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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 4 months

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

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

word count; 4.6k

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

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

”holy shit!”

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

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

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

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

(snowing.)

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

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

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

it’s beautiful.

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

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

the first snow of the year.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”never.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

suguru sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

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

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

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

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

”hmph.”

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

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again.

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

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

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

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

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

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

”of course not! blasphemy.”

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

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

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

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

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

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

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

he hopes it never goes away.

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

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ministarfruit · 3 months

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day 2: please be gentle ♡

(femslashfeb prompt list)

#minifemslashfeb2024 #ace attorney #trujinxie #trucy wright #jinxie tenma #WEIRD GIRL NOT-WEDNESDAY!!#they're sooo wacky and goofy. please interact more #ok why did I say 'evil prompts' and I'm still drawing fluff #I am so squishy and weak and I love happiness and joy #I'LL DO SOME EVIL ONES LATER THIS MONTH #I loove jinxie I loove trucy this is just self-indulgent for me #I know you trujinxie enjoyers are out there though!! rise up!!#OH BTW THERE'S SOME MORE STUFF IN THE TAG NOW #PLEASE CHECK OUT MINIFEMSLASHFEB2024 #WE GOT SOMEEEE SAPPHICS EVERYBODY

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ominouspuff · 3 months

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Kote’s House

Kote’s first house is a pathetic thing, and he is incurably proud of it. The twi’lek he purchased it from very evidently could not make up his mind what to do with a man that grinned while he haggled, but it was the first time Kote had haggled over a purchase of his very own. He had thoroughly enjoyed it.

The house is built for one being, and a compact being at that, but Kote doesn’t have much. Moving in is quick, and most of his efforts during the next few days after go into attempting ambitious repairs for things he doesn’t know the first thing about.

His plumbing is an issue, he knows. Something is getting blocked up. Somehow while trying to fix the kitchen tumbler, his fresher spout explodes.

He hadn’t kept his new house a secret from anyone by any means, but it is still surprising when Fox barges in through his jamming front door. He finds Kote on the floor in his cramped kitchen while the fresher rains water in the adjacent room, laughing so hard and so crippled with delight that he can’t get up.

He tries to explain how wonderful it is —

“I-I have to fix my plumbing on my own, vod—”

—but judging by Fox’s single raised eyebrow he knows it doesn’t translate.

Fox, it turns out, is moving into the neighborhood. Kote doesn’t ask about the house Fox already has — the house he has visited, which is very nice and fancy — or point out that Fox’s contract there cannot possibly be up, which begs the question of why he’s here in Kote’s neighborhood — except that Kote already knows the answer to that question. So he doesn’t ask.

Fox doesn’t show him any grace or forbearance, though.

“Don’t even know how to fix a damn pipe, front lining show-off—” His brother snarls, but it is muffled; his top half had to go down beneath the floor they’d pried up to get at the plumbing issue.

“So that’s what they had you doing all these years.” Kote says, because he really is in a criminally good mood. He barely ducks the foot-long pipe Fox throws at his head, feeling giddy.

He makes dinner that night in thanks. Fox stays, ostensibly because now that he’s fixed the fresher he intends to use it, because his new house isn’t hooked up properly yet to all the supply lines and power grids.

They choke on homemade tiingilar (vode-style; Kote can’t pretend at the real thing yet) so heavily spiced it’s got grit to it that sticks between the teeth. It’s disgusting, but Cody had bought fifteen different spices and while usually he likes to keep his approach to the unknown more cautious, more methodical, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do more than use them all at once for the first time.

Wolffe joins them not long after; brings a few others along by recommending the apartment he picks out, so that soon most of the complex is taken up by vode, Kote hears, but he doesn’t visit yet. Everyone’s too busy coming over to his house, it seems; filling up his kitchen and asking why he hasn’t fixed the trash disposal yet, why he doesn’t have a couch, doesn’t he know they’re all the rage among civilized folk?

Kote fixes the trash disposal with Rex, who is better at it than he is but says it’s only due to Skywalker’s influence on managing all things mechanical.

“How is Skywalker?” Kote asks, and gets more than he bargained for over the next hour. At first he’s a bit off-put, because he’s trying to get dinner sorted again and he’s not been very fond of Skywalker at the best of times, but Rex is snorting out a story and laughing and it’s contagious, so Kote just resigns himself and settles in to enjoy.

Skywalker has little ones, now. Obi-Wan is the only one that can get them to sleep. Ahsoka is distressed; she knows better, but every instinct in her is apparently in agony over the little ones’ inability to eat meat yet. She obsesses over nutrients in their diet — which, given what tiny natborn humans primarily ingest in the early stages, makes for some slightly awkward conversations.

Rex helps with dinner afterward, and they take turns being incredulous over natborn baby facts, shoving around one another in the tiny, uncomfortable kitchen.

“What’s your next project?” Rex asks at one point, glancing sidelong with a cheeky look, and Kote levels his vegetable knife at him (he’s got a vegetable knife. Specifically for vegetables. It’s a very new concept).

“I make everyone’s dinner on Tuangsdays.” He says. “I’m productive.”

Rex’s sharp-toothed grin turns thoughtful. “Yeah” He says. “Everyone loves coming here, you know. You could be the new 79’s.”

Kote knows. He plans and plots, and puts more work into researching recipes than he’s put into any research whatsoever in months. It feels a bit like coming out of a shore leave; his thoughts quicken and his excitement grows. He hunts down a market. He brings a bag. He shops, bargains, and returns victorious.

He sends out a few comms., and can’t help but shake his head and grin at how different the responses are.

What a marvelous idea, Cody. His general — ex-general — says.

Yus pls, Ahsoka sends back, with some sort of strange tooka vidclip that dances with wiggly gyrations Kote can only assume indicate excitement.

Where is your house, Anakin says, blunt and to the point, and Kote can appreciate that.

He sends the address. He cooks all day. The sun sets, and Fox and Wolffe arrive, already bickering, Rex trailing behind with a long-suffering look sent to Kote, begging commiseration.

“Ugh, don’t you ever stop smiling, now?” He gripes when Kote just grins at him.

“Nope,” Kote says, unrepentantly.

He leaves the soup on the stove, simmering, and takes his cup of caf to the window. He leans on it, breathing in cool air, and just listens — listens to the squabbling as Wolffe gets on Fox’s case for not washing Kote’s dishes correctly the last time they visited. Hears the soft thumps of Rex sneaking into the cramped room Kote has set aside for plants and the sole pet he has; a pastel goullian, fins swaying ever so gently, permanent scowl in place. Thinks he catches, distantly, the sound of his remaining three guests (Padme couldn’t attend, and had made him feel very awkward by how thoughtfully she apologized for it) plodding up the hill.

“Cody!” Ahsoka cries, coming into view and waving.

Kote’s cheeks have stopped aching from all the smiling he’s gotten used to, so it’s easy to let another through.

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sawbiter · 3 months

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i think that nanami isn't someone who can do casual hookups.

i think he's probably tried but ,, he is just not able to have sex with someone he wasn't romantically interested in.

when he's having sex, it's because he's in it for the long run. i think as a teenager / v young adult he didn't feel so emotional about it, but as he's grown he's begun to view it as extremely intimate.

i also think that he'd be an aftercare GOD. rough or not, slow and sensual or fast and quick, he is always there with praise, good communication and a bath. he'll even carry you if you're sore. (if you're thinking "im too big for that," no, you're not. he's a sorcerer. he's beefy.)

kento probably enjoys rough sex, especially after a hard day of work, but i don't know if he'd want it rough 24/7. sex is intimate for him, a sign of love ;; i think that sometimes he would want it more vanilla.

also he would definitely want to make your first time as special as possible for you; he wouldn't go rough unless you specifically asked and even then he would be hesitant. (plus the best aftercare imaginable.)

by the time you guys would be having frequent sex, kento's in it fully emotionally. he can't do casual sex, he needs some sort of connection stronger than that.

tdlr ; kento cannot do hookups.

#nanami kento #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #kento x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk x reader #nanami smut #just some food for thought #i love him so much #jjk fluff #demisexual nanami real?

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lucabyte · 6 days

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"So what's the weirdest possible first (second) impression Loop could make on the party in postcanon?" "Yeah, that, probably."

+ Bonus

theyre just standing there in direct party order while this happens. normal tuesday.

#its not even purely aggression or a powerplay or anything i think they just fucking panicked and had to shut them up somehow #anyway . fluff reunion? angst reunion? how about just weird as fuck reunion. KEEP EM GUESSIN #in stars and time #isat #isat spoilers #in stars and time spoilers #isat fanart #in stars and time fanart #isat siffrin #isat loop #sifloop #hello again sifloop nation i bring you weird fucking takes once again #this sure is a different tone to the last thing i put in the tags huh? KEEP EM GUESSIN BABEYYYY #lucabyteart #in stars and time act 6 spoilers #anyway this is a truncated & amped up version of my headcanon reunion. which is to say loop sits on the edge of camp waiting to be noticed #& after what would be far more rambling than ive put here siffrin almost calls them that and loop stops them + makes it clear thats secret #but loop has had to travel some distance to get to them + has been stewing about it. knows they stopped existing for a while and came back #doesnt know why. blames it on siffrin. might not even have been them or a wish. but they jump to conclusions and have time to get mad #then like TWO SECONDS after they have this weird standoff reunion its RIGHT BACK to being buddy buddy and overly familiar with them.#just ultra confusing for the party. as confusing as humanly possible.

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 5 months

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i wanted to make an alternate more canon-compliant butterfly Howdy... similar but Different! the wings were a pain in my ass!

#tried to keep the basic vibes of the og look #incorporate the eyespots and all that #i just wanted to do this since the og look bothers me!#it was made for an au and so i leaned more towards a realistic butterfly look #this was a fun challenge!#i lied i hated it. coloring this made me want to toss my tablet in the trash #getting the wings to mesh.... Ugh....#scribble salad #yassified howdy <3 #so much fluff to contain!!!#i imagine that he got sally to tailor his shirts and stuff so his fluff could Fit #i think his apron would be blue now???#basically it and his blue striped shirt switch colors!#since he's already Very blue / cool colored #in my mind the spiral part of his wings is a little 3d and slightly Plush!#he's got some Texture to 'em!#as you all can see im a fan of gradients and Dots

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sillypikmin · 8 months

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ok but what if there was a fluffy pikmin that would becool i want to pet it

my beautiful sons ... if i am not careful they will float away on the breeze ...

#pikmin #fanmade pikmin #ik you were probably thinking like. fur fluff like some of those old cyan pikmin fan concepts but #the moment i thought of a little round pollen pikmin i couldnt not draw it .... its like a litl sootsprite ....#no idea how they would work gameply wise but they r just silly so its ok :]

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apoorhuman · 1 year

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Mc: don't you just hate the fact that you already graduated and finished school, have a good and decent job, but suddenly you got sucked into hell and forced to go to school with most of the subjects you never even learned in your FUCKING ENTIRE LIFE?!

Lucifer: mc, we said we're sorry

Mc: I AM NOT GOING TO JUST LET MYSELF GET YELLED BY YOU JUST BECAUSE I CAN'T GET GOOD FUCKING GRADE IN A SUBJECT CALLED "BASIC STANDARD MAGIC"

Belphegor and Satan watching from afar: *snickers*

#seriously #imagine if the mc is already done with school and just so grateful that their suffering has ended #but then suddenly some demon that they don't even know exist told and forced you to go to school #even though they absolutely hated school #obey me #obey me mc #obey me shall we date #obey me crack #obey me incorrect quotes #obey me lucifer #obey me fluff #obey me satan #obey me headcanons #obey me funny #obey me shitpost #obey me belphegor

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pseudowho · 18 days

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Cunt-Drunk

18+, MDNI, just a filthy little drabble...

For @delirious-donna , my Higuruma brainrot muse

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Hiromi didn't often go out with his colleagues. But one week, duty called, and he was obliged to attend karaoke and drinks with his firm's new clients. He was going to be out for hours. It was a Saturday night, and you were off too, and he was absolutely incensed because--

"They said no spouses allowed! Can you believe it?" Hiromi ranted, clattering around the kitchen in a strop, shoving scattered files into his briefcase, "It's almost like they think I'd spend the whole evening talking to you, and squeezing your thighs under the table, and--"

"--well let's be honest, Hiromi, you would--"

"--and who could blame me, really--"

"---Hiromi it's just one night, I won't be doing anything interesting anyway, just go, and have fun, and send me videos of you doing karaoke--"

Hiromi scoffed, clipping his briefcase shut, "I do not do Karaoke."

He stood staring down at you, straight, and tall, and serious for a moment. You bit your lip, barely hiding a smirk. Hiromi slumped dramatically, his face crumpling into a look of abject despair. He cupped his hands around his mouth and nose, head tipped back.

"...do I have to?" He whined. You did not answer. You simply sidled up to him, straightened his tie, and pulled him down by it, pressing a kiss of promise to his lips, so prophetic that he moaned into you.

You whispered against Hiromi's lips; "Off you go, my brave soldier. Have a drink or six for me."

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You worked your way through the usual bottle of Shiraz that you and Hiromi shared on a Saturday night, but, without him there, being drunk just felt sad. You took yourself to bed, in just one of his shirts fished out of the laundry, and fell asleep in the thunk way that only drunk women do.

You woke in the small hours of the morning with a jolt, feeling yourself dragged down the bed by two strong arms looped around your thighs. You squeaked, reaching down and tangling your fingers in a familiar shock of grey-streaked black hair.

"I-- Hiromi--" you started, mumbling and half-asleep. You heard a giggle from between your legs.

"Shhhh," Hiromi slurred, and giggled again. You heard a p-tuu, and felt a glob of warmth, slippery-wet, dripping down your labia. With little warning, Hiromi lathered his tongue between your folds, and you cried out, your body still sizzling with the wine.

"...missed you," Hiromi whined, nuzzling between your puffy folds, "...wanted...to see you...our S'day night...ruined...s'boring without you..."

"--Hiromi--" you panted, dazed and disoriented, "--just come to bed--"

"Shhhhhh," he whispered again, loudly, "m'fine...right here...pull m'hair...jus' hold onto somethin'..."

Hiromi ate your pussy without remorse, without restraint, as drunk as could be, and fucking the bed in his sloppy, rumpled suit. Hiromi moaned, pornographic and dirty, every time he fucked his twitching, aching length against the sheets.

Still suckling your clit between his lips, Hiromi reached down to hook his cock up to press against his belly, his cockhead frictioned deliciously between his black happy trail and waistband.

You had never been eaten out in a way that was so primal, with Hiromi fucking his tongue into your heat, massaging the area around your clit with his liquor-soaked lips, and rolling his tongue over the hard little pearl of your clit until you almost blacked out, your nerves stripped bare by the shock and wine.

Hiromi was rough, looping his arms over your thighs and dragging you back to his mouth every time you mewled and tried to crawl away from him. He'd respond with a sharp nip to the inside of your thigh, and an admonishing look, before rubbing his face savagely from side to side over your sopping cunt and clit, growling into the wet mess he'd made of you.

As you squirmed and yanked the roots of his hair, clamping your thighs around his head, Hiromi mumbled into your pussy, focusing his tongue and lips on your clit before abruptly sliding three bunched, long fingers into your hole, fucking you hard and fast with them until he felt your silky sweet spot.

Hiromi fucked the bed in time, imagining in his drunken stupor, that the wet squelches and frantic cries from you, were from his cock slamming in and out of you instead.

"--c'mon baby...in m'mouf, cum in m'mouf...good girl, so good, s'good...gonna cum...m'gonna cum...fuuuuckkk, shit--"

Dragging you with biting, sucking, growling urgency through your orgasm, Hiromi came in tandem; his ruts into the mattress, and his pitched, desperate moans became slower, and softer, as his seed poured out under his shirt, soaking the white fabric, sticky and cloying against his twitching belly.

His fingers still inside you, his nose and mouth still between your folds, face-down on the bed as you came down from your absolutely feral high...you heard a snore.

Rising on shaking elbows, you looked down the bed. Cum-soaked, drunk, and sticky with your arousal, Hiromi snored soft, drunk snores into your pussy.

In the morning, you showed him the photo you took of him, this way, before watching the video Hiromi's colleague sent you of him singing old rock songs while the whole karaoke bar cheered him on.

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cosmicstarlatte · 1 year

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[Before going to RAD for the day]

MC: LINE UP!

[The brothers form a line & MC kisses their foreheads as they head outside]

MC: Okay lets go have a great day! :)

The brothers: ♡ :)

Bonus: The others heard about this and started sneaking into the line every morning

#I just wanted some silly wholesomeness idc this is CANON to me #obey me headcanons #obey me shitpost #obey me humor #obey me crack #obey me fluff #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me imagines #obey me incorrect quotes #◇˖・ﾟ— › cosmic obey me . ⊹#shitpostcifer

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hajihiko · 8 months

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Soft 💝

#Fuyuhiko kuzuryu #Hajime hinata #Sdr2 #Super danganronpa 2 #Danganronpa 2 #Kuzuhina #An art #I'm on some BL shit today I guess #So weird drawing him with 2 eyes...#Anyway Just School Friends AU #Early Friday fluff whee

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honeypiehotchner · 24 days

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kiss her, you fool (Hotch x fem!Reader) -- one shot

Anyway I'm back in the fucking building again!!!! Listened to "Kiss Her You Fool" by Kids That Fly and had this one shot written in like an hour. The love for Aaron Hotchner never dies apparently

Summary: You're in the middle of spring cleaning when Aaron calls and says he forgot something at your place (he didn't).

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff! I just wanted to write some romance

It’s the middle of the day and you’re in the middle of a cleaning frenzy when your phone rings for what looks like the third time. It’s Aaron.

“Hey! Sorry,” you laugh, grabbing the TV remote to pause your music, phone pressed to your ear with your shoulder. “I’m spring cleaning and clearly way too far in the zone. What’s up?”

“That’s okay,” you can hear him smiling as you readjust your phone in your hand. “Would it be alright if I stopped by? I think I left something there last night.”

You furrowed your brows, spinning around the living room. You definitely would’ve noticed if he left something here last night. You’ve practically turned your entire apartment upside down to clean it.

“Are you sure?” you ask, moving to lift the couch cushions for a third time. “What was it?”

“I’m not sure,” he says, which totally isn’t suspicious at all. “Can I just come look?”

“I mean,” you let out an awkward laugh. “I guess you can. I’ve been cleaning since this morning, though, so I think I would’ve spotted it, but—”

“I’ll be there in fifteen,” he says. “If that’s okay?”

You sigh, selfishly glad you’re getting to see him again, two days in a row. It feels like you’ve hit the jackpot. “Yeah, of course it’s okay.”

“Great, see you in a few.”

“See you,” you bite back your grin, ending the call. You turn the music back on, a little lower so you’ll hear him when he knocks.

You have no earthly idea what he could’ve forgotten. He had his phone and jacket in hand when he left. He never took his wallet or keys out of his jacket pockets, so they must’ve stayed there. Unless either of them fell out, but again, you feel like you would’ve noticed.

Whatever it is, he’ll either find it or realize it isn’t here. Regardless, you’re getting to see him again, so you’ll take it.

With his job, the days that you do see Aaron are typically one long day spent together here and there. Yesterday was an exception, a rare dinner mid-work week because he happened to be done at the office early and you were free, so obviously the opportunity was taken advantage of. It’s only been a few weeks of seeing one another, so you both take any chance you can get.

Despite this, though, things have moved…slow. Slower than you expected because, to be frank, every guy you’ve been with has been quick and to the point. Not that you always minded that. Sometimes you wanted the same thing — quick, hot, heavy. But those days have since left you, and you went through a period of seeing no one, aside from one guy who left as soon as you said you were interested in moving slowly.

It’s nothing against Aaron, but when he first introduced himself at your local coffee shop, you kind of assumed he’d be the same. It’s hard not to assume when everyone acted that way, and when the men who frequent said coffee shop don’t exactly have the best track record for being polite and respectful.

Aaron, though, took weeks to ask for your number, let alone to join your table one morning to sip his coffee — and even then, you offered him the seat; he didn’t invite himself. That alone was enough for you to agree to give him your number, and then to an official first date.

He kissed your cheek after the first date, your forehead after the second, and kept to those areas alone. You found yourself wondering if something was wrong with you somehow, but he wasn’t disinterested. Quite the opposite, actually, from how he held your hand and kept his arms around you, how he made sure you were safely inside your apartment before heading off, how he still texted when he arrived home to ask you if you were still safely inside.

Or when he had to cancel a date last minute, and sent flowers to your apartment in lieu of his presence. He apologized over the phone, but the flowers had an apology note attached too. And another apology when he arrived at your door four days later, fresh off the plane, with a real explanation of his job and why he didn’t have time to explain it all to you before he left.

Your friends think it’s a little crazy, that it’s been almost a month of dating and there hasn’t been a single kiss — “On the cheek doesn’t count!” they argue. You think it does. If anything, you’re just happy there’s no pressure.

The underlying anxiety is there, sure, of what if it never happens? But you can’t bring yourself to entertain the thought. Mainly because you want to kiss him so bad, you’re practically going to leap onto him one of these days.

You’re mid-dance when a knock sounds on your door and you jump, having forgotten Aaron said he would be here soon. You turn the music down as you head for the door, unlocking it to let him in.

He stands there in his usual dark suit, sans tie this time so the top buttons are undone, bouquet of flowers in hand and dumb smile on his face.

“What are these for?” you ask when he hands them to you.

He steps inside and shuts the door, pausing to press a kiss to your forehead. “Because I wanted to.”

You give him a look, cheeks feeling warm. “If you keep doing this ‘because you want to,’ I’m gonna need to open a flower truck,” you joke, gesturing to the other vase of flowers sitting in your window. And there’s another in the bathroom. And one in your bedroom.

“Just let me know what kind of truck you want,” he teases.

You press the flowers to your nose to hide your smile. “Oh, what did you forget? You’re welcome to look for it, but—”

He lets out a laugh, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I might have lied.”

“I knew you were, you idiot,” you swat playfully at his arm. You turn to head into the kitchen in search of another vase. “I got off the phone and paced around like what did he possibly leave here? I figured maybe your wallet or something, but I definitely would’ve found it earlier. You should’ve seen the living room this morning — I had the couch on its side and the coffee table in the middle of the hallway—”

You’re in the middle of rambling, digging around under the sink for a vase, when Aaron pulls you up by your hand, spinning you to face him.

“—it was a disaster trying to vacuum. Remind me never to do that unless you’re over here to lift all of it. I think I nearly—”

He’s smiling at you, and you don’t have a single moment to spare to register that he’s leaning in before his lips are on yours.

You sigh into the kiss, pleasantly surprised to be interrupted in this way, and glad your hands are free so you can hold onto him. Maybe this is why it’s good he hadn’t kissed you yet — one second of it and you’re ready to collapse under the sweet weight of it all. His arms circle your waist to lift you up, and your arms circle his neck, keeping him close. As close as you’ve really wanted him.

When you finally break for air, it’s only to press your foreheads against one another’s, not wanting to move too far.

“Well,” you laugh.

“Technically,” he says, pausing to peck your nose, “that’s what I forgot last night.”

You roll your eyes. “You are so stupid.”

“Mm, just because it makes you smile,” he says, kissing your lips again, and again. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Ideally,” you pause, letting him kiss you again, “ordering dinner in and making out with my boyfriend until the sun rises. You?”

“You know, I was thinking about taking someone special out to dinner,” he pauses, pulling you closer again, “and then kissing her until she tells me to stop.”

“That could be forever, for all you know.”

“That’s fine with me.”

You grin and he kisses you again, pausing to say, “Sorry, I can’t help myself—”

“Trust me,” you move even closer, your eyelashes practically touching his cheeks when you blink, “you don’t need to apologize.”

He responds by kissing you some more, and more, until he’s lifting you into his arms and placing you on the kitchen counter.

“Aaron!” you squeal, nearly crushing the bouquet. “Let me move the flowers at least!”

“I’ll buy you another,” he says, just a whisper away from kissing you again.

“You know—” You have to pause in between words as he presses his lips to yours. “—I still have—cleaning—Aaron,” you giggle. “I need to put my apartment back together.”

“Do you?” he asks, relenting only slightly, his fingertips pressing into your lower back, keeping you against him. “Do you need help?”

“I do actually,” you chuckle, running your fingers through his hair. “The couch isn’t back where it was.”

He smirked. “I noticed.”

You tug on his hair slightly to tease him for that jab, only it lights a new spark behind his eyes. Your cheeks grow even warmer. “No, seriously,” you say. “It’ll stress me out if it’s not back in its spot, but then…”

He nods, kissing your lips. “Then we’ll get ready for dinner.”

“And then come back here for a movie?”

“We’ll see how much of the movie we actually pay attention to,” he smirks, eyes traveling all over your face.

The urge to let him ravish you right now against the kitchen counter is so strong it nearly makes you lightheaded. But soon Aaron is helping you down, pressing another kiss to your forehead.

“Did you get to vacuum under the couch all the way?”

“…kind of.”

“Come on,” he chuckles, pulling on your hand, leading you back into the living room. “Call me next time?”

“If I get kissed like that during spring cleaning then I’m doing it every day,” you reply, mostly joking. Kind of. “Fuck I forgot the vase for the flowers—”

Aaron kisses you to interrupt you once again. “One thing at a time,” he says.

The kissing doesn’t stop, and you never do get to vacuum under the couch. It can wait.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch x fem!reader #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch fluff #i clearly just needed some romance in my life idk #kiss her you fool #big fan of hotch buying you flowers constantly bc he simply wants to #bigger fan of him not being able to help himself around you #back in the fucking BUILDING AGAIN #criminal minds #fluff

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