lately it's just been you, Spencer, Derek, Rossi, and Penelope around here.

You knock on Aaron's office door once before stepping inside.

"Sounds good," Derek is saying as you shut the door behind you. "Yeah, keep us updated." He sees you then and beckons you closer before turning back to the phone. "Y/N's here. I'll hand it to her."

You take the phone from him and tentatively press it to your ear. There's a slight buzzing sound and when he says "Hello?", his voice sounds far away.

"Hi," you say softly, turning your back to Derek for some semblance of privacy, but he has already pulled out his phone and started typing something. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," he says, sounding slightly distracted. "It's really busy over here. How are yo- you all doing? Jack and Jessica?"

"They're good," you tell him, hoping he can't hear the tightness in your voice over hearing his for the first time in weeks. "They really miss you. We all do."

"I miss you guys too." 

You hear some muffled voices on the other end of the line, and you jump in with your questions before he gets called away. "Any updates I can ask about? Like when you'll be done."

"Not right now," he says with a sigh. "It's still need-to-know."

"Right," you whisper rigidly, even though it's not fair. He's trying his best, and he's doing what's right, but you keep punishing him. Because of your own feelings, your brain adds at the end. 

"It's protocol," he says, even though you're both well aware of how this works.

"I know," you sigh, your fingers gripping the phone tightly. "I have to go back to Jess's."

"Y/N, wait-" he starts, but you are already handing the phone back to Derek.

He takes it uncertainly, but you just shake your head and exit the office.

***

"Did you watch the other movie I gave you?"

You whip your head around to look at Spencer, who is looking at you intently. You had been staring at Aaron's office door for the better part of the last hour.

You frown apologetically. "Not yet, Spence." He had loaned you his DVD of one of his favorite Star Wars movies, and each time you tried watching it, you were just reminded of the immediate aftermath of losing Emily. "I'll find time soon, though."

"That's okay," he shrugs as you inadvertently glance up at the door again. "I know it isn't everyone's thing. I just thought you seemed to enjoy the one we watched at the movie night."

"I did," you assure him, reaching out to pat his hand. "I promise I just haven't found time yet."

He smiles at you, and you return it before your eyes dart up to Aaron's office door at the sight of movement. A small, unrealistic part of you expects Aaron to emerge, but it's Derek instead. Derek took over his office a month after he left to Pakistan, because the secure line was already set up.

"He has a lot on his plate these days," Spencer says, drawing your attention back. He's watching Derek speak to someone at the top of the stairs, his forehead crinkled with stress.

"We're down quite a few hands," you nod, pursing your lips. "Maybe we can convince Derek to bring JJ back permanently."

Spencer lights up and you can't help but grin too. "We definitely should."

***

The cases start piling up, and you welcome the distraction as the passing months begin to weigh on you. The whole team has been under a lot of pressure from the brass, and Strauss has been hinting at a prolonged assignment in Pakistan that may take up even more of his time.

After a particularly grisly case, you invite Penelope over to unwind with some wine and chatting. It doesn't escape your notice that you're missing half of your usual girls' night attendees, but you keep the wine flowing, and soon you aren't focusing on anything other than the new guy Penelope met at her grocery store.

"He's so sweet," she gushes as she leans over the table to grab another chip. You're both sitting on the floor of your living room, and you reach out hastily to steady her glass as it gets precariously close to spilling over. "And I think it says a lot that he shops at such a high quality grocery store."

"Oh, absolutely," you nod, lifting your own glass in a mock salute. "You can tell a lot about a man by how he eats."

"Tell me about it," she sighs, her words starting to slur. Maybe opening the second bottle was too much. "I once dated a guy who only ate protein bars and steak."

Your face twists in disgust, and you set your glass down, feeling the rush of tipsiness hit you. "That's definitely not a balanced diet."

"I tried to tell him," Penelope says, before her face falls into a sad frown. "I really tried."

"Okay, okay," you say, trying to change the subject as her eyes fill with drunk tears. "Back to the grocery store man."

Her face breaks into a wide smile comically fast and you let out a high laugh. "He's so sweet. He really is just the sweetest guy."

"So I've heard," you grin, taking another sip of wine.

Turns out your last glass was one too many, because an hour later, after sending Penelope off in a cab and clearing away your dishes, you're still feeling the buzz from earlier.

Your face feels comfortably warm and you grab your phone from the counter, with the intention to call Emily, when you suddenly remember-

Your smile falls in an instant and tears are rushing forward before you can clearly form a coherent thought. You drop the phone and rush upstairs to take a hot shower to wind down and calm yourself, but even as the burning water washes over you, you still feel wound tight, like your emotions are trapped inside of you.

She was the first person you would always call after a tipsy night, and now she's gone. 

Everybody's gone.

JJ, Emily, Aaron. Aaron.

A sob chokes out and you press your hand over your mouth, your body caving forward under the billowing steam fogging up the glass. You miss him so much, it's like you're not even yourself anymore. 

You let out another soft sob as the water begins to calm you down, but you can still feel the echoing hollowness inside of you. You wish he was here, holding you, telling you it would all be okay. That you didn't ruin everything by pushing too hard, too fast. That you love him and he loves you, and it can all be perfect again. 

"It'll be okay," his voice whispers from behind you, and suddenly he's there. Not really, but with your eyes closed and your mind still foggy, it almost feels real. "I'm sorry I left. I should've been here."

"You should be," you gasp out as his arms close around you from behind, holding you tightly under the soothing warmth of the water. "You left me."

"I know," he says, his breath tingling the sensitive spot behind your ear. "I'll never leave again. I promise."

"You promise," you whisper, mostly to yourself, as you turn around. His lips glide over your shoulder and up your neck, and suddenly his mouth is on yours.

You gasp as his hands slide down your body, his fingers gently caressing the sides of your breasts as he makes his way to your waist. His lips are so soft against yours and when his tongue runs along the seam of your mouth, you moan loudly, letting him swallow up the sounds.

He feels so real under your hands as you trace the jagged scars along his abdomen, and when his tongue glides down your-

You sit up with a gasp, your head pounding with the beginnings of an oncoming wine hangover. Your sheets are messily strewn around you, and your skin is sticky with sweat, but you can't bring yourself to get up. You take a large gulp of water from the glass on your nightstand and check the time: 3:02 AM.

Falling back with a huff, you run a hand over your face and fruitlessly try to sleep through the rest of the night.

***

Summer brings its own set of struggles.

The heat makes each case feel ten times longer than it already is, and with September fast approaching, Jack gets more and more antsy about starting school for the first time.

"He's been shut in his room all day," Jess sighs over the line as you make yourself coffee with your phone pressed between your shoulder and ear. "I think he's sad that he's starting school without either of his parents here."

Your heart breaks as you imagine Jack alone in his room, waiting and wishing for his dad to come back in time for his first day of school. Then an idea pops into your head.

"I think I know what to do."

An hour later, you, Jess, and Jack are waiting in line, under the beating sun, to get into the Smithsonian's zoo. Even tho you can already feel the sweat starting to drip down your back, Jack looks downright giddy, so you take the win.

When you finally get inside, he makes a beeline for the monkey exhibits, and you and Jess meander along behind him, chatting about her new side gig.

"I'm starting the part-time job in the fall," she explains as you stop behind Jack at the front of the chimpanzee enclosure. "It works out with the start of the school year, in case Aaron is gone for a while longer."

"That sounds great," you smile, giving her a small side squeeze. "You deserve something to take your mind off of everything too."

She shrugs, ever the neutral party, before looking at you with a smirk. "I hear there are some changes happening at the BAU as well?"

"Right!" you grin, following Jack to the next exhibit. "JJ was helping out temporarily, but she's officially back on the team. She also mentioned to me that she might be considering enrolling in profiler training so she can be a full-time field agent."

"Good for her," Jess smiles. "Lord knows you guys could use some extra manpower right now."

It's right then that your phone chirps with a text from Derek saying that Aaron is calling in again this afternoon. The urge to speak to him for the first time in weeks tugs at your gut, but then you glance over at Jack, who looks happy for the first time in just as long, and before you know it, you're typing back your response: Not today. Busy with Jack.

***

The next time Aaron calls in, you don't have an excuse. 

You're at work, scribbling out the last few lines of your latest case report, when Derek tries to call you into his office. You haven't spoken to him in over a month, and he's asked for you each time he called, but still you refuse.

"Y/N, come on," Derek chuffs, running a hand over his face. "You know he wants to talk to you. He's by himself over there."

That's what gets you. By himself. As though you aren't alone too. As though you hadn't been completely fucking alone when, over the weekend, you found a pair of socks Emily must have forgotten at your place months ago, and had a full body breakdown on the floor of our foyer. 

Each time you're close to forgetting that he left you here to fend for yourself, it comes back in full force, and right now, you would rather do just about anything other than put on a neutral face and ask him how he's doing over there.

"Next time," you say, hoping the finality comes across in your tone. It must have worked, because although Derek shakes his head disappointedly, he doesn't ask again. 

When you go to Aaron's place after work to see Jack, Jess pulls you aside, a worried look on her face. 

"We spoke to Aaron yesterday," she explains, her arms crossed over her chest. The bureau set up a secure line for them so she and Jack could speak to him periodically. "He seemed to be doing well."

"That's great," you say with a nod, unsure of why she's updating you when she thinks you spoke to him today. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," she says, waving away your concern. "I told him about Jack starting school in a few weeks, and about my new job. Then when I mentioned you - how you've been coming here a lot - he looked really happy that you were involved, but...he sounded off for the rest of the call."

Your shoulders tense up and you try to relax, so as not to give yourself away. "Damn Jess, they should make you a profiler."

She says your name sternly, and you can hear the Haley in her voice. "I'm serious. Have you guys not been speaking?"

"It's okay," you say, shaking your head. "I just need some more time, but I'll talk to him soon."

She twists her lips into a sad frown and you sigh, not knowing what to say, but she beats you to it. "He misses you...and I can tell you miss him."

You don't have an answer that she will want to hear, so you stick with the usual. "I'll talk to him next time."

***

"Do I have to go?"

Jack's bottom lip juts out in a sad pout as you adjust the straps of his little backpack on his shoulders. 

"It's your first day of school, bud!" Jess is trying to sound excited, but you can hear the sadness in her voice too, now that she won't have Jack all hours of the day anymore. "It's an exciting time!"

"You got this, baby," you smile, pressing a loud kiss to the top of his head. "Your dad is so proud of you."

"Your mom would be too," Jess adds with a sad smile. "Now go on in, Jack. I'll be right here waiting for you when the last bell rings."

He considers this for a moment, before nodding. Then he looks at you. "What about you?"

"I have to work," you say softly, matching his pout and making him let out a small giggle. "But you can tell me all about your first day when I see you this weekend, okay?"

"Okay," he nods, before grabbing the straps of his backpack and marching toward the front door.

"There he goes," Jess says wistfully, linking her arm through yours.

You let out a small sigh before shooting her a smile. You love him so much, and you're so glad you get to be here as he grows up, but you're so sad that Haley is gone and he's missing out on this moment. "They grow up so fast."

***

The next time Aaron calls in, you're talking to Dave in his office about his latest cabin trip. He is filling you in on the species of fish that live in the lake behind his place when Derek walks in with the notification that Aaron is on the other end of the line in his office.

Dave nods, saying he'll speak with him at the end, and Derek almost skips over you until you follow him out the door.

"You sure?" he asks as you follow him up the stairs.

You nod, bracing yourself for the guilt as you pick up the sat phone. "Hello?"

"Morgan?" Aaron asks, his voice confused over the line. 

"No," you say, shaking your head even though he can't see you. "It's me."

There's a moment of silence before he clears his throat. "Oh, I'm glad you could come in."

You say something that sounds like "of course" and suddenly he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. He hasn't heard from you in weeks, and even though he's probably coming home soon, he's so happy to hear your voice he could cry.

"Jess said you were there for Jack's first day," he says slowly, trying to find his voice. "Thank you for doing that. I know it's a lot before coming into work."

"It's not," you say genuinely, momentarily alleviating all of the anxiety he has been having around missing everything in his son's life. "He's the perfect kid. I'm lucky to be a part of his life."

He closes his eyes, wishing with every fiber of his being that he was there with you right now, and not thousands of miles away. "Thank you."

"Any time."

There's silence for a few moments before your breath stutters. "Do you know when you're coming back?"

His heart cracks at the soft sadness in your voice, but he still isn't allowed to share anything that is strictly need-to-know. "I don't."

Your breath catches in your throat and he hears the quiet sob as it breaks over the line. "I miss you, Aaron."

His fingers grip the phone so tightly he's afraid it may shatter in his hands, but there's nothing else tethering him to his life back home. This metal box is the one thing that is keeping him alive out here, and even though he left home so that he could stop lying to you, he's still doing it.

That's why he swallows thickly and says the one thing he knows isn't a lie: "I miss you too."

***

The team got called into the office for an emergency that no one has explained to any of you, and you take a seat in the briefing room as everyone else files in, matching looks of confusion all around you.

"Anyone know what we're doing here?" Dave asks as he leans back in his chair.

You're about to shrug when a figure walks into the room in a dark blue button down and an unfamiliar scruffy beard.

Your eyes widen and your breath leaves your body as you start to stand up, but then he motions for you all to take a seat, so you sink back down. He glances at everyone in the room before his eyes finally land on you. You can't believe he's here. That he knew he was coming back and still didn't tell you.

"What's going on?" Derek asks, breaking your eye contact with a jolt. "Everything all right?" Aaron ignores him. "Seven months ago, I made a decision that affected this team. As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle."

You don't know why he's bringing this up again but then he continues. "The doctors were able to stabilize her and she was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under covert exfiltration."

Your heart falls. No, there's no way. "Her identity was strictly need-to-know. And she stayed there until she was well enough to travel. She was reassigned to Paris where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to, for her security." Your teammates break their silence at the same time. 

"She's alive?"

"But we buried her..."

You're still unable to suck in a big enough breath to regain the ability to speak, but then another figure walks in and you suddenly understand what people mean when they say their heart skips a beat.

"Oh my god," Penelope whispers from behind you as your feet unconsciously carry you forward and toward her. Toward Emily.

You pull her into your arms, relishing the feeling of your friend hugging you back after you thought you would never see her again. Her arms squeeze you tightly and you suck in a shuddering breath, trying to calm down your heart rate.

She's alive. Emily's alive. Aaron's back and Emily's alive.

The thoughts ping pong around your brain, fighting for dominance, but another one buried deeper in your mind floats to the surface, refusing to be ignored.

He lied.

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A Simple (Mis) Understanding Chapter Two: Numbness & Pain

Daisy

I always used to think it was an exaggeration of how pregnancy is a constant state of exhaustion. But it was a lot of work growing a tiny human. Add in the fact that I'm still working 40 + hours a week and, of course, something is always causing some sort of discomfort or pain.

Swollen feet, back pain, nausea; I can't even find any solace in sleep. The 32 week mark felt so close, yet still so far. Another eight or so weeks of this seems like a drop in the bucket compared to how far along I am, but still. That still another two months. So far away when you want to be done, but still too short compared to everything I still have yet to do.

Another two months to set up a crib and wash her new clothes. Another two months to figure out a name and make decisions that I always envisioned making with a partner. Another two months of struggling to do things like picking up shit off the floor or staying on my feet long enough to make a decent meal.

But right now, I wasn't worried about the two months ahead of me and all the things I still have to do. Right now, I was looking forward to a three day undisturbed weekend. The pain in my feet and sciatica was becoming so bad, I had taken Friday off to see a doctor and spend the rest of the weekend doing nothing, but sitting in my modest little house and watching mind rotting television. I might even indulge in some spicy reading. Heaven knows its been too long.

Or at least, it hasn't been since them. That day in the office, but... that really didn't count. I often wrestled with myself about it. That one time erased any feelings I had for any of them. But I felt a bit pathetic how it now tainted every good memory I had with them. Kyle bringing me something to snack on when he realized I hadn't gone to the mess hall. Price always having a cup of earl grey tea cooling for me first thing in the morning. Two packs of zero calorie sweetner and a bit of honey.

Sweet like you.

I couldn't stand the smell of it now. I blamed it on the hormones. A lot of things made me queasy, but something about the smell of the bergamot, made me sick in a completely different way. A feeling not of nausea, but of... fear. Like the same way a pentagram could summon demons, earl grey could summon mine. As if John Price was somehow there any time the scent lingered in the air.

But he wasn't. None of them were. Fuck. Why did my thoughts always go back to them at some point? No. This was going to be a relaxing weekend god dammit. Fuck them.

Almost angrily, I hit the garage key fob, shutting the door and engulfing me into darkness; a thin line of light leaking through the bottom of the garage door. When I had opened my door, I could at least see a path to my mudroom. I grabbed my purse, ready to go in, when I felt it.

Hundreds of needles. Stabbing and digging into my feet. Not just the soles, but the entire fucking foot the moment I bared any weight on them. I pulled off my flats and it was then I noticed how angry they looked. Red and swollen and all but screaming at me to sit my fat ass back down. I wiggled my toes, trying to get some blood flow. Fuck. Why didn't they hurt while I was driving?

I manage to get onto my feet, using the car door as support. Steading myself until I was ready to take the first step. By the time I had managed to all but crawl inside, ten minutes had passed since my initial arrival time. I got off at 5:00, but usually didn't log off until almost 6:00. Granted, I work from home, but I had run out of a few essentials. Essentials now that were in the boot of my car.

Fuck.

10 minutes won't hurt. Not like there is any thing frozen. Speaking of which, I forgot my ice cream... dammit. I really need to start keeping a list on the fridge. It's hard to remember when pregnancy brain (or stomach) takes over and I slam a container in a single sitting.

Grabbing a pillow from the couch, I went to the kitchen. Which considering the town house, or terraced housing I suppose now, was perfect for a single and expecting Omega it was cozy. Not like the base where going from the common area to the chow hall was about a three minute stroll.

I get down and lay on my back. Carefully maneuvering so my ass rests against the cabinets before I hook the back of my heels unto the counter top so I could rest my feet a bit. Not the most sanitary, but it wasn't like I had guests. It was just me. For now.

It took a few moments to adjust. My back ached against the hardwood, but I could already feel the relief from my feet and legs. It wasn't all that shocking that I was having a hard time with them. I had gained a considerable amount of weight during my pregnancy. When I had brought it up to the OBGYN about possibly cutting back on food, her suggestion was to simply not weigh myself at home. Now when I went in for a visit they made me turn around before taking my weight.

It was hard. I've always had a problem with how I looked and now adding pregnancy then taking away the option to diet and exercise didn't exactly help.

I pulled out my phone and was preparing to open my kindle app when I saw a tiny red bar in the top right corner of my phone. Of course. I get nice and settled and my phone is on 2 fucking percent. Whatever. I tell Alexa to set an a timer for fifteen minutes and take a little nap. Maybe meditate.

A knock on the door quickly brings any possibility of relaxation to a pause. Margaret next door was dropping off Winnie off early to go to her book club. Margaret was a widow and a recent empty nester. She had spent her life as a mother and a homemaker. When I got custody of Winnie two months ago, she had quickly stepped up in helping me with everything from child rearing to managing my pregnancy.

"Hello, Maggie!" I greeted from the floor. "Hello, Winnie Darling." Winnie had the same sand colored hair as me and bright green eyes. Her face was a shade of red and I could smell her from the entryway. Someone would need a bath today. Fantastic.

"Oh, Dear!" Maggie fussed, setting Winnie down on her feet before coming over to me. "Are you alright?" Winnie didn't bother stopping to hug me like she normally would before making a beeline toward the potty. She usually was a creature of habit, but nature calls I suppose.

"Feet are a bit swollen." I waved off. "Just resting them a bit."

"I don't have to go tonight." She set her bag down. A deep green corduroy shoulder bag that always had just what you needed in it. A wet wipe, hand sanitizer, a spare tissue and even a stain pen when a spill happened at the most inconvenient time. "I'll stay and-"

"Maggie." I said, trying my best to sound at firm, but it was hard with her. No one told Maggie 'no'. "It's alright. Just a bit of water retention. Nothing to fret over." And it wasn't. I could already feel the pain from earlier subside.

"Really, it's no bother." She argued, bending over to unstrap one of her shoes. "It's a bloody stupid book anyway. I just go for the gossip really."

"Maggie." I tried again. "Really."  "It's getting close to the due date and I don't want to burn out on me just yet." It was a lie. Even with her greying hair, a deepened laugh line, Maggie didn't burn out. She was one of the few Omegas I had met in my life and she could run circles around any of them, myself included.

The sound of flushing sounded from the bathroom followed by the faucet. She huffed before slipping her shoe back on. "If you insist."

"I do." I encouraged. As much as I loved having Maggie's help, I hated feeling like a burden. She had raised her children. It was time for her to do things for herself. "Besides, we'll see you tomorrow after my appointment tomorrow." The bathroom door clicked open, revealing my little Win with the front of her smock covered in water. Fantastic.

"Hi, Mommy." Winnie finally greeted. Her freshly washed hands dripping water droplets onto the hardwood. "What are you doing?"

"My feet hurt so I'm just letting them rest." I explained, looking up at her. Winnie was rambunctious as most four-year-olds without a sense of self preservation are, but when I explained to her how careful she had to be now that I had her sister in my belly, her nature had become more gentle.

It worried me as much as it warmed my heart. 

"Why don't you sit on the couch?" She asked. Her head tilting to the side, face etched as if she were trying to figure out my reasoning.

"Because it helps when you lift your feet up high in the sky, Winnie Pooh." Maggie explained before looking back at me. "Well if you're sure-"

"I am. Go." I urged. "We'll see you tomorrow. Lunch around noon?" Spending time with Maggie didn't make me feel like such a parasite when I knew she enjoyed the company. Her children had all moved away, only one staying in the UK. She wasn't so alone, but neither was I.

"Wouldn't miss it." She gave a soft smile. The laugh lines around her face deepening. "See you tomorrow, Dearies." She said, retreating back outside. The soft sound of the door clicking behind her.

Winnie had laid down beside me. Yep. Definitely going to need a bath tonight. "How was school today?" Winnie went to a pre-school that was luckily covered under my insurance. Perks of being an Omega. I'll take it where and when I can.

She talked about going to the playground and painting. All the usual bits. Who she played with and new things she learned. Then came the question. A question she had asked before in passing. A subject I changed with ease before. 'Have you brushed your teeth? How about another episode of Bluey? Put on your trainers (because we can't just say tennis shoes anymore) and we'll go for a walk to the park. I had skirted around the question with ease. 

"Why don't you have a mate if you have a baby?" Winnie was too young to get the answers to a lot of life's difficult questions. Why did Tiffany not like us? Why didn't she get to see her daddy anymore? Why did that man look at you weird on the train, mommy?  I wish she would just stay this little. That she never needed or want to know the harsh truths about me, us.

"I..." I wracked my brain for an answer and just came up short. I couldn't think of a way to sugarcoat it. We almost had a mate. Mates. We almost had a pack that would have walked you to school on the mornings my feet were too sore or I was already running late. They would have loved you. "It... it's complicated, Darling." Is what I chose instead. The other worrisome fact is that Winnie was too young to understand the concept about mates. I had never broached the subject which only means she probably heard it from some little shithead at school. 

Wonderful.

"I'll explain it when you're older." I promise, closing my eyes and letting her snuggle into the crook of my arm. "Do you wanna rest your eyes with me?"

"Like when I'm five?" She asks putting one of her hands underneath my shirt onto my belly. It had become a thing she had started since I told her about the baby.

"Maybe six." I said, looking down at her. She gave a yawn before closing her eyes.

"I think five is better."

"Okay, Win." I said. "When you're five we'll talk about it." It was a promise I hoped she would forget. But I didn't want to negotiate with a four-year-old about something future me could deal with. I wanted just 15 minutes of this. I order Alexa to set a timer to make sure we haven't dozed too far off. Winnie still needed to shower and eat. I still needed to get the groceries out of the car. But I could spare another 15 minutes.

[ja3yun]

Melting Point | P.SH | CH.9 (fin.)

brother's rival!sunghoon x fem!reader warnings: angst(ish), fluff, smut (mdni), masturbation (m.), confrontation, not many warning this chapter since it's the finale, anything i missed lmk! ch. 9 synopsis: nationals are underway and everything hangs in the balance for you as you watch sunghoon and minhee compete. just before the competition, sunghoon gets an unexpected visitor and makes some life decisions. wc: 15.1k previous | masterlist a/n: hi! i can't believe this is the end. i genuinely will never be able to thank each one of you for the love you have given this series. honestly, i didn't expect this series to do that well considering it's a hefty amount, but all of you have been so lovely and supportive! i hope this ending does melting point justice and ties everything up for you all. i will miss mp fridays and ynhoon more than anything but it just means i can work on something new <3 ilysm and thank you again!

Sunghoon’s alarm blares from the hotel’s bedside table, startling him from his peaceful sleep. He tries to twist and turn off the annoying noise but your grip on him stops his movements, your head burying itself into his chest as you stir, your legs tightening around his as a sleep-induced protest to have him stay beside you.

Smiling down at you, he gently pushes you from his body, careful not to fully wake you while he turns off the alarm from his phone. Luckily, you’re so exhausted from the night before’s activities that you simply roll to your side and sink further into the fluffy pillow.

The time on Sunghoon’s phone reads 6am, a horribly early start for such a long day. He digs the soles of his palms into his eyes trying to rid any sleepiness from them in an attempt to wake up. Knowing he has to get prepared for today, he begrudgingly flicks the covers off of his body and sits up at the edge of the bed.

He turns to face you, happily pouting at your sleeping figure. Right now, Sunghoon is the most content he has ever been before a competition and it was all thanks to you. Last night, relaxing with you and Minhee watching TV, fucking you into the morning, and cradling you in his arms as you softly snored on his chest, it was all so perfect. Finally, he felt like his life had some form of normality to it; he felt the same way last night as he used to when his dad took him for food at that cafe you’ve grown to love so much. He’s finally found happiness like he only dreamed of.

Placing the covers back over you as he stands up, Sunghoon quickly makes his way to the bathroom, careful not to trip over the mess on the floor; there is something about hotel rooms that just makes him a slob, the entire place covered in his stuff which could easily be put away.

The bathroom light flickers as he presses the switch, the white light a little too bright for his liking but he has to make do. Inspecting his face in the mirror, he sees a light in his eyes that flashes back to him, a testament to his happiness. If this was a typical competition morning, he would be stressed, the weight of perfection placed on his shoulders by his mother the only thing he truly felt. The constant need to impress and be the best at what he does drained him more than he realised, until you came along he would grit and bear it, trying to keep everyone happy.

But you, you made him realise that you will always be proud of him as long as he does his best and is happy with himself; a desperate structure he needed in his life.

Grinning from ear to ear, he turns on the shower and waits for the water to heat up, using his hand as an indicator. He strips off his boxers and steps in carefully - the last time he brazenly walked into a hotel shower he nearly fell ass first, legs flailing to keep him up right and that is the last thing he needs to happen. 

The water is perfect as it cascades over his body, each droplet trickles down his form like a mini blanket, hugging him with warmth. He doesn’t mind winter much, being born in December and all, but he does dislike the coldness. Irony isn’t lost on him, he understands that his whole life has been around a freezing cold ice rink, yet recently, he has been finding it more and more difficult to withstand the cold air.

Probably because he was so accustomed to your warmth now.

For some reason today, more than most days, he can’t shake his mind off you; probably because there is so much at stake today and you’re the only thing that calms down his anxious mind.

After Minhee explained about your mother and her gambling, he knew from then that he had to shield you from it all. He wants to respect your wishes and perform to his best ability, but the nagging part of his heart that lives to protect you is telling him to disobey your request, to just lose the competition on purpose anyway.

Minhee is good, spectacular even, Sunghoon can’t and won’t deny that, but is he really first-place ready? This all must be gnawing at your brother, swaying his head and making him lose focus, Sunghoon knows it would do that to him. And who is to say another figure skater won’t be better than both of them? Was the bet just for Minhee to win over Sunghoon in points or the whole competition? He wishes he got some clarity on that as he ponders all the possible outcomes of today.

All he has to do is lose to Minhee, that’s the safest option. 

Squirting some of the hotel soap onto his hands, he glides them all over his torso and chest, rubbing in the suds to wash him clean. Selfishly, he wants to wake you up and have you wash him as you have done so many times before; your nimble hands trailing over his v-line and his toned stomach, always resulting in your back against the tiles while he fucks into you, serving to create a vicious cycle of cleaning one another of your sex only to dirty yourselves up again. The recollection of your soaped-up tits only adds to his yearning for you, but you are so exhausted from yesterday that he needs to leave you be, settling for his memories and hand.

His hand falls to his semi-hard cock as he turns his body to face the showerhead, stroking his shaft a few times, using the pressure from the water to add another layer of pleasure. 

Tipping his head back, he opens his mouth as he squeezes his length at the base before pumping a little more determinedly. He knows he doesn’t have lots of time but he can’t help himself, every thought of you bouncing on his cock and the primal moans that escape your mouth every time he hits that sweet spot inside you. 

Biting his lip, he jerks himself off faster, trying to keep quiet but the feeling is too good, he can’t help but speak to himself as he imagines you in here with him, “Shit, Y/N, so fucking good,” he whispers, the base in his voice being lost behind the hum of the shower.

He angles his cock perfectly so some of the water stream hits directly onto his slit, giving him the same sensation as when the tip of your tongue swirls around his head, dipping into him as you stare into his eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” Sunghoon breathes out, placing his spare hand on the wall to steady himself as he thrusts harder into his hand, searching for a quick release. 

Since you came into his life he has started to question how he ever got off without at least the thought of you. The way you touch him, the way you make him feel, it’s like nothing he has ever known before. He hasn’tt tell you that when you rode him in his car for the first time that he genuinely wondered if he had even had sex before you, the way your walls gripped at his cock suddenly made him forget every person he had ever been with.

All he remembers is you.

When he nearly lost you because of your mum, he didn’t know what to do. Of course, he was mad about the skate and that you lied, but without you there with him, even for a few days, it was enough for him to lose any sense of being; it was as if all his limbs had been torn away from his body. Since the day you came home to him, he vowed never to let you go, and he won’t.

Quickening the pace, Sunghoon is close to the edge, ready to spill his seed down the shower drain. His wet chest heaves up and down as his balls shiver with the ache of release, “Y/N, just like that, baby. So fucking good,” he moans, hoping his voice doesn’t carry into the hotel bedroom. 

His wrist works harder as he inhales through gritted teeth, his brain running through every orgasm you’ve ever had so that he can feel like he’s cumming with you.

“Shit, shit,” he groans, the first spurts of his cum shooting against the wall, some already being rinsed down the drain. He chants your name a few times, muttering how much he loves you under his breath as he slowly comes down from his climax.

If only it was you he was cumming inside, painting your walls white. 

Shaking his head, he rids himself of any more dirty thoughts of you, scared he might have to spend another 10 minutes under the water. Turning the faucet, he changes the water to a cooler temperature while he tries to calm the thumping in his chest and the throbbing in his cock. 

Once he is done with the competition, he’s going to take you over and over on the bed, cumming as many times as possible, whether inside you, on you, or wherever his desire leads.

Sunghoon turns the shower off, cleans the remnants of his mess, and steps out, wrapping a towel around his slim waist, the imprint of his now softening cock still pressed against it. You would drool if you saw him like this, you always had a thing for your boyfriend when he came straight out of a shower. There is something about the way his body glistens and how his hair sticks to his face that just turns you on. Perhaps it’s because it’s akin to how he looks after hours of fucking you silly.

After completing his skincare routine and brushing his teeth, he saunters back into the room where you are still sound asleep. He breathes a sigh of relief that he didn’t wake you despite his constant mewling of your name. 

Dropping the towel next to his suitcase, he rummages for his usual training gear before slipping into it with ease, each movement he makes is calculated, being careful not to reach a high decibel and wake you. He gathers his competition essentials such as costume, skates, and makeup, slowly zipping his bag once he has double and triple-checked it.

He steals a glance at you before tip-toeing over to your side of the bed. His hand reaches to pet your hair gently, framing it around your face to rid it from your eyes. With a soft kiss on your forehead, he smiles fondly, “I love you, baby.” His words fall on sleeping ears but he says them anyway, hoping they somehow wiggle their way into the peaceful dream you’re having.

Sunghoon heads out of the hotel room, picking up his key from the door and shutting it softly behind him. Just as the door clicks, he hears the same noise from up the hallway. He turns his head to see Minhee coming from your room, hair wet and a singular star pimple patch on his chin; the same brand you buy for yourself. 

Now that he’s looking at your brother, he really studies how similar you both are; same nose, same posture, and even your walk is the same. 

Minhee approaches Sunghoon with a timid wave and adjusts the gym bag securely onto his shoulder, “Hey, I’m guessing she’s in there?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon nods, still whispering out of habit from this morning, “We…you were snoring so loud last night, Y/N couldn’t sleep,” he offers as an excuse as to why Minhee woke up alone this morning. 

It’s a pathetic excuse but Sunghoon couldn’t in his right mind tell him that they left to go back to his room and fuck because Sunghoon was way too horny to keep it in his pants. Some boundaries just cannot be crossed, plus, does any brother want to know that only a few doors down their sister was getting pounded into oblivion? The answer to that is always no.

Minhee holds his hand up in front of Sunghoon, “Mate, shut up, we’re both 20 and I’m not an idiot,” his face turns to disgust despite trying to come across as mature. A shiver runs down his spine at the conversation, not wanting to progress it any further.

Fortunately for him, neither does Sunghoon, “Are you ready for today?” he asks as they walk together to the lift. 

Taking a deep breath in contemplation, Minhee finally nods, “Yeah, I think so,” he pauses, pushing the elevator button. He is nervous, this grand plan of his only working if he does his absolute best with no mistakes; all he has to do is perform with the same tenacity as the run-through. He turns to his competitor and braces a smile, “Hey, thanks for doing this, Sunghoon. I know after everything that’s happened between us I shouldn’t be asking you to do me a favour like this,” he says sheepishly.

It was a lot to ask of his then-rival, to be so bold and ask Sunghoon to throw a first place just to save Minhee’s ass after he nearly destroyed his career, no one in their right mind should have agreed. But Sunghoon, despite everything, was as understanding as ever. 

Your brother wasn’t accustomed to Sunghoon’s caring nature, Minhee’s impression of him up until this point was his enemy and what the media perceived him as, not the Sunghoon you knew, so when Sunghoon agreed, albeit a tad apprehensive, he was taken aback.

“I’ll do anything for her,” Sunghoon states clearly, his voice firm with determination, “And you, man. I can’t imagine what your mum has put you through up until now,” he admits. It was true that he was willing to do literally anything for you, but it was also true that he wanted to do this for Minhee as well. The more Sunghoon thought about it, it wasn’t Minhee’s fault for all this drama, it was all your mum’s fault. He couldn’t keep a grudge against someone who was only trying to protect their sister; if it was him, he would have done the same.

Minhee flashes a smile and light-heartedly punches Sunghoon’s shoulder, “Getting all gushy over me now, huh, Park?” he chuckles as the boy in front of him rolls his eyes in fake annoyance. Turning slightly serious, Minhee continues, “Y/N is my first priority in this world and to be honest, I didn’t care about winning until all this mess,” he confesses, a hint of anger pointed towards your mother in his voice.

“She’s mine too, Minhee. Just do your best out there and we’ll figure out the rest. I got you, man,” he smiles once again, hoping his sincerity comes through in his words. The lift bell dings as it arrives at their floor, and both skaters descend down to the lobby, on their way to the practice rink. 

As they make their way across the street to the ice rink, the reporters are back on their case, shouting useless questions with zero substance. Sunghoon places an arm over Minhee’s shoulder, his lips against his ear, “Wanna hold hands? Really give them something to talk about?” he laughs, pulling him in tighter to his side. 

The flashes go rapid at the gesture, “I don’t think we need to, Sunghoon. I think they might have already married us off,” Minhee says as his eyes focus on crossing the road, being the eyes for both of them as Sunghoon plays up to the camera.

“C’mon then, baby, we don’t want to be late for our warm-up.” Both of them laugh loudly, as they walk into the arena, ready to finally take to the ice.

______

The practice rink buzzes with anticipation as aspiring champions gather, each determined to claim National Gold. The distinct scent of ice and rubber immediately greets Minhee and Sunghoon as they step inside, a familiar aroma that stirs memories of countless hours spent honing their skills on the ice.

All eyes are on them, curiously following their every move. Unaffected by the attention, Minhee and Sunghoon enter together while exhibiting camaraderie and confidence. They chuckle lightheartedly at the hubbub outside, their laid-back demeanour in sharp contrast to the intensity of the upcoming competition. 

Wonyoung waves at both of them as she skates around the rink, happy that her Belmore buddies are finally there to join her. 

With Minhee spending a lot of time at the rink, he and Wonyoung have secretly become vast friends, even going as far as to help one another out when they cross paths. Your brother didn’t have many friends on the ice, the nature of the competition is a lonely one, so it was refreshing to get close to a fellow figure skater. And one as pretty as Wonyoung was simply a bonus.

As Minhee waves back eagerly, Sunghoon raises his eyebrow sceptically, “You’re cheating on me already? Did our 5-second wedding outside mean nothing to you?” he jibs at him, nudging his ‘lover’ with his shoulder.

“What are you talking about?” Minhee asks, never taking his eyes off Wonyoung.

“You’ve got a thing for Wonnie,” he says as a statement rather than a query, already certain of Minhee’s feelings towards the female skater.

Minhee snaps his face to meet Sunghoon’s gaze, “She lets you call her that?” his face shines a brighter shade of red as he realises what he just said, “I mean no. We’re friends, nothing more.” Despite Minhee’s protests, Sunghoon doesn’t buy it, only wishing to poke fun at him further.

“Hey, no judgment here, she’s pretty,” he places a hand on his new friend’s shoulder, “Y’know, she’s single, right? She broke up with that Ricky kid a few months ago,” he informs him.

Minhee nods sadly, “Yeah, she said in passing that she wasn’t getting involved with another figure skater.” 

Wonyoung and Ricky lasted a whole 4 months before calling it quits, not exactly heartbreak material, but enough for her to swear off any man that adorns a skate, at least for the time being.

Noticing Minhee’s slumped body language, Sunghoon tries his best to give him some encouragement, “True, but you have one thing that he doesn’t,” he says, dancing his bushy eyebrows up and down.

Minhee tilts his head, “What?”

“You’re older and you’re about to be a Nationals Champion. I’d say that’s pretty hot, hmm? I mean look at me,” he gestures to himself smugly, “That’s how I got your sister.”

“Mate, don’t compare Wonyoung to my sister, you’re making this weird,” he cringes at the thought.

As they both watch Wonyoung practice her toe loops, Minhee spots someone at the corner of his eye, dragging his attention away from his not-so-secret-and-completley-obvious-crush, to the woman walking towards them.

Minhee elbows Sunghoon to grab his attention, eyes pointed towards Mrs. Park as she approaches them both, face void of any emotion.

Sunghoon’s whole body freezes, the last person he expected to see today was his mother; she hasn’t bothered to contact him since their big argument. 

The thing is, Sunghoon had debated whether to reach out and try and fix the relationship they had, knowing that his dad would be so mad if he didn’t at least attempt to mend things with her. But it also wasn’t solely his responsibility, she could have texted him or showed up to one of his scheduled practices, he knows she still gets the notifications in her calendar.

Despite not knowing what transpired between the Parks, Minhee knows he needs to make himself scarce, “I’ll see you out there, yeah?” he faces Sunghoon whose sole attention is on his mum as she stands in front of him.

“Yeah, I’ll be on the ice in a minute. Grab me a rack?” still, Sunghoon’s eyes never leave his mother even as he speaks to Minhee. 

The other boy pats his back as he goes to the changing rooms, leaving the pair to have what can only be described as a staring contest.

“Why are you here?” Sunghoon asks, tone laced with agitation and defiance. He couldn’t be civil to her, not when she insulted and belittled you so easily. Although her suspicions of foul play were correct, she blamed you without knowing anything or gathering any evidence against you. He can’t stand for it, not then and not now. 

And then there were her careless words about his deceased father, words that still reverberated in Sunghoon's mind. The idea that his own father would be ashamed of him was a wound that cut deeper than any other, a wound he was still grappling to heal. 

“I came to wish you luck,” she states, voice as monotonous as ever.

Her son crosses his arms, body language standoffish as he goes to speak, “I don’t need your luck. I don’t need your guidance or anything. I fired you, or was that not clear?” he hisses.

“You can’t fire me from being your mother. I still care about you,” she retorts. There is only a hint of emotion in her voice, otherwise, Sunhgoon is looking at his typical stoic mother. If he is to believe anything she says right now, she would need to show some form of depth.

Sunghoon sucks his teeth, “I have a new family now, I really don’t need you,” he states calmly despite the bubbling anger that is rising from his chest. He saw you, and now Minhee, as his found family, people he can rely on and trust without question which is more than he can say about the woman standing a mere 50cm away from him. 

Since she has been out of his life, he has felt so free of most negative emotions. The mini panic attack he had the day he kicked her out of the house was enough for him to step back and re-evaluate their relationship. No one in the world should make anyone feel as little as she made him feel that day, so he vowed never to let anyone do that to him again.

“I can’t make you forgive me for how I’ve acted over the years, I don’t expect you to, but I would like to make peace,” she confesses.

Confused, Sunghoon leans back, his arms loosening from their knot slightly, “You had weeks to do that, why pick today of all days?”

Sunghoon’s mother shifts uncomfortably, a sense of awkwardness lingering in the air as she chooses an arguably inappropriate moment to broach the sensitive topic, "Sunghoon, I only want what is best for you," she begins tentatively, her voice tinged with a hint of regret, "And I know it may not seem like it, but I do care about you. Your father was the one with a paternal instinct; what I lacked in love, he made up for."

Her words hang heavy in the air, prompting Sunghoon to pause and reflect. It's a rare occurrence for his mother to admit fault or express any form of emotional vulnerability, leaving him at a loss for how to respond, this was all new to him, a road he didn’t know how to navigate.

“When your father died, I was left to shoulder the weight of showing you love when I couldn’t find it in myself to love you the way you deserved. It sounds cold and I can only apologise for feeling this way, but I think explaining this to you will make you hate me less, maybe even forgive me.”

"So that's it then?" he burst out, his voice edged with bitterness, "You're telling me you never loved me? That showing me any form of love was a burden? And you expect me to hate you less? You’ve got some nerve.”  It’s amazing to Sunghoon how she can stand there and say this to her own son, asking for him to forgive her. His anger simmered, a storm raging within him as he struggled to comprehend his mother's words.

“It’s not that I don’t love you it’s just-”

“You are my mother, you’re supposed to love your child unconditionally, no excuses,” Sunghoon's voice pierced the thick air, full of despair and rage. Every fibre of his being shouted for justice, for the love he had sought but never got.

However, as he locked eyes with his mother, a harsh realisation came over him like a tsunami smashing on the coast. He realised with terrible clarity that demanding empathy from someone who lacked the ability to care was a lost cause.

In this moment, a profound shift occurred within Sunghoon. It was a silent acknowledgement, a decision made in the depths of his soul. He refused to play the endless game of seeking validation from someone incapable of offering it. He refused to subject himself to further anguish in a cycle destined for disappointment.

"I'm done," he declared softly, his words carrying the weight of finality, “I have never been happier with you out of my life. I have people who love me, I don’t need you anymore, these past few weeks have shown me that.”

His mother looks aghast at her son’s statement, feeling her own sense of betrayal right now. She had come here looking for reconciliation but instead, she only got kicked to the curb once again. The damage of the past had already been done. 

“Sunghoon, please don’t shut me out. I’m trying to learn to be the mother you deserve,” she pleads with him, mustering up any way to make him forgive her.

He watches as her face washes over with something he had never seen before, sorrow perhaps. It twinges his heart to see anyone upset, but she can’t scribble out the past with one sign of regret. If she had approached this conversation differently, he may have seen eye to eye with her but saying she found it hard to love him wasn’t the best way to broach the subject of redemption.

It’s not in Sunghoon’s nature not to be a little understanding, he does know that some people lack the emotional intelligence to form loving relationships. But that isn’t the type of person he needs in his life right now, not in his formative years. He needs more people like you, people who love him and make it look easy, not burdensome.

Stepping closer to her, he gives her one more look over, “When I have kids, I will give them all the love you should have given me,” he spits at her, yet his heart is heavy with the realisation that he has lost both his parents.

“Wait!” she shouts, holding onto his arm.

Sunghoon's muscles tensed as his mother's grip tightened on his arm, her desperation palpable. He hesitated, torn between the desire to break free from her grasp and the lingering flicker of compassion within him.

"What?" he demanded, his voice tinged with frustration and exhaustion, "What more could you possibly have to say?"

His mother's gaze wavered, a mix of remorse and longing clouding her features. "I know I've failed you, Sunghoon," she whispered, her voice finally trembling with emotion, "But please, give me a chance to make things right. I may not have been the mother you needed, but I want to try. I want to be there for you, to support you in any way I can. I’m working on myself, please believe me."

As Sunghoon grappled with the weight of his mother's plea, a tumultuous storm raged within him. Each word she uttered clawed at his resolve, tugging at the fragile threads of forgiveness he dared to entertain.

He met her gaze, searching for any hint of sincerity amidst the tangled web of emotions. And as he looked into her eyes, he saw a vulnerability he had never witnessed before - a vulnerability that mirrored his own.

With a heavy sigh, Sunghoon gently removed his mother's hand from his arm. "I need time," he said softly, his voice laced with uncertainty. He didn’t know if this was the right choice, to at least not burn the bridge to his mother completely, but as he looked at her now, he felt his dad in his ear, begging him to at least consider mending the relationship.

Was there a chance for redemption, for reconciliation, buried beneath the layers of hurt and resentment? Or was this merely another chapter in their tumultuous relationship, destined to end in further heartache and disappointment? Sunghoon isn’t sure, but he’ll try.

With a heavy heart, Sunghoon stamps down his decision - one born from a fragile balance of trepidation and tentative optimism, "I need to think about this, all of it. I have people to consider, including myself, before I can even entertain the idea of letting you back into my life." he confessed, his voice trembling.

Sunghoon's mother nodded, her eyes shimmering with gratitude and a glimmer of hope. "I understand," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath, "Take all the time you need. I'll be here, waiting. Good luck today."

His mother gives him one final nod before retreating, leaving Sunghoon with his decision. He sits with the echoes of his mother's plea - a silent promise to confront the demons of their past and forge a new path forward, one step at a time. And though the journey would be fraught with obstacles, he clung to the belief that amidst the pain and turmoil, there lay the possibility of redemption - a chance to rewrite the story of their fractured relationship and embrace forgiveness. 

It was either the most foolish thing he had ever done or the start of his healing journey. 

Making his way to the locker room, he sees Minhee lacing up his skates, weaving the strings around each of the eyelets. Sunghoon takes the moment to look at him and wonder how Minhee feels about his own damaged relationship with his mum. Was it as conflicting for him or was the decision to rid his mother from your family easy?

Sunghoon sits down on the saved seat next to Minhee, leaning back against the wall, his head thumping.

“You okay?” Minhee asks tentatively, not wanting to poke the bear.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon opens his eyes to gaze at Minhee, “Can I ask you something?” Nodding, Minhee sits up straight, awaiting the impending question, “Your mum, was it easy to, like, disown her?” It’s a strange question to ask someone but he hopes that Minhee’s answer will give him some clarity into his own situation. 

Minhee ponders, never having really thought about it before, “I think it was, I mean, she put Y/N in danger, treated us both like shit, and blamed me for a lot of things that I didn’t have any control over. Emotionally, I think me and Y/N were both detached from her, which made it easy.”

Sitting with Minhee’s words, Sunghoon realises that the reason he finds it so hard to let go of the relationship with his mum is because he does care about her. She was cold and cruel, but never harmed him in any way. Her actions weren’t one of a mother but in comparison to you and Minhee’s mum, she was at least a smidge better. 

Each mother strives for her kid to succeed, but the stark contrast resides in the motives driving their acts. While Sunghoon's mother pushed him to achieve out of a genuine desire for his success, Minhee's mother's obsession with propelling him to the top sprang from her own selfish gain.

Watching Sunghoon wrestle with his inner turmoil, Minhee places a comforting hand on his shoulder, "I may not fully understand what's happening between you and your mum, but from one disappointing son to another," he says with a soft smile, attempting to lighten the heavy atmosphere, “If there is a chance to fix your relationship, take it. As much as I’m happy my bitch of a mother won’t be in my life anymore, it doesn’t mean I don’t wish things were different. If you and your mum can sort it out, do it.” 

Minhee’s speech is comforting, freeing Sunghoon of some of the tension in his body regarding the situation with his mother. It’s always a risk to forgive someone or give them a second chance, but it can also lead to stronger relationships.

In this moment, Sunghoon can at least say his mother is willing to try and redeem herself, unlike some mums in the world. It’s the bare minimum, but it’s a start.

"Thanks, Minhee," Sunghoon says, offering a grateful smile, "Do we kiss now, or?"

Minhee lets out a snort of laughter, playfully pushing his friend away. "Save those lips for the other Kang sibling, please," he teases, rising to his feet and balancing on his skates. "Although if you ever get bored of her…"

With an exaggerated wink, Minhee saunters out of the locker room, leaving Sunghoon feeling lighter and more at ease. This was exactly the conversation Sunghoon needed, Minhee was the unexpected friend he needed. 

_____

You exchange the biting chill of the winter for the bustling ice rink as you step inside the venue. The vibrant atmosphere envelops you like a warm embrace. Excitement crackles in the air, mingling with the sounds of blades slicing through the ice and the chatter of eager spectators. With Nationals in full swing, anticipation pulses through the crowd as they await the next performances.

You arrived early to ensure you caught Minhee before his turn on the ice. As the women's event concludes, leaving only three skaters left, the arena buzzes with energy

Navigating through the throngs of people, your eyes scan the crowded rink for any sign of your brother. The busy venue makes it tough to find him, and you don’t even know what he is wearing. To be fair, he probably wouldn’t be out in the open arena, but rather residing backstage as he awaits the start of the men’s competition.

You walk up to one of the event staff and ask if you can go backstage to see Minhee, but of course, he doesn’t let you, “Sorry, Miss. Only skaters and coaches are allowed back there,” he says sternly. At least he’s doing his job, you suppose.

"Luckily for her, she's with me, right, Y/N?" Coach Kim's smile is infectious, and you nod eagerly, grateful for his timely intervention.

"Yes, that's right," you chime in, your mind racing to concoct a plausible explanation. "I'm a... a meditator! Yes, a meditator. I help the competitors find their zen before going on stage." You realise your impromptu lie sounds feeble, but you press on, hoping to convince the staff member.

The staff eyes you both sceptically, his scrutiny unnerving, "Then why do you have a family badge?" he questions, his tone heavy with suspicion.

Feeling the weight of his scrutiny, you look to Coach Kim for support, silently pleading for assistance in salvaging the situation.

Coach Kim steps in smoothly, his easy smile never faltering, "Ah, you see, Y/N is an important member of our team so she is practically family. Her position as a meditator is critical to my skater’s performance. She calms and focuses him before he goes out to the rink."

You give Coach Kim an appreciative look, quietly thanking him for his fast thinking. The staff member appears to examine his thoughts for a time before nodding in agreement.

"Alright then, you can go through," the staff member concedes, standing aside to allow you and Coach Kim access to the backstage area.

You walk beside Coach Kim, thanking him over and over again for getting you in. You didn’t just want to see Minhee to wish him luck, you had a surprise for him and Sunghoon, “You’re the best coach, has anyone told you that?” you beam at him.

Laughing, he nods, “A few times, yes, usually you or Minhee when you both want something,” Coach Kim points in front of you, “He’s in there.”

“Thanks, Coach!” you go to wave him off but he stops you in your tracks by gently grabbing your shoulder.

“Y/N, Minhee told me about your mum,” he sighs, troubled by the information. Surely Minhee didn’t tell him about the gambling or the skate incident, so what could he possibly know? “I’ll be candid when I say that I never enjoyed your mum’s company, not for my sake, but for yours and Minhee’s. Her deciding to leave you both high and dry like this is unforgivable,” his voice laces with disgust.

Coach Kim obviously only knows a twisted version of the events that went down recently, Minhee clearly careful with his phrasing. 

“I just want to say, if you both ever need anything at all, a place to live, some extra work, a homecooked meal, whatever it is, you come and find me, okay?” His offer is generous.

To be honest, you hadn’t thought about the repercussions of your mother no longer being by your side. Where would you and Minhee live now? How would you manage to make ends meet without her support? The questions swirl around in your mind, each one more daunting than the last.

“You and Minhee, you’re both strong kids. I have faith that everything will work out for you, so don’t think too much about it. Just enjoy today,” he says as if reading your anxious mind. 

Coach Kim's reassurance offers a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty. His belief in your strength and resilience reminds you that you're not alone in this, that there are people who care about your well-being and are willing to help you navigate the challenges ahead.

With a final ruffle in your hair, Coach Kim leaves you in the corridor, his words of encouragement resonating in your ears. It was nice to have his support, it makes you feel like maybe you and Minhee had a support system all along, all you had to do was shed your poison of a mother.

Your feet carry you to the door to the locker room, chapping it rapidly. You can’t wait to see him and wish him luck. Although your apprehension weighs strongly regarding the skate and how important it is for him to win, not just for his pride but also for your safety and future.

You haven’t had a lot of time to come to terms with how much trouble you could be in if your brother loses this competition; the foolish bets your mum has made in your name, taking money from some shady guys to make them, and how you’re somehow on the firing line in this situation - it’s a lot to deal with mentally.

Telling Sunghoon to just skate to the best of his abilities wasn’t because you aren’t scared of what could happen, you just wanted Minhee to know that he can win this on his own, no cheating, no Sunghoon letting him win, absolutely no interferences. After everything that has transpired with your mum, he needed this.

Of course, you need to be safe, if these bets fall short and you’re left with the debt, you can say goodbye to university and any of your tiny savings. If the men are as brute as Minhee made them out to be, you’re fucked with no way out of it.

Curiosity got the better of you this morning and you checked the odds for Minhee winning this competition which was 15:1. According to Minhee, she put on £50,000 which would mean she would get 750k. It’s more money than you could imagine having in your entire life and it makes you angry that not only has your mum put you in danger but that you wouldn’t see a penny of it.

The money isn’t important to you but the fact that she was essentially putting money above her own daughter's safety is a crazy, rage-inducing thought that you don’t think you will ever get over. How could you? And to make Minhee feel like he couldn’t win on his abilities alone? She has destroyed both of your self-worth and confidence over the years.

So today, your sole focus is on being there for Minhee, rooting for him and believing in his ability to shine as the extraordinary skater you know him to be. 

As you knock again, you hear rustling around as someone comes to answer the door. The metal swings open to reveal your boyfriend, hair dishevelled as if he’s just combed his fingers through it and his costume twisted.

“Baby, what are you doing here?” he asks, poking his head out the door to check if anyone saw you coming backstage. Quickly, he pulls you in, “How did you sneak past?”

Your eyes swiftly trace the room to see the skaters all getting ready, some in just their boxers and others applying the last sparkles of their body mist. One guy is strutting around with tighty whities, leaving nothing to the imagination.

Sunghoon notices your eyes stuck to something before swivelling his head to catch sight of the well-endowed man, “Sweets don’t make me knock fuck out of every guy in this room,” he warns as one of his hands pinches your chin to drag your eyes away from the half-naked men and focus on him.

Honestly, the tint of jealousy etching onto his face is so hot, you wonder if you should start oggling at others more often. Sunghoon raises his brows, waiting for you to explain, “Sorry, Hoonie. I’ve never seen so many guys in their underwear before,” you try to use it as an excuse, as if the unfamiliar sight warrants your interest but Sunghoon isn’t buying it.

“It will be the last time you see it, I can promise you that,” he scoffs, taking your hand and pulling you towards the back of the room, clear out of everyone’s line of sight, or more, everyone out of your sight.

He places you so your back is against the sea of skaters, “So what are you doing here?” he asks again, this time a little more playfully, “Want a quickie before I go on?” he leans down to your lips, kissing you softly, “I can bend you over and show all these losers who you belong to.”

Shivers run across your spine as he kisses you, his tongue sweeping into your mouth. Someone walks by behind you and Sunghoon pulls you closer to him, eyeing the boy as he devours you in front of him.

Sunghoon was only half joking about fucking you in the middle of the locker room for everyone to see. He wanted everyone to know you were his and only his and no one should even look at you for longer than a second. If anyone dares to stare too long, he’ll make sure they can’t ever look at anything again through the black eyes and blood.

You give into his kiss and press your body against his, your tongues licking one another as you moan into his mouth.

“You’re both disgusting. Are you seriously going to fuck in a locker room with loads of people around?” Minhee comes up behind you, arms crossed as you and Sunghoon separate your bodies from one another.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Sunghoon murmurs into your ear, his lips brushing against your lobe as he reminisces about the countless intimate moments you've shared in Belmore. Suppressing a laugh, you feel a playful squeeze on your ass from Sunghoon, much to your brother's chagrin.

Minhee recoils, his expression contorted in disgust, "Guys, I might vomit if you keep grinding on each other while I'm right here," he pleads, his voice tinged with both embarrassment and humour.

With an affectionate eye-roll, you approach Minhee and envelop him in a tight hug, "Sorry, we forgot that displaying affection around you is considered a crime," you quip, injecting a touch of playful banter into the moment.

Minhee feigns annoyance, but you can see a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, "I have a weak stomach," he retorts, trying to maintain his composure despite the teasing. As he lets go of your embrace, he notices something Sunghoon failed to, “What’s that?”

He points to the rolled-up A3 piece of card in your left hand. Through Sunghoon’s displays of affection, it’s slightly bashed at the edges but no real damage has been done.

“Oh! I made you both something,” you scurry around, pushing Minhee to stand next to Sunghoon as you unravel the white card, “Ta-da!”

While they were gone this morning, you took it upon yourself to make a sign. Typically, you always make a sign for Minhee at each competition, so the gesture is nothing new, however, this time, you had two people to support.

Sunghoon and Minhee both resemble puppies as they tilt their head in curiosity, reading the sign.

“Minhoon?” your brother reads out, “Is that…”

“It’s both your names merged! I thought it would be fun to support my two boys together this time,” you smile widely, holding your artwork proudly.

The sign took you approximately an hour and a half to complete, ensuring that each of their personalities was represented perfectly. On Minhee's side, you incorporated his favourite colour combination of black and blue, adorned with stickers of stars, Pochacco, and dainty white bows. This aesthetic is quintessentially Minhee, and he adores it, especially because you add a star for every gold he's earned.

On Sunghoon's side, you opted for a sleek white and black backdrop, accentuated with pink hearts to symbolise the number of months you've been together. To complete the symmetry, you included two little pictures of Tuxedosam, perfectly mirroring each side of the sign.

As you step back to admire your handiwork, you can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that you've captured the essence of both Minhee and Sunghoon in this thoughtful gesture.

Minhee and Sunghoon exchange a glance before erupting into laughter, the absurdity of the earlier debacle and their playful charade of a secret love affair only amplifying the hilarity of the situation.

However, your heart sinks as you mistake their laughter for mockery. A small pout forms on your lips as you gaze at them, hurt evident in your eyes. "Is it not good?" you ask, your voice tinged with disappointment.

Instantly, Sunghoon and Minhee's laughter fades, replaced by a solemn expression as they see the hurt reflected in your eyes. Without hesitation, Minhee reaches out, his voice gentle as he reassures you, "No, no, Bubs, we love it, don't we, Sunghoon?" He looks to his friend, who nods earnestly in agreement. "See? We were just laughing about something else earlier," Minhee explains softly, wrapping an arm around you for comfort.

Feeling reassured by Minhee's words and his comforting embrace, you let out a relieved sigh, the tension easing from your shoulders. "Oh," you say, a small smile returning to your lips as you realise your misunderstanding. "Well, as long as you both like it, that's what matters."

Sunghoon nods in agreement, his expression sincere. "It's perfect, Sweets. Thank you so much" he says softly, his hand finding yours and giving it a reassuring squeeze. This is Sunghoon’s first sign brought by someone he loves and he could not be more thankful that the first one was handmade by the love of his life.

“C’mere,” Minhee wraps his other arm around Sunghoon, forming the three of you in a huddle, “Whatever happens today, I just want you both to know that I really am sorry for everything that’s gone on and I would take it all back,” he says sadly, knowing that his actions have caused distress and pain to the one person he loves in the world.

“I wouldn’t,” Sunghoon says suddenly, causing you and Minhee to look at him, “I don’t know, I think this has just brought us closer together, who wouldn’t want that outcome?”

Nodding, you both agree with his sentiment. This troubled time has been a rollercoaster but you’ve found strength in one another through it all. Would you wish your mother’s implications weren’t a part of it all? Sure, but look at the three of you now. You’ve bonded in ways you would never think possible.

And your boyfriend and brother are becoming friends, that is all you could ask for in a situation like this.

Minhee stares into Sunghoon’s eyes as he tries to communicate with him. He doesn’t know you know about their plan, and he certainly doesn’t know about you requesting Sunghoon to go against your brother’s wishes.

Nodding once as if answering Minhee’s internal question, Sunghoon steps back, sighing, “Now can one of you please help me with this costume? I’m tangled at the back and I don’t know how,” he begs, turning to show his dilemma.

“Mate, you’ve got your arm inside out,” Minhee says with a snort, solving the problem with one gentle pull of the sleeve and turning it the right way around. He buttons it up for him at the back before slapping his back roughly, “Okay, I gotta go, I’m on in 30 minutes and I wanna see what it’s like out there.”

“Good luck, Minhee,” Sunghoon says, a smile on his face as he brings him in for a hug, “Do well,” he squeezes him tighter.

Reciprocating his hug, Minhee smiles, “You too. And watch that skate,” he jokes as he pulls away to hug you next.

Sunghoon playfully huffs and crosses his arms, "Not funny, okay? It's too soon," he retorts, a smirk tugging at his lips. Despite the jest, there's a genuine camaraderie between them, a shared understanding of each other's quirks and humour.

You playfully punch Minhee's arm for his remark, eliciting a laugh from him before he waves you both off, heading towards the side of the rink to prepare for his performance.

As Minhee disappears from view, you're left alone with Sunghoon once again. He picks up the sign, a fond smile gracing his features, "I've always wanted one of these," he admits wistfully, his gaze lingering on the sign with a mixture of appreciation and affection.

You smile at Sunghoon's words, touched by his genuine sentiment, "I'm glad you like it," you say softly, stepping closer to him and resting your hand on his arm, "I wanted to do something special for you, sorry it was tied in with Minhee but I always make him a sign so,” you explain, stroking his forearm.

“I don’t care, I love it regardless because you made it.” Sunghoon’s eyes reflect warmth and gratitude as he gently places the sign against the wall.

“I promise, next competition when it’s just you, I’ll make one for only you,” you beam up at him, fixing his tussled hair as best as you can, leaving a kiss on his nose. Sunghoon looks deeply at you as if coming to a realisation about something, but you miss it, too busy focusing on the parting of his hair. 

He holds your hips as you reach up to fix the back, his fingers squeezing you tightly as his heart flutters at the simple gesture. With the nape of your neck bare and in teasing Sunghoon, he leans down and places soft kisses upon it, savouring this moment.

The sudden affection makes you close your eyes, your hands now leaving his hair to hug him around his shoulders. His heart is thumping so loud you can hear it.

“Are you nervous?” you ask, nuzzling your nose into his hair. He doesn’t verbally respond, opting for a quick shake of the head but you can feel it in your bones that he is lying, his body betraying him, “You don’t have to be. Everything will work out whatever way the universe intends.”

Removing himself from you, Sunghoon gazes into your eyes once again except this time they’re filled with doubt. He is petrified of this skate because he knows if he accidentally wins, you’re in danger and that scares him because the threat is much more than he can handle. He doesn’t want to go against your request but for your health and safety, he will, he just has to do it sneakily so no one is mad at him. “You are going to do great, everything will be fine, and no offence but I really do think Minhee can win this,” you reiterate the words you’ve been saying to him since yesterday, only further proving your belief in your brother.

Sunghoon nods, but there's a hint of resignation in his gesture. "I wish I had someone like you in my corner while I was growing up," he confesses, a bitter laugh escaping his lips as he looks away. His gaze flickers to the ground, weighed down by the weight of his past.

"You did have someone – your dad," you remind him gently, reaching out to bring his forehead to touch yours. "And you still do. He's been watching over you this whole time, and he is so proud of you."

Sunghoon closes his eyes, allowing your comforting words to wash over him like a soothing balm. In that moment of vulnerability, he finds solace in the warmth of your embrace, the love and support you offer serves as motivation to keep you safe.

He nudges your nose with his as he speaks in a hushed tone, “Are you proud of me?”

For years it was his parent’s love and pride he fought for, his father giving it up so easily in comparison to his mother, but now it’s only you who he needs reassurance and love from. Sunghoon wants to make you proud in every way he possibly can.

Your eyes sparkle with love for him, “Sunghoon, my body is bursting with how proud you have made me. There is not a fibre of my being that isn’t proud of you,” you try to convey your genuity, knowing he needs to hear it most right now.

Sunghoon's heart swells at your words, a wave of relief coming over him as he hears the sincerity in your voice. Your unconditional support means everything to him, and in that moment, he feels a sense of peace knowing that he has you by his side.

Tears well up in his eyes as he pulls you into a tight embrace, cherishing the warmth and comfort of your presence. "Thank you," he whispers hoarsely, his voice filled with emotion. "I don't know what I would do without you. I love you so much, Y/N. I feel like I can’t breathe without you.”

As you hold Sunghoon tightly, his words sinking deep into your heart, you feel overwhelmed by the depth of your love for him. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, mirroring his own, as you realise just how deeply intertwined your lives have become.

"I love you too, Sunghoon," you whisper back, your voice barely audible, but filled with unwavering conviction, "You're my everything and I promise you, you don’t have to worry. I'll always be here for you, through every moment, every challenge. You're not alone, and you never will be,” you whisper into his ear.

With those words, you offer him the reassurance and comfort he needs, your promise of unwavering support echoing in the space between you. In this embrace, you find solace in each other's arms, knowing that together, you can weather any storm that comes your way.

______

Settling into your seat in the designated family and friends area, you turn your attention towards the entrance of the rink, where Minhee is seen stretching. His expression is a mix of anticipation and apprehension, the weight of expectations palpable on his shoulders.

Minhee may have struck a deal with Sunghoon to secure a win, but with that agreement comes the added pressure of not making any mistakes. One wrong move could unravel everything, turning his carefully laid plans into chaos. As he prepares to take the ice, the intensity of the moment hangs heavy in the air.

Flicking his blade protectors off, Minhee glides onto the ice, circling the rink to warm up and familiarise himself with the surface beneath his skates. Amidst the whirlwind of emotions, his mind is filled with positive affirmations, each one a silent plea for a flawless performance.

With every lap, he pushes himself to perfection, knowing that this is his moment to shine. All he has to do is skate flawlessly, and everything will fall into place. Yet, despite the gravity of the situation, he tries to brush off the pressure with a casual "no pressure."

You watch him with a mixture of pride and hope, wishing you could convey your unwavering belief in him. You long for him to channel that same sparkle and determination that captivated everyone during his run-through at Belmore. As he takes his position in the middle of the rink, you silently send him all the positive energy and support you can muster, hoping some of it can be injected into him as he performs.

Shutting his eyes, the music begins and a hush falls over the audience, anticipation crackling in the air like electricity. With each breath, he channels his nerves into focus, his determination evident in the set of his jaw and the fire in his eyes.

Minhee launches into his routine with precision and grace. His movements are fluid, each step and turn executed with meticulous precision as he glides effortlessly across the ice. The audience is glued to him from the start, paying close attention following his every movement with rapt concentration. Minhee pushes himself to new heights with each jump and spin, blending his skills with his artistry, only making your heart swell with immense pride.

You hold your breath, slowly hiding your face behind the sign that you made as you know which part of his routine is coming next.

As the music crescendos, Minhee approaches the most difficult part: the quadruple axel, the one move he has based this whole routine on. He takes a deep breath, collects his strength, and throws himself into the air, spinning faster and faster until he completes four full rotations before landing with perfect elegance, leaving the audience breathless.

Standing up in amazement, you tuck your sign under your arm and clasp your hands, knowing it’s impolite to scream out of pure joy when an athlete is competing. Minhee’s quadruple axel today might have been the best you’ve seen in your entire life; the move is deemed one of the most difficult to accomplish and he just made it look like he does it every other Saturday.

Minhee expertly transitions into the last section of his performance, his confidence surging as he executes each element with accuracy and delicacy. His movements are filled with emotion, and his passion shines through in every beautiful gesture as he narrates a tale with each stride. He knows now is a straight run of easy manoeuvres he carefully choreographed to make sure the axle was the shining star of the performance.

It also means he can finally spare you a glance as he finds you in the crowd, a smile creeping on his face as he sees you standing with pride. You look hopeful that he might win and with your backing, that’s all he needs. He wishes he could win this without Sunghoon performing with the intent of losing, but he still has time to achieve that - your safety is all that matters.

As the music fades to its final notes, Minhee brings his performance to conclusion, his arms outstretched in triumph as he basks in the adulation of the crowd. The cheers that erupt from them are so loud you swear the glass might break. You can see the commentators also getting up in excitement, clearly enthralled by his performance. 

And when Minhee makes his last bow, a sense of fulfilment sweeps over you, knowing that he had not only met, but exceeded all expectations that he and others had set for himself. 

Gliding off the ice, he is met with the bone-crushing embrace of Coach Kim who adorns a wide smile on his face and tears in his eyes. The weight of their shared journey is evident in the strength of their embrace and Coach Kim's words of praise and encouragement are lost in the roar of the crowd, but the pride shining in his eyes says it all.

You want to be at Minhee's side, to share in the excitement of his triumph and to lavish him with praise. However, as you watch from the sidelines, witnessing Coach Kim and Coach Lee wrap him in a cocoon of love and praise, you can find comfort in knowing that he is receiving the ovation and admiration he deserves.

Minhee's heart expands with pride and delight, filling his chest with an incredible sensation of accomplishment. The excitement of the moment envelopes him like a warm hug, putting him on cloud 9. 

Coach Kim leads him to the seating area where he must sit to see his final score. You sit with ease, knowing that this will be his highest mark to date, an accomplishment in itself.

As Minhee awaits the display of his scores, a nervous energy pulses through him, his heart pounding in his chest with anticipation. Every muscle in his body tenses as he fixates on the screen, his breath caught in his throat as he waits for the verdict of his performance.

Then, in a flurry of movement, the numbers appear on the screen, each category receiving high points for technicality and artistry, and Minhee's eyes widen in disbelief. The numbers on the screen read 298.5, causing both you and Minhee’s faces to mimic one another despite being on opposite ends of the arena.

Having never before topped a score of 213.74 - an incredible accomplishment in and of itself - his new record catapults him to a whole new level, putting him alongside figure skating giants like Nathan Chen and Yuzuru Hanyu.

You don’t even think Sunghoon has scored that well before.

Minhee stands frozen for a moment, absorbing the weight of his achievement, before a radiant smile breaks across his face. It's a culmination of years of dedication, sacrifice, and unwavering determination.

“Fuck me!” he shouts, jumping up to hug Coach Kim once again. There are more elegant ways to celebrate than swearing on national television, but you can’t blame him for being completely besotted with himself.

The crowd’s cheers die down and the atmosphere returns to a calm-like state, only chatter filling the silence as people discuss their amazement over your brother's skating. You could not be more proud of him if you tried.

Now you just need to wait for Sunghoon, hoping the tremendous score Minhee got would serve as enough influence to just do his best and not throw it for the sake of your mother’s stupid consequences. 

An hour passes after Minhee's electrifying performance, the energy in the arena is crackling with excitement as the crowd eagerly awaits Sunghoon's turn on the ice. He is the golden boy of the figure skating world, and there is a lot of pressure on him to succeed, however, if he fails this one time, no one will be able to blame him or bat an eye at it; the score your brother set is almost impossible to beat.

You sit on the edge of your seat, your heart pounding in your chest as you watch him lumber up, his movements cautious as he tests his ankle to ensure it's ready for his performance.

He glides onto the ice, warming up with some jumps and simple stretches. His ankle, still tender from the previous injury, protests with each turn and twist, but Sunghoon pushes through the pain. This was a 2-minute and 40-second skate, it’ll be over in a flash and he just has to get through it. 

Sunghoon won’t admit it to you, or anyone for that matter, but being in front of all these people is terrifying him. The last time he performed this skate, in this outfit, in front of this many people, was the day he snapped his ankle. Not only the injury from it but the emotional damage it caused was hard to live with, and now it’s almost as if he is living that day all over again.

He glances around the family area to find you, sitting in your seat with adoration spread across your entire face. It’s like you have him under a spell, how his worries and fears seem to melt away as his eyes meet yours; the love between you casts a blanket of protection over his worries, the thoughts of making a complete full of himself gone so quickly, simply because of the sparkle in your eye.

Sunghoon skates over to your side, flashing you his beautiful smile, your favourite canines on full display. He looks so beautiful right now, the pressure normally placed on his shoulders by his mother has now vanished. This is the first competition he has participated in without the nagging of being perfect gnawing in his brain.

It’s comforting to know that even when he loses today, he has someone to run to who will show him love and appreciation for his efforts. 

However, the words of his mother's promise from their earlier conversation twirl in his brain. Sunghoon wonders if they really could reconcile through all of this, after everything they’ve been through. He wanted love and his mother couldn’t provide him with that. But maybe she really is willing to make an effort, perhaps all they needed was some time to mend their relationship.

Once Nationals is over he’ll deal with that, but for now, he needs to focus. He might be set to lose but he will be damned if he comes anything but second.

Taking a deep breath, Sunghoon puts his arm in the air, gearing up for his performance as he stands in position. He looks like a vision in his costume, the spotlight on him makes the jewels shine brighter and the silhouette of his trimmed figure under the shirt is more evident than the first time you saw him in it. Rina had a talent for creating clothes but perhaps she should consider a career in designing skating costumes.

As the haunting melody of "Ocean Eyes" by Billie Eilish fills the arena, Sunghoon begins his routine. You don’t realise you’re holding your breath and your hands are clasped so tight together that they’re turning white. You want him to do well, to show everyone that even with an injury still looming under his taped up ankle, he is still miles above the rest.

Sunghoon launches into a flawless triple axel as the music swells, his body soaring through the air with precision and grace. He lands it clean, a small smile on his face despite his ankle pulsing. He hadn’t realised how sore it had been over the past few days, perhaps all that rehearsal time and coming back too early had finally done some damage. But that doesn’t matter right now, what matters is finishing the routine.

And to have fun.

With each beautiful turn and twist, Sunghoon's is reviving a passion that had laid dormant for far too long. It's a revelation, a flashback to his old self, a child consumed by the pure excitement of skating.

In the rink, he's letting go of his inhibitions and embracing the moment, a contrast to the stoicism that has defined almost all of his past competitions. The judges can see it too, with the joy he is showcasing through each glide of his blades across the ice, they are mesmerised. This is the Sunghoon that the people fell in love with, the skater that made them proud.

When he reaches the finale of his skate, performing a stunning combination spin that leaves the audience breathless, Sunghoon realises he has accomplished something far better than any medal or acclaim could ever provide. In this moment of perfect bliss, he reconnects with his passion, purpose, and the simple joy of skating.

You had shown him how to love skating again throughout your relationship, now added with the lack of pressure to win, he can finally breathe.

He’s home.

You are the first one to stand up, applauding your man for his flawless skate. It was perfect, he was perfect. The crowd follows suit, cheering and yelling as he bows, letting the praise wash over his body. You could not be prouder of him, the tears in your eyes are a testament to your feelings.

This is your first time seeing him in competition as his girlfriend which probably adds to the swelling of your heart, but it’s more than that. You have been a fan of Sunghoon for a lot longer and as a fan, there is nothing more fulfilling than seeing your favourite person achieve something, even if the accomplishment is happiness, you want him to be bathed in it.

However, with Sunghoon performing possibly one of his best skates in the past couple of years, it does set in the back of your mind that he still has to lose. You told him to go out there and give it everything he has but now the moment is getting closer and closer to determining your fate, you’re a little on edge.

You’re trying not to think about it because you know Minhee has done amazing and if he truly does beat Sunghoon today, you can breathe easy knowing you made the right call and that Minhee did this all on his own. 

Your brother needs this.

Sunghoon stands straight and skates around the rink, lapping up the crowd's adoration. You’re too caught up in your head you almost forget your surprise for him; it wasn’t just the sign that you had planned.

Traditionally, skaters get things thrown into the ring; plushies, roses, the whole lot. Minhee was partial to receiving little dog plushies and yellow sunflowers - the perfect accompaniment to his brand. And Sunghoon would always receive roses and penguin toys, but you wanted to throw something that as he saw it on the ice, he would know instantly that it was from you.

Delving into your bag, your fingers close around the familiar packaging of Haribos. With a proud smile, you launch them onto the pristine ice, a playful gesture laden with significance. For you and Sunghoon, the colourful sweeties hold a special place in your hearts.

It was a reminder of not only you but of his dad. It’s something so silly but sacred to you both, the first knot in your invisible string. His father had been the bridge to connect you both when you were younger and if he could see you both now, he would be filled with unfiltered happiness.

Gliding gracefully toward your side, he spots the sweets nestled within the sea of roses and looks up at you, his eyes widening in glee.

With the Haribos clutched to his chest, he silently mouths 'I love you,' to which you reciprocate with a beaming grin, watching fondly as he skates back towards the rink's exit.

Coach Lee is the first to greet him, ruffling his hair and patting him on the shoulder as he sings his praises. It’s a little strange not seeing his mother there but Sunghoon doesn’t seem to mind, too busy basking in the love from his coach. 

Walking to the couch area, he sits and awaits his score. It just has to be under 298.5, that’s all it has to be. He grips the packet of sweets tight as he rethinks his whole performance. Perhaps he skated a little too well and that scared him because that can only mean you’re in danger of having those men after you. 

He can defend you from a hockey player, but against a literal loan shark, he's out of his depth with that one.

As the scores begin to round up on the giant screen, your heart races with anticipation. Each number revealed feels like a drumbeat, echoing the beating of your heart. Usually, you would be begging it to slow down, your heart typically adorning a rapid pace in events like these, yet it is so still you think it might stop. It only seems to beat as each individual score is revealed.

Sunghoon is the same, fondling the Haribos like a stress ball as he sees the high scores, some seem higher than Minhee’s which nearly puts him into cardiac arrest. If he wins over Minhee, he might vomit all over his coach.

Then - as if the world has stopped - the final score flashes on the screen and materialises itself before you and Sunghoon. 

Gasping, you drop your sign and shoot up, mouth hung open as your eyes stay glued to the numbers before you.

296.21

Minhee won.

Minhee won.

“Oh my god,” you whisper to yourself, a smile splits your cheeks and your knees shake under you. Your brother won, through all his hard work and determination, he beat Sunghoon. And not only that, he bet him with his highest score to match. Sunghoon’s performance was awe-inducing, clearly indicated by the momentous score he just received, yet Minhee still managed to overtake him.

As Coach Lee offers Sunghoon a consoling pat on the shoulder, the atmosphere is thick with tension. Yet, Sunghoon can't feign disappointment. At this moment, there's only one thought racing through his mind.

You're safe.

Once the commotion settles down around the arena, the final scoreboard is unveiled to reveal your two boys at the top, miles above the others. It’s a moment you never want to forget, seeing their names beside one another with their respective medals makes you feel a happiness that you know comes few and far between.

The staff set up the podiums on the ice which are soon to hold your brother and boyfriend in pride of place. This is new, they’ve been battling each other for the top spot their entire careers yet this one feels slightly different.

Perhaps it’s because if your mother holds her end of the bargain, you’re free of the debt that you didn’t even create and she is hopefully nowhere to be seen after today. You want to be sad about it, but regardless of how strange it will be to no longer have her there, you’re thankful that Minhee can be free of her burden and you free of her deceit. 

You watch on as Minhee and Sunghoon skate to their places, carefully stepping on the white boxes as the triumphant music plays through the speakers. They have done so well, much better than anyone could have anticipated.

With each medal ceremoniusly placed around their necks, the weight of the accomplishment settles upon Minhee. He thinks about what this means for you both and tears well up in his eyes. 

You’re both going to have to start from scratch and find a new home to call yours. But he is also going to the Olympics, something he has dreamed of since he was a little boy, something you have wanted for him since he incessantly started talking about it. 

His heart is filled with bittersweet symphonies as he looks ahead but he knows one thing is for certain - he will make sure you’re both happy.

“You can cry, y’know,” Sunghoon whispers beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder and squeezing tight. When Sunghoon won his first National Gold, he wept like a baby in front of everyone and the pictures snapped became memes on Twitter by the next day.

Sniffling back his emotions, Minhee shakes his head. He refuses to let the floodgates open, fearing he won't be able to stem the tide once it begins. Each tear would symbolise the myriad of emotions he's bottled up over the past few months.

Instead, Minhee leans in close to Sunghoon, his words a soft murmur against his ear. "When I asked you to throw it, I didn't mean by the skin of your teeth. I almost lost," his voice carries a hint of frustration, though it's tempered by the overwhelming happiness of their victory.

Though Minhee is elated at the win, there's a simmering undercurrent of anger towards Sunghoon for nearly jeopardizing their chance to resolve the situation.

"But you didn't," Sunghoon responds with a playful grin, though Minhee finds little amusement in the situation. With a sigh, Sunghoon explains, "Y/N asked me not to, okay? You've known her your whole life, you understand how hard it is to say no to her."

Your brother can't help but agree; there's an undeniable sway you hold over others. Minhee nods, straightening up as the photographer captures a few shots of the medalists.

Turning to face Minhee, the silver medalist offers reassurance once the pictures have been taken, "You did this on your own, that's all she wanted, okay? You have a sister who believes in you more than anything else in the world. In a way, it's her trust in you that propelled you to this moment. People would do anything for that kind of support," Sunghoon whispers the last sentence, acknowledging the depth of his own longing for such unwavering belief.

Minhee knows he is lucky to have you in his corner. Often, he wonders what it would have been like to not have you by his side, and looking at Sunghoon’s dejected face now, he sees what it’s like.

“You have her too, Sunghoon. She’s got enough room in her heart for both of us, to watch us both succeed,” Minhee smiles softly, nudging his old rival with his arm, “Just don’t steal her from me, she’s all I have now.”

“You’re wrong,” Sunghoon wraps his arm around his newfound friend, “You’ve got me! Some would say that’s better than Y/N,” he exclaims with enthusiasm.

Rolling his eyes, Minhee fights a smile as he pushes Sunghoon off of him, a laugh escaping his lips. Sunghoon will fit right into his life, that much he’s certain of now.

_____

You stand amidst the bustling crowd, eagerly awaiting the arrival of your boyfriend and brother. The arena is alive with excitement, vibrant with the chatter of spectators praising both Sunghoon and Minhee's impressive performances.

As people stream past you, caught up in the post-competition buzz, you can't help but feel a swell of pride washing over you. It's almost as if you were the one receiving the accolades, so deeply invested are you in their success.

Then, you spot them making their way towards you, their medals gleaming proudly around their necks even as they've already changed into their regular clothes. To be fair, if you had won a gold or silver medal, you know you wouldn't ever want to take it off either.

With a quickening of your heart, you jog up to meet them halfway, your body colliding with Minhee’s as you hug him tight, squeezing him so hard that he could pop. But instead of complaining, he reciprocates with the same amount of enthusiasm.

“I can’t believe I won,” he says quietly, scared that if he says it too loud someone will pull him from this dream he is living in.

"I knew you could do it, Mini,” you mutter into his chest, your face squashed against him. 

Kissing the crown of your head, he pushes you away, “Sunghoon told me you know about everything, what I asked him to do for me,” he says almost ashamed, holding your head close to his chest so you can’t see his face. He doesn’t want you to think less of him for having to beg Sunghoon to help him get you out of this mess you were unknowingly a part of, “He also told me that you told him to go against my plan.”

“I believed in you, Minhee,” you finally fight to pull your head from his embrace, gazing into his eyes as you try to project the belief you have onto him, “I knew you could do this on your own. No underhanded tactics, just you and your skates. I have always believed in you like that,” you pout as you see the words sink into his brain, a soft glow rushing over his face as your words instil him wil self-belief.

“Thank you, Bubs, for always being here for me,” he closes his eyes, a determined expression painting his features, “If she tries to come back and hurt you in any way or if she doesn’t keep her word I will do everything in my power to make sure you’re safe,” he says, speaking about your mother. It was hard for him to even call her that anymore.

Minhee says the words with conviction as he stares deep into your eyes. In some weird way, your mother's shenanigans have helped you and Minhee grow a bond stronger than ever before, something that should be deemed impossible, yet here you are. 

Feeling the warmth of Minhee's embrace, you nod against his chest, your words a solemn promise, "Me too. I'll make sure you're living the life you want, the life you deserve."

The sentiment hangs in the air between you, a shared understanding of the depth of your commitment to each other's happiness and fulfillment. For a few precious moments, you simply hold onto each other, drawing strength from the connection you share as siblings.

But as your boyfriend coughs softly, attempting to subtly regain your attention, you gently pull away from Minhee's embrace, though the warmth of his presence lingers with you. 

Turning towards your boyfriend with a reassuring smile, “Are you jealous you’re not getting attention?”

You finally throw yourself into Sunghoon's arms, a wide grin spreading across your face as you greet him with a deep, passionate kiss. You’re so full of love that if you don’t pass it onto him through your tongue sweeping into his mouth, you might implode.

As you break away, a sense of elation fills the air around you. Sunghoon's arms wrap tightly around you, pulling you close as if he never wants to let you go. His eyes sparkle with pride and affection, mirroring your own emotions.

"You did amazing, Hoonie," you whisper, holding onto him tighter as you pass your affection from your body to his. "Thank you so much." Your gratitude flows freely, a testament to your appreciation for his trust in your judgment that Minhee was more than capable of succeeding on his own.

Sunghoon sets you down gently, his hand cupping your cheek as he places a feather-light kiss on your nose, "You're welcome, Sweets," he murmurs affectionately, "Although, I did get a bollocking from Minhee back in the locker room," he adds with a laugh.

Minhee grunts, crossing his arms in mock annoyance, "Well, he deserved it, skating so well and all that," he says with a playful pout, eliciting laughter from you and Sunghoon.

"I'll take the compliment, Baby," Sunghoon retorts, making exaggerated kissy faces at Minhee, the playful banter between the two filling the air with warmth and joy.

“Yeah yeah, look, can you stop hogging my manager for a minute,” Minhee rolls his eyes as he speaks.

But you’re confused by his statement, "Manager?" you repeat sceptically, withdrawing from Sunghoon's embrace to face your brother directly, "What do you mean, manager?"

Minhee shrugs nonchalantly, but you can see the flicker of anticipation in his eyes, "Well, Mum's no longer in the picture, so I'm in need of a manager. And I thought you would be perfect," he explains, his words carrying a mix of hope and excitement.

The weight of his request settles heavily on your shoulders. You've never managed anything more than closing up shop at work, and the idea of being in charge of Minhee's entire career feels overwhelming. Even though you’re at Uni studying Events Management, it wasn’t exactly heavy on the management part, it certainly hasn’t equipped you with the skills to handle such responsibility.

Minhee senses your hesitation, and he steps closer, his expression earnest. "Bubs, I trust you more than anyone else in the world," he says softly, his voice pleading, "And just think of all the travelling you'll get to do, all the contacts you'll make. Please, Y/N. I can't go to the Olympics without you."

The mention of the Olympics sends a shiver of excitement down your spine. The event is being held in Paris this year which is a dream destination you've longed to visit since you were a little girl, and the opportunity to be a part of Minhee's journey to the Olympics fills you with both fear and exhilaration.

"Manager?" you repeat, still trying to wrap your head around the idea. The thought of being responsible for Minhee's career is daunting, but his trust in you is undeniable.

Minhee nods, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation, "Yeah, manager," he confirms, his voice tinged with hope. His confirmation of words hit you with a newfound gravity, you realise just how much this means to him. The thought of being by his side, supporting him on his journey fills you with a sense of purpose.

"Okay," you say finally, your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in your stomach, "I'll do it. I'll be your manager."

A wide smile breaks across Minhee's face, relief flooding his features. He pulls you into a tight hug, his gratitude palpable.

"Thank you, Y/N," he murmurs against your hair, "You won't regret it, I promise." 

Minhee pulls back from the embrace, his enthusiasm obvious, and you can't help but feel a burst of determination rush through you. You're going to attempt to be the best manager this world has ever seen. But when the reality of your new responsibility settles in, a question arises in the back of your mind.

"What about you, Sunghoon?" you inquire, turning to face your boyfriend, "What are you going to do now that you don't have a manager either?"

Sunghoon shrugs casually, though there's a hint of uncertainty in his eyes, "I'm figuring it out," he replies with a nonchalant smile, "I don’t know if I really need one."

You can sense the unease lurking beneath his easygoing facade, and it tugs at your heartstrings. While Minhee's proposition has filled you with a sense of purpose, you can't help but worry about Sunghoon navigating the uncertain waters of his career without the support of a manager.

But before you can voice your concerns, Sunghoon reaches out, squeezing your hand reassuringly, "Don't worry about me, Sweets," he says, his voice soft but resolute. "I'll find my way, just like you and Minhee will."

He has a weird look on his face as he rattles his brain, wondering whether to let the next words slip out of his mouth. You stand patiently waiting for him to speak.

“I uh, I think the Olympics is going to be my last big competition,” he says quietly but the words ring in your and Minhee’s ears as your expressions fall into disbelief.

"What do you mean?" you reply, your voice laced with concern. The idea of Sunghoon giving up skating, the very thing he's dedicated his life to, feels unfathomable to you. After all the years of relentless training and unwavering determination, it seems unthinkable that he would consider walking away from it all.

Sunghoon had thought about it for a while, about giving up this life for a more simplistic one but the plunge always seemed too deep. But skating today without worry or fear and no pressure to win, gave him the courage to take the jump.

“I’m gonna ask Coach Kim if I can study under him and coach the kids. I’ve enjoyed doing it when I can and I think it could be good for me,” he explains.

"But this is your dream, Sunghoon," you protest softly, unable to shake the feeling of disbelief, "You've worked so hard for this."

Sunghoon shakes his head, offering you a gentle smile as he squeezes your hand in reassurance, "I found my dream," he says earnestly, his gaze softening as he looks at you, "And it's not about winning first place at competitions. I don’t need to chase anything else when everything I need is in front of me.”

You could melt at his words, the depth of his love and contentment washing over you like a comforting embrace. Sunghoon's clarity and conviction fill you with a sense of awe and admiration, even as you grapple with the weight of his decision. 

In that moment, you realise just how much love this man has for you and how grateful you are to have him by your side. Although you need to make sure this is exactly what he wants.

"But what about all the years of hard work?" you find yourself asking, unable to shake off the concern that gnaws at your heart, "You've sacrificed so much to get to where you are."

Sunghoon's gaze softens, his thumb gently tracing circles on the back of your hand, "It wasn't all for nothing, Y/N," he reassures you, his voice tender, "Every moment on the ice, every win and loss, has led me here, to this realisation. I wouldn't trade any of it for the world."

You want to cry as a fan and mourn the loss of one of the best skaters in the industry, but as his other half, you are so immensely proud of him for following his heart and not just doing what others tell him to do.

"And besides," Sunghoon continues, a playful glint dancing in his eyes, "I'll still be skating, just in a different capacity. And who knows? Maybe I'll even finally teach you to do an axel.”

"In her dreams!" Minhee interjects with a booming laugh, breaking into your warm moment with his characteristic humour.

You shoot your brother a playful glare, flipping him off, but your attention remains firmly fixed on Sunghoon, "Okay, if this is what you want, I'll support you," you say, your voice filled with unwavering commitment.

Sunghoon's smile widens at your words, a wave of gratitude washing over him. "Thank you, Sweets," he murmurs, his voice soft with emotion as he pulls you closer, "I love you so fucking much, Y/N."

"I love you too, Hoonie," you reply, your heart swelling with love. "Forever." 

With Minhee's career taking off and Sunghoon embarking on a new journey, you can't help but feel a sense of excitement for what the future holds. Everything has fallen into place, it just took reaching melting point to figure it all out. 

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