#this year and last year have not been easy

[burnthatbridge]

if you love him let him go (if you love him let him know) 

pre-buddie, bucktommy | T | 3k | angst, pining tommy needs to tell eddie something not on ao3 atm because i can't figure out if this is done or if i'm continuing it - please let me know your thoughts! now on ao3 because i hate not having all my fic in one place

“Can I get you another beer, man?”

Eddie checks his watch. It’s only a little after nine thirty. He’s kind of hoping to get home before Chris goes to sleep, but he’ll not be heading to bed any time soon, will likely stay up later than Eddie. Friday night means he disregards his supposed bedtime — not that he sticks to it that well on school nights, now he’s sixteen. “Sure, thanks.”

Tommy nods, disappears into the kitchen, returns a moment later with a can of IPA in one hand, a bottle of lager in the other. They’ve already finished the six-pack Eddie brought over, but trust Buck — well, Buck and Tommy — to have Eddie’s favorite beer in their fridge. Tommy hands over the can, already cracked open, and Eddie takes a sip as Tommy settles down at the opposite end of the couch. He doesn’t turn to face the TV, sits twisted towards Eddie instead, but he does pick up the remote and turn down the volume, the post-fight commentary rendered nearly unintelligible. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Eddie twists towards Tommy himself, something not-quite-anxious-but-almost flaring in his chest. Over the years they have been friends, he and Tommy have spoken about lots of things, including those not so easy to discuss: their respective experiences in the army, Tommy’s tough childhood, Eddie’s difficult parents, the hard aspects of the job. But they’ve all been topics that have come up naturally, raised organically. Tommy has never led into anything with such a pointed opener before.

Eddie studies him. He has one knee pulled up on the couch cushion, foot poking out off the end, the other foot planted on the floor, nearly parallel to the base of the couch. One arm is up on the backrest, the other relaxed, beer bottle in that hand, resting on his thigh, dripping condensation painting a charcoal ring on his — probably Buck’s, in fact, given how tight the fabric is stretched over the muscle of his leg — grey sweats. He’s not tense, but he’s not smiling, and there’s something about his expression that Eddie can’t place. It’s not that he hasn’t seen this look before, because he’s pretty sure he has, witnessed it in flickers across numerous occasions over the years, there and then gone, present for but a heartbeat. But he’d never known what it meant any of those times and he certainly doesn’t now.

“'Course,” Eddie says, when Tommy doesn’t go on, seems to be waiting for some kind of sign. Then adds, feeling like it’s necessary given the gravity he can feel pulling this lightsome evening down to something more serious.  “Anything.”

Tommy sighs, bites his lip like he doesn’t want to speak, even though he’s the one who said he wanted to talk, then shakes his head and takes a pull of his beer.

“Is everything okay?” Eddie’s starting to feel worried now. He mentally scans back over the past few weeks, trying to remember if Tommy has mentioned anything about work that could be a problem. He saw him at basketball last week, and nothing had seemed off. Plus, Buck hasn’t said anything. Not that he’d necessarily tell Eddie about an issue Tommy was having, not if Tommy wanted it kept private, but Eddie can usually tell when Buck’s concerned about someone, and he hasn’t picked up on anything, not at all. 

But maybe this isn’t about a problem Tommy is having. Maybe this is a Buck problem, something Buck has kept from Eddie. It would make sense why Tommy would bring it up with him; sometimes a concerted, multi-person effort is the only way to get through to Buck. And Tommy’s more likely to bring in Eddie first, and then expand the team to include Maddie, Chim, more, as needed. 

“Is Buck okay?” Eddie asks, something like panic constricting his throat, making the words come out a little strangled. 

Tommy actually laughs at that, a small, choked thing, an exhale of sound and air. He shakes his head again, but not a no. More like an extension of the laugh, a motion to accompany it, to better convey the disbelief — not humor — contained in it. “He’s fine.”

It’s a relief to hear. Buck had seemed physically okay, when Eddie had seen him briefly before he left the house, since he’d maybe purposefully waited to order his Uber until Buck pulled up in his jeep outside, despite Christopher’s insistence he didn’t need to wait for Buck to arrive, despite the fact that his kid is more than old enough to be left in the house alone for the twenty minutes it would have taken Buck to drive over, while Eddie was ferried the opposite way. But there could still have been something, Buck could have been fighting through pain, much better at hiding any hurt of his body than he is at masking his emotional distress. 

“But,” Tommy says, and that one word is enough to have Eddie’s muscles tightening once more, “It is Evan I wanted to talk about.”

Again, Tommy doesn’t follow it up with anything. Eddie has found, in their time as friends, that Tommy is not often a man lost for words. Quite the opposite, in fact. He usually says what he means, means what he says, and is an expert at listening and delivering sage advice. This reticence– it doesn’t feel like it bodes well, has the hair on the back of Eddie’s neck prickling.

“Alright,” Eddie says, a feeble prompt. “So, Buck?”

Tommy nods, like he’s gearing himself up for something, to face a challenge, to take a punch. Eddie is expecting something bad, so the words he says catch him even more off guard than they would have. “I want to ask Evan to marry me.”

Maybe if Tommy had seemed eager, excited, when he turned to him, Eddie could have anticipated the blow, could have felt a creeping suspicion this is where Tommy was headed, could have been provided with enough of a heads-up to brace himself. As it is, he doesn’t see the hit coming, takes it full force to the chest, so hard it steals his breath, knocks the wind from him. His mouth goes slack, and he feels his fingers slide against the slippery sides of his beer can, almost spills it over Tommy and Buck’s lounge carpet before he gets a hold on it, on himself. He forces himself to smile. “That’s– that’s great,” he makes himself say, only faintly aware that Tommy isn’t smiling back, like this moment should call for. “Did you–” he swallows around the bile climbing his esophagus, “Do you want help planning the proposal?” He wishes he could take the words back the second they’re out. Because this — just hearing that Tommy wants to ask Buck — is torture enough. To be involved with it, to help enable it, Eddie will be lucky if it doesn’t kill him. Maybe not his body, but certainly his soul. 

“No.” Tommy shakes his head. “No, I want to ask him to marry me. But I’m not going to. At least, not now.”

Eddie squints at him. The news that Tommy wants to marry Buck might hurt Eddie, but it’s not exactly surprising. Eddie’s seen how much Tommy cares for him in the years they’ve been together, has seen the way he looks at him, the way they look at each other. Has felt the way it burns him, the scorching heat of flame, the searing cold of ice. He doesn’t understand what Tommy is saying, doesn’t understand why this proclamation seems not to be a happy one. “Why not?” Eddie asks, almost grateful for the opportunity to present confusion, curiosity, rather than forced pleasure at the thought of one of his closest friends and his– best friend marrying each other. “You guys are serious. I mean, you live together.”

Tommy huffs another laugh, still more disbelief than humor, really the opposite of humor. “His lease was up.”

“Right. But he chose not to renew it. He chose to move in with you,” Eddie says, slow, struggling to understand, the pounding of his pulse not helping him think clearly, see through the puzzle that is everything Tommy has said so far and the way he has said it. 

“He was never going to renew it,” Tommy tells him.

And that’s– that’s something Eddie didn’t know. He hates it when he learns information about Buck from Tommy, always has, even though he fights with everything in him not to feel like that. Tommy is Buck’s boyfriend, of course he’s going to know things about him that Eddie doesn’t, know him in a way that Eddie doesn’t. 

“We hadn’t spoken about living together,” Tommy says, eyes on Eddie. “But he’d said he thought the loft was too expensive and he was spending nearly every night at mine by that point. When he wasn’t on shift. Or at yours.” Eddie pulls his eyes away, takes a sip from his beer for something to do, even though the bitter taste is turning his stomach. “He said he wasn’t going to renew it, that he’d look for somewhere new, cheaper. But this was too close to the end of his lease to find a place before he had to move out. I asked where he was going to stay in the meantime.”

“And he said with you,” Eddie guesses, more a statement than a question.

But Tommy shakes his head. A smile curls his lips but his eyes– his eyes don’t match. “He said he’d crash on your couch, actually.”

Eddie takes another mouthful of beer, holds it there, on the back of his tongue. He didn’t know any of this. Buck would, of course, have been more than welcome. Likely why he hadn’t asked in advance, why he planned for it without seeking permission. 

“I said he could stay with me, instead. That he’d be able to sleep in a bed here.” Eddie swallows, the beer somehow thick and cloying in a way that it shouldn’t be. “And then when he started making noises about looking for a new place, I told him he should stay.”

While it’s not how Eddie had, unwillingly, pictured it in his head — Tommy and Buck mutually agreeing that Buck shouldn’t renew his lease, deciding they wanted to live together — it still doesn’t explain what Tommy has said. “And he did stay,” Eddie says. “So, why aren’t– Does Buck not want to get married?” But that can’t be it, that can’t be right. Eddie is certain Buck does want to be married, only he’d tried hard not to think of Buck wanting that with Tommy, with anyone. Anyone else. 

“No, he does,” Tommy confirms it. He leans over and deposits his beer on the coffee table. Then sits back, still turned to Eddie, but arms crossed over his chest, like a protection of himself. “We’ve spoken about it, discussed it. And he’s told me he’s always wanted that, to get married, to be part of a family.” Tommy pops one hand out of the fold of his arms to hold it up, out, quelling, like Eddie has protested. He hasn’t, but his heart is doing something approximating a riot at the idea of Tommy being Buck’s family. “And I know he has a family. He knows he does. In you and Chris, in Maddie and Jee, in the 118. But–” Tommy breaks off, tips his head to the side, gaze boring into Eddie’s face so strong that Eddie wishes he could turn away, duck and run. “You know how much he’s always wanted to belong somewhere.”

He does, Eddie thinks, the thought almost violent in its intensity. He belongs with me. Except, he doesn’t. Not really, not how Eddie wants, not the way he does with Tommy.

“And I want that for him,” Tommy goes on, tucking his hand back in, squeezing his arms tighter about himself. Eddie’s never seen him like this, hunched in on himself, curled small. Tommy is usually so open, larger than life. “I want to be the one to give that to him.”

Eddie wants to be the one to give that to him. Desires it desperately, a secret need he’s tucked as far inside himself as he can. He can feel it now, raging to be let out, to be set free. But he can’t, he won’t. Buck is with Tommy, he’s happy with Tommy. Tommy who is so warm and kind and good, Tommy who is better than Eddie in every conceivable way, who brings so much to Buck’s life, who gives all of himself to Buck. Who wants to give him even more. Wants to, but apparently won’t.

Eddie doesn’t understand. “Then, if you want to, why won’t you ask him?” he questions, trying to. 

“If I ask him now, he’ll say no.” Tommy states it like indisputable fact, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world that Buck would refuse him. 

Eddie shakes his head, understanding even less. “But he loves you.”

Tommy smiles again, then, larger than he had before, but as devoid of happiness, as empty of cheer. This smile hurts to see, reflects the way Eddie felt inside when Tommy had said I want to ask Evan to marry me. “I know he does.” Tommy’s tone is sure, but wistful. “But he loves you more.”

It’s like– It’s like nothing Eddie has ever felt. Or maybe it’s like everything he’s ever felt. The shock of a residual lightning bolt, the joy of being a part of the 118, the pain of a bullet ripping through his shoulder, the awe of holding his son for the first time. Eddie wants Tommy’s words to be true maybe more than he’s ever wanted anything. But he also cannot believe them, has no trust that they are true. Because they can’t be. Buck loves Tommy. Not Eddie. 

“We’re friends. Best friends,” Eddie points out. “Of course, he– he loves me. But not more. Not like he loves you. He’s in love with you.”

Tommy sighs, arms uncrossing, palms coming to rest on his thighs, body taking on a posture Eddie is familiar with, the one he falls into when he’s talking someone through something, the one he adopted when Eddie came out to him some six months ago. “Eddie, he’s in love with you.”

Eddie shakes his head. It’s everything he’s ever wanted to hear, but coming from the wrong lips. Spoken by not by Buck himself but by Buck’s boyfriend, oh god. “He isn’t. Tommy, he can’t be.” 

But Tommy is nodding, nodding like what he’s said is true, like he wants Eddie to believe it. 

“He’s not,” Eddie says, hears the denial, the disbelief spill from him. Buck doesn’t love him. He doesn’t. But Eddie– Eddie loves– “I’m sorry,” Eddie says, almost a gasp. “Tommy, I’m sorry, I–”

“It’s not your fault,” Tommy cuts him off. “I knew what I was getting into. When I started seeing Evan, I knew there were going to be three people in this relationship. I just–” Tommy sighs again, scrubs his palms along his thighs. “I didn’t expect it to get this far. I thought we’d just be a fun, easy thing. Something to ease Evan into his sexuality, that new part of himself. I didn’t expect it to go like this. I didn’t expect to feel like this.” Tommy closes his eyes, lashes falling to his cheeks. He breaths in and out, while Eddie’s own breath is caught in his chest. When Tommy opens his eyes, he says, “But I don’t have to tell you how easy it is to love him.”

Fuck. Tommy knows. Because Eddie does. He loves Buck, loves him so endlessly he doesn’t know where the feeling starts and where it ends. Doesn’t know when it started; doesn’t think it will ever end. “I’m sorry,” Eddie whispers, needing to say the words again, needing Tommy — his friend — to hear them. 

Tommy lifts one palm from his thigh, his wrist pressing into the muscle as he cuts his fingers to the side in a dismissal. “Don’t apologize for it. I’m certainly not going to. I’m never going to be sorry for loving him.” He drops his hand back down, pats his leg, emphasis of the point. “But it is a problem.” He smiles, rueful. “I thought I’d be able to break up with him, if he didn’t break up with me. I should have, ages ago. I certainly should have when you came out.” 

Eddie, selfishly, had hoped Buck would break up with Tommy then. But it had seemed like a farfetched fantasy. He had told Buck he was queer after Buck had already moved in with Tommy. He’d admitted it to himself, to Frank, before that, but hadn’t told anyone else for weeks. In hindsight, sometimes he figures he’d left it too late, but most of the time he didn’t think it would have made a difference at all. But now, with what Tommy has told him, maybe it would have. It’s a knife sliding between Eddie’s ribs to think maybe. Maybe.

“But I didn’t.” Tommy looks resigned, shoulders drooping. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Eddie needs to know. It seems like Tommy has known for years that Eddie has loved Buck. Loves Buck. I knew there were going to be three people in this relationship. So why is he only bringing it up now?

“Because I didn’t. Because I can’t. I can’t break up with him. But I want to move forward. And I want to do so with him, for us to further our life together. But if I ask him to marry me when he doesn’t know for sure that you’re not an option, he’ll say no.”

Fear freezes Eddie’s insides. “So, what– what are you asking me to do?” Because Tommy is asking something of Eddie, wants something. Something Eddie fears he will have to make himself give.

Tommy straightens up, shoulders rolling back. He’s serious, solemn but not demanding or pleading when he says it. A devastating request. “I’m asking you, as my friend, to let him go.”

Eddie could be sick, he thinks, could vomit up the three and a quarter beers and the half a dozen chicken wings he’s consumed since he got to Tommy and Buck’s place. Could spill the mess of his insides up all over himself, all over Tommy, all over their lives. Tommy is his friend, was his friend before he was ever Buck’s boyfriend. Eddie should do this thing for him. Should give Buck his blessing to marry Tommy, give Buck up, give him over, completely, to this man who has loved him so well for the past three years. Eddie should; in his gut he knows it would be the right thing to do. But his heart– his heart is in revolt. It’s Buck. He loves him. How can he ever let him go?

Tommy leans forward, places a hand on Eddie’s leg, squeezes his fingers around the ball of his kneecap, until Eddie lifts his gaze and meets his eyes. “Or,” he says, somehow even more serious, “I am telling you, as your friend, to go and get him.”

#do we need to see where this goes next? #or is it good as is? #these are the questions that haunt me #(also i am totally avoiding writing chapter 5 of my wip please don't kill me) #buddie #bucktommy #buddie fic #bucktommy fic #911 fic #911 #911 abc #myfic

[prettyfastcars]

the way you bend, the way you break | Mob!Lando

Summary: You’re one of the housekeepers who work at one of his many holiday homes. Given the nature of his ‘job’, Lando is never in one place for too long. Which means that he comes back to this house quite a few times during the year. Things were normal in the beginning, but in time Lando began taking an interest in you. It was benign at the start – flirty comments here and there, stolen glances, and whatnot. You ignored most of it, thinking it was nothing. But then you both crossed a line, and consequently, you’ve had to hide a secret from him for months while he was gone. But now he’s back, abruptly. He would do anything, you realised, to get what he wants. And this time he wants what’s always been his. 

Themes: dark!lando, smut, possessive!lando, housekeeper!reader, explicit language, breeding kink, pregnant!reader

He wasn’t supposed to be back just yet. 

Your heart raced as you watched his car come to a stop right outside the house. He shouldn’t be here. He left just about two months ago. He shouldn’t be back for another two months or so. 

On the gravel, he carelessly brought his car to a stop as if he couldn’t be bothered to even properly park his ridiculously expensive classic car. You were sure this one would have some name you couldn’t pronounce as well. Just like the rest of them which filled the garage. Unused, but well taken care of. 

You were currently peeking from a window in the east wing. You could get a clear view of him from here, without him ever noticing that you were watching. So you remained standing there, at the window, heart pounding and well aware that the rest of the staff were running around doing last minute adjustments to the mostly spotlessly clean house now that the master of the house was back, unannounced. 

Usually he called beforehand, he never just showed up so suddenly in the three years that you’d been working for him. This would be the first time. 

You watched him as he got out of his car, no luggage or anything – he had everything he could ever need here, and you knew because you were part of the staff who were responsible for the East wing where his personal bedroom and office were located. A shiver went through you as you thought of the bedroom. 

You watched how Lando made his way to the front steps of his house. You already knew there would be a small group of staff there to welcome him back for the third time this year. Last time he was here for a few weeks was just over two months ago. And now he was back again. 

Why? Your heart raced. Lando always carried an air of danger around him. It was one of the things which lured you in. 

No one ever questioned or cared what he did for work. You knew, the rumours and his reputation preceded him. But he paid you all too well for any of you to question him. Or even be bothered by the immorality of what he did, or how bad of a man he was. 

Besides, being from a small nearby town, and it being all that you’d ever known, this job was like stepping into a foreign world. A world of grandeur, and garages more spacious than your family home. A world of gatsby-esque parties, and expensive cars. A world of luxurious homes, and hallways with multiple chandeliers which made you feel like a princess anytime you walked down them. Manicured lawns with Greek gods’ statues and a whole lake in the backyard. This house was tucked away in a quiet corner of the world, situated at the foot of green, foggy hills. 

He was from another world. He felt like a novelty. Like an opulent vice. And he was so easy to get addicted to. The first time he touched you–

“What are you doing just standing there?” One of the older housekeepers chided from behind. “Go make sure the master bedroom has enough fresh towels! And make sure the pillowcases are…” She listed all the things you needed to get done in just a few minutes before he made his way up here. 

You nodded, moved away from the window and quickly secured your white apron around your waist. You took a quick glance at your appearance in the nearby mirror. White-collared black dress and now the apron. You sighed, before rushing into his bedroom immediately to get started. 

You swapped the old towels for freshly washed ones. You made sure the bed was nice and perfect. You were in the middle of making the pillows look soft and plump when one of your colleagues walked into the room. 

You had your back to them, but you said, “I’m almost done here!” 

Then you heard a familiar chuckle, “Well, good. ‘Cause I missed my favourite girl.” 

Your eyes widened as you turned around. And there he was. Standing in front of the grand, and now shut, bedroom door. Seeing him after so many weeks always made your heart skip a beat or two. But it was different this time. Normally you’d rush into his arms and let him hold you but… 

You just stood there this time, by his large canopy bed. You took him in for a moment. White shirt with buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to his elbow, dark trousers, expensive shoes. A watch that probably cost half as much as this mansion on his wrist. His messy, curly hair and those pretty eyes. He looked like a dream. A dangerous dream. 

“Hi,” You murmured as he walked towards you. You stood there, frozen, as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his warm embrace. You couldn’t help but sigh at the familiarity of his hug, his touch, his scent. Over the past couple of years, you’d spent countless nights wrapped in these arms. In this very room, on this bed. Countless hours you’d spent moaning his name all night, sighing and whining in pleasure, sometimes till the sun came up. 

The memories came flooding in, triggered by one single hug. 

“I’ve missed you so much, baby.” He whispered against your forehead, before pulling away to look at you. He smiled before leaning in for a proper kiss. 

And for the first time in the couple of years that you’d known him, you gently dodged his kiss. You felt him tense up the moment you turned your face just slightly so he missed your lips and kissed the corner of your mouth instead. His arms around you tightened just a little. 

“Hey,” He said, his mouth brushing against your skin. “I haven’t seen you in so long. Give me a kiss.” He tried again, and you moved again, avoiding his kiss for a second time. Lando frowned. “What’s wrong?” He refused to let go of you, staring deep into your eyes with his irresistible ones. 

“No– nothing.” You sighed, carefully untangling yourself from his embrace. “It’s just, it’s early and someone might just come in to, you know, check if you have everything you need and… we might get caught.” You avoided his eyes as you put some distance between you and him. 

“But–,” 

You cut him off quickly. “I should go. We didn’t know you were coming, and the kitchen staff might need help. I also have to, uh…” You tried to find something, anything, “To bring you more towels.” You started to leave but he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you into his chest, not letting go this time. 

“There’s plenty of people to help in the kitchen. Plus there’s enough towels here for ten people.” He stared at you like he’d caught you doing something you shouldn’t. “Stay with me for a bit. I miss you.” 

You tried to find some excuse again. “I really shouldn’t be here. They’ll notice.” 

He nodded once, looking like it pained him to not argue any further. “Fine. I will see you tonight then.” 

Tonight. He said it so easily. Why wouldn’t he? It had become a routine, hadn’t it? While the rest of the staff members made their way home in the evenings, you’d always stay back with him whenever he was here. Spend the night in his bed, in his arms. And you’d get up extra early each morning, right before your colleagues came in. You’d lie to everyone, pretending as if you were the last one to leave and the first one to come here each day. 

But not tonight. 

— 

It was late and the sun had already set but it wasn’t too dark yet as you made your way home. You didn’t stay tonight. You couldn’t. 

And when you were halfway home, your phone rang. You knew without looking that it must be him. So you slowed down enough to let your colleagues who were walking behind you to pass you, so you could answer the call. 

“Hey.” 

“Where the hell are you?” He asked, not even bothering to hide his annoyance. You could already picture him. He must be in his room, drink in his hand as he lounged on some sofa. He must have that bored look on his pretty face. 

But the accusation in his tone… You were prepared for it this time. “I really have to go home tonight. My mom isn’t feeling too well. And it gets hard for dad to manage the farm alone so I have to help out.” 

“Oh.” He said after a long pause. “Okay.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” You tried your hardest to sound as cheery as possible even when you weren’t. “Bye.” 

“Baby, wait I–,” 

You hung up on him. Shit. 

— 

You didn’t see him the next day. In fact, you did everything you could to avoid him as much as possible. 

But given you worked in the wing where his bedroom was, you knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid him forever. And by midday, he managed to corner you just as you were leaving the linen closet at the end of the least used hallway in the gigantic house. 

You barely processed it as it happened. But one moment you were done with replacing the clean linen inside the closet and turned to leave, and the next Lando was there. Shoving you back inside the closet and shutting the door behind him as he caged you in between himself and the shelves. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He asked, clearly not happy. 

You looked behind him, at the closet door. There were no locks of course. So if anyone were to just open it, you were finished. 

“Stop looking at that fucking door.” He snarled. “Look at me.” 

You did. “I– we shouldn’t do this. If someone–,” 

He cut you off. “Let me worry about that. What you need to do is use that pretty little mouth and tell me why the fuck have you been avoiding me? Don’t think I haven’t noticed.” He leaned closer, causing you to press your back further into the shelves. “First you hung up on me last night and now you’ve managed to avoid me all morning.” He frowned, lips brushing against your cheek as he spoke. “Start talking, my darling.” He sounded menacing. “Or so help me god, I’ll cause such a scene and–,” 

“No!” You let out a frustrated breath. “I’m not avoiding you.” You lied. “I was just truly busy this morning. And last night I really had to go home because my dad wasn’t doing too well and–,” 

“Dad?” He questioned, stopping your rambling. “I thought you said your mom wasn’t well.” His body tensed up again. His hands tightening their grip where they held on to your waist. 

Caught. Still you lied some more, “Well, they’re both a little under the weather.” 

He was quiet. And your heart pounded. You waited for him to buy whatever bullshit you’d been trying to get him to believe. 

“I see.” He said, a little too calm. Then he sighed and his lips found your neck, his mouth moving ravenously across your skin. “I miss you.” He sounded so sincere you almost gave in. “Fucking missed having you in my arms, my bed. I miss being inside you,” He murmured against your skin. “Don’t you miss me, baby?” 

You sighed. Just one more minute, you promised yourself. One more minute of this and then you’d push him away. “I do.” You whispered. 

“Then why are you treating me like I’m some cheap whore you no longer want around, huh?” 

You almost chuckled. “I’m not, it’s–,” 

“Shut up.” He sounded like he was pouting too. “I want you.” 

You hadn’t realised that his hands had found themselves under your dress. His fingers, about to reach into your underwear and touch you. Fuck… it was so easy to just want to give in and let him make you feel good. Because he always did. He always left you satisfied. But you couldn’t. 

“Lando.” You warned, pushing his hands away. “We can’t.” 

It happened in an instant. He switched from being nice and calm, to his hand being wrapped around your throat. And for the first time, your heart skipped a beat out of fear. Fear of this unknown, unseen side of him. 

His fingers tightened around your neck, his mouth brushing against your lips as he spoke. “Is it someone else?” He accused. “Did you find someone else while I was gone? Hmm? Some useless fucking boy in that little town of yours?” 

“No.” You defended yourself quickly. 

He pressed his body even more into yours. As if reminding you how it feels to be under him, with his body weight pressing onto you. “Then why the fuck are you denying me what’s mine?” His other hand meanwhile, found its way into your underwear again. “This is mine.” He murmured, cupping you in between your legs. “You understand? This cunt is mine. And I will fuck it whenever I want.” 

You couldn’t resist anymore, so you stopped fighting him the moment you felt his fingers sliding inside you. You tried your hardest not to moan too loudly as he finger-fucked you expertly. Like he knew your body too well. He did. 

His mouth left kisses all over your face, your neck, up till your ear where he whispered, “Tell me you’re mine.” 

You gasped when you felt his thumb rubbing your clit while his fingers slid in and out of you. Your wetness allowing his hand to just glide all over your folds, making you shiver in pleasure. “I’m yours.” You admitted, spreading your thighs even more to let him touch you. 

The air around you felt hotter. And you lost all coherent thoughts when he brought you right to the edge and… then pulled away. 

You were gasping for air as you watched him in disbelief, ready to beg for him to touch you again because you were close… so damn close. And he’d always been such a generous, giving lover. So what– 

“You’ve been a bad girl lately. You don’t get to come that easily.” 

And without anything else said, he turned and left the linen closet. Leaving you gasping for air, breathing heavily, with your body tingling and throbbing with need. 

— 

You didn’t see him for the next couple of days. You didn’t dare to ask your colleagues if they knew where he went either. All you knew was that he came home late at night – the dishes in the sink, clothes scattered around his bedroom, and empty whiskey glasses in his office meant that he did come home at some point. But then he disappeared in the mornings and didn’t show up all day. 

That happened continuously for three days before you saw him again. 

One evening, you noticed everyone around the house just wasn't there. It was still early to go home but the house was too quiet so you went to investigate. And you found no one. None of your colleagues. None of the kitchen staff. The security guards were there, as always, stationed just outside the house so you asked them. 

“Where’s everyone?” 

One of them replied, “Boss asked everyone to go home early for the weekend.” 

Oh? “No one told me.” You murmured under your breath. You didn’t think the guards heard but apparently they did. 

Another one of them responded, “Not you, miss. He asked us to make sure you were here when he got back.” 

Oh. “Back from where?” You asked. 

The two guards shrugged in a ‘We’re not exactly supposed to tell you’ way. 

So you went back into the house, worried. You paced around in the foyer before you decided to move upstairs, to the East wing. Then you paced some more, arranging and rearranging unnecessary stuff in the linen closet. It bothered you, the closet. It had been days since you’d been in here with him. 

You were in the middle of reliving the memories of the other day when you heard footsteps out in the hallway. That must be him, you figured. So you stepped out of the closet and saw him at the other end of the hallway. 

The chandeliers lit up the otherwise dark hallway. Dark frames, gilded mirrors, and Lando at the end of it, looking like the hero of some gothic novel. He was too far for you to read the expression on his face. But as he slowly made his way closer to where you stood, your own smile disappeared when you noted the grave look on his face. Like anger, and betrayal all in one. 

“Lando?” 

He kept walking closer, slower. “How long did you think you were gonna keep it from me?” 

You froze. “What?” Your voice sounded shaky and vulnerable. You could already feel the tears gathering at your waterline. There’s no way he knows, right? How would he know? You hadn’t told anyone. 

He chuckled, not an ounce of humour on his face. “Don’t act stupid.” 

“I can explain.” 

He shook his head, coming to a stop right in front of you. He looked like it was taking him a lot to keep whatever it was he felt contained. “Oh, you will.” His voice was… colder than ever. Bitter. Angry. 

So you did the only thing your instinct told you to do in the face of a man of his magnitude. You ran. 

Or at least tried to. 

Lando scoffed before chasing you. Catching you was so easy. In less than a few seconds he had you in his arms and was dragging you all the way to his bedroom. 

“Stop this shit!” 

“I’m sorry.” You pleaded. “I wanted to tell you, I really did.” You had tears streaming down your face as you let him lead you to his room. “But I didn’t know how. I was scared of how you’d–,”

He cut you off by pushing you onto his bed. “Scared that I would what?” He barked in your face as he pinned you down on his bed. One hand grabbed your wrists in place while the other slowly slid down your squirming body. “I should have you over my knee and spank you until you cry.” He stared deep into your eyes as his hand came to a stop over your lower abdomen. The warmth of his hand reaching your skin even through the apron and the dress. “But I don’t wanna hurt you,” He paused, applying the tiniest bit of pressure against your belly, “Or my baby.” He whispered, looking down to where his hand touched you. 

Him saying it made it all too real. And you couldn’t stop the hot tears from running down your face. Him saying it out loud made it serious. Inescapable. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked again, with the same accusatory tone. “It’s mine.” He said, reminding you. “You’re mine. So why didn’t you tell me?” 

You didn’t have an answer for him. Just more tears.

“I had to ask around these past couple of days, you know? I asked everyone here and your friends in town and all they told me was that you’d been constantly sick for about two months now.” He scoffed. “Then I found the doctor you went to, had to have her at gunpoint just so she’d show me your file. Apparently you’re about twelve weeks along. And you’ve known for well over a month.” He brought his face closer to yours, grip tightening on your wrists. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, sniffling. 

“Sorry?” He mocked, scoffing. “This is where it happened, didn’t it? Last time I was here we didn’t use any protection so that must be it, hmm?” He leaned in and whispered, “I came inside you over and over that last night before I left, remember? It was raining hard, there was a thunderstorm,” You could hear the smirk in his voice. “And you were so scared I had to fuck you to sleep, remember that, baby?” 

His knee had found itself in between your legs, and you’d been mindlessly grinding against it. He looked down and caught your hips moving against his leg and he chuckled. Then his smirk disappeared. 

“Were you gonna keep lying to me?” He asked. “I spoke with your friends and one of them reluctantly told me that you’d been talking about wanting to get away from here. To go somewhere new, out of this little town.” He tightened his grip on your wrists so much that you yelped in pain. “Did you mean to leave me in the dark? Were you just gonna take my kid and leave? Without telling me?” He taunted. “Did you think you could leave me?” He sounded menacing. “Did you think I would hesitate for even a moment before I leave a fucking bloodbath in my wake as I hunt you down, baby?”  

You sighed in frustration even though his voice made you shiver in nervousness. “I did mean to tell you. I didn’t know you would just show up out of nowhere,” You sniffled. “I wasn’t prepared, I didn’t know how to handle all of this.” 

“Prepared?” He sneered. “You’re my woman, and that growing inside you is my kid. What’s there to be prepared for before telling me? I had the right to know!” 

You couldn’t help but sneer right back at him, raising your voice a little, “I wasn’t even sure if you’d want this with me!” 

He let his body weight drop down onto you. His hand moving from your abdomen to your neck. “I’m so fucking angry at you right now. But I fucking love you and it’s pissing me off that you’d even think like that.” 

“Please,” You begged. “I was so scared. And if people found out that you and I–,” 

He cut you off with a bruising kiss. His hands let go of you for a moment only to get rid of all that you were wearing as quickly as he could before holding you close to him again. His slight stubble felt rough against your mouth but you didn’t mind. You’d missed this. Missed him. 

He kissed his way down, toying with your breasts, occasionally rolling and pinching your nipples, making you arch your back off the bed as you cried out louder than he expected. 

That made him look up and ask, “Are they extra sensitive?” 

You nodded. He smirked, and continued anyway. Making you whine and cry out as he kept kissing down your body until he knelt in between your legs. He gently kissed your inner thighs, “You’re so beautiful.” He mumbled and brushed his soft lips along your inner thighs, “And all mine.” He murmured, looking up at you. “I love you.” He said. “I want this, all of this with you. You hear me?” 

Another tear fell down your face. You nodded. 

Then he looked down. “And I love you as well.” He murmured against your belly, pressing his face against it, leaving soft kisses all over. “When will you start showing?” He asked. 

“In a few more weeks maybe.” You answered. 

You could feel him smiling against your skin at the sound of that as he placed both his hands on either one of your knees and separated your legs. 

You could feel his warm breath hit your wet skin as he brought his mouth closer to you. You moaned when you felt his warm tongue lick from your entrance up to your throbbing clit. You felt your heart flutter as a familiar warmth washed over you. You’d missed him so much it was crazy.

Your hand immediately flew to his curly hair, and you grabbed a fistful of it, tugging on it gently as his mouth teased you. His tongue slowly circled around your clit, earning another moan out of you. 

“You’re gonna be such a good mom to my kids, you know that?” He said, before going back to eating you out eagerly. 

Kids? Plural? 

“Kids?” You asked. 

Lando looked up at you again at the same time as you looked down, and you saw the pure hunger in his eyes. “Come on, baby. Did you think we weren’t gonna have more?” You squirmed at the thought of that. He noticed, and smirked. “I’ll come inside you again and again until we have a little army of our own running around.” 

Your eyes rolled back and your legs trembled as you felt his tongue fucking you gently. He secured his arms around your thighs and pushed you further into his mouth, making you cry out of pleasure. And with a couple more strokes of his tongue, he had you coming undone, all over his tongue. 

You felt him kissing his way up your body, leaving warm, wet kisses all over your skin, until he reached your mouth again. His kiss was gentle. When he pulled away, you finally opened your eyes to stare into his pretty ones. You secretly imagined a mini version of you and him, with his eyes. It made you smile without even realising it. 

“You’re mine.” He whispered, his stare was feral, he was hungry. 

You reached up and touched his rough cheek gently. “I’m all yours.” You reminded him. 

He leaned in for a kiss again, rougher this time. He kissed your skin, from your mouth to your neck as he undid and lowered his pants, and carefully slid into you. Your warmth wrapped around him, gripping him and reminding him that you were his. And you always would be. 

You grimace in discomfort at first because it had been way too many weeks since the last time. 

“Am I hurting you?” He asked, kissing your cheek. His breaths were shaky as he held back from fucking as hard and fast as he wanted. “You need me to slow down?” 

“No,” You whispered. “I’m okay.” You turned to look at him. 

He searched your face for any more signs of hurt. When he found none, he moved. He laced your fingers together and pinned both your entwined hands above your head as he sped up into you. You threw your head back as he started rocking in and out of you, his cock moving perfectly against your sensitive walls. He leaned down and kissed your lips again, groaning and panting against your lips as he fucked you with nice and deep strokes.

His hips rolled against your body perfectly, and his body weight pressing down gently on you was comforting and intimate. His grip around your hand tightened each time you’d moan his name under your breath. 

“You’re all mine. You hear that, mama?” He whispered against your lips, and leaned in to kiss you deeply again while he deliberately stroked his cock against your walls as slowly as he could just to make you whine and whimper even more. “Look at me,” he growled quietly under his breath. 

You immediately opened your eyes and stared into his. His stare was intense, but loving as always. His lips were full and swollen as he looked down at you. You felt his cock hit all the right spots each time he moved against you, and his lips parted and he groaned the moment your walls started clenching around him. 

“Mine.” He whispered, his voice deeper now. 

You nodded quickly. “Yours.” 

He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Then come for me, baby…” He whispered. “Come and let me fill you up again.” 

His voice was enough to take you right to the edge. You felt the pressure and the familiar pressure in between your legs, making you squirm, moan, and gasp for air as your walls clenched violently around him. “Lando…” You moaned. 

“I know, baby. I know.” He murmured against your forehead. 

His hands reached down and grabbed your sides gently, keeping you in place as he sped up into you a little more, his cock slipping in and out of you with ease. Your bodies moved perfectly against each other. He held you as close to him as he could, pushing his face into you and nuzzling your neck as he fucked you relentlessly. 

“You’re so beautiful, and you’re all fucking mine.” He whispered against your skin. “Can’t wait for you to start showing…” He sounded just as out of breath as you were. “Everyone’s gonna know just how much you’re mine.” 

You couldn’t hold back anymore, and with a few more strokes of his cock, you came undone with a loud moan, grinding against him hungrily while he moaned against your lips as he came right after you, kissing you as best he could while he emptied inside you. 

“Fuck…” You gasped for air. 

As was he. 

Lando was careful not to crush you under him like he normally would, and instead moved to lay beside you for a moment, catching his breath for a few seconds before he pulled you into him again, spooning you from behind. 

“I’ve got you, baby.” He said, kissing your shoulder. “I’m here. I’m right here.” He tightened his grip around you. “I love you.” 

You wanted to whisper back that you loved him too, but the day’s tiredness, the orgasm, and your natural instinct to fall deeply asleep right after sex, all of it caught up to you at once. And before you knew it, you passed out in his arms with a faint smile on your face. 

—

Lando remained awake. He took his time caressing you, and cleaning you before dressing you up in warm clothes. Downstairs, he could hear his people moving around, packing everything just like he’d ordered them too. 

After all, you two would be leaving tonight itself.  

Once he was done with dressing himself, he walked to where you were in deep, deep sleep on his bed. He leaned down and kissed your nose. “I’m doing this for us, baby.” He whispered. “For us and our future family.” 

There was a reason why he’d asked all the staff members to go home early tonight. It was because he didn’t want there to be an audience when he moved out of this house, with you. You were a deep sleeper so this was perfect, he thought. 

No one would know where you two went, you’d disappear without a trace. 

He packed a bag for you as quickly as he could. He could always buy you whatever you needed but he figured you’d want and need some things for the plane ride to come. Toiletries and blankets, mostly. 

“You won’t ever have to worry about a single thing, my love.” He whispered, looking over at you sleeping soundly while he packed in a hurry, checking his guns just in case, and throwing that into the bag as well. “I’m sorry I lied earlier.” He confessed. 

He had. The doctor he interrogated wasn’t just held at gunpoint. Lando had made sure she would never speak again. Your file would be nowhere to be found. And without the doctor, no rumours or gossip would be spreading around the little town about this situation. 

While he was with you tonight, his men had done just as he’d asked them to. They had taken all your stuff from your little apartment and moved it. It would be as if no one ever lived there. 

Earlier this evening, he’d received confirmation from his men that while your friends and family members had been too scared to even question what was happening, they'd agreed to not reach out to authorities regarding your sudden disappearance. Of course, in exchange they would receive sporadic updates about where you are and how you’re doing. 

If they ever acted out of line, well, he would simply take care of it and tell you that your friends and family decided to cut all ties. Because if there was anything he was good at, it was making sure people did exactly what he wanted them to do. 

All in all, Lando had made sure you two would never come back to this place again. 

He thanked whichever god was listening once he managed to get you in the backseat of his car without disturbing your sleep. He got in right after you, while his men filled the other cars with luggage and some things of yours from your apartment. 

Once the cars were all out the gates and all on the way to his private plane, he leaned closer to you, nuzzling your cheek as you laid your head against his shoulder, sleeping soundly and unaware of all that was going on, “This is what you wanted, isn’t it, baby?” He murmured. “We’ll be happy together, you just wait.” He kissed your face and pulled you into a hug, fixing your blanket around you and making sure you were properly warm. 

His hand instinctively found its way to your belly, softly caressing it even though the bump wasn’t there yet. He kept an eye on the cars right in front and right behind, all filled with armed guards. He would need to be extra careful now. He was going to be a father, have a family of his own. He would need to protect you and the future kids with his life. 

Despite the stress and worries, he found himself smiling at the thought of the future. A future with you, and your kids. You were both still fairly young to be parents but he felt ready for it. 

He knew you’d probably throw a fit when you’d wake up and find out that he was literally changing your whole life overnight. He smirked thinking about how fiery you could be sometimes. But it would be too late then. You would be miles away from here, up in the air with nowhere to go. He’d deal with your tantrum on his plane, and remind you that you were his. His to take care of. 

Only his.

#mob!lando #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #lando norris fanfic #lando norris #lando norris imagine #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #lando norris x you #mob!au

[wikiangela]

we don't know where this is going now (don't be afraid of heights, let me open your heart wide)

bucktommy rating: G words: 5.6k summary: Tommy cuts their first date short, but to his surprise he gets a call from Evan just a few days later. or, 7x05 from Tommy's POV.

[read on Ao3]

It’s honestly a surprise when just a few days later, late in the evening, Tommy’s phone rings, and Evan’s name pops up. His traitorous heart beats a little faster when he answers the call and leans against the kitchen counter, where he’s been finishing up making a late dinner. “Evan?” he asks, confused but trying to play it casually. He’s good at that. He thinks years of pretending, trying to act straight, playing off gay jokes and even joining in to not make anyone suspicious made him way too good at acting cool and unbothered. He’s definitely surprised and excited, though. “Hey.” he smiles to himself. “Uh, hey- hi, Tommy, hey.” Evan stutters, and Tommy can imagine that flustered smile.  “Hi.” Tommy greets him again, grinning now. “Gotta say, I didn’t really expect you to call.” “I- I know, I just- I wanted to talk?” he says it more like a question, then huffs quietly, takes a breath. “I was wondering if you’d like to grab a coffee. With me. Tomorrow morning?” he says, sounding nervous but hopeful. And Tommy- Tommy has had a very hard time trying to say no to Evan, especially when he doesn’t actually want to. Besides, they can be friends, if whatever potential for romance didn’t work out. He’d be fine with that. He’s friends with Eddie, anyway, so he’ll surely have to be around Evan sometimes, and he doesn’t want it to be weird. “If you’re not- if you’re not busy? “Yeah, okay.” Tommy responds, trying to ignore the excitement swirling in his stomach at just the thought of seeing Evan. “I can do morning. What time?” “Uh, how’s nine? There’s this place I usually go to- I can text you the location? Or we can meet somewhere you like, that’s totally-” “Evan.” Tommy interrupts softly, still smiling. Even over the phone, even still this nervous, Evan is just adorable. “I’m sure your pick is fine. Just text me, and I’ll be there. Tomorrow at nine.” he assures. He thinks if Evan wanted to meet right at this second, he’d be there in a heartbeat. Which is a surprising thought. He really didn’t want to get attached this fast, but there’s just something about Evan… “Okay.” Evan breathes out. “So- so I’ll text you.” he repeats. “And I’ll see you tomorrow.” “See you tomorrow.” Tommy says, before Evan stumbles through a goodbye and hangs up, and Tommy just chuckles to himself. He’s curious what Evan wants to talk to him about. But he also needs to be careful, because he can see himself falling for him so fast and deep and easy. He shakes his head at himself. He’s being silly and ridiculous. Evan makes him feel silly and ridiculous and giddy, and Tommy doesn’t remember the last time he felt like this. 

[read on Ao3]

#bucktommy fic #wikiangela writes #911 fic #911 abc #bucktommy #the title is a bit long but idgaf it fit okay lmao #my writing #evan buckley #tommy kinard #buck x tommy #fluff #tevan #kinkley #tuck #911 fanfic #tommy pov 7x05 #911 7x05 coda #911 7x05 #character study #sort of #911 spoilers

[neonbyte-if]

NEON // BYTE IF • RE(VAMPED)

DEMO TBA ꒷꒦

Choose from 3 origin stories that alter your knowledge and past associations with characters.

Customize your MC. Play as male, female, or non-binary; straight, gay, bi, or ace; cis or trans. Give yourself cybernetics, or stay natural. The choice is yours.

Decide your motivations. Is this a fight for survival or a grab at power? Are you a reluctant vampire or eager to embrace the euphoria of a kill?

Develop your appetites. Young or old? Rich or poor? Human, witch…or vampire?

Pick a love interest from 6 potentials…or don't. Features two love triangle routes and casual flings.

Pick a BFF who'll be there for you in times of need.

And whatever you do: don't let them take you again.

Snatched up by a hunter on the day you were turned, you've known nothing of unlife but the torment of Facility 4.

Your first drops of blood suckled from a syringe, cold and clinical; the sweetness of unsterilized air stolen in panicked gasps in the starkness of the Sun Cells; the muffled curses of your cellmate, a slab of meat on a gurney with eyes of fire. For five long years, you've known nothing else. But when a shift in management takes place, you seize your opportunity and escape.

There's no place for vampires in the city in the sky; the Empire District, or Higher Manhattan, is a sprawling mass of chrome and excess. Platinum-plated necks are all the rage, and any attempt to separate the blue-blooded elite from their entourage amounts to a death sentence—even for an immortal.

No. Lower Manhattan is the safe haven of your kind, the city beneath the city.

Maybe you grew up there, know the streets and their secrets. Maybe it was nothing but a scary story told to you by your family's android nanny. Whatever the case may have been, you smuggle yourself onto a skyrunner and enter the Shadow Circuit, a district of perpetual darkness and rampant poverty.

You think you've escaped them. You think you're free.

You are not.

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTIONS FOUND HERE.

Ramón, Your Cellmate (the rumors about him can't be true, can they?)

full name: Ramón Ortiz pronouns: he/him age: 292 traits: gentle, honorable, self-centered, vengeful, volatile role: Ram is reeling from his imprisonment at Facility 4. The past seven years are a drug-ravaged haze, memories of thousands upon thousands of experiments slipping just out of his grasp. He recalls just enough to know that you were somehow important to him—that nagging sense of connection neither of you can seem to shake—and that the ones who did this need to pay. But a lot's changed since Ramón went AWOL—there's a new king in town, and the two of them have unfinished business.

Ry, Your Pursuer (you were his First)

full name: Ryland Eaton pronouns: he/him age: 32 traits: cynical, empathetic, guarded, impulsive, inquisitive role: Ry's been a useful weapon for years, but it was a long, hard road to prove himself worthy of complete trust. And when it was finally gained, it all fell apart in an instant. Because of you. He's determined to correct his mistakes, so he's hot on your heels as you pick your way through the Shadow Circuit. Next time you meet, he won't be second guessing anything.

Dom, the King of the Streets (if information came free he'd be living on them)

full name: Dominic Choi pronouns: he/him age: 211 traits: analytical, manipulative, patient, protective, sensual role: It was easy to slip into the role of kingpin; decades of watching from the sidelines had finally paid off. Now, he has the respect of his gang, the fear of his rivals, and the ownership of the nightclub that once shaped his life beyond measure. What he didn't count on was the return of the old guard—and you. More troubles have followed you to his doorstep than he's encountered in the last half a decade of ruling over a criminal-infested district. He doesn't like that. He doesn't like you. But you could be the key to solving the problem he's been grappling with for years, so he'll play nice. For now.

Emery, the Cargo-Slinger (you impressed them, but never do that again)

full name: Emery Lang pronouns: they/them age: 28 traits: intelligent, prickly, private, resourceful, soft-hearted role: Emery's made it their business to stay under the radar, working in the Dead Drop district as a successful smuggler to provide for their family. That success? It comes from subtlety. So when two idiots steal away onto Emery's skyrunner with some of the Empire District's most skilled hunters in hot pursuit, Emery is marked as a person of interest. With a big red cross on their forehead they've little else to do but play the hand they've been dealt...even if it means being the only human in a group of freaks.

Zoia, the Government's Headache (you look like you might want to revolt—here, take a pamphlet)

full name: Zoia Meretz pronouns: she/her age: 97 traits: boisterous, direct, driven, fearless, organized role: Zoia's been fighting against the Empire District for decades, but it's felt a little like butting her head against a brick wall. Her group of associates gets smaller by the year, losing them to hunters and, worse, disillusionment. There's only so far sitting in a club handing out pamphlets will take them. Zoia's been urging Dom to take the fight to the blue bloods for years now, but it's only when you show up that this pipe dream starts to manifest in reality. She's got the spirit and she's got the numbers. All she needs is for you to point her in the right direction, and then there'll finally be hell to pay.

Aura, the NetWitch (she hates it here)

full name: Aurelia Thatch pronouns: she/her age: 23 traits: funny, insecure, paranoid, philosophical, self-reliant role: Aura's been working as a for-hire hacker in Dom's nightclub for a year now, using her powers as a NetWitch to help him run the streets—strictly in exchange for protection. Dom knew this when he took her in; he should've known she wasn't about to play by the rules when her safety was in jeopardy. So when she takes a calculated risk and goes behind his back, she knows all she has to do is dig in her heels and wait out the hurricane that follows...because it's the only way to stop them from coming after her next.

18+ for mature audiences

explicit sexual content

mentions of sexual assault and harassment

graphic violence

torture and abuse

toxic relationship themes

substance abuse and addiction

strong language

More specific content warnings will be displayed at the start of each chapter!

#interactive fiction #if game #if wip #wip intro #neon byte #oc: cast #oc: Ramón #oc: Ry #oc: Dom #oc: Emery #oc: Zoia #oc: Aura #tsc: neon byte

[cometkenji]

ghost in the machine

Pairing: Unsub!Spencer Reid x Agent!Fem!reader CW: Fluff, longing, mild angst, one paragraph with heavy implications of sex, cursing, mentions of reader being in a car accident, mentions of suicide and death, suggestive Ig? idk Spencer kind of taunts reader, if I miss anything please tell me! Summary: An unsub targeting local political powers starts calling you. With virtually no memories of your life before 15, you're tasked with finding out why his voice feels like home. Disclaimer: Reader is chubby. She's not physically described in this but reader is literally always a bigger person. Anyone can read but I wanna clarify <3 WC: 7.8k I lokey feel like I fumbled this one but this idea has been in my head since I saw a post about it like last month so i'm sorry in advance if it sucks 💀 I'm not saying looping ghost in the machine by SZA while reading this will elevate the experience but just know it's strongly advised and im even giving you a link to the song for easy access.

The fourth case this month. This was the fourth battered politician you’d forced into handcuffs while ducking away from the recoil of blood spewing from his mouth. The men you’d arrested had all protested strongly - and wetly - while being walked to the back of your cruiser, demanding to know why you were arresting them even though they were the victims. They were always the victims. They’d been burgled and beaten - yes- oftentimes you were restraining them while they sat in bathrobes or pajama pants, but this unsub always jumped the gun. Somehow they managed all this damage while simultaneously kicking the dirt that had been sedentary for years out from under the rug. The men would call the police themselves -  I’ve been robbed, I’ve been beaten - always astounded when you’d taken their statement then turned them around and recited their Miranda rights. This unsub was meticulous, planned down to the second. Somehow, the media always broke the story hours after the arrest with full fledged details on the crime - ones the BAU didn’t even have yet. 

The first time this happened, you’d questioned every media worker from Quantico to DC. His target zone never seemed to reach beyond that, giving you an offender right in your backyard. Those were always the hardest to stomach.  Journalists, Newscasters, even cameramen had been turned inside out as the team scoured for any connection. He was just too good. 

“How can it be just one man?” Derek spoke first, but that was the question all of you were about to ask. 

“Wife and kids were outta town. It was a sleeping 50 year old man against the element of surprise.” Prentiss was right, it wasn’t a difficult job when viewed like that. “Description is consistent with all the victims. All black attire, mask over the face.” She flopped the folder down in front of her for emphasis. 

“Either he has another guy or he’s incredibly tech savvy. Some of this information was encrypted, it would take weeks to compile all of this. If he’s hitting a new vic every week that’s not nearly enough planning time for something this orchestrated.” Hotch checked the time on his watch. “We’re not finding him tonight. The local PD are investigating. We don’t have clearance until tomorrow. Everybody go home and get some rest, we need to crack down on this.” 

As much as you loved your job, the departure was a welcome relief. The day had drained you, you had to basically drag yourself back to the BAU for the regroup after the case. It was routine, and incredibly necessary as this unsub continued his streak, but your brain was mush, and you didn’t know if you were capable of any breakthroughs in your current state. You were grateful, currently, that at least you weren’t dealing with a serial killer. He had an agenda, that much was obvious, but chasing a serial killer for a month bred a different kind of stress than chasing an anarchist. 

The AC blast that hit you upon entering your home seemed to steal the tension from your shoulders. It was summer, so on top of hunting an unsub who was essentially a ghost, you were also bearing through the violently humid nights. You locked the door, pulling up your sleeves as you walked deeper into your house. The lights were on, you never left them off for long, and your eyes locked on the pile of notes sitting on your counter. Three small papers, torn at every edge, were draped over each other. Evidence, you thought. You’d kept them for evidence. Once you told the team the unsub had been reaching out, you would show them the notes. It was that simple, you were planning to tell them. You didn’t know why the information hadn’t entered their radar yet. This unsub was clearly infatuated. You could be a valuable part of solving this case, the notes could be the reason you solved it at all. Those were words straight from the source, they would tell you more about the unsub than any crime scene analysis would. Something about them just stilled your tongue, though. You never particularly liked the feds, the cops, the higher ups. You became one of them begrudgingly, you’d been good at reading people your whole life. You wanted to solve things, see justice. It was never primarily about helping people for you, and you feared the reputational repercussions if your team members ever found out about that. You weren't ignorant, you had morals. You simply lacked the place of purity they came from, the virtue your team members carried was one you were void of. Half of the time you walked away from a case, you disagreed with the verdict, and you were ashamed.

You had only realized you zoned out when the phone rang, effectively breaking your gaze away from the notes and onto the ‘Unknown caller’ screen glaring at you from your cell. Morgan just got a new phone, you remembered. He’s probably checking in. You picked it up, stating just your last name in greeting as a reflex from almost exclusively talking to other agents. 

It was quiet for a moment, reaching the period of time where your stomach knotted up and almost forced you off the phone. “Hey, Y/n.” The voice was a new one, it pulled at certain strings within you. You knew him, but you didn’t recognize him. 

“Who’s this?” The spark of familiarity filled you with guilt. A car accident when you were 15 had stolen most of the memories from your childhood and left a bountiful amount of scars in their place. You barely remembered your own parents, if this man was an old relative, you definitely didn’t know who he was. As much as your family tried to be empathetic, you could tell it hurt them when you were none the wiser.

“God, it’s good to hear your voice.” The man was smiling as he spoke, you could hear it in his tone. “Your number was shockingly hard to find. Feds really don’t mess around, huh?” Your shoulders tensed, you looked around. Blinds were closed, your house was the same as when you left it. You're sure it wouldn’t be hard to find your address if he’d found your number. “I’ve been trying, believe me. I left those notes while I was looking, although it’s really not the same, is it? Phones are so revolutionary, I mean writing you a letter is one thing but it’s so underwhelming in comparison. A piece of paper doesn’t let me listen to you, doesn’t let me hear those little breaths you take when you get scared.” You didn’t even realize your breathing had changed until he called you out. 

“Do I scare you?” He sounded so domestic, the contrast between the genuinity laced in his words and the actual words themselves just about knocked you over. “I hope I don’t. I’m not trying to.”

“What are you trying to do?” Your mouth felt sealed shut, just barely managing to grate out the words.

“If you’re asking about my agenda, I’m afraid that’s a private affair for now.” He was so casual about this, sarcastically sucking air in through his teeth like he was telling you he couldn’t meet for coffee next week.

“What do you need with me, then? You don’t want to share and you aren’t calling to gloat. What’s the point?” 

You heard him click his tongue at the question. “Everything is so technical with you agents.” You could basically sense his lips quirk up, gaining some type of sick intuition for the man’s tendencies. “Maybe I just wanted a word with the pretty detective working my case.” 

Your knees were trembling, your grip getting looser on the phone as you struggled to keep your hold through the tremors of your hands. You had to focus, you could take advantage of this. “Why politicians? What happened to you?”

“Personal grudge.”

“How do you get their data so fast?”

“I know a guy” He knew a guy?

“So you have a partner?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“Why not?”

“It’s no one of importance.” Sibling, maybe?

“It’s important to me.”

He chuckled at that. You needed to hang up.

“Y/n-” Could he sense your fucking muscles tensing? “Don’t tell your friends.” He could hear your heartbeat from where he was, you were sure of it. 

“Why?” You were instantaneous, barely letting him finish before responding. “You gonna hurt me?”

“No.” He scoffed. “If you tell them, I’ll have to stop reaching out.” You swore you could feel the weight of his eyes on you. “Is that really something you want?” Cold sweat pierced through the skin on the back of your neck. You yanked the phone down from your ear and hung up. 

No, it wasn’t. 

–

You dreadfully greeted the sun as it peeked through the slits of your blinds. You’d slept maybe a half hour in total last night, sleeping in five minute increments while bearing through a paranoid haze only comparable to the first time you’d smoked weed. The world felt unreachable. You could see it like a screen but your true consciousness sat captive in his hands. He’d known you. That was the fact stuck in your throat, that’s why you couldn’t sleep. Does that mean you knew him?

“Jesus.” If you had to guess, the sight of your sunken eyes and hunched shoulders was the trigger for Morgan’s reaction to the sight of you. Walking into work wasn’t going to be fun, you knew that, but you hadn’t expected such an immediate acknowledgement. “Someone have a rough night?”

You wished you could banter with him. Morgan always made working here feel lighter, he was fun to be around, but you were guilty. If you were tired from a one-night, insomnia, even if you were drunk and puking your guts up all night, you would have joked back with him. Now, you had to force yourself to make eye contact. A childish part of your brain was scared he'd smell it on you. At this point, you were fraternizing with the enemy, and it’s repercussions were draped over you like a curtain. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Clearly.” He handed you a mug of coffee. “Is it the case? If it’s bugging you that much, one of us can stay with you for a couple nights. It’s no trouble.”

“No, Morgan, that’s not necessary.” He was so kind it was nearly suffocating. If someone stayed, he either wouldn’t call or you’d have to decline it. Both of those options making an uncomfortable amount of unease stir inside you. “I appreciate it, but I’ll be fine.” 

“Just tell me if you need anything.” He nodded at you, you nodded back, then you both headed into the conference room. 

“Any leads?” You walked to your seat as you asked, unsure what you were hoping to receive as an answer.

“None.” Everyone else was gathered around the table, Hotch scanning through the file as he replied to you.

“We’ve pretty much ruled out the media workers.” Prentiss spoke up. “This guy’s most likely an anarchist. His previous victims haven’t belonged to a consistent party so he’s not lashing out at the opposing side.” She thought for a moment. “What path leads somebody to anarchy?”

“Maybe he’s been kept out of office.” Morgan started speculating, just trying to sweep together something they could pin to him. “If he’s been running long enough, maybe he gets angry, changes course. He could be jealous of his targets.” 

Your brain was half focused on the case, half focused on him. Two sides of you were fighting, one instilling a sort of protectiveness over him, one howling at you to do your fucking job. 

“I don’t think he’s an anarchist.” You leaned forward in your chair, revving up to present your theory. “He’s been described in the same outfit for every victim. Long Sleeve, cargo pants, gloves and a ski mask - all black. That’s as minimal as it gets. Some pretty low income areas are well within his safe zone.” You paused, looking around to see if they were understanding what you were getting at.

“He’s poor.” Hotch had a glint in his eyes. Almost. 

“So - what?” Morgan prompted. “He’s doing this for money? This is way too elaborate for somebody needing cash.” He shook his head as he spoke. “Hotch, there was evidence of Scopolamine injections. A man who either knows how to make the chemical or already has enough money to buy it wouldn’t be in a position that warrants this. Plus, the kind of tech it would take to get the information he steals? Way more than your typical Best Buy - this is Garcia level stuff. He injects them and probably forces them to help with the robbing, he beats them senseless - he’s getting some kind of kick out of this.”

“He’s not poor” You concluded. “But I’m pretty sure he used to be.” You sat up straighter to elaborate. “A lot of times, kids who grow up homeless or with no money feel wronged by politicians. Here they are going to school hungry while the mayor rolls in cash and lets them bear the consequences of a put-off promise to help the community.”

Prentiss sat back in her chair as she considered your words. “To build this type of anger, though? This is a vendetta.” She glanced down at the crime scene photos as a reminder. 

“Exactly. Anger is expected in normal cases. Something extreme clearly had to happen to explain this type of outburst.” Personal grudge, you remembered him saying. You felt like you were airing out his secrets as you spoke. A weak sense of betrayal tugged at your guts. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, going over what type of event could cause something like this and I think I have an idea.” You pulled out your phone while talking to call Garcia, the woman answering immediately.

“Garcia, can you look up children in the Quantico to DC area who died from complications with chronic illness? Probably late 90’s to early 2000’s, I don’t think our guy is old enough to have been running for office.” 

“That’s gonna be a large list. Any more parameters you can give me?”

“Look for families making less than 20,000 a year.” 

“Got it. There were three families making under 20,000 that reported losing a child of illness. One was of stage 4 cancer with no plausible recovery and the other two said they couldn’t afford the medication needed for treatment. I just sent them over.”

“You’re the best.” 

“Don’t I know it.” You hung up the phone, pulling up the files she found.

“What exactly are we looking for here?” Morgan looked to you.

“We can rule out the first family. Dying of cancer wouldn’t create the effect needed for our unsub.” He looked like he was about to reiterate his question. “What we’re looking for is a sibling. If your family is struggling, you already have the seed of anger that this guy has. I think a family member dying from the lack of money might just give him the motive he needs.”

“That’s good thinking, he could be avenging someone.” Praise from Hotch always felt better than others. “The Bryson family was just the mother and the daughter who died. She worked in janitorial for the local middle school.”

“Doesn’t exactly fit the profile.” Morgan was right, all the testimonies had described a man. Plus the assumption of decent financial prosperity didn’t fit someone still working at a middle school.

“Who does that leave?” You were searching for the answer to your question, but Prentiss was quicker.

“Diana Reid and her two sons. Henry had type 1, seems like they could afford the insulin for a little while but something must have happened. He went into DKA and died a week later.”

Two sons. “What about his brother?”

“Uhhhh-” She scrolled down on her tablet. “That would be one Spencer Reid who…” She scrolled just a little bit further to find the whereabouts of the man, the hope in her eyes snuffing out with the information she read. “is dead. Says he committed suicide a couple years after his brother died.” The whole table deflated a bit as she said that.

“It was a good idea.” Hotch, despite being a monotone man, usually tried to keep things optimistic. “We’ll continue pursuing that angle. Morgan and Prentiss, I want you to go back to the first crime scene. I’ll call Dave and we’ll head to the latest.” The mentioned agents nodded their heads and started making their way out the door. 

Your eyebrows furrowed at your lack of instruction. “And me, sir?”

“Go home.” He looked you over for a moment. “You look like hell.” Then he was gone, calling Rossi on his way out. How mortifying.

– 

It had been three days since Hotch’s dismissal of you. You managed to get some sleep, convincing your co-workers of normalcy when you went back into the office the next day. In truth, you were anything but. You had been noticeably distracted but the others chose not to mention it until it hindered your performance, which it had yet to do. You were on a timer, counting down the seconds until your next call with him. You seemed to be endlessly tugged back and forth between excitement and pure dread. Everytime you got home, you took a moment to stare at your phone, almost like you could will him to call if you glared at it long enough. The day was just shy of a week since his last attack, and you were nervous as hell. Your phone buzzed once, then it buzzed again. He was calling. 

“You’re early.” You didn’t find it fitting to greet him. You knew who it was, why be friendly? “Is there another one?”

“Relax, honey.” His voice lit a fire in you. Jesus. “I didn’t know I was only permitted one call a week.”

“What are you playing at?” You tried to sound sturdy, but your voice hit your ears with more desperation than you’d ever expressed. 

“I could ask you the same.” You could hear the tilt in his words, he was so sure of what he was doing. “You didn’t tell them about us.”

“How would you know?”

“I’m not in cuffs, am I?”

“You think we’d catch you if I told them?” Was it your fault he was still free?

“No.”

“Maybe they’re listening.”

“Maybe.” He was so unbothered by the notion. You were never a good bluffer.

“It wouldn’t bother you?” You narrowed your eyes at nothing, staring at your wall as you tried to read him through the phone.

“You could bring in the whole nation, Y/n.” You listened more intently than you ever had. “It wouldn’t keep me from you.” You felt like you were choking on your own heart, feeling it beat at the confines of your throat. Jesus Christ.

“Do you know where I live?” Your lips were too weak to hold back the question. It’d been the only thing on your mind since the first note had been left on your car.

“Why?” His smile bled into his words. “Are you inviting me over?”

“Answer the question.”

“Why don’t you answer a question of mine?” He was so intentional, his MO proudly showing in the way he spoke to you. “Haywood or Clancy?”

“Are those your actual choices?” You tried to analyze him, justifying your actions with the ruse of investigation. He’d tell you more if he wasn’t monitored. “Or are you trying to throw me off your trail?” It was certainly plausible. Get you running after two men not of interest, leaving his real victim neglected by your team. 

He laughed, breathy and soft. “I don’t know.” You could almost picture him tilting his head, faceless and so enticing in your imagination. “Pick one for me. Maybe I’ll do him next in your honor.” 

“What do you know about honor?”

“Everything I do is about honor.” What did that mean?

“The only thing that would honor me is you turning yourself in.”

“What do you know about honor, agent?” His voice was taunting, you heard his body shift. “What do you think that team of yours would think about us, hm? Those are their words, not yours. You’re the one who’s waiting on calls from the enemy.” Shock paralyzed your tongue. You felt your head pulse with the blood rushing to your ears. “You don’t have to be guilty about wanting it, honey. You don’t fit with them.” 

“As opposed to what? Fitting with you?”

He chuckled. “You’ve thought about it.”

“Nightmares, maybe.” 

“That’s the angle you're going with?” He saw through you. “If you dreamt of me, I doubt they were nightmares.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

“I don’t know where you are.” You didn’t feel relieved. “I have no interest in hurting or robbing you. Why would I want your address?.”

You slipped your hand under your shirt to trace the scar across your chest. Gift from the accident, now a nervous habit of yours. “What do you want?” God, you were a broken record.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Y/n.” You could barely hear him over the thrum of blood in your veins. Your entire body felt tuned into his words. You’d never felt so far away while connected. “Only what I can do.”

“You take everything from them. More than just money. Clearly you lost something.” You were so sick of asking this question but you were getting farther from the answer with every conversation. “Why are you doing this?”

“They made the first move.” Jesus what did they do to this guy? “I’m not the bad guy, honey. I’m just defending my side.” 

“This isn’t a game.”

“It might as well be.” He was quick with his responses. “It’s all the same to men like them.” You stayed quiet for a moment. How did you reply to something like that? “Get some sleep. It’s late.”

“Give me less crime scenes to look at and maybe I’ll sleep more.”

He smiled, you could hear it in his tone. “Every mean has an end, agent.” You held your breath, and as if gaining consciousness, you hung up the phone. You felt the brick of the encounter sit heavy in your stomach. He wasn’t lying. You were guilty, and you wanted it beyond belief. 

–

You’d talked to him four more times over the past two weeks. There’d been two more victims corresponding with those calls, continuing his routine of a new one each week. Your understanding of your feelings had become less hazy as you talked to him more. Your guilt wasn’t from withholding information from your team, it was from the fact you wanted to. It stemmed from your instinctual desire to keep him to yourself. Let him exist differently in your home life than he did in your work life. It was difficult keeping something from profilers. It made you feel worse that they definitely knew something was up, but chose not to push it because they trusted you. Did this truly make you untrustworthy? You were only human. 

You’d spent what was meant to be your day off at the BAU working. When there was a case like this, rest time seemed to take the backseat. You were drained, more emotionally than physically. You were lying to your friends, but truly, you didn’t know how deeply you considered them friends. They were good people, easy to like and easy to work with. You were starting to wonder if that's where it stopped, though. Everything about their company was easy, but it lacked gratification. His company was hard on you, but it was so rewarding, so filled with feeling that you started to wonder what your morals even were. You wouldn’t find them here, you thought. You certainly tried. You stared into the chipped white paint aging poorly on the brick wall of the bar as if the pigment of the words would organize your thoughts better than your malfunctioning mind could. The liquid in your glass was nearing it’s end. The drink had loosened your joints, loosened your mind. You hadn’t come here to get drunk, you were basically still sober, you just needed the warmth of a drink. There was a certain coldness within you, there had been since the accident. You accredit the feeling with driving away any potential love interests of yours. There was always a sense of being stuck, like you were interrupted in the middle of moving on, and never fully got to close the chapter. This wasn’t hard for others to sense. You were as emotionally nonreciprocal and unresponsive as a corpse.

“Mind if I join you?” A man who’d immediately caught your eye upon entrance gestured to the barstool next to you.

You motioned to it. “Please.” A casual invitation. You didn’t know how to talk to random men in bars. You took a good look at him, something subconscious stirring beneath your skin. The minimal buzz of the drink you had making you write it off, preferring the focus of his eyes on yours. 

“What’s your name?” The smoothness of his voice could have rivaled the most expensive whiskey in that place. 

You told him your name. He nodded, murmuring a “pretty” under his breath as he took a sip from his glass. 

“I’m Matthew.” 

“Pretty.” You reiterated, raising your eyebrows slightly as you joked. He chuckled, and you asked if he was new to the area. 

“I’m a local, actually. I grew up here, surprisingly never been to this bar, though.”

“Really? I grew up around here too. This place is old as dust, been here forever.” You looked down, finishing the last of your drink. 

“I know. I’ve wanted to come here for a while because it’s so old.” Something about him was so off putting but so irresistible. You’d never encountered such an uncomfortable concoction. It was intoxicating. “I lost the knack for drinking I had in my teen years. Back then my friends and me would just buy a 12 pack and get drunk in the field on Fromage.” 

You lacked the memories to know if you related to the man, but you weren’t going to delve into why and kill the mood, so you lied. “That field used to scare the shit out of me. Everyone at my school said there were bodies out there.” 

His eyes held a certain glint in them when he looked at you, his lips perked up at the edges slightly, if you hadn’t been a profiler you might have missed it. “Really?” Maybe you imagined it all, that or he caught on to you, the look leaving his eyes after lingering for a moment. The slight promise of something more sinister pulsed throughout them. The hairs on your arm were standing. “Mine said the same thing.” He smiled, looking away, shaking his head fondly as he remembered. “My school was full of dumbasses though so I never really took it seriously.” And you laughed. 

You laughed a lot throughout the time you sat there with him. A few hours, you’d guess. He lowered your guard so easily, walking leisurely through the gates of you. You’d practically rolled out the red carpet for him. You wondered if he could see how easily he got in, how much you welcomed the feel of him in your veins. He didn’t seem to mind if he could. When he’d wanted to take you home, your lips parted, and you said you’d like that. You don’t really remember driving, knowing one of you did, both of you sober by the time you’d left. He’d been so gentle, so all-consuming. He’d run his thumbs along the scars he encountered, punctuating the sensation with his lips following close after. Mumbling praises against your skin and rhetorically asking “does that feel good, honey?” as your legs shook around him. He melted you down to pure liquid gold with just his touch, knowing exactly how to map you out. You’d felt him everywhere, his fingers burning their respective shadows on your skin, seeping slowly into your soul to leave marks there too. He’d felt so safe, the pure want joining the two of you together. A euphoric distraction from all the disaster you’d let befall you. He was gone before you woke up the next morning, but you saw him in your shadow, felt him in the soreness of your legs. He’d been a deviation, something put in your path to confuse you. What a brutal fucking night.

–

The same day, you’d gone to work, gone home, and then ended up back at the BAU an hour later. There had been another victim. Two days early. This was his eighth, and up until now he hadn’t strayed from his weekly pattern. This was a bad sign, if he was ramping up, who knows how many more he wanted to hit. The story had stayed the same, and that night you were arresting another board member, this time for solid ties to human trafficking. He really knew how to pick them. You’d give him that, at least.

The meeting post-arrest basically just shared what you were all thinking. He was ramping up, and you were getting no closer to catching him. Stating the obvious was doing nothing but wasting time. He was good. One of the best you’d ever seen. Nobody really knew what to do at this point. You watched their faces get more and more helpless and you felt bad. Nothing in your calls with the man would have helped you solve this case, you were almost positive. Any aspect that could have helped was one you explored. 

Emily had said the name ‘Spencer Reid’ and the way your stomach lurched made you feel like you had to be onto something. You’d never had such an intense gut feeling about something only for it to be absolutely impossible. You hadn’t told them, but you looked more into him. His death was an easy one to fake. As much as you hated speculating on what could very well have been just a heartbroken boy, you couldn’t deny the theory you were building. His mother had found a suicide note, they hauled a body out of the river a month later and just assigned Spencer’s name to it, marking it down as conclusive. You weren’t convinced.

–

You got home within the hour, locking the door and pulling out your phone. You hadn’t called him before, but it was the same number every time, and you needed to talk. The phone rang so long you were almost sure he wouldn’t pick up. Almost.

“Y/n.” He greeted you. “This is new.” 

“You broke your pattern.” You started with the topic at hand. “Why did you do that?”

You heard a chair squeak slightly as he leaned back. “What can I say? You being so interested gave me some extra motivation.”

“Interested?” What the fuck was he talking about? “This isn’t - I’m not fucking interested in anything. You’re a criminal.” You were slightly out of breath. When you lied to him, no matter how small the lie, air seemed to gain a disinterest in staying within your lungs.

“Mhm.” He was smug. That wasn’t a good sign. “I don’t believe that. You seemed pretty interested last night.” 

He had pulled a lever, and your stomach dropped to your shoes. “That was you?” You sounded as defeated as you felt. Your eyes were watering from the pure shock, feeling the drop of the bomb shake you down to your core. 

“You kept tracing that scar on your chest, you know that?” You hadn’t known that. “Almost like you could feel it.” Feel what? He didn’t elaborate. “You sounded so pretty when I touched it, when I kissed you. Been thinking about it all day.” He was breathy, sounding like he was trying to put himself back in it as he spoke. 

You steadied yourself before you opened your mouth. “You lied to me.”

“I’ve never lied to you.” He sighed. “You lied to me, though.” You hadn’t imagined it. “That field used to scare you?” He laughed slightly. “You were the one who told me about it. Took me over there once to look at the moon in the back of your dad’s pickup.” 

God, this was frustrating. “Who are you?” The tears were dancing the border of your eyes, begging to run down your cheeks. “I knew you?”

“You know me.” He was so sure of it. “I’m still in there. Everything is.”

You had to ask, at this point you were near certain of it. “Spencer?”

He sighed, relief intertwining with his words. “There she is.” It was such a soft delivery, the moment he took before replying had you wondering if you’d said anything at all.

What kind of situation even was this? “Is this about your brother?”

“You know, when we were younger, my mother knew the mayor. He used to babysit my brother and me when she worked nights.” His tone was humorous, bitter, like he couldn’t believe the stupidity of what he was explaining. “I listened to him promise us he would change the community when he got the time. Get us a house with more than one bedroom, get us into a school system deserving of us. He used to call me a genius.” He scoffed at the thought. “Then my mom couldn’t afford the insulin, and he let my brother die.”

You didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”

“The payments wouldn’t have even made a dent in his pockets.” You could visualize him, alone in a room somewhere, that familiar crease between his eyebrows as he talked. You were going to be sick, you thought. “One man for every year my brother got to live. Seems only fair.”

“Two more to go, then?” You couldn’t identify a single thought in your head. All of them speeding past you like bullets before you could latch onto one. “Is it helping?”

“Yeah.” He sniffled, quiet and subdued. “It is.”

“I - um” A tear finally fell, breaking the dam. You wiped it away quickly, two more taking it’s place almost immediately “I have to go.”

“Y/n-” but you were gone already. You put your hand over your mouth, laughing into it slightly at the absurdity of your situation and sobbing into a moment later as you took the cold plunge into reality. You texted your parents, knowing they were asleep, asking if you could swing by when they woke up. If anyone would know something, it was them, and you had every intention of shaking them down to find out exactly how you’d known the man. You had to know. You spent the night preparing the questions you’d ask and trying to fall asleep. You were almost paralyzed with the weight of him on you. There was no getting out of it now.

–

The outside of this house always felt alien. You knew you’d grown up here, but it lacked any sense of home. You wondered as you stood out front how much Spencer had to have meant to leave more of a mark than the place you spent your first 18 years in. The sun was nearing it’s peak in the sky, it was almost noon. Your parents had texted back at eight am, worried and eager to know what was wrong, eager to see you. You’d fallen asleep barely an hour before that, waking up at eleven and quickly getting ready after seeing the text. You were scared. These were practically strangers to you, and you were betting an ungodly amount on them. That’s not fair, you thought. But honestly, nothing was fair, and you calmed your guilt with promise of filling the void in your gut. You broke your staring contest with the front door and leaned forward to knock, the thing opening almost immediately. 

“Hey.” You spoke before they did. You found that being the first to talk usually decreased the amount of warmth in their greetings. “It’s good to see you guys. Thank you for having me, I know my texts were sort of alarming. I just needed to talk about something.” You held eye contact to the best of your ability. They brought out a deep feeling of shame, knowing they didn’t blame you for the distance but still being responsible for it nonetheless. 

“Of course.” Your mother talked while your father looked down. “It’s good to see you too. Come in, please.” Your father broke from her side to go sit down, while your mother opened the door to usher you in. You stepped forward, nodding at her in thanks as you passed her, joining your father where he sat.

“Um…” You faced both of them as your mom took the place by his side. How did you even start this? “Well, in a case I’ve been working on, somebody came up.” You couldn’t tell them he was alive. “And he just…seemed familiar, I guess. Did I know a boy named Spencer Reid growing up?” You watched the sparks of recognition ignite in their eyes as you said the name. Your mother’s grew teary, while your father’s seemed to harden. 

“Knew him?” Your mother chuckled at the thought of it being so simple. “You two were more in love than your father and I.” She rolled her eyes as she held your father’s arm, the man laughing lightly at her words.

 “He was the first friend you talked about. I remember picking you up from the first day of kindergarten and listening to you rave about the boy who was ‘smarter than the teacher’.” Her tone got lighter at the end, seemingly trying to imitate the excitement of your adolescent self. “You two were always close, you know?” She seemed to remember him fondly. “When you got older, you would get so defensive if  I asked after him so eventually I stopped. But I knew. I knew you two would end up together from your first playdate.” She was on the verge of tears, giggling at her own words as the stories she told surrounded her, smiling at the past. 

“His family really struggled. Such a sweet kid, him and his brother both. They were over here a lot.” Your father took the role of speaker as your mother’s emotions got the better of her. “We went back and forth for a while after the accident on whether to tell you or not. It just seemed cruel to. He died the night before you got hit, and you were such a wreck we just -” He struggled to find the words. “We considered it a blessing you didn’t remember him.” Your father’s guilt was apparent, twisting his features slowly as he explained their choices. “You were so in love, sweetheart. You didn’t know who he was when you woke up and we figured, you know, what’s the point? When the only thing that could come from it was pain, it just seemed futile.” 

You don’t think you blinked the entire time they were talking to you. You only knew you were crying when your vision went blurry, completely neglecting the beading of tears down your cheeks. You remembered the day your mother was talking about, seeing the children you once were illustrate the world in front of you. You could almost see his face, how it would have looked when he died, how he used to look at you. Like he was staring at the universe’s secrets, easing his hands through the veil to touch them - to touch you. You remember the feeling he gave you, something warm and distinct, reserved for the two of you only. If you could have seen yourself in the moments you shared, you’re sure you would have worn the same look in your eyes. 

You started speaking, but couldn’t manage much. “Yes, yeah, you’re right.” Reassurance usually worked well. “It was a…a good call.” You had trouble with your words, remembering the feelings of him but lacking the visuals. “Do you have any pictures?” Your mother nodded in response, detaching from your dad and going to retrieve something that held the memories you sought. 

“I’m-” Your dad started. “We’re sorry.”

You shook your head. Your parents were the last people who owed an apology. “It’s ok, dad. I’m glad you did it.”

“I could never myself look back at these. Thinking about what happened to them I just…I can never look at them knowing they’re gone.” Your mother re-entered the room holding a camera, dark pink and cheap. “It was meant to document your childhood, but he was around so much, it’s basically just a compilation of you guys.”

You held the thing in your hands. It was everything you wanted to happen but you couldn’t force your fingers to move. Did you even want this? He was alive, sure, but you’re certain the boy next to you in these photos would never see the light of day again. All your birthdays for thirteen years, field trips, science fairs, even just the two of you sitting together reading. It was all here. All consumable. You felt the urge to boil them down and burn your skin with the residue. Anything to keep a semblance of this life with you. You had a right to them, they were yours. Your teeth clenched at the sting of the absence. He had been yours and you couldn’t even remember. “Can I keep this?”

“Of course.” You’re sure the thoughts in your head were obvious to them, spinning like a cyclone in your eyes zoning out on the camera. “I’ve thought about giving it to you for a while now anyway.”

–

They’d made you lunch, then dinner. They told you tales of your past and you let them glance into your present. It was dark by the time you left, setting the goal to talk with them more. You walked to your car, having parked down the street, and tried to shake yourself out of the trance that house put you in. You thought you were seeing things at first, squinting slightly to focus on the chunk of passenger door that was shrouded with out of place darkness. Someone was leaning against your car. You didn’t feel defensive. 

“Spencer?”

“Hey.” He pushed off the door and walked closer to you, facing you on the sidewalk. You could see him now, lit up by a streetlight. He took you in, too. Glancing at your hand and grinning. “I remember that thing.” You had forgotten you were holding the camera until now. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I don’t know, honey.” He shrugged, matching your exhaustion at the situation. “I guess I wanted to see how much you remembered.” He looked at you, his eyes just as bright as they’d been a decade ago. “How much I could make you remember.”

You sighed. God, if only it worked that way. “Do you want to-” What the fuck were you thinking? “Do you want to come over?” You’d looked through every picture on that camera. You missed him. You missed him in your space, on your bed, waiting for you at the bus stop. That knot of feeling stuck only wanted to unravel if it were his hands tugging at it. “I can drive us.”

He raised his eyebrows, surprise blending seamlessly with the undiluted hope he carried as a kid. “Ok.” He smiled, just a tiny lift at the corners of his lips. The image of that smile resting on his teenage face struck you so violently you felt it in your bones. You looked at him, starstruck. His presence was a trance of it’s own. 

“Ok.” You repeated him, trying to elongate the moment. You weren’t sure when you’d be ready to look away. He’d have to move first, and he knew it, so he walked to the passenger door. You blinked, grounding yourself, and unlocked the car. 

You were preparing for an awkward car ride, but clearly your subconscious was more than familiar with him, being silent with him came as second nature to you. You took the long way back to your house, trying to enjoy the comfortability as long as you could. He added an elevation to your existence that you hadn’t been aware you were lacking. You pulled into your driveway ten minutes later, parking and turning off the car. 

“Did you really not know where I lived?”

“No.” He was looking out your windshield, taking in the sight of where you felt safest. “I meant what I said. I never needed to. 

You walked into the house first, hearing him shut the door softly behind him. You’d been listening to see how he’d close it, not sure what it would tell you, but deeming it important regardless. He’d been nothing but respectful of your space both times he’d been here. You sat down, nodding your head to the chair near you. 

He let a moment pass, waiting to see if you had something to say. You had too much to say, too much to articulate. “I want you to leave with me.”

“Spencer-”

“Don’t.” His eyes were pleading, glistening with his unique mix of hunger and control. “Don’t write me off, Y/n. Nobody would know. They’re not gonna catch me. You can quit, and we can leave.” You looked away, down towards your hands. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about it.” It was all you’d been thinking about. Usually in dreams - obviously your mind was more up to date than you were. You were going to do it, you thought. Of course you were. You looked at him and knew you’d go anywhere he asked you to. Still, though, you had a life. One you needed time to wrap up before you could leave it. You were a federal agent, if you went missing, they’d send the entire nation to step on your heels. 

“Can I think about it?

He looked at you, suppressing a smile and tilting his head slightly. “Sure, honey.” He could read you so easily. He’d known he had you from the moment he asked. “I’ve still got two more.” The burning in your stomach wasn’t a resistance to the words. It was an admiration, a feeling you could wallow in. You weren’t an opposing force to him. Had you ever been? Truly?

“What happens if I don’t go?”

His eye contact had a way of transferring, enveloping any part of you it could reach. You were testing him. “Don’t force my hand, Y/n.”

You didn’t plan on finding out what that meant.

#comet: SR #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #x chubby reader #x fat reader #x plus size reader #spencer reid x chubby reader #spencer reid x plus size reader #spencer reid x fat reader #spencer reid fanfiction #suggestive #probably ass #im sorry for this

[soapybutt17]

Do I Wanna Know?

Summary:John has blood on his hands, just as much as you did. But this was something different. He has his secret, just as much as you did in your line of work. But this was different, he has committed a war crime and the blood on his hands was something you held along your bloodied own.. Character: John Price x F!Wife!Reader. Word Count: 1,209 Chapter Warnings: Mention of Murder. Mention of Kidnapping and trauma associated with it. Mention of Survivor's guilt. Price is just a bb boi here that needs a lots of hugs and kisses. AU. Soap is alive here, but was hospitalized from the encounter.

Based on this ask:

Masterlist | Series Masterlist || Request are Open || Join My Taglist || 500 Followers Celebration

John Price was a lot of things. But to this day, he would have never thought he would murder a man without an order of anyone but for his own intentions. He had blood on his hands and there were only two individuals that knew.

Laswell that had orchestrated his ability to be in the man’s office. She who had ensured that he would do his deeds and leave without anyone knowing otherwise. Laswell knew what it meant to him, how John had to fight tooth and nail with the guilt of almost losing Soap because of the mission with Makarov. It was inevitable that he had to do this, he had to kill Shepard if he wanted to ensure the safety of everyone he cares for.

Then there was you, his wife, and his most trusted partner. He could do no wrong in your eyes. How even in your hesitation for the plan he and Laswell had devised had trusted him that it would not be placed back on him when the fire begins to spread. You trusted him even when you knew it was not the right thing to do.

“Hi,” He slipped back to your shared home.

You were in your pajamas tonight, with your daughter asleep on your lap and your son cradled in your arms fighting the last ounce of strength to keep awake. He could see the tiredness in your eyes but there was a darkness in your eyes that seemed to consume you as you looked at him.

“John.”

He gave a quick nod, kissing you at the top of your head but refused to touch you just yet. He feared the metaphorical blood still in his hands needed to be washed. He refused to hold onto you or his children when it painted him still. He refused to soil the very reason why he did what he had to do.

Walking upstairs to your shared bedroom, he shed himself of his clothes, refusing to place them in the hamper as the fire place would be a better end to them. He stood bare in his own bathroom, his eyes glued onto the mirror to the sight of him. Worn and torn by the war, never hesitant to pull the trigger if it means the mission is done and over with. How it had been so easy to pull the trigger and kill Shepard. It truly scared him, what he was able to do and even if he knew it was for the greater good.

He killed a man. It wasn’t accidental, it was not in the fields nor was it due to self-defense. He murdered a man in cold blood and as the night grows on, the guilt was coming at him with full force.

How the actions—or lack thereof had become a domino effect that he was trying his best to clean up, to pick the pieces back up and move on. He should have allowed Soap to kill Makarov all those years ago. He should have never trusted someone like Graves to be involved with his team. He should have never placed you in his taskforce.

All his actions led to where he stood now. A broken man that never knew what it felt like to be this broken until he looked at the mirror. How the tears came in floods, consuming him from the inside out. He was pathetic. A captain that could not even ensure the safety of his own team.

“John.”

He turned and he did not bother to wipe away the tears as he looked at you. He was wrapped in your arms as his sobs grew louder. He was weeping for the pain and torment his actions has caused you and every single one of his team.

Soap was barely alive. You had closely escaped death from being held captive. The world was almost about to begin world war three. Everything was going to shit and he genuinely did not know what he could do to stop it all.

“It’s okay. I’m here.” You reassured stripping yourself of your clothes and pulling him into the shower.

The cold spray brought a deep shiver down his spine as it finally hit his skin. Standing in the middle of the shower, you had allowed him to wrap his arms around you as he continued to sob. All the pain of everything in his life slowly faded away as he held you in his arms.

Slowly as the tears no longer feel and he was hiccupping, you pulled away with tears in your own eyes. Your hands gently wiped the water on his face and kissed him in the cheeks and nuzzling your face against the crook of his neck.

“You did the right thing.” You assured him. “It was for the better.” You continued as you began to wash him.

Your movement was gentle—loving. You washed him with so much gentleness that he knew all too well that he didn’t deserve. He never deserved your love anymore after what he had put your through.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked him, lathering your palms with the shower gel.

“Do you want to know?” He quipped right back.

“If you want to me to know, I am more than willing to carry the weight with you, John.”

“I don’t deserve you.” He whispered holding onto your hands.

How bloodied and battered his hand was so easily cleansed by your touch. He held onto your own, intertwining them together as he pulled you in for a kiss. All the memory of the last few months momentarily faded away in your arms.

~

“I finally did it.” John spoke as he laid in bed with you in his arms.

All you could do was nod realizing what that had meant, what it would finally mean after all was said and done.

“Who knows what you did?” You inquired for a moment fearing the aftermath when all was said and done.

“You and Laswell. No one more.”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around him. Hands rubbing against his naked skin. You felt the goose bumps litter his skin from the memory more than from your touch. You know what had caused this, knew what it was for the best.

“Johnny’s finally awake.” You whispered to him, with him finally pulling away from a moment to look at you and the tears of relief flooded him.

“That’s—that’s good to hear. How’s he holding up?”

“His head hurts and making sure Simon’s head is too while he’s looking after him.”

You hoped that even just a glimpse of good news would appease him and the guilt that weighed so heavily on his shoulders.

“I’m glad…” He trailed off, moving his body until his head nestled against the plush flesh of your chest. “I’m so glad…”

Slowly you had felt his breathing slowly calm as his grasp around you slowly loosen. You laid still from where you laid hoping that in this moment everything would finally go back for the better. For your husband’s sake and for the rest of the team that was now ghosted by everything that had anything to do with Makarov and Shepard.

#John Price One Shots #John Price Oneshot #John Price Oneshots #john price headcanon #John Price x reader #john price x female reader #John price x wife! reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #cod fanfic #cod x reader #cod mw x reader #captain price #call of duty #fanfic #x reader #female reader #captain john price x reader #captain john price #captain price x you #john price #john price x you #captain price x female reader #john price angst

[amamisa]

SIXTY-FOUR EQUALS SIXTY-FIVE!

RANPO EDOGAWA ⋮ BUNGO STRAY DOGS

premise. ranpo loves to give you all sorts of little riddles, but this one might have you stumped the most out of all of them.

story notes! fem!reader. fluff! reader works as part of the ADA office staff. animated dividers by @/cafekitsune!

love, misa ‹3 if you know what the title is referencing, ily! also, reblogs, comments and interactions are vrie appreciated!

“. . . Pardon?”

Ranpo looks to you with a pointedly smug grin playing on his face, hands relaxedly folded behind his head as he leans back in the ADA office’s chair. It creaks beneath him as he plants his feet atop the mahogany desk and swivels around slowly, a sign that you should probably get the seat oiled soon.

“It’s simple, is it not?” He asks and you slowly shake your head no, mouth slightly agape when he starts to sigh, repeating his prior statement.

“Sixty-four equals sixty-five, and that’s that!”

You blink a few times, hoping that the information sinks in a little more inside of your beain just long enough that you can even begin to process whatever he means.

The words play back in your mind like an old VHS tape, abruptly coming to a halt when you can’t fall into a proper, conclusive or logical answer that would make sense in any normal situation.

“That’s . . . false,” you begin to argue, albeit a bit unsurely as you have no idea what to even say in the moment. Your mouth moves faster than your brain as you tell him the only logical thing you can think of.

“If sixty-four equalled sixty-five than it would be sixty-five and not sixty-four.”

Ranpo lets out a laugh, only telling you that “You’re wrong,” and for a second you look around the ADA office wondering if there were any cameras filming the two of you. You find that the other office clerks are merely seated at their own desks though, watching the spectacle between you and Ranpo go down, and a little amused at your bewilderment.

You’d think that for a man who is labelled as the greatest detective in all of Yokohama (and quite possibly the entire world once you took into account his inherent genius and lack of an ability), that much would make sende for someone like him.

Surely he couldn’t have said a more incorrect statement than that with such confidence in himself.

But no, of course not.

It’s Ranpo you’re dealing with, and he says a lot of odd little phrases and sayings just to mess with your head sometimes. It started since your first day with the ADA, it’s been years now and he’s still going too.

He doesn’t show any signs of stopping soon either.

(“You just look so funny with your face all scrunched up in thought!” He once told you after a particularly difficult riddle that had you stumped for hours on end until the end of the work day, afterwhich you realized the answer was unfathomably easy once he had revealed it to you.

Nobody else in the ADA could’ve gotten it though, so it saved you at least some of your dignity.)

You assume that this must be another one of those cryptic riddles he’s thrown your way, maybe a test to see if you’ve somehow managed to improve from last time. An inkling of hope swells inside your chest, hoping that today is the day you finally manage to answer correctly to one of Ranpo’s mysterious riddles.

Setting down the bowl of candies in your hands on his desk, you stand in thought for a moment, scouring your brain for anything that could relate to the riddle as Ranpo delightedly digs into the newfound treats, appearing blissful to the mental agony he loves to put you through sometimes.

The little dish clinks against his fingernails as he searches through the pile of sweets for his favourites at the bottom, the sound of the plastic unwrapping in tune with the beat of the ticking in your brain while you think over his words from earlier.

He gave no set up, no punch line, no nothing at all. There wasn’t any indistinguishable context to the riddle-like words that you could recall, it was only—

“Sixty-four equals sixty-five . . .” Ranpo hears you mutter underneath your breath, and his lips curl up in delight as he munches on a decadent chocolate truffle, filled with sticky caramel and generous bits of toffee.

The caramel sticks to his teeth, with the toffee clinging to the sides of his tongue and the roof of his mouth as he chews away at the treat, patiently watching while you continue to talk to yourself, still thinking over his words from earlier.

“Could it be a math riddle? No, that’s not possible though if we’re going by technical math terms and rules . . . Maybe something to do with physics? But how could anything simultaneously be sixty-four and sixty-five?”

Ranpo’s mischievous grin only continues to grow as you remain oblivious to his watchful eyes, and his gaze scans over your features, wordlessly taking in your appearance.

Your knitted brows, the way you subconsciously pout your lips whenever you’re in deep thought, your crossed arms, all while unknowingly talking to yourself as you piece together the clues.

Ranpo sees it all as clear as day. And he finds it unbelievably cute.

“Maybe it’s about hex codes from the colour wheel, since one colour can look different depending on the background it’s placed over. It could have less to do with the numbers themselves than the meaning or history behind them—”

“Are you done yet?” You’re brought back to reality by the sound of Ranpo’s voice interrupting your thoughts, head perking up as you’re met with the sight of his nougat stuffed cheeks. All puffed out and full of sugar as he holds back a laugh once he sees how quickly your face softened from it’s previously hardened features.

“You were taking forever to solve that one! And it’s really not that hard to begin with!”

“Speak for yourself,” you scoff, taking one of the chocolates from the bowl and unwrapping it for yourself. The plastic crinkles beneath your fingertips, you stuff the wrapper in your pocket before popping it into your mouth.

The caramel sauce encased in the hard chocolate shell explodes when you crunch down on it, a sweet little victory to make up for the quizzical hurdles you’re put through on a regular basis, courtesy of the man sitting right across from you.

“You’re Yokohama’s greatest detective, it’s obvious that these sorts of riddles come naturally to you,” you wholeheartedly confess, savouring the light cocoa and sweet, subtly coconut flavours that coat your tongue. “I’m not like you, Ranpo. Nobody in the ADA is, what takes us twelve weeks to solve you can answer in twelve seconds.”

“Awee, really?” He giggles, swiping more of the little candies from the bowl on his desk. He seems to have missed the original point entirely by now, as he motions for you to continue, “Go on, tell me more about how great I am!”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at him, maybe you shouldn’t have gassed him up so much during your little acknowledgement speech. Though with the cases he’s solved in his repertoire, you really can’t argue against that title of his.

“No, you’ve had enough of that from Kunikida and Atsushi just this morning alone.”

A small pout graces Ranpo’s lips as you sigh, ignoring the kicked puppy eyes he gives you while walking back to your desk, continuing to mutter underneath your breath the same words that will probably leave you stumped for the next few days on end.

“Sixty-four equals sixty-five?”

Ranpo cranes his head as he eats away at the rest of his candy stash, watching you immediately turn to one of your co-workers from his own work space to ask them the same question Ranpo gave you, inquiring about any clues they might have as to the answer.

“No, there’s gotta be an answer,” he overhears when your colleague shrugs their shoulders, simply telling you that whatever Ranpo says is probably just a load of gibberish meant to mess with your mind.

“Just— just give me anything you can think of, okay? I’ll solve one of his riddles one day.”

The sight has Ranpo smiling behind the back of his hand, eyes crinkling at the corners with glowing cheeks when you sees you bring out one of your notepads from the desk drawer’s, clicking your pen as you begin to write down any guesses you might have to tell him later.

Truth be told, unlike the rest of the spontaneous mind games Ranpo pulls on you— this one has no actual meaningful answer. At least, not one that you’d understand at the moment if he were to tell you it’s solution.

But despite that looming factor always casting it’s dark shadow onto you, the thought of Ranpo giving you a riddle truly impossible to solve has never really crossed your mind.

Otherwise, you would very easily give up solving them after just a moment of contemplation.

Ranpo’s noticed though that you tend to wallow on them for days at a time unless he comes clean and tells you the answer in it’s entirety, letting his silly and easily misconstrued words stew inside your head during your lunch breaks and slow times at the ADA where you’ll maybe sometimes bound up to him excitedly with a guess as to what you think the answer is.

It’s charming how much thought you put into your solutions, and admittedly you’ve gotten quite close a few times to figuring them out all on your own. Ranpo’s always impressed with whatever you come up with, even if it’s outlandishly ridiculous or nowhere even close to the actual answer itself.

It’s really your explanations and logic behind them that he likes, with some of the ideas you bring up for splutions are those that he hasn’t even thought of beforehand until you ask him if they’re right.

(Sometimes he wants to cut your little game short and just give you the win for once if your guess is creative enough.

But where’s the fun in that?)

He’ll give you more of these up until the day you leave the ADA (though he hopes that’s not anytime soon) if it means he gets to see that delightful little confused but hopeful expression you make while deep in thought.

Your persistence in finding out the answer on your own until you’ve been truly worn out by him is also admirable.

Because while you’re always just a bit confused by all the different riddles, puzzles and play-on-words he hounds on you each day, he finds that you’ve yet to actually reject his proposal to solving them, never even considering walking away from his absurdity unlike with most people he knows if he asked them the same.

He prays it’ll stay that way too.

Otherwise, who else would he have to fawn over in secret?

Ranpo deduces that while you may be clever (anyone who works at the ADA is, it’s basically a requirement when working with ability users such as them), he’s always just a few steps ahead of you.

It’s not an insult towards you on his end in any way either. Your way of thinking is totally different from his own, but he reasons out that he can make arrangements to improving your logical deduction abilities once he finally figures out how to convey his feelings for you.

Properly, and not through a series of complex paradoxes and logic puzzles.

The most complex riddle of them all though that the ADA office staff asks themselves each day while witnessing the two of you has to be:

Whose logical reasoning is really being tested here again? Yours, or Ranpo’s?

The ADA believes that Ranpo should use less of his time giving you intrinsically methodical puzzles and focus more of his energy on realizing his blooming, lovesick crush.

works © amamisa 2024. no copying or stealing, please!

#bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #ranpo edogawa #ranpo x reader #ranpo edogawa x reader #ranpo edogawa fluff #ranpo fluff #bungo stray dogs ranpo #bsd ranpo #bsd fluff #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd fanfic #bsd scenarios #bsd x female reader #signed by misa ৻ꪆ

[joeloverture]

comeuppance | qz!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | notifs blog

pairing: qz!joel miller x f!reader summary: [post outbreak] when your recklessness causes an arms deal to go south, joel makes sure you regret it. warnings: (18+ mdni) qz!joel, age gap (late 20s/early 50s), written with hbo!joel in mind but with game!joel lore, guns, mentioned executions, misogynistic names outside (and in!) a sexual context, canon-typical violence as in murder (joel kills a soldier 'on-screen'), reader is a little shit but joel is worse, darkish & dubcon, spanking as a punishment, gunplay, attempted boot humping, degradation, humiliation, one kick to the cunt, mean!joel, orgasm denial [no use of y/n] word count: 2.7k a/n: this is my (admittedly late) submission for @iamasaddie's writing challenge 2.0! my prompt was 'you can't hide forever'. the genre was technically dark but joel himself isn't scarily dark here. thank you so much to aly for, once again, bringing this fandom together with her challenges. it's a steep task but she does a great job every time! and even more thanks to @joelsdagger and @lovesickonmybed for helping me brainstorm! (i have half of a brain without my wonderfully creative friends).

It only takes one deal gone south to fuck everything up.

You know the compass is already ticking that way the moment you and Joel, your longtime smuggling partner, enter the abandoned warehouse. Much like everything else in the Boston QZ, it’s falling apart. The corrugated metal walls are pitted with rust, and old blood is caked all over the floors. In another life, it might’ve been a slaughterhouse, but there’s no real way of knowing. It’s been long enough that any signage has deteriorated. The building’s state of decay, however, isn’t what messes things up.

It’s the singular man that walks in from the opposite side of the atrium.

FEDRA’s favorite executioner. Slitted eyes far apart, thinned out lips, and graying black hair. Rarely seen away from the gallows, only recognizable to you from all of the nightmares you’ve had of his face being the last you see.

If it were drugs, you’d think nothing of it. FEDRA soldiers buy quietly from you all of the time – but they have no need for guns that they don’t already have.

Joel steps forward, merchandise in the duffel bag over his shoulder, none the wiser. A knot ties itself in the base of your throat. You’re too busy trying to figure out what to do, what to do, what to do that you barely even realize that the soldier has a gun aimed right between your eyes until you’re looking right down the barrel.

Your hand jerks to your holster, drawing your pistol in one swipe.

“Drop your fucking gun!” he barks in your direction. It clatters out of your hands. “Don’t you dare fucking move.” Your hands fly up as you take a step back, nearly stumbling into a nearby crate. “Joel Miller and his bitch,” the man sneers. “What a lucky find. You two have quite the bounty on your heads.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Joel says, face completely blank.

“Easy for you to say,” the guard says with a nagging smirk. “Your little cunt here already did. Pretty fucking dumb not to check who you’re selling your merchandise to, huh?”

Joel tenses, ultimately huffing through his nose. “Can we get this over with?”

“I’ll make it easy, Miller. Come with me alive so I get paid, or come with me dead so I still get paid.”

Joel’s fingers twitch behind his back, and after almost three years of working with him, it’s impossible not to pick up on the subtext. Keep him busy. His hand is already reaching for the revolver in his back pocket.

“Turn the other way. I can make this worth your time,” you say. “But you’re lucky if those sons of bitches you work for even offer you half the reward they’ve posted for us. Dragging the bodies from Area 5 to the closest checkpoint… you’d have your work cut out for you.”

“Yeah fucking right,” he spits. “You two have been running around free for too damn long. Causing too much trouble. Not anymo–”

The man’s mouth freezes around the words by the time the bullet soars throat the canvas fabric of Joel’s duffel bag and through the man’s jugular. The soldier’s hands claw for his throat while he gargles on the blood as he begins the descent to the ground. New blood, still pumping directionless from the split artery, joins the old.

Much like him, where he’s slumping against the ground, chest moving until the very end, your hands clutch at your own throat. “We need to go,” you say, knowing the rest of FEDRA will come looking for the firefight at any second now. Joel doesn’t move. “Joel!” You reach out to tug his sleeve, but he doesn’t react. “Jesus– move!”

Joel turns to face you, gun still hanging from his hand. His fingers flex around the grip. “What the hell were you thinkin’, little girl?” You can hear his breathing, amplified from how close he is to you. His once inexpressive face is now red, lips curled, skin tight like a crushed soda can. 

“I– what?”

“Not vettin’ your buyers. First fuckin’ thing I told you all them years ago, wasn’t it? Gotta check so you don’t sell shit to the wrong guy, yeah?” He stalks closer to you – you stumble back.

Not vetting the now dead executioner, whose blood is currently creeping up to the soles of your boots. Your mistake, yes, a potentially catastrophic one that you’ll definitely never make again after this, but he’d been on your ass about finding buyers and after an entire day of burning bodies, the last thing you wanted to do was go asking around about the ‘John’ in search of guns that you’d talked to over the radio tower.

“We’re alive, aren’t we?”

Joel finally jerks his sleeve away from your grip. Your hand falls slack by your side, burning from his fire stoker touch. “And you oughta count your fuckin’ blessings for that. Dumbfuck of a girl, gonna get me killed,” he spits. Spittle flies across your neck. 

You flinch – and not because you’re scared. You’ve never seen him like this before. You hear noise in the distance, the moving of FEDRA trucks, no doubt. “Joel! We can do this later – we need to fucking go–”

“Then you better start running,” he says gruffly.

You don’t need to be told twice.

You sprint out of the atrium, cursing as your bloodied soles carve tracks behind you. A stack of crates blocks the door, which you vault over and shimmy your way through the broken glass panel. The hallway ahead of you is dark, and you have no idea where the fuck you’re going, only that you can’t stop. Each impact of your foot on the ground is like being struck by lightning, carbonating the racing blood pumping through your body. More glass crunches behind you, and a shock of terror pierces you when you hear Joel’s snarls filling the corridor.

There’s a metal cart in your way, which you send whirling in Joel’s direction. He grunts, presumably hitting him in the stomach before it goes clattering on the ground. You make the most of the diversion, hurtling forward and lurching through a cracked door.

Dead fucking end.

An office, by the looks of it. Desks all over the place, leftover tasks still pinned on cork boards from outbreak day, chairs on their sides. You hear Joel huffing and puffing behind you, and fear forks through you. You fall to your hands and knees, crawling underneath the labyrinth of desks and tucking yourself against a wall, carpet-burned hand to your mouth to muffle your breathing. Your chest avalanches with every single breath.

“You ain’t off the hook,” Joel says, voice getting closer with every word. You can hear the thump of his boots against the carpet. See the spread of his shadow roaming across the wall. You squint through the seam of two desks. He's looking over his shoulder when you haul yourself across the room to the next closest desk.

You look around for anything that might get you out of this long enough to slip back out of the door. If you can make it back to the apartment, maybe he can cool off on his own walk back. You reach up for a stapler and take a brief second to peek over a filing cabinet before flinging it against the wall. It snaps open, spilling decades old staples all over the floor.

“Only a clicker’s fallin’ for that,” he tuts at you. His boots land on the floor again, one, two, three steps closer to you. You wince, balling your hands into fists. 

All you can hear is the thrashing of your own heart. You scooch away from the desk – maybe if you throw something small at him, like a pack of sticky notes, it’ll be enough to abduct his attention long enough for you to slip by–

“You can’t hide forever,” Joel goddamn coos at you. You see him bending at the waist, scoping out the undersides of desks, seeking you out–

You crawl out from under the desk and book it to the door.

Stupid. Fucking. Idea.

Joel hauls you back by the belt loop, laughing as you cry out. You try squirming away, kicking at him, but his other arm wraps around your torso. It hits you then that you have no idea what he might do to you. You’ve trusted him with your life before, but what would he do when you risked his? You’d always been too scared to find out. He spins you, slamming you over the desk. You cry out as your chest meets the wood. His hand drags your wrists together, pinning them at the small of your back.

“Let me – the fuck– go!” you yell at him, trying to bend your elbow at the right angle to nail him in the chest.

He tightens his grip so much that you can barely move an inch. “Made your fuckin’ bed, gotta lie in it, sweetheart,” he tuts, shaking his head at you. His hand grazes over your ass, and you stiffen as he looms over you. He is just a man. Your mind spins to the worst-case scenario. No, no, no, no–

“How about an… old-fashioned corporal punishment to set ya straight?” Within the next second, he’s yanking your jeans down your thighs.

Oh. Oh fuck.

“Joel–” you exhale, breath shuddery. “Knock it off–”

“No panties? I was gonna be nice and spank ya over them…” Joel frowns at you. “Poor baby. ‘S gonna sting real bad.”

You snap at him, “What, you want me to go to the local QZ Victoria’s Secret?”

Joel swats, hard, across your asscheek.

You’ve seen how intense Joel’s brute strength can be. You’ve just never been on the receiving end of it. A cry pushes out of your throat, and you hunch over the desk as you struggle helplessly against Joel. Tears spring at your eyes.

Mercifully, Joel runs his calloused palm over the smarting skin. “Shh, shh, shh, shh. ‘S okay, Jus’ gotta teach ya a lesson. Make sure it sticks.” He strokes the nape of your neck as you whimper into the desk.

You tense up in preparation for the second hit, but, if anything, it just makes the impact worse. It prickles your other cheek, leaving your knees shaky. And God help you, your clit twitches. Twitches. Your thighs are already heating up, and you can’t help but squirm in a good way underneath Joel. A single tear slips over your waterline, and you have to tilt your head into the shoulder of your shirt to wipe it off. You don’t want him to see you weak – not that weak.

The next spank makes him grunt from how hard he swings his palm into your backside. “Joel!” you shout, pain nearly splitting you in two. Your feet raise off of the ground as you prop yourself up on the desk, kicking uselessly at his shins. All he does is chuckle at you.

Horror sinks like a cinderblock in your stomach when you realize that your hole, leaking slick, is practically fucking winking at him. You thank the darkness. It’s about the only good thing about this place.

“You don’t like that?” he mock-pouts at you. It’s enough to make you throb. The opposite, you’d say if you could.

A series of spanks follows, but at least these are lighter, and in rapid succession. Still, you jerk with each impact, squirming so that your fingers dance in his grip. “Stupid little girl. Thought you could sell our shit to a FEDRA bitch and get off scot-free? Really thought you could get away from me, huh?”

You try clamming up, desperately attempting to close your legs together. You squeeze your thighs together, relieved at the pressure – and then you hear a resounding click behind you.

You still.

Joel’s gun, still fucking hot from the bullet it’d fired right into the executioner’s throat, traces up the small of your back… all the way to your throat. “Could put one right here,” Joel whispers, more to himself than you. “Show ya what happens to girls that don’t follow orders.” He jams it into your skin, and you hiss at the pain, at the bruise it’s sure to leave. And in spite of it all, you fucking gush. God, you’re fucked up.

He wouldn’t kill you – he needs you more than you need him. But common sense isn’t enough to prevent the thrill, the arousal smiting your body from head to toe.

“I’ll reconsider if ya give it a kiss.” He nudges the barrel carefully against your lips and you stop breathing for a second, maybe two. “Go on. Give it some lovin’. Suck it like a cock. I know you’re good at it. Hear all the guys you bring over.”

You whimper at the thought of Joel listening to you getting your hook ups off – at the thought of him fisting his own cock while he listens. Obediently, you part your lips, slowly, ever so slowly, taking the gun down your throat. It fills your mouth up in such a strange way – all hard edges. It’d be freezing cold if not for the fact that it’s a weapon of death, a scythe in its own way. One press of the trigger, and you’d be just like the guard. You suck even harder at it, eyes rolling back in your skull. Your thighs twitch, stripes of slick running down your thighs. 

Joel reaches between your legs, grabbing at the meat of your inner thigh to spread you open. Instead, he gets a handful of the arousal that’s been pooling between your legs since he first bent you over the desk.

You freeze, pausing your ministrations on the pistol. He himself freezes before he drags his hips over your folds. His finger pads hover over your swollen clit before he properly rubs you once, and then twice. Your hips cant into the closest thing – his hand.

Joel makes a disgusted noise and swats your leaking pussy before shoving you forward and stepping back. You’re panting, properly fucked out even though he’d barely touched you. Cross-eyed, tongue hanging out, face hot. He looks you up and down, brows furrowing with revulsion. “Horny fuckin’ bitch. Creamin’ all over me. That long since you got action that a spankin’ and a gun in your mouth is all it takes to get you riled up? Pathetic.” He shoves the gun back in his pocket, still shining with your saliva.

He wipes your wetness all over your leg, grabs the back of your collar, and drags you to the floor in one foul swoop. You fall on your hands and knees again, ass still stinging from his treatment, lightheaded from how needy you are. Even his brutal treatment makes you whimper. 

You reach for his calf, pulling yourself up to brace your dripping cunt against his boot. You rut against it, not even fully cognizant of your movements as you roll your hips, praying that he lets you have this if nothing else. Your orgasm, wetting his boot thoroughly. Your scent, clinging to him on the walk back to the apartment. You buck into the boot, moaning as the toe bumps against your clit. It might be enough, if you could just do it one more time–

Joel tears his shoe out from underneath you, face pinched with aversion. “No!” you cry, still grabbing for his calf. You fall onto your back, legs spread and panting. Your ass needles from his spanking. The ceiling tiles spin above you. 

The same toe you’d been humping kicks into your cunt, and you yelp, curling in on yourself. Another tear slides down your burning cheek as you reach down to cup your sore pussy. Even that pressure feels like touching a live wire. 

Joel looks down at his shining boot and makes a disgusted noise. “Does humiliatin’ yourself always get ya dicked down?” 

He turns around, already walking away from you without a care in the world. The gun grip pokes out of his pocket, taunting you.

“Pull your goddamn pants up and get a move on. Curfew’s soon.”

#vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller/reader #joel miller fic #writing challenge 2.0

[loveforsatoru]

hello !!!!!!!!!

I don't have anything specific, so idk, satoru with a five years old daughter? he would be such a cute and loving father 😓 i’m done, this life where I can't have satoru’s baby is killing me!!!!

this idea is so cute. i literally think about satoru as a dad all the time and it gives me major baby fever.

—

you never once thought that you could ever be this happy. what did you do to deserve it? maybe it’s the universe paying you back for all the times you’ve suffered in life both alone and your relationship with satoru. you’d been dating since high school, but it wasn’t easy. there was so much ache, time spent apart, and issues that you didn’t know if you could overcome. sleepless nights, occasional arguments and interference from your jobs drove your relationship into rocky paths, but at the end of the day, he never forgot to tell you he loved you even when you felt like the most unloveable person alive. through all the difficult times, the highs and the lows, he was always there and never once intended on leaving, so he sealed that promise with a ring and his vows.

you got married a couple years after high school. you were only 22, but your life couldn’t have turned out more perfect. it’s been 10 years and the love never died down. if anything, it grows with each passing day. now that you have a five year old daughter together, there’s only more to look forward to in the days to come.

satorus been away on a mission for a few weeks and you still have no idea when he’s going to come back. it hurts your daughter just as much as it hurts you. everyday, she asks when he’s going to come home and it breaks your heart to tell her, “i don’t know, but it’ll be soon.” when you weren’t even sure yourself. thankfully, satoru could never forget about the two most important people in his life and remembers to call in the morning and before your daughter goes to sleep, never missing a day.

besides today. your phone hasn’t rang once and it’s making you uneasy, your head racing with the worst possible thoughts. you have faith in satoru and his strength, but you can’t help but worry about him. he works a dangerous job and coming home is never a 100% guarantee.

you’re snapped out of trance when you feel a tug on your dress and little voice. your daughter is looking up at you, small hands tightly balled around the fabric of your dress while her blue eyes, identical to her fathers start to well up with tears.

“what’s wrong, baby?” you ask, picking her up into your arms and brushing a strand of white hair away from her face.

she doesn’t say anything at first and just buries her face into your neck where she begins to cry.

you attempt to calm her down, patting her back and getting her to look at you once more, “please dont cry… tell me what’s wrong and i’ll make it better.”

she speaks through uneven breaths, chubby cheeks now stained with tear streaks, “i called daddy but he didn’t answer.” speaking these words only caused her to cry again and it breaks your heart.

“don’t worry, he’ll come back. he’s okay and he’s safe. he’s just busy.” but the words are a form of consolation to you too. you’re trying your best to remain strong for your daughter, but it’s hard. being a mom is hard.

you walk over to the couch in the living and sit down, setting her on your lap while you wipe away her stray tears.

“listen to me for a second, okay?”

she rests her head on your chest, her breathing still ragged, but she’s no longer crying.

“your dad works really really hard for us. he wants us to live a good life, so he can’t always be home and he can’t always pick up the phone, but he tries as much as he can. we just have to be patient and wait for him to come home again. but he loves you very much. if he doesn’t answer the phone, it’s because he’s busy, not because he forgot about you, okay? the last thing he wants is for you to think he’s forgotten about you.”

she nods her head in understanding before asking one last question, one you don’t know the answer to.

“but when will he come back?”

now, you’re the one who has tears prickling in the corners of your eyes as your throat begins to sting, “i don’t know.” you wish you knew. you wish you could tell her he’s coming back today or the day after, but the uncertainty nips at your thoughts constantly.

what you don’t expect is for satoru to be standing right outside the door to your shared home, overhearing everything you just said. it tugs at his heart strings, but he’s here now.

he digs through his pocket and pulls out his key to unlock the door, the familiar jangle echoing through the house and your daughter immediately runs up to the door, squealing when he makes his way inside.

he scoops her up into his arms and litters her face in kisses, holding onto her tightly, “i’ve missed you so much, munchkin.”

you stay frozen in your spot on the couch, going wide eyed as another tear falls down your cheek and you don’t even notice it.

he gives you a smile from across the room while your daughter babbles on and on to him about what he’s missed. he listens intently, cherishing the moments that she’ll be little for as long as he can.

“and at school, we went on a field trip to the park and i found a butterfly but it flew away,” she pouts, “daddy, can you get me a butterfly?”

he chuckles and nods his head, “of course i can.” he would never say no to her. she could ask him for a piece of the moon and he’d do it.

you watch as he tickles her belly and she erupts into laughter, grabbing onto his shoulder for support.

“i have a surprise for you,” he whispers, giving her cheek another big kiss.

she claps her hands together, “what is it?” excitement laced in her voice which makes satorus smile grow wider.

he shifts through his briefcase before pulling out a small box of munchkins, “munchkins for my munchkin!”

she lets out a near scream and takes the box in her grubby hands, already popping one in her mouth.

“daddy, say ahhh,” she says with a mouth full of munchkins.

satoru does as she tells him to and opens his mouth enough for her to feed one to him, “thank you, munchkin!”

your heart swells watching them interact. he’s a good dad. you both talked about being parents together so many times and now that it’s happened, it still doesn’t feel entirely real, like you’re dreaming, but if this were a dream, you wouldn’t open your eyes.

you stand up and walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his torso, tighter than usual, inhaling his scent which you’ve spent all this time missing. you feel whole again and your nerves have eased up.

he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to your lips, “hi, sweetheart.”

“i missed you.”

he wipes your tears away with the pad of his thumb before wrapping an arm around you, the other holding your daughter, “i missed you more. both of you. gosh, i felt like i was gonna die if i had to be away for another day.” it may sound like an exaggeration, but to satoru it’s nothing less than the truth. it was agonizing to be apart from his wife and the mini version of him. he missed waking up next to you, missed helping your daughter with her homework and reading bedtimes stories before bed.

but you’re together again and that’s all that matters. you’ve never been more relieved to watch a familiar face walk through the door.

#gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo fanfic #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x you #dad!gojo #fluff #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #satoru gojo fluff #parent au #jjk angst #angst to fluff #angst to comfort #gojo angst #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #i love gojo #satoru gojo #jujutsu kaisen x you

[etherealyoungk]

the boy next door | choi seungcheol

✩ seventeen as romantic tropes series ✩ masterlist ✩

PAIRING: seungcheol x reader

THEMES: boy next door trope, mutual pining, fluff, pinch of angst

WARNINGS: kissing, shirtless cheol-

WORDCOUNT: 2017

A/N: enjoy <3

choi seungcheol, he had always been the boy next door. ever since you moved into the neighbourhood four years ago, you got to know him and his family. it was like there was just a spontaneous spark between your family and his and they bonded immediately. you'd gone to the same school as seungcheol, become good friends with him, and graduated highschool together. and now here you were going to his family's beach house for a little summer vacation before college started.

"are you packing to move to the beach permanently?", seungcheol questions when he sees the way you're sitting on your suitcase and trying to close it, because it won't seem to zip close otherwise, not with the way you've stuffed it full.

"shut up if you're not going to be of any help", you tell, frustrated, struggling even more.

seungcheol wordlessly bends down the same moment you slide off the suitcase. he pushes it down with one hand, his ridiculously big bicep flexing as his other hand finds the zip and he manages to close it with ease and grace, unlike you.

he looks at you, proud and you give him a thumbs up. "are you excited?", he asks you. "very, gotta use the last of my freedom before college starts", you tell as you sit on the floor.

"well, i'll see you tomorrow, i should head back, mom's been after me because i still haven't packed", he says, getting up and ruffling your hair in the process before he leaves.

your and seungcheol's dynamic was like close friends. you two had grown close over the years, sharing countless memories and inside jokes. but this year felt different somehow as if there was an unspoken shift in the air and you couldn't help but feel something, something that tugged at your heartstrings.

the next day you bid your parents goodbye for the next two weeks and you're sitting in the car, seungcheol beside you as you head to his family's beach house. you were more than excited and ready for this vacation. you fall asleep in the middle of the journey, resting your head on seungcheol's shoulder as you doze off. after a while you feel someone softly shake you awake and your eyes flutter open.

"wake up sleepyhead, we've reached", seungcheol says as you lift your head up, still sleepy. he proceeds to clutch his shoulder dramatically, telling you how inconvenienced he was and you smack him, annoyed, but you can tell by the way he laughs and smiles stupidly that he was teasing you he like he did.

that day you don't really do much other than settling in the small room you had and helping his mom with preparing dinner while seungcheol was off on a side quest his dad had sent him.

the next day, the sun was already high in the sky as you made your way towards the beach, the salty breeze teasing your skin and tousling your hair. you're wearing shorts and a crop top and you felt the warmth of the sun against your bare arms, a sense of freedom washing over you with every step.

you're halfway to the beach when you hear seungcheol call out for you. you turn around and your jaw almost drops to the ground. why?

because seungcheol was shirtless, his bare chest basking in the sunlight. his toned body and physique was on full display. it was like a scene from a movie and for a moment, you found yourself frozen in awe as you stared at him. "wait up", he says as he jogs towards you with an easy smile, catching up to you. you can feel your heart rate quicken as he closes the distance, his presence commanding attention with every step. you have to pry your gaze away from his sculpted form, and you focus on the ground beneath your feet, willing yourself to regain composure.

together, you continued towards the beach, the sound of the crashing waves growing louder with each passing moment. despite your best efforts to maintain a casual demeanour, the image of seungcheol's shirtless figure lingered in your mind, sending a flurry of butterflies dancing in your stomach as you tried to keep your eyes straight and not dart towards his side.

you walk towards the water and sigh as the cool water envelops your feet, a contented sigh escapes your lips, the sensation of the wet sand between your toes grounding you in the moment. you close your eyes, feeling the breeze tangle in your hair. but your tranquillity was short-lived as a sudden splash of water jolts you from your moment, drawing your gaze to the mischievous grin of none other than seungcheol.

a playful glint dances in his eyes as he launches another playful splash at you, the droplets of water peppering your skin. "oh you're asking for it aren't you", you tell with a teasing grin of your own, bending down to scoop some water in your hands and retaliating with a splash of your own. you both walk a little deeper into the water and he splashes you again. his hands grab your waist as he captures you in his grip and you've been utterly defeated. you let out a laugh as he loosens his grip on you and you turn around, looking at him. his hands linger on your waist and you gulp as you try to calm your racing heart.

the next week goes by and you're having fun and having a great time relaxing, spending time with seungcheol's family and having some wind-down time for yourself as well. the only thing that seemed to really affect you and your brain chemistry? the fact that seungcheol was practically walking around shirtless the entire time. you swear it was like he hadn't even packed any shirts because you don't think you'd seen one on him apart from once.

as the days went on, the realisation that you liked seungcheol crept up to you like the tide rolling in and you couldn't shake the nagging feeling that your feelings for seungcheol were evolving into something more than mere friendship. it was starting to make you feel restless and uneasy.

you found yourself lying awake in bed, thinking about seungcheol. despite spending every day together, it was never enough. there was a craving for more, a desire for more of his company, more of his laughter, more of him. so you decide to create some distance between you and seungcheol because that was the only way you could think of to deal with your complicated emotions.

seungcheol notices on the second day. he notices the subtle changes in your behaviour, the way you're not spending time with him like you were, somehow always being holed up in your room more often than before. the way you would make excuses to stay back whenever he was going to the local market or on an errand his dad sent him on instead of tagging along like you always did. just the way you were keeping a distance from him, talking less, not your usual self had him worried and the distance started to eat away at his heart. had he done something wrong?

the next day he decides to do something about it. so he climbs up your balcony late into the cool night and knocks on your window, startling you.

"seungcheol what the hell?", you nearly shout when you see him balancing on your balcony with that stupid grin that made you heart somersault. thankfully he was wearing a shirt otherwise you would have sworn you'd have gone insane otherwise.

"i want to show you something", he tells, offering his hand to you.

"i'm tired, later okay", you tell, making an excuse. seungcheol's smile falters a but his determination does not.

"please, you can only see it today", he says, reaching for your hand anyway, not willing to let you get away this time.

you glare at him but give in and seungcheol beckons you to climb out the window and follow him.

"what-i am not climbing the roof seungcheol what is wrong with you?", you whisper yell because it's late into the night and you don't want to wake his parents up.

"trust me okay", he tells, taking your hand, holding it firmly and helping you climb onto the roof. you're gripping onto seungcheol's hand so tight once you get on the roof, scared and the sudden height makes you dizzy, making you stand closer to him. his arm finds your waist to help steady and ground you and he guides you to a small portion of the roof. he sits down and so do you.

"care to explain why we're here?", you prompt, looking at seungcheol.

"look up, see that constellation over there?", he says, pointing out to it. your eyes search the night sky for the constellation he was pointing at, expecting something extraordinary but it was only the same old one you see every day.

"but i see that every day", you tell, giving him an unbelievable look.

"exactly, just like you see me everyday. so why are you suddenly avoiding me?", he asks with a raise of his brow as he looks deepy into your eyes.

"i-i'm not avoiding you", you tell, lying but seungcheol can see right through you.

"seriously yn? you expect me to believe that?", he asks, giving you another look as he runs a hand through his hair. "what's going on? you can tell me", he assures, looking at you and waiting for you to speak, giving you that space.

you sigh and look ahead, watching the beach, the water mostly still apart from small waves. the salty breeze tangles into your hair and the night is chilly, stars peppering the deep blue night sky. how could tell seungcheol you liked him?

"it's stupid okay and not important", you tell, dismissing the topic and your feelings. "it's not stupid if it's bothering you", he says, looking at you with those big, sweet, brown eyes that you can't help but fall for deeper.

you gulp. "i think i like you", you tell so softly after a few moments of silence. your words are so soft that seungcheol would have missed it if he wasn't listening so carefully and you see the small wave of emotion that ripples through his face and eyes.

"i told you it's stupid, just forget i said anything", you tell, moving to get up but seungcheol doesn't let you, holding you back down.

"don't i get a say in this?", he asks, and the tone of his voice makes you sit up straighter somehow.

"no? it'll be embarrassing if you're going to reject me, it's better if we stay friends anyway", you tell, already feeling nervous.

"i think i like you too", he says, his words cutting into the tense air between you both and you can only blink at him as he gazes at you.

"you know when we went to prom together because no other guy asked you out and i took you since you were so excited and wanted to go? that's the moment i realised i liked you, liked you more than friends. you were glowing that night", he fills in, his words making your breath catch.

and you both continue to look at each other until you break eye contact, nervous and a little overwhelmed.

"we shouldn't", you tell softly. "why not?", he asks, moving closer his hand coming to cup your cheek and you steal a glance at his lips. he leans in slowly and you do too until his lips meet yours and he leaves a soft kiss on your lips. he pulls away, looking at you, only to be pulled back as you grab his shirt, kissing him again.

he kisses you back, slowly moving his lips against yours and you sigh into the kiss because no matter how many times you had imagined this moment, nothing would compare to the real one right now.

seungcheol kisses you sweetly under the moonlight and star-speckled sky and all you can do is kiss him back because nothing could have prepared you for how hard you would fall for the boy next door.

taglist: @biboramp3 @naaaaafla @weird-bookworm @icyminghao @blue-jisungs @wootify @n4mj00nvq @itsveronicaxxx @fallingforshua29 @joshuaahong @frankenstein852 @lvlystars @mirxzii @wheeboo @fairyhaos @kikohao @rubywonu @odxrilove @writingmeraki @asasilentreader @kwonshiho @belladaises @graybaeismytae @mykpopficblog @seunghancore @emotionalsupportboy @moodays @avaaahuang

#skye's 4k event! #seventeen as romantic tropes by skye! #k-labels #caratlibrary #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen drabbles #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #svt fluff #svt drabbles #svt scenarios #svt x reader #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol fluff #seungcheol x reader #scoups fluff #scoups imagines #scoups x reader

[creatingblackcharacters]

🌹Ice's Lazy Loc Wash Routine🌹

I wanna preface this with two very important things:

I do not retwist my own locs! It would take far longer if I did. I have the tools and the means, and I know how to do it. I just hate doing it 🤣. It takes patience and arm strength and I lack the will. When I have the money I just schedule a retwist. Usually about every three months (which is longer than usual)

This is the way EYE do it! This is one experience out of countless, so don't assume my way is THEE way. There are people that will probably scream at me through the screen. But alas... It is "lazy" Loc wash day for a reason. And I do still care for my hair, and it's healthy and thriving for seven years (as of this Wednesday) 👍🏾

Okay? Okay.

Washing

The misconception about locs is that they are dirty. They're no "dirtier" than any other type of hair, nor do they require dirt to lock. That's a lie, and a racist one at that.

That being said, locs will end up holding the weight of life lol. Skin, sweat, dust, pollen, smells (and for me, bc I have dermatitis, scabs); all those things will end up weighing your locs down. Some people will do an Apple Cider Vinegar and Baking Soda wash to detox their locs.

However, I use this!

Essentially it's water, apple cider vinegar, orange peel, and some essential oils in a spray bottle, so I can spray it directly on my scalp and locs and massage it in deeply. Let it sit for a bit. Because I only wash my hair every 2 weeks or so, it's fine, but I wouldn't do this if I was washing it more frequently as it could mess up my scalp pH. Again, I have painful dermatitis, so it helps me get closer to my problem spots. Does it burn? Yes. It's working 👍🏾

Then I use this soap bar, which has things like coconut oil, aloe vera, eucalyptus, tea tree, almond, lemongrass, and more in it to scrub my scalp. You're supposed to rub it into your hands and scrub it in, so naturally I put the bar directly on my scalp. Be better than me. Smells AMAZING though and leaves my scalp clearer than it has ever been.

Medicated Shampoo

I use a medicated shampoo last. While that sits, I bathe 👍🏾 Bathe well, too 👍🏾 Please make sure your characters are bathing when they wash their hair 👍🏾

Once I'm done, I gently pull my locs apart (they WILL start tangling at the root IMMEDIATELY), then I wrap my hair in a beach towel. You're supposed to use t shirts because they're softer on curls, but I don't like water dripping on me while I get dressed. I put on easy to wear clothing. Tits loose clothing. I gotta be comfortable.

Medication

So if you know me, this is something I complain about ALL THE TIME. And it's how dermatology does NOT cater to Black patients! Even my shampoo says "for 30 days, wash every night". I'm Black with locs. My shampoos last for months bc that is impossible without me sacrificing my entire night, every night. Even if I had an Afro, we're still not supposed to wash our hair every night for fear of stripping the natural oils.

So I have to DEMAND I be given a medicated liquid solution. No petroleum based products!! A solution is the easiest way to reach my scalp. Does it burn? Yes. It's working. 👍🏾

So if your character has a skin issue (dermatitis, psoriasis, exzema excema eczema) on the scalp... Solutions are the easy way to go.

Moisturizing

I promise this isn't free ads lmao, I just happen to be experimenting with this company and I like what I've seen so far. This is a real lite oil spray with rose water and essential oils, and it cools my scalp.

Aloe Vera, the goddess of healing. Also cools my scalp and addresses those burning, pink spots from my dermatitis.

Drying

Drying depends on the length and thickness of your locs, and the temperature. Mine are shoulder length, pencil thick. Today I dried at real high heat (unintentionally) and it only took about an hour. At a lesser, safer heat, about two. This hair dryer bag is LIFE fr.

Conclusion

If I don't have anywhere else to go (and I don't, bc I plan my loc wash days like this) I spray my scalp with oil one more time, put on my loc sock, and then I'm done 👍🏾

Total time today: about two hours. Normally 3 at a lower dry temp. Not bad at all.

#creatingblackcharacters #black hair

[unseededtoast]

Shadow of Obsession | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Part Two

Series summary: In which you find that love is an obsession that can quickly spiral out of control.

Also cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. Link to my masterlist for everything else I’ve posted!

Part One

"And for a glimpse of her, I'd run to the ends of the Earth."

You wake before the sun rises, your mind still an entangled web of thoughts from the night before. Rubbing your eyes, you quickly remember that Spencer stayed over and you at least owe him breakfast. You know that the futon isn't the most comfortable, especially not for someone his size. And though you had told him at least two more times before bed that he didn't have to stay, he was adamant that he didn't mind. And plus, it's not the first time he's stayed over and you hope it isn't the last. It's nice to be able to wake up and have someone there. Things can get lonely sometimes.

With sleep still heavy in your eyes, you walk to the kitchen and decide to make pancakes; something simple yet sweet enough to satiate Spencer's sweet tooth. Plus it's a good excuse to use the strawberries in your fridge, they're about to go bad in a few days.

It doesn't take long before the pancakes are ready and the smell wakes Spencer. You try to hide your smile as he saunters to the table, his hair messy from the night. It's endearing, how casual he is when it's just the two of you. Usually Spencer is guarded to some extent, but when it's just the two of you, there's nothing to hide. You had seen each other at extreme lows and celebrated the highs together for years.

"These are so good." He says as he goes to take another bite. You're still not sure how he's so thin considering his diet is likely 70% sugar. And you've often thought that if things don't work out with the BAU that you could find employment at Spencer's personal chef.

"Take as many berries as you want." You nudge the container over to him, hoping he takes more so that they don't go to waste. Thankfully he reaches in for another handful of them.

You finish your breakfast before he does, and you try to hide the yawns from him. But unfortunately, he can read you just a little too well. Before he even opens his mouth to ask a question you see him frown and his eyebrows draw close.

"How'd you sleep?" He finally asks, breaking the momentary silence. You contemplate lying for only a split second but realize it wouldn't be worth the argument.

"Not well. My mind just kept racing." You tell him, to which his frown deepens. He eats another strawberry before he answers.

"I've been there before. It's easy to fixate on something and obsess over it. But we'll find out who sent them, Monday morning." His tone of finality puts you at ease, and you hope he's right. Even if he thinks this endeavor is silly, you know he will help you see it through, that's just how you two are.

You offer him a soft thanks and let the room fall back into a comfortable silence. And for the first time ever you find yourself anxious for a Monday morning.

-----

The air is crisp as you walk into work Monday, your footsteps are quick and your heart pounds, eager to get some answers. Your bag slung over your shoulder hits your back with every step, exacerbating the nerves. Before Spencer left on Sunday evening, he had assured you that he would go with you to ask the receptionist and you hope he's already in the office waiting on you, for you're not sure if you have the strength to wait for him.

When the elevator dings you rush into the office, but your mood is instantly turned sour. Something just isn't right. You feel Derek's eyes on you, you see Emily peek at you from overtop her monitor. Even JJ lets her gaze linger as she walks by. And eventually your eyes land on Spencer, who's standing in front of your desk with an unreadable expression.

Quickly, you walk to your desk and see what's caused the off kilter atmosphere. There, in the middle of your desk, is a brand new bouquet of flowers. A mixture of red, yellow, and white tulips. They're beautiful, but for some reason they make your stomach turn. Your eyes are quick to see the note hidden amongst the green stems, and you snatch it from the vase.

"Each bloom is a chapter of our story so far, a story not yet complete." You read out loud, blood feeling like ice running through your veins. With a shaking hand you pass the note to Spencer, whose eyes betray his calm demeanor.

"This is-this is not a coincidence." He confirms your fears and you nod, fighting back the bile in your throat.

"What do these flowers mean, Spence?" You ask him, trying to keep your voice level to mask just how unnerved you are. He sighs and looks at the flowers before speaking.

"Red represents passion and love, yellow stands for hopeless love and jealousy, and white is forgiveness." He says, your eyes moving to each color as he speaks.

"Forgiveness?" It strikes you odd that whoever is sending these included something that represents forgiveness. Spencer's eyes narrow and you can tell he's using his profiler mind and not his friend mind anymore.

"It's like whoever sent these is telling you they forgive you of something, and that they still hold strong romantic feelings." His words do not comfort you.

"What would they have to forgive me for?" You shake your head, trying to find some sort of answer. You stayed holed up in your apartment with Spencer all weekend. It's not like you were around other people where you could've inadvertently offended someone.

"I'm not sure." Spencer's voice is still soft, and he lays the note next to the vase.

"What should we do?" You ask, hoping he has some idea. You're not sure if you should make a deal of this or just leave it be and hope that whoever is responsible loses interest soon. Spencer shrugs,

"That's up to you. I'll support whatever you decide." He says, resting a hand on your shoulder.

Before he returns to his desk your eyes linger on the flowers. You're no closer to an answer than you were a few moments ago and so you hope that the answer will come to you as you go about your day.

But trying to concentrate on your mystery becomes increasingly difficult as the maintenance workers continue replacing the cameras. Their tools are noisy, they're noisy, and it doesn't allow for an atmosphere that condones constructive thinking in any capacity. The sound of a drill echoes through the bullpen and you stand from your desk, unable to take it any longer.

Your feet take you to the one place you know those workers wouldn't dare try to install cameras, Penelope's office. You knock on her door and her smiling face answers in record time. She welcomes you into her office which is quiet and you feel yourself relax instantly.

"Welcome back." She smiles as she shuts the door behind you. You take a seat and are immediately grateful that she's so secretive and protective over her technology.

"Thank you for letting me stay here for a little." You practically invite yourself into her space but you know she won't mind. You let your eyes close in an attempt to try and concentrate and she takes her own seat and types for a little while before you hear her chair spin around.

"I love having you here, don't get me wrong, but, why exactly are you here?" You knew her curiosity was going to get the best of her. And you suppose that if you're invading her space you owe her at least a little bit of an explanation.

"The people installing the new cameras are too loud, couldn't think." You tell her with a sigh and run a hand over your face to try and rid the frustration that lingers.

"It's weird that it's taking them more than a day. I haven't been able to connect to them yet." She says and glances over at her monitor.

"I wish you could. Someone left flowers again." You further explain, knowing that you can trust her. Besides Spencer, Penelope has grown to be one of your closest confidants. You see her eyebrow arch.

"More flowers?" You nod, confirming her question.

"With a note this time. Each flower represented a chapter of our unwritten story." You summarize for her, trying to remain calm and collected about the incident while your mind still runs a mile a minute trying to figure it out.

Penelope's face turns from curious to worried; she's less skilled at hiding her emotions than you. Instead of watching her micro-expressions change as her thoughts race as well, you look down at your hands and pick at the skin around your nails. It's an old habit you had kicked a while ago, thanks to the constant nagging of Spencer, but it seems the stress has caused the urge to resurface.

"I'm sure you all will be able to figure it out, you always do." Penelope finally settles on reassurance when she breaks the silence. You really want to believe her, but an odd feeling settles within you, one that tells you this is going to be anything but easy.

You decide to take refuge in her office for the rest of the day.

-----

The keys on your keyring jingle as you unlock your door. It's dark when you enter and you figure you must have forgot to turn a lamp on before you left this morning. Usually it's part of your routine, but with everything that's been going on lately it's entirely likely it just slipped your mind.

Without a thought you sling your bag on your couch and shuffle over to the lamp. Your apartment is bathed in warm lighting and you go to close the curtains. Spencer isn't staying over during the week, though you know he would if you asked him to. But really, there's no practical need, he just makes you feel safe.

You go about your evening routine as usual, cleaning the sink from the weekend and tidying up the messes you let go for too long. As you fold the blankets Spencer had used over the weekend, you notice how they still smell like him. Your chest aches slightly as you realize he won't be out here tonight, but fold it up and drape it over the back of the couch, not letting yourself dwell on the thought for too long.

The sound of your phone dinging distracts you momentarily, and the message confuses you.

'Did you retag the evidence I collected on the last case by chance?'

The message is from Spencer, and your eyebrows draw tight in confusion. You type a reply back, telling him you hadn't touched the evidence at all. Why would you have retagged his evidence? The message just adds further confusion to the day, and your eyes grow heavy. Spencer doesn't end up replying and so you plug your phone in and get into bed.

The room is dark, which usually you enjoy, but now, it just feels ominous. You know it's unreasonable, but you get back up and recheck that the front door is locked. It is, like it always is. But your mind isn't content with that knowledge. On impulse, you grab your service weapon and take it back to the bedroom with you, laying it on your nightstand. You then lock your bedroom door before getting back into bed.

You know that your behavior is likely overboard and overdramatic for the situation, but you can't help but to think of all the other cases you've worked that started out exactly like this. It always starts with something small, something insignificant, but then it grows into something bigger, something dangerous.

Multiple women you recall have fallen victim to someone who was obsessed with them. And it was never just for one common reason, no, the people who obsessed over them did it for different reasons. And that's one of the reasons that the flowers are striking so much fear into you. You're not sure why you were chosen, what you did that triggered this, and it's the unknown that makes you uncomfortable.

Throughout the night you toss and turn, body becoming coated in a light layer of sweat from anxiety and stress. No matter what you do or try to think about, your mind brings you right back to colorful petals. The words left on the note echo in your mind and they intermingle with Spencer's voice as he explained what the flowers represent.

This is the first night in a long time that you were unable to get a wink of sleep.

-----

Unknown POV

Before I leave work for the day I decide to stop by the sixth floor. The lights are all off so I know nobody is in there, which is strange because the agents in the BAU are known for working late and odd hours, but I don't question it. Opening the glass doors I make my way to her desk, where I see both bundles of flowers still on her desk where I left them.

A hot rage surges through me, why hadn't she taken any of them home? They're all beautiful flowers, I would only allow for the best of quality to be used in her bouquets.

But soon my rage is turned to worry; what if she's allergic? Or what if they're not her favorite kinds of flowers? Have I been underperforming this entire time? Is that why she hasn't taken them home with her?

My heart drops in my chest and I know I have to do better. She deserves it. Looking around I decide to take a trip to the evidence room. Luckily my badge has permissions to let me in and to my joy, there's evidence that has yet to be catalogued. There to the right is a box full of blank tags and I waste no time.

I find every piece of evidence with his name on it and switch it out for tags that bear her name. He doesn't deserve the credit for helping solve the case, no, not when I know it's her brilliant mind that likely carried the entire investigation. Once again just another example of how nobody appreciates her enough, not like me.

Maybe this will give her some of the recognition she deserves. It barely scratches the surface of what she's fully worthy of, but I am willing to do whatever it takes for her to shine, for her to finally notice me and how devoted I am to her.

A fuzzy feeling resides in my chest as I think about her getting the credit she's rightfully owed. Oh, her smile would be so bright, so beautiful. And as I tie the knot in the last tag I feel the urge to check on her tonight. Checking the watch on my wrist, I know that if I leave now I'll likely make it before she turns off the lights.

And for a glimpse of her, I'd run to the ends of the Earth.

But just as I'm leaving I hear footsteps in the office, seems like they're not all gone after all. Before whoever it is rounds the corner, I hurry to leave so that it seems I was never there.

-----

"It's just weird. I know I tagged these just earlier yesterday morning." You and Spencer stand in the evidence room where you see his evidence has been tagged with your name. It's not handwriting that you recognize either.

You take a tag in your hand and inspect it closer, as if the answer would just jump out at you. But with no such luck you sigh and drop the tag with your name on it.

"I don't know Spencer. I swear I didn't touch it." You tell him and he looks over to you momentarily and nods.

"I know you didn't, you didn't come in here at all yesterday. In fact, I didn't see anyone else come in here after me." His eyebrows scrunch together as he recalls yesterday with perfect precision.

"So that means someone came in here after we were gone." You conclude, it's the only thing that makes sense. His eyes meet yours and you sense the underlying worry he's trying to hard to hide.

"It's the only thing that makes sense." He says, and the two of you stand in silence, looking at the incorrect tags.

Unable to stand the sight of them any longer you take them off and replace them with ones that are labeled with Spencer's name. An unsettling feeling comes over you as you wonder who may have had the motivation to do this. And unfortunately there's only one person who comes to mind, though you don't know who they are.

You and Spencer leave the evidence room without another word, the two of you wrapped up in your own thoughts. And you know when and if he has something to say that he will come to you, and vice versa.

The two of you return to your respective desks and you sit rigidly, staring at the flowers. It's like they're taunting you, but you know it's best not to throw them away here, for whoever is keeping an eye on you would likely take great offense to it. Instead, you push them to the side, where they will hopefully stay out of sight and mind. 

The typing of your team members acts as white noise while you mechanically go through reports you need to finalize. Everyone had given their final edits to the official reports, they're all just waiting on you, and you know Hotch is likely to become agitated if you don't get your final approval in soon. 

Your eyes scan over the documents and just before you go to submit your final approval, you notice something odd. Scrolling back up on the document you see that a detail of the case was altered. Where it should have read "Agent Morgan apprehended the suspect" it now reads that you apprehended the suspect. 

With shock you read it over and over again to make sure your eyes weren't playing tricks on you, but sure enough the words stay the same. You print off the page and take it to Spencer, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. He reads the report with inhuman speed, his eyebrows creasing together. He keeps his voice low and level when he speaks, 

"That's not how it read when I gave my approval." He confirms and you thank him before moving to Derek's desk. The chain of approval had gone from Spencer to Derek, then to Emily, JJ, and Rossi before you. If necessary, you'll take it to each of them to figure out when the change was made. 

"What's up sweet thing?" Derek asks when you approach him. Trying your best you give a weak smile before handing him the page. 

"I just noticed the detail wasn't right and I just wondered what had happened." You use your skillset to keep your tone of voice nonchalant. Derek reads over the page and shakes his head, 

"No, I would've noticed if that had been changed." His eyes narrow at the paper before he hands it back to you. You thank him before moving on down the line. 

By the time you get to Rossi, each one of them had denied seeing or making the change. And you have no reason to doubt them, they're all very detail oriented and have no motivation to make such a change. But then if it wasn't one of them, who could it have been?

Feeling a pit of dread in your stomach, you take the page to Hotch. In his office he sees you enter and lays his pen to the side. His expression is stoic as per usual and you lay the piece of paper on his desk in front of him. He reads the page and then reads it again before he finally looks at you. 

"Why are you showing this to me?" You can clearly hear the confusion in his voice, and you realize that it may look like you're trying to alter events yourself. A shock runs through your body and your eyes grow wide, with a quick shake of your head you point to the altered sentence.

"Nobody made those changes, sir. And I just noticed the change right before I almost submitted my approval." You explain to him with rushed words. Hotch looks between you and the paper once again. 

"So you're telling me that after Rossi submitted his approval that someone altered the report?" Hotch clarifies and you nod,

"That's exactly what I'm saying." Hotch's stoic expression remains unchanged. 

"Leave this here with me. Change the report back and make no further deal about it. This, paired with the evidence re-tagging and flowers is highly unusual and something we need to be vigilant about. Keep your cards close to you." Hotch orders and you nod, letting go of the paper so he can stow it away in his desk where it's sure to be safe from prying eyes. 

As you walk back out into the bullpen, you feel several pairs of eyes on you. You keep your eyes trained ahead of you and try to block out all thoughts and emotions as you return to your desk. 

You act as if you're returning to your normal work, when instead you're going back into the archives and reading previous reports. You're curious as to what else could have been altered, things that maybe went unnoticed, simply overlooked. 

By the end of the day, your eyes sting from staring at the screen for hours on end. Everyone begins leaving and you offer them half-hearted goodbyes, too consumed with finding other altered reports. It's only when it hits eight o'clock that Spencer finally gives in. 

"Okay, come on. We've been here for over twelve hours. You need some rest." He says, taking your jacket off the back of your chair and handing it to you. With bloodshot eyes you look up at him, feeling tired but fueled by adrenaline and the need to know. 

"Spencer I-"

"No, come on. We're getting you home." He says and reaches over to turn your monitor off. With a sigh, you relent and grab your jacket. 

-----

Unknown POV

My hands clench the binoculars tightly as I see him walk in behind her. It's a work night and he's here? He should know better than to bother her when she needs a good night's sleep. I watch as he closes her door and makes himself at home. He goes into her kitchen and makes them dinner, which he serves her at the table. 

He's sitting too close to her, he's smiling at her too much. I see the way he looks at her when she speaks, as if he's concerned about what she's saying. But I know the truth. He's only there to get something out of her. Whether it's an ego boost or something much worse, I know he's only using her. Just like he uses her on cases. He takes her ideas and takes credit for them, to which he is praised to no end. 

After dinner my eyes are glued to her as the puts her hair up and approaches the window. Her hands rest on her hips as she looks around, and I take extra care to stay absolutely still. Even from the window I can see how beautiful she is. She has an effortless beauty most can never achieve. 

But the moment is short lived as he comes over and closes the curtains for her. Through the sheer material I see him wrap an arm around her waist and lead her further into the apartment, away from the window. 

Afraid I may break the binoculars, I put them down and decide to leave for the evening to get to work. If he wants to keep her from me, then I must do more to command her attention. She has to see what I can offer her, how I can make her life so much easier. She has to see how he's using her.

It's time I take things up a notch, so she can see that there is no lengths that are too great for her. 

-----

"Spencer you really don't have to do this." You say with guilt residing heavily in your chest. The man is unrelenting though. 

"I know I don't have to, but I want to. You would do exactly the same for me if the roles were reversed." You bite your tongue, knowing he's right. He takes your silence as a victory and adjusts his position under the blankets. 

After making dinner, Spencer insisted that he stay with you tonight. He said he could tell that your nerves are shot and that he knew you well enough to know you'd never be able to sleep alone in your apartment. Both of those things had been correct, but you feel terrible. You know the couch is uncomfortable for him, and you wish he'd think of himself for once. But while you feel guilty that he's staying, a part of you is happy that he's here. 

"Well, I appreciate it, you know." You tell him, standing awkwardly in front of him as he lays on your couch. He smiles softly, 

"I know. Now get to bed, we have a long day ahead of us tomorrow." His eyes glimmer in the soft lamp-light, and you feel your cheeks heat up. You wish him a good night before returning to your bedroom. 

Tonight you don't lock your bedroom door and you don't keep your service weapon on your nightstand. You feel confident and safe with Spencer just a few feet away. As you get comfortable in bed, you begin thinking of ways you can repay his generosity. He's done more than enough for you lately, and he deserves to be thanked properly.

-----

Walking into work the next day, things are eerily quiet, which is never a good sign. Everyone seems to be glued to their screens, not bothering to tell you good morning. With nerves shooting up your spine, you put your bag down and turn your monitor on. Things are just as you left them, not even the flowers at the edge of your desk have been tampered with. Everything appears to be normal, but it feels anything but. 

You try to ignore the suffocating atmosphere to pick up where you left off yesterday. You read report after report, but don't see anything that's been altered. The buzz of your phone gains your attention and you see a message from Penelope. 

'When you get a chance could you please stop by my office?'

You put your phone in your back pocket and decide to bring her a cup of coffee. Due to the unusual quietness in the office, you hear two people talking as you approach and you hear your name come up in the conversation. Keeping a low profile, you hang back and try to listen.

"Something just doesn't feel right about it. I mean, all of this starts after the media gives Spencer the credit? I don't want to say anything but, it just seems too much of a coincidence." Derek's words make you sick to your stomach, you know exactly what he's talking about.

"I don't know, I don't think she would do something like this though." Emily's voice is heard next. You hear Derek sigh, 

"I don't either, but who else could it be? We both saw what was changed. It's in my files and it's in your files. Maybe yesterday's discovery was on purpose, throw us all off the trail." Your eyebrows crease together, had they found more changes? And is Derek implying that you made those changes yourself?

Unable to stop yourself, you walk into the break room like you hadn't been eavesdropping and the two of them act casually, as if they hadn't been talking about you. Your heart thumps as their words echo in your mind.

Derek had brought up a case two months ago that caught national attention. It was a case of a serial killer that had been killing women in what seemed like a random pattern, but once you dug deep into the clues left behind you found out it was anything but random. The killer had been finding women who were having affairs behind their husbands' back, women who were having inappropriate relationships with their professors, or any other taboo relationship and killing them as a result. The killer would dump the bodies in empty fields. Some of the victims had their hair shaved, their teeth pulled out, their legs disfigured; and it all seemed so random. 

You dug deeper into the victimology for days and found the connection of illicit affairs. It wasn't long until you connected the dots and found out that the unsub was meeting these women under the pretense of hooking up, and then he took their most redeeming, or seductive, quality from them. It was difficult to figure out how the unsub was finding these women, but eventually the team had figured out that the unsub was employing several methods of finding them. He found some on dating apps, some on college campuses, and some at bars. 

And when the media picked up the story, they had all published that Spencer Reid was the mastermind behind the arrest. While that wasn't entirely true, it wasn't a complete lie either. You had worked together like you do in every other case. Sure, it upset you slightly that you weren't given your credit, but you got over it quickly. You and the team knew the truth and that was all that mattered to you. To be honest, the whole ordeal was almost forgotten by you. 

You quickly make Garcia's coffee before leaving the break room, Derek and Emily still lingering in there. They probably want to continue their conversation. It irritates you that they think you're the one who altered the document, and you wonder what else they found that's leading them to that conclusion. But for now it seems like they want to keep their cards close to their chests. 

Penelope welcomes you into her office with a strained smile, and you can't help but wonder if she's also suspicious of you. But you say nothing, instead you let her speak. She offers you a chair and then spins around to face her many monitors. 

Her voice is quiet and calmer than usual. 

"I was finally able to connect back into the cameras out there. And, something just doesn't make sense." She says and pulls up a footage file. The camera footage plays and you keep your eyes glued to the screen but you don't se what she's talking about. Looking over to her, you shrug your shoulders.

"I didn't see anything out of the ordinary." You admit. Penelope's lips fall apart and she rewinds the video. 

"Right here. The shadow on the floor changed. Watch it again." She rewinds a little bit further and sure enough, you catch the moment that the shadow seems to jump on the floor. 

"Okay so the shadow changed, maybe someone turned on a light? You try to rationalize and explain away the sharp change. But it doesn't seem like Penelope is buying the story. She sighs and looks back at the screen.

"The footage has been altered. All of the cameras have. The shadow is there for exactly ten minutes on each camera and then the shadow goes back to normal. And nobody else is seen exiting the office after the change." She explains, a familiar dread creeping up within you. 

"So someone didn't want us to see what happened in here last night." You state, voice void of all emotion. Penelope just simply swallows and nods. 

A part of you wants to run for the hills, away from this person and the chaos they're creating. The other part of you, the profile part, is becoming more and more determined to find out who this is and put an end to their antics. 

You thank Penelope for showing you and ask her to save the footage in a secure place. Your determined nature is overpowering the childlike fear that threatens your mind; you're ready to get your hands dirty and get to work.

When you walk back into the bullpen you see Derek, JJ, Emily, Rossi, and Spencer all looking at you with a quizzical, and perhaps slightly skeptical look in their eye. First thing's first, you need to figure out why they think you're responsible for the document changes.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #mgg #spencer reid fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #bau team #penelope garcia #derek morgan #criminal minds fandom

[denimbex1986]

We are lucky to be alive in the age of Andrew Scott, an actor of extraordinary breadth, skill and sensitivity, who can terrify as Jim Moriarty in Sherlock, make us fall in love (inappropriately) as the hot priest in Fleabag and cry in All of Us Strangers. He can also astonish, last year playing eight parts in a stage adaptation of Chekhov’s Uncle Vanya. He recently became the first actor to win the UK Critics’ Circle awards for best actor on stage and screen in the same year. And his latest project, Ripley, is a beautiful and chilling adaptation of the Patricia Highsmith novel The Talented Mr Ripley, with Scott playing the lead, dominating all eight one-hour episodes. It’s been a wild, crowning year for the 47-year-old Irish actor. But in March his mother, Nora, died of a sudden illness; she is who Scott has credited as being his foremost creative inspiration. His grief is fresh and intense and for the first half of the interview it seems to swim just beneath the surface of our conversation.

“We go through so many different types of emotional weather all the time,” he says. “And even on the saddest day of your life you might be hungry or have a laugh. Life just continues.” We are in a meeting room in his management company’s offices, talking about his ability, in his work, to modulate between emotions, to go from happy to sad, confused to scared, all within a matter of seconds. How does he do it? Scott laughs. “I would say that I have quite a scrutable face — is scrutable a word? — which is good or bad depending on what you are trying to achieve. But my job is to be as truthful as possible in the way that we are, and I don’t think that human beings are just one thing at any particular time. It is rare that we have one pure emotion.”

It’s an approach that is particularly appropriate for the playing of Tom Ripley, an acquisitive chameleon who inveigles his way into the lives of others (in this case Johnny Flynn, as the careless and wealthy Dickie Greenleaf, and his on-off girlfriend Marge, played by Dakota Fanning). “Ripley is witty, he is very talented. That’s gripping, to watch talent. I can’t call him evil — it is very easy to call people who do terrible things evil monsters, but they are not monsters, they are humans who do terrible things. Part of what she [Highsmith] is talking about is that if you dismiss a certain faction of society it has repercussions, and Ripley is someone who is completely unseen, he lives literally among the rats, and then there are these people who are gorgeous and not particularly talented and have the world at their feet but are not able to see the beauty that he can see.”

The show was written and directed by Steven Zaillian, the screenwriter of Schindler’s List. It’s set in Sixties New York and Italy, and filmed entirely in black-and-white, its chiaroscuro aesthetic evoking films of the Sixties — particularly those of Federico Fellini — while also offering an alternative to Anthony Minghella’s saturated late-Nineties iteration that starred Matt Damon and Jude Law. This has a darker flavour. “I found it challenging,” Scott says, “in the sense that he’s a solitary figure and ideologically we are very different. So you have to remove your judgment and try to find something that is vulnerable.”

It was a tough shoot, taking a year and filmed during lockdown. Scott was exhausted at the end of it and had intended to take a three-month break, but delays meant that he went straight from Ripley into All of Us Strangers. “Even though I was genuinely exhausted, it was energising because I was back in London, I was getting the Tube to work, there was sunshine,” he says. “I found it incredibly heartful, that film, there were so many different versions of love … I feel that all stories are love stories.”

All of Us Strangers, directed by Andrew Haigh, is about a screenwriter examining memories of his parents who died when he was 12. In it Scott’s character, Adam, returns to his family home, where his parents are still alive and as they were back in the Eighties. Adam is able to walk into the memory and to come out to his parents, finding the words that were unavailable to him as a boy. Some of it was filmed in Haigh’s childhood home, and there was a strong biographical element for him and his lead. Homosexuality was illegal in the Republic of Ireland until 1993, when Scott was 16. He did not come out to his parents until he was in his early twenties. I ask if he was working with his own childhood experiences in the film. “Of course, so in a sense it was painful, to a degree, but it was cathartic because you are doing it with people that you absolutely love and trust. I felt that it was going to be of use to people and I was right, it has been. The reaction to the movie has been genuinely extraordinary — it makes people feel and see things, and that isn’t an easy thing to achieve.”

The film is also a tender and erotic love story between Scott’s character and Harry, played by the Irish actor Paul Mescal. The two found a real-life kinship that made them a delight to watch on screen and off it, as a double act on the awards circuit. “I adore Paul, he’s so, so … continues to be …” Scott pauses. “Obviously it’s been a tough time recently and he just continues to be a wonderful friend. It’s everything. The more I work in the industry, I realise, you make some stuff that people love and you make some stuff that people don’t like, and all really that you are left with is the relationships that you make. I love him dearly.”

Scott and Mescal were also both notable on the red carpet for being extraordinarily well dressed. Scott loves fashion and has a big, well-organised wardrobe that he admits is in need of a cull. “I don’t like having too much stuff. I really believe that everything we have is borrowed — our stuff, our houses, we are borrowing it for a time. So I am trying to think of people who are the same size as me so I can give some of it away, and that’s a great thing to be able to do.” One of his favourite labels is Simone Rocha. “I love a bit of Simone Rocha. What a kind, glorious person she is. I just went to her show.” Fashion, he says, is in his DNA. “My mother was an art teacher, she was obsessed with all sorts of design. She loved jewellery and jewellery design. Anything that is visual, tactile, painting, drawing, is a big passion of mine, so I have tremendous respect for the creativity of designers.”

Today Scott is wearing Louis Vuitton trousers and a cropped Prada jacket, dressed up because he is collecting his Critics’ Circle award for best stage actor for Vanya. I ask how it feels to have won the double, a historic achievement. “Ah …” he says, looking at the table, going silent, having just been so voluble. “I’m sorry …” His voice cracks a little. “It’s bittersweet.”

At the ceremony Scott dedicated the award to his mother, saying of her “she was the source of practically every joyful thing in my life”. Is it difficult for him to carry on working in the circumstances, I wonder. “Well, you know, you have to — life goes on, you manage it day by day. It’s very recent, but I certainly can say that so much of it is surprising and unique, and there is so much that I will be able to speak about at some point.”

He is looking forward, he says, once promotion for Ripley is over, to taking some time off, going on holiday, going back to Ireland for a bit. He has homes in London and Dublin. To relax he walks his dog, a Boston terrier, dressed down in jeans and a hoodie “like a 12-year-old, skulking around the city” or goes to art galleries on the South Bank — he was considering a career as an artist until he was 17 and got a part in the Irish film Korea. He goes to the gym every day, “not, you know, to get …” he says, flexing his biceps. “More that it’s good for the head.” He is social, likes friends, likes a party. When I ask if he gave up drinking while doing Vanya, which required him to be on stage, alone, every night for almost two hours, he looks horrified. “Oh God, no! Easy tiger! Jesus … Although I didn’t drink much, I did have to look after myself. But we had a room downstairs in the theatre, a little buzzy bar, because otherwise I wouldn’t see anybody, so I was delighted to have people come down.”

Scott was formerly in a relationship with the screenwriter and playwright Stephen Beresford and is currently single, although this is not the sort of thing he likes to talk about. He is protective of his privacy, not wanting to reveal where he lives in London, or indeed the name of his dog — but he swerves such questions with a gentle good humour.

He is famous on set for being friendly and welcoming, for looking after other people. “The product is very important, but most of my time is spent in the process, so I want that to be as pleasant and kind as possible. I feel like it is possible to do that, that it is an honourable goal.” He is comfortable around people, with an easy charm — no one I have interviewed before has said my name so many times. And although when we talk he sometimes seems reflective or so very sad, there are also moments when he is exuberant, silly, putting on accents. “I feel like, as a person, I am quite near my emotions. I cry easily and I laugh easily, and there is nothing more pleasurable to me than laughing.”

Scott was raised a Catholic and is no longer practising, but says his view about religion is “ever changing — I definitely have a faith in things that cannot be proved”. When he was younger and felt overwhelmed, just before or after an audition, he would go to the Quaker Meeting House in central London and sit in silence, something that made its way into the second series of Fleabag, in which Scott’s priest takes Waller-Bridge’s character to that same meeting house. “It’s just around here,” he says, standing up, looking out of the window at Charing Cross Road. “When Phoebe and I first talked, we met at the Soho Theatre. We talked about love and religion, we walked all around here. And I said, ‘This is a place I go,’ so we called in and there was no one there, so we sat in there and we talked. It was a really magical day.”

Scott says he sees all the different characters that he has played as versions of himself. “It’s like, ‘What would this version of me look like?’ rather than, ‘Oh, I’m going to be somebody else.’ You filter it through you, and you discover more about yourself. I think that is a very lucky thing to be able to do, to find out more about yourself in the short time that we are here.”

#Andrew Scott #Ripley #Nora Scott #Critics Circle #Vanya #Chekhov #West End #All of Us Strangers #Paul Mescal #Hot Priest #Fleabag #Phoebe Waller-Bridge #Jim Moriarty #Sherlock #Patricia Highsmith #The Talented Mr Ripley #Dickie Greenleaf #Marge Sherwood #Dakota Fanning #Johnny Flynn #Steven Zaillian #Matt Damon #Jude Law #Anthony Minghella #Simone Rocha #Louis Vuitton #Andrew Haigh #Korea #Stephen Beresford

[hayakawalove]

Test of Love (Chapter Two)

Chapter Two

Chapter one

Summary: You had so much fun with Suguru the last time you went out, so you decide to go on date number two.

A/N: Bit of a Suguru centric chapter. Gojo girlies, don't worry. He'll get his time.

CW: Borderline NSFW, alcohol W/C: 5,771

Credit to @benkeibear for the banner

Your body sinks into your chair, Yaga’s voice becoming a low hum in your ears. It was usually hard to focus at staff meetings, but it was even harder when you were only going over information you already knew about. That happened a lot. Being friends with Gojo offered many perks, one being insider knowledge about the inner workings of Jujutsu society. 

Your eyes focus on the map behind Yaga showing the last attacks until your vision starts to blur. God, you were so bored. A vibration coming from your pocket shakes you out of it. 

Gojo: What underwear are you wearing :) 

You: You’re annoying 

You: What underwear are you wearing 

Gojo: A lacy thong 

You: You’re full of shit 

Gojo: Wanna come find out? 

You stifle a laugh, which catches the principal's attention. 

“I’m sorry, am I boring you?” He calls your name, squinting his eyes at you. 

“No, I apologize, please continue.” You say back, embarrassment flooding your system as all the teachers' eyes fall on you. Gojo pokes your foot with his, an easy smile playing on his lips. What a shit. 

You don't even get the opportunity to try to focus before your phone is vibrating again. It’s from an unknown number. 

Unknown: Hey, I had fun last time we saw each other, would you be interested in hanging out again? 

You: I would love that! What do you wanna do? 

You keep your eyes locked on the screen in your lap. You hadn’t saved Suguru’s number yet, but you knew exactly who it was. 

Unknown: The choice is yours, sweetheart 

You ignore the heat that begins to spark underneath your face. 

You: Why don't we go out to eat? 

You: I’m not picky on where, I’ll let you decide 

Unknown: Perfect. I’ll make reservations 

You were excited to see Suguru again. The two of you had been texting off and on ever since your date, and you really enjoyed his company. It was exactly what you needed after a long day of working your ass off. You did feel bad that you didn’t tell him the truth about your occupation, but you didn’t really have much of a choice. 

“So far the attacks haven't been anything too serious, but they are troublesome. I called this meeting together to let you know that we will start to have constant patrols near the school to try to avoid another attack.” Yaga steps to the side, briefly looking at the map before turning his attention back to the group of sorcerers in front of him. 

You rest your head on your hand and flick your eyes across the room. You were at a loss on what to do about this situation. You were busy thinking about Gojo and Suguru, when you should have been thinking of ways to handle the problem at hand. 

“Hm, no.” Gojo says calmly, his hands behind his head. 

“No?” Yaga repeats. 

“No.” Gojo tilts his chair back until it’s almost about to tip over before he leans forward again. 

“We should have the students survey the area to get experience. The curses aren't too high of a grade so they should be able to handle them easily. We can cycle through the first and second years so they get breaks from patrolling. I mean, the students are here anyway. We can send out recent graduates to handle the larger threats, they can also jump in here if needed. And if it gets really bad then we’ll only be a few miles away.” 

Silence settles over the room. It wasn’t a bad idea. The students went on missions anyway. You didn’t have to be worried about them being too far out of reach, either. 

“Do you think they’re ready for that?” Yaga asks. 

“Yeah, Yuuji might need a little more training but everyone else is fine. Unless, you have no faith in your students?” Gojo says your name. 

“They can definitely handle it.” You look towards Gojo. 

With his plan, higher level sorcerers would be freed up to handle bigger threats. You wouldn’t tell him, but he could be smart. Sometimes. 

“Alright. We’ll try Gojo’s plan to see how it goes.” Yaga sighs, calling the meeting to a close. 

You stretch your arms while walking back to your classroom. You were so fucking tired. Between texting Gojo and Suguru, you haven't been getting much sleep. Luckily, your students were out on a mission today, allowing you time to catch up on grading papers. At least you wouldn’t have to use too much brain power. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Gojo asks, long legs striding up beside you. “Who’s that?” He peers over your shoulder to look at your phone, watching as you type a message to Suguru. 

“Don’t worry about it, and my classroom. You should probably go to yours as well.” You unlock your door and enter, not bothering to close it behind you as Gojo would only kick it down. 

“You didn’t wanna see my lacy thong?” 

“Maybe next time, Gojo.” You stand next to your desk and turn around, tilting your head back to look at him. 

“How does tonight sound?” Gojo says with a wicked grin. 

As much as you wanted to hang out with him… 

“Can’t. I have a date.” 

“And it’s not with me?” He looks at you dumbly. 

You laugh, you hadn’t told Gojo about your date with Suguru. You didn’t really see a need to. 

“You’re in an open relationship, isn’t it only fair that I can see who I want as well?” Not that you were necessarily official with Gojo. 

Gojo pouts, staring down at you as you step closer. 

“Is it your first time seeing him?” His blindfolded eyes follow you as you stop centimeters in front of him.��

“My second.” 

“Did you guys go all the way last time?” 

Your throat feels dry at the question. 

“It’s none of your business. And no. We didn’t even kiss.” 

Gojo’s shoulders relax a bit at your admission. 

“Aw, you jealous?” You joke, lifting a finger to point into his chest. 

Gojo grabs your hand, yanking you closer. It catches you off guard, leaving your feet to wobble. You use your other hand to steady yourself against him. 

“I don't have any reason to be jealous. You’ll be crawling back to me after your little date.” 

The oxygen feels like it’s sucked out of the room, his lowered voice simmering in your stomach. Gojo lowers his blindfold to highlight his point, his blue eyes staring hard into you. 

“Is that so?” You ask, breathlessly. 

When did his lips get so close? 

He hums before leaning down closer. His woody cologne fills your senses, making you immediately dizzy. Gojo watches your expression closely before his white lashes flutter shut while he presses his lips against yours. Soft and sweet. His lips were like sugar as they meld to yours. There’s no tongue, but you don't need it. Your body temperature is rising all the same. 

He pulls away and smirks down at you before stepping away. A cocky bastard. You run your thumb along your bottom lip, indulging in the tingling sensation that lingered on you. 

“I don’t need to be jealous if I got to kiss you first.” He says with a chuckle, turning around to head out of your classroom. 

You can't deny the heat that was beginning to spread in the lower half of your body. You would be a liar if you said you had never thought about kissing him before. It happened only seconds ago and you were already replaying the scene in your head. At least he kissed you, you weren’t sure you would’ve made the first move. Even if you were glad he kissed you, a part of you hated him for leaving you high and dry. 

“Have fun on your date!” He calls out over his shoulder, turning the corner to exit the classroom. 

Bastard. 

You huff and settle down into your seat, hoping the rest of the day would go by faster. 

~~~

Luckily for you, it does. And strangely enough, Gojo hasn’t texted you at all since your encounter with him. You were kind of expecting him to pester you for details about the date. It wouldn’t be too far out of the realm of possibilities for him to show up and insert himself. That would be funny, you thought. Gojo and Suguru together would be interesting. They’re on opposite ends of the spectrum, the mere idea of them interacting puts a smile on your face. 

The sun is beginning to set as you gather your things to head out for the day. Suguru told you what restaurant you guys were going to, not that you had ever heard of it. He also said he wanted to pick you up if you’d allow it, which you graciously accepted. The restaurant was higher end, in a richer part of Tokyo. You had only ever been to that area several times with Gojo. You were kind of nervous to go, feeling slightly out of your realm, but you knew you would have a good time if you were going with Suguru. 

You stand in front of your mirror, rubbing your hands down your outfit. You decided on a black dress that landed just above your knees, the perfect mix between sexy and classy. 

Checking your phone, an idea pops in your head. Would it be weird to send a picture of your date outfit to Gojo, considering you were also seeing him? 

Yeah. Probably. 

Oh well. 

You lift up your phone and take a picture of yourself in the mirror, checking it before sending it to Gojo. Right as you send the photo to him, a notification pops up at the top of your screen. 

Unknown: I’m here, are you ready? 

You: Yes! 

Grabbing your clutch, you hurry outside to find Suguru waiting for you. He’s leaning against his car, head tilted as he looks around. When he brings his eyes to you, you feel a chill down your spine. He reminded you of a fox. He wore a black button up with black slacks, his hair tied up into a neat bun. 

“You look beautiful.” His velvet voice floats over to you. 

Your eyes flutter down at the flattery as you make your way closer to him. 

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” 

Suguru chuckles and steps aside, grabbing the passenger door handle to open it for you, resting his hand against the top of the door so you don’t bang your head. His car smells like wood and leather, an intoxicating scent that instantly fills your body. He rounds the car before sliding inside the drivers seat, eyes flicking to look up at you. 

“How was work?” He asks, pushing the keys in the ignition before pulling out of your parking lot, driving towards the restaurant. 

“It was okay, my coworker was kind of getting on my nerves today. He kept getting in my business.” 

Suguru smirks, arm flexing as he grips the steering wheel loosely. 

“Sounds like someone I know.” He responds easily. 

The building comes into view and it looks even fancier than you were expecting. You could see the low lights past the windows with tables evenly spaced throughout the place. There was even a terrace on the top, apparently a rooftop bar according to Suguru. You make a mental note to see if he would bring you up there after you ate. 

Suguru gets out before you and opens your car door again, causing your heart to race. You had never been with someone so gentlemanly before. He offers an arm out for you to take, leading you towards the front door. Once you step inside you’re able to see just how busy it is. There was a short line in front of you, and it looked like every table was taken. You remember that Suguru told you he made a reservation, which eases your nerves a bit. That being said, you still felt out of place. 

When you get to the hostess table, a young woman glances up at you before doing a double take, eyes settling on Suguru. 

Can’t say you blame her. 

“Hello sir, did you have a reservation?” Her eyes gleam as she bites back a grin. 

“Yes, under the name Suguru.” 

“For 7 pm?” She looks back down, studying the list in front of her. 

“That would be it.” He lifts a hand up to brush his palm against your arm, wordlessly comforting you. He must’ve been able to tell you were nervous. 

“Oh, it looks like we accidentally double booked the table. Let me go and see if the other couple has already arrived.” 

Suguru’s brows furrow and you bite your lip. What would you do if your table wasn’t available? You really didn’t wanna go back home, and the two of you were already dressed so nicely. 

The woman returns with a somber look on her face. She fidgets with her hands while looking up at Suguru, completely disregarding your presence. 

“I’m so sorry, it seems your table was already taken. We can put you next on the list for when another one opens up?”

“Do you know when that might be?” You ask. 

She looks down at you, as if she just realized you were there. 

“Probably 30 minutes.” 

You and Suguru stand in silence for a moment, debating your options. You could wait, but you were also really hungry, a fact Suguru must have noticed. 

“I think we’ll look for another restaurant.” He excuses you both, a soft smile on his face. 

As the two of you exit, you look up towards Suguru. 

“I can always cook something for us back at my house. I don’t think my boyfriend will be home for a while.” He wonders out loud, checking his watch. 

“No! It’s okay, I wouldn’t want to intrude like that,” you say quickly, “why don’t we just walk around and see if we can find something nearby?” 

Suguru squeezes your hand and agrees, walking alongside you down the sidewalk. There’s a slight breeze in the air, ruffling your hair as you make your way further down the street. It was extremely busy since it was a Friday night. There were groups of young people congregating together, laughing loudly. It had been awhile since you spent the night on the town. You honestly rather preferred to stay curled up in bed with a good book in your hands, but you couldn’t deny the joy you felt as you walked beside Suguru, weaving your way through seas of people. 

“Oh! How about here?” You point towards a food truck parked on the side of the road. 

Suguru’s brows fly up in what you assume is surprise before he trains them back down. He didn’t seem pompous, so you were hoping he wouldn’t complain. 

“I haven’t had their food in awhile.”

“You’ve been here before?” You whip your head towards him while pulling him closer. 

“Yeah, my boyfriend really likes it.” 

Weird, the only other person you know who eats here is… 

“What can I get for you!” A cheery older man says, poking his head out the side of the window. 

“Did you know what you want?” Suguru asks you. 

“Oh, um, I’ll just get a slice of the cheese pizza.” You murmur, looking at the menu printed on the side of the van. 

Suguru orders a slice of the same, and the older man takes his money and trades off two paper plates. It looks greasy and wonderful, just how you remember it being. 

“Thank you!” You exclaim, grabbing your plate before sliding to the side, standing at the edge of the sidewalk.

The pizza melts in your mouth the second you take a bite, the golden cheese sliding down your throat. You let out a groan of approval, stopping in your tracks when you notice Suguru’s eyes on you. 

“I-I’m sorry!” You fluster out, cheeks immediately heating at the attention. 

“It’s cute.” Suguru whispers with a small grin, before taking a bite of his slice. 

You bite back a smile as you sink your teeth into the pizza. Honestly, you had no idea what you had done to get so lucky. Most women dream of dating a hot, sweet, funny guy. And you had two of them? You weren’t quite sure what to do with yourself. 

A gust of wind blows by, causing your body to shiver. Suguru steps to the side to block the wind from chilling you further, reaching a thumb out to swipe a bit of marinara sauce on your lips. 

The action almost felt parental, but you were beginning to notice that trend with him. It seemed like every action he did was in care of you, constantly looking for ways to help out. 

“What did you want to do once we finish?” He asks, already halfway done. 

You ponder the idea for a moment. Really, your options were endless on a Friday night. Suguru was still a bit of a stranger, so you weren’t really sure what he liked to do. Your eyes drift around the area you’re in, taking note of the establishments. A bright sign catches your attention. 

“Do you like dancing, Suguru?” 

Suguru’s eyes follow yours, seeing the club that stood several businesses away. There was a line out the door, but it was moving pretty fast. It had been awhile since you’d gone to a club, but the idea sounded very tempting. It was fun to let loose, plus you wanted to see what Suguru looked like under the flashing lights. Maybe that was a selfish desire, but you craved it. 

“Yeah, is that where you wanna go?” Suguru laces his hand with yours once you finish eating, the two of you walking towards the club. 

Just like you thought, you aren’t waiting long before you’re already in the front, flashing your IDs to get access. A waft of alcohol hits you in the face along with the cool breeze of the AC. It was slightly cool outside, but you knew you’d need the comfort the artificial cold provided once you were packed with the other bodies. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” Suguru asks, his voice slightly louder than his normal talking tone in an attempt to speak over the blasting music. 

You nod your head and follow him to the bar, his hand holding yours tightly so you don’t lose each other. His palm is large in yours, easily overshadowing the size of your hand. His skin was warm, but not in an uncomfortable sweaty way. It felt calming, protective. 

When you arrive, you order a mixed drink while he gets a glass of whiskey. Hopefully the alcohol won’t get to you too fast since you had just eaten. The idea of being drunk in front of Suguru kind of mortified you, you still wanted to make a good impression. 

The alcohol burns down your throat as you sip the drink, setting it down on the counter once you’re finished, only to find Suguru’s eyes already looking at you. Just like you expected, he looked amazing under the lights. Flashing colors illuminated his face, his tall stature even more daunting when compared to the other men in the club who didn’t even come close to his height. 

“Let’s dance!” You yell over the music, digging your nails in his arm to drag him to the dance floor. 

He smiles as he allows you to maneuver his body, standing him in front of you. His cologne goes straight to your head as you press yourself against him, throwing your arms around his neck. 

“It’s a little busy.” He observes, mumbling in your ear. 

The brush of his breath against your ear causes you to gasp, gripping on him tighter. 

“It’s better that way, I won’t get embarrassed since no one will be watching me.” You respond. 

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” Suguru guides his hands up your body, the slow drag making you want to groan. He brings them back down and settles them on your waist, holding you tightly against him. 

You sway your body to the music, standing so close to Suguru that you can't see his face. You aren’t sure you want to see his face. The alcohol was flowing through your veins, and you were afraid of what you might do were you forced to acknowledge his presence. 

Bodies dance beside you, the heat of the room finally crawling up your spine. Your neck is starting to feel sticky already, but you’re too drunk on the moment to care. 

Suguru’s body feels hard against your own, and you can't help but find yourself wondering what he looks like underneath all his clothes. He looked strong, you could practically feel the muscles that bulged underneath. Your mouth begins to salivate at the image you start to conjure up in your head, the sight borderline pornographic. The more you think about it, the more you can feel your restraint begin to slip. It wouldn’t be so bad to make a move, would it? 

Bravery, it was a fickle thing, wasn’t it? 

You were in need of it every day for your job. You needed it so often that you tended to forget that what you were doing required it at all. Sometimes it was hard to summon. 

It also tended to be easier to use when you had the aid of liquid courage flowing through you. 

You drag your hands down, softly scratching the skin of his veiny forearms while you pull away from him. He looks down at you with raised brows, waiting on bated breath to see what you were going to do. The music changes, giving you the last boost you needed. You turn around, placing your ass against Suguru while grabbing his hands, guiding them to your waist once more, and you start to follow the music. 

You didn’t mean for it to be filthy, you really didn’t. At least that’s what you tell yourself. 

It was too hard to resist the beat of the music so you decided to let your body do the talking for you. Quickly the two of you find a rhythm together, your bodies moving in tandem. Suguru digs his fingers in your waist, keeping you pulled tight against him. You allow your eyes to flutter closed while you sing along with the music surrounding you, the vibrations of it filling your soul. 

“This feels so good!” You speak over the music, telling Suguru. 

“Hm, is that right?” He questions, guiding your hips back and forth. 

The lowness of his voice crawls over your skin, sparking a match deep inside your stomach. You meant dancing felt good, but now that you thought about it, your bodies pressed together also felt amazing. 

You throw a hand back, placing it on Suguru’s head, bringing him closer to you. Closer, you needed him closer. What the hell was in the drink you had? You were feeling unstoppable. 

You grind your ass against him harder, noting the way his hands tighten around you. It sends a rush of excitement over you, only beckoning you to go further. You run your hands over his arms again, delighting in the rumble you feel come from his chest. 

“Careful, baby.” Suguru warns, placing a slow kiss on your neck. 

How could he tell you to be careful if he was going to tempt you further to the deep end? 

“Or what?” You find yourself asking, looking over your shoulder. 

Fuck. 

You were treading on a thin line, and you knew it. His eyes are narrowed in on you, peeking at you from thin slits. He doesn’t look angry, he looks determined. 

Suguru reaches down, curling his fingers underneath the hem of your dress. He doesn’t pull it up, he just slides his fingers across your skin, causing goosebumps to prickle you. 

You lean forward slightly, pushing your ass out more against him. If he wanted to tease you, two could play at that game. 

It felt like you were the only two ones on the dance floor. Your bodies moved in perfect sync, almost as if you had danced this way with him hundreds of times before. Your mind was dizzy, drunk on the feeling that sunk in your chest. 

As you move, you’re able to feel something underneath you. You only have to glide back and forth several more times before you’re able to deduce what that something was. When you look over your shoulder you see Suguru looking down, his brows furrowed as he watches you grind against him. 

It’s as if he can feel your gaze, because he’s flicking his eyes back up to you. Your stomach immediately drops once you’re caught, but you still delight in the look he’s giving you. A low pressure builds in your core. 

He takes control, practically moving your body for you. You want to feel embarrassed, but you don’t. Not when you know that there’s probably twenty other couples doing the exact same thing. 

You feel like you’re a patient person, never jumping the gun on hardly anything. But in this moment, right now, you’re desperate. 

You turn around, wrapping your arms around him and yanking him down towards you. He instantly gets the hint, grazing his lips against yours. The two of you look into each other's eyes through heavy lids before you press your lips together. 

Kissing Suguru was everything you thought it would be and more. 

His lips tasted smoky like the whiskey he drank earlier on in the night. It suited him. You press your mouth against his harder, silently begging for more. No matter how urgent you felt, Suguru refused to cooperate. He moves on his own time, guiding his lips over yours while his hands trail down your back. It’s painful to wait, your body craving to taste him. 

Suguru slips his tongue through his lips, grazing it against yours before you open your mouth. Fuck, was the room always this hot? Your tongue molds against his, heavy breaths being shared between you two. He slides his hand down your leg, hiking it up against his hip. 

The new angle causes some friction against your core, leaving you reeling. If you didn’t have better self control, you might have just ripped your clothes off in the middle of the dance floor. 

You moan against his lips, making him smile. His fingers grip your leg tightly, so tight you’re sure you would have bruises tomorrow morning. 

His tongue easily follows yours, neither dominating or submissive. You didn’t care if anyone’s eyes were on the both of you. Suguru had you completely entranced. You were sure if he told you to do anything, you would do it. 

You wrap your arms around his neck, reaching up to pull his hair tie out. You run your fingers through his silky hair, appreciating the way it flows through each digit. When his hair falls down, you’re able to get a whiff of his shampoo and probably conditioner (there was no way this man didn’t have a multistep routine). The scent was that of lavender and frankincense. It was calming, just like him. 

Pulling back, you open your eyes to look at his face. He was so fucking handsome. Suguru’s lips follow yours, but you reel your head back even more, granting you just a sliver of space. How cute. His eyes flutter open to look down at you, as if offended you stopped kissing him. 

His amber eyes cause your breathing to stumble, the intensity punching you in your gut. 

“You’re a brat, aren’t you?” He asks, as if he already knows the answer. 

“Why don’t you come find out?” You respond. 

He stares at you for a moment longer, gaze calculating in the way he watches you. A pang of fear grips you, but it’s overshadowed by the alcohol in your system. 

“Let’s get out of here.” He leans down to whisper in your ear. It’s not a question, it’s a statement. One he knows you’ll agree to. 

Suguru pulls back, bringing his hand up to move some of your hair out of your face, behind your ear. He looks at you like you’re delicate china, something he wants to hold and protect. 

Fuck, you really feel bad for not being able to tell him the truth about yourself… 

You force yourself to snap out of it, too intent on enjoying this moment with Suguru. You place a quick kiss on his lips and tug him towards the exit. 

How long has it been since you got laid? 

The prospect of sex was rattling around your brain, making your mouth go dry. When you were dancing on Suguru you could tell he was big, and that fact only messed with you more. Could you take him? Something told you that he would make it fit. 

Suguru slides his keys from his pockets, opening the car door for you once more. Part of you wasn’t even sure you’d be able to wait until you got home to have sex with him. 

“Your house or mine?” You ask, out of breath from the anticipation. 

“Mine’s closer.” He starts the ignition, holding his arm behind your seat to back out. 

Of course he backs out like that. 

Your fingers twitch in your lap with the need to hold him again. The idea of sitting on his lap while he drove was almost too tempting. 

Suguru makes a series of turns until you’re waiting at a stop light, your stomach tingling. 

“Suguru, how much l-“ 

Suguru turns around and grips your chin. He smashes his lips against yours, effectively cutting you off. You can’t help the squeal that falls from your lips at his action. His tongue brushes against your bottom lip, making you raise a hand to grip his shirt. 

“Be patient, little one.” Suguru murmurs, pulling back to look into your eyes. 

You furrow your brows, seconds away from groaning. The red hue on his face changes to green and he’s moving back into place, pressing his foot on the gas. 

Handfuls of nice apartment complexes pass by the car as you speed to his house, making you wonder just how rich he was. He said he was a freelancer, but you didn’t know of any freelancers who made this kind of money. 

“We’re here.” He says, easing the car to a stop. 

You lean forward to peer up at the building in front of you. It was incredible. It had to have been at least twenty stories, with glass paneling all around. You’re too busy gawking at the apartment to notice Suguru opening your door, waiting outside for you. 

“Oh, sorry. This is really nice Suguru.” You mumble, taking his hand as you step out. 

Your eyes are locked on the building as you get out, wondering what the inside looks like. It definitely had to be nicer than your place. You were starting to be glad that the two of you didn’t go to your apartment, you weren’t even sure you had picked the laundry up off the floor and here he was living lavishly. 

Suguru tilts your head back to him, garnering your attention once more. He presses his lips against yours, trapping you against the car. His mouth was much more frenzied by now, as he pulled away to leave hot kisses down your neck, sinking his teeth in your throat softly. 

You let out a quiet moan, which makes him grip you tighter. The two of you were beginning to gather attention, as you could feel the heat of people staring as they walked by. 

“S-suguru.” You mumble, tugging his shirt. 

He pulls back and looks down at you with feral eyes before stepping away. Suguru grips your hand, lacing his long fingers around yours while you follow him clumsily to the doors. He nods once to the front desk attendant before stopping in front of the elevators. Your body heat is steadily rising as you get closer to his apartment. His hand flexes around yours as the elevator slowly inches closer and closer to the bottom floor. 

The second the doors open he’s dragging you inside, pressing you against the shiny walls. His lips are back on your throat in an instant, his hot breath caressing your neck as he nips you. The elevator was too small, the heat the two of you were emitting only circulating making you even more dizzy. You moan and dig your nails into his shirt, pulling him closer to you. His hips press into you, and you’re able to feel his hardness again. 

Hell, if he wasn’t going to make it fit, then you were. 

Beeps from the elevator fill the small room as you slowly crawl to the next floor. Your eyes are glued to the red numbers at the top, watching them get higher and higher. 

Suguru sinks his teeth near your jugular and begins to suck, relishing in the groan you release. Your lips are slightly parted as you indulge in the sensation of his tongue working your neck. He was definitely going to leave hickeys, but you didn’t care. You bring your hand down and graze his crotch, brushing past his hard cock. Suguru takes in a quick breath, his fingers digging harder into you. 

The elevator beeps once more before you’re at floor twenty, the doors slowly opening. 

“Suguru-“ 

He pulls away and smashes his lips to yours before stepping away. The look in his eyes is a far cry from his appearance when you met him in that quiet bookstore. 

You sink your teeth into your lip as he leads you down the hall, perfect white tiles lining the path as you go. The wetness between your legs was beginning to borderline on uncomfortable, and a throbbing sensation was shooting up from your core. Suguru stops in front of a door and rips his keys from his pocket, jamming them into the knob. Simultaneously he’s turning his head to kiss you again, finding the fact of being away from you unbearable. You hold the side of his face and stick your tongue out, tangling with his as the door opens and the two of you stumble inside. 

“Oh, you’re home early.” A voice comes from inside the house. 

Suguru pulls away from you and looks over his shoulder. 

“Satoru, you said you wouldn’t be back until 11.” 

…Satoru? 

Tag List: @tojislittleprincesss, @dinolvrrr, @kimi01985, @constawrites, @spookysoowpprince, @reosnagi, @faerie-soirxx, @platrom

If you want to be added to the taglist just let me know, please specify if you want to be added for all my works or just this fic

#my writing #suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #suguru x you #suguru geto x you #geto x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #satoru x you #suguru x reader x gojo #poly satosugu #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

[xoxodivine]

ACADEMIC RIVALS | FUSHIGURO MEGUMI x READER

summary: reader is annoyed particularly after their classmate megumi copies their answer. they have a rivalry that carries into high school, something shocking is revealed about megumi

content warnings: light n' slight cursing, reader is lowkey petty and a bully, first story ever type writing

NEW SCHOOL, Same bullshit. Same lame ass teachers that think they know every damn thing, Same students forced to be in a legal prison for 7 hours straight, Same assignments that take longer to finish than the class, and same stupid icebreaker questions no one cares about. It is only your third or fourth year in elementary school, and you already want to graduate college. Maybe if you're smart enough I can graduate extremely early and leave this school that's full of sh- "We're waiting for your answer" You spaced out again? that's like the fifth time today "I'm sorry, what was the question?" You were so wrapped up in your thoughts about graduating you forgot to listen for your name for icebreaker questions.  

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" Easy question. "A doctor" It has been your dream career since you were 5. You've always wanted to be a doctor for as long as you can remember, it was the reason you pushed so hard in school despite being in the third grade. "Wow, our first doctor! Wonderful choice." You felt special that you were the only person who said you wanted to be a doctor. It was granted since most people in the class had stupid answers like "A fairy princess" or "A dog". Yeah, the kids in your class were that dumb. "Ok, last person. Megumi, what do you want to be when you grow up?"  

Megumi? That's a dumb name. He wasn't difficult to spot because anytime someone's name was called the whole class would stare at them. He looked like he wasn't paying attention at first, looking out the window. He was the supposed "smart kid" of the class. Not smarter than you of course but to you he just looked quiet. He also looks like he would pick his nose to be honest but hey, don't judge a book by its cover? He stuttered as he spoke, "uhm...uh a doctor?"  

Who does this kid think he is? He just stole your answer. You just heard this kid speak and you’ve already decided he’s your biggest enemy. “Oh, now there’s two doctors in the class.” No there’s not. This wannabe will never be a doctor. He wishes he was me. “Alright class, take out your notebooks and we’ll start the lesson for today.” You turned to look at him with a stank face which doesn’t go unnoticed by him. He furrows his eyebrows at you in confusion and you mouth to him “I hate you.” 

And that’s all it took for your rivalry to start. It was always a competition with the two of you. Although Megumi was a smart kid, you were smarter. For example, he might know grass is green, but you knew it was chlorophyll that made it green. He could be able to the time on a digital clock, but you could tell the time with an analog clock with roman numerals.  

After that day in third grade, you’ve both spoken 264 words to each other within the years you guys have known each other. A few exchanged that time you bumped into each other in the hallways which was dismissed with a “Oh, my bad” and “Watch where you’re going”. The other 254 being when you had a science project with him which your teacher conveniently paired the both of you together. 

 Was this “rivalry” really because he said he wanted to be a doctor back in the third grade? Sadly yes. You both are in your first year of high school and you still haven’t let it go. But in all honestly, Megumi hopes you don’t let it go. Before your rivalry, he never really felt a reason to go above and beyond in school. If he had A’s and B’s, he was set for the year. However, you pushed him to do better, seeing as you were always competing. He does think the reason this started is stupid. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

The reason for that isn’t just because of his grades improving, It’s also because he’s madly in love with you. 

xoxodivine©

#jjk x reader #jjk #jjk x you #megumi x you #megumi fushiguro #fushiguro x reader #jjk megumi #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu megumi #jujustu kaisen #megumi basically gets bullied for 692 words #megumi x black reader #reader is a bully

[measuredingold]

i think i’m in love

author's note: hi all ! something short and sweet for our boy folio :) inspired by “i think i’m in love” by taylor acorn, so listen to that if you wanna get a feel for this. really loved writing my last piece for him and i adored his relationship with reader, so i wanted to expand on that a little. i may continue writing in this universe if more people want it :) as always, please enjoy !

pairing: nick folio x reader ( fallingforyou universe )

cross-posted on ao3

word count: 1k~

cw/tags: fluff, literally nothing but tooth-rotting fluff, feelings realization, nick is so smitten soooo in love, 18+ minors do not interact

Nick feels like he can breathe much easier again the second he's off that damn plane.

It was a full flight, incredibly fucking stuffy, and he had been anxious the very second the plane took off. He was counting down the literal seconds in the air until they were finally on solid ground again. Flying wasn't one of his favorite things, never had been, but especially when he was anticipating something much more exciting upon his arrival. You never left his mind, even when he tried to sleep, the moment his eyes shut you were the first thing he saw.

Being excited about going home and sleeping in his own bed for the first time in weeks is one thing, but being even more excited just because he gets to have you in his arms again... it's a whole other feeling.

He never expected this to happen - you and him. Relationships are never easy, especially being in the road majority of the year, and most people run when he even utters the words that he’s a musician. You didn’t, though. You stayed, and the two of you learned how to deal with the distance together. It was hard at first, trying to get the times just right to FaceTime, even a quick phone call. It got easier as time went, but the ache in his chest grew more and more as the thought of you passed his mind.

And you were on his mind a lot.

He sees you before you see him and his heart soars out of his chest, lodging itself in his throat. He swallows it down with a smile and his legs move before he can think about it.

Holy shit. He missed you so much.

It's right when you're just barely out of arm's length that you finally turn around and see him, and he watches the exact moment relief washes over you. Your eyes widen, lips stretching out into a smile, and you barely get a word out before his arms are slipping around your waist.

"Hi." You squeak before settling in his arms, wrapping your own around him.

He takes a deep breath through his nose, emotions running high, and he just holds you closer to him. This is what he was needing - craving. Having you in his arms was something he had thought about the second he left you, and to finally have that again after almost three months is... a lot. A new feeling he can't explain, but there's been a lot of new things when it involves you.

"Hey." He says quietly, pulling back just enough to get a good look at your face.

You're smiling, eyes crinkled at the end, and that’s when he sees the first tear fall. He laughs, reaching his hands up to cup your cheeks to wipe it away.

"Sorry." You mumble, clearly embarrassed, but the tears don't seem to stop. "I just missed you a lot. Really glad you're home."

"I missed you too, darlin'." He hums, thumbs stroking over your cheeks before letting his arms wrap back around you, pulling you into his chest. "And I'm really fucking glad to be home."

You fall into him naturally, face burying against his shoulder. The two of you stand there for a few moments of silence, soaking up the embrace, and Nick realizes why it's hard to have someone at home. These reunions are rough - emotional, almost too emotional for him. And maybe if this had been Nick from a year ago, he'd run. He could never put himself through this, you through this, because it hurts so much to be away from the person that you love.

But coming home to you, knowing that you'll be here waiting for him... something inside Nick's chest squeezes, his stomach swirls, and he thinks it might be worth it. It's too early to say if this is for the long run, if he and you were end-game, but maybe you were. Maybe this was the real deal, and maybe he actually was in love with you. He can't seem to find a justifiable reason to break this off because it hurts too much. He's willing to put himself through this, if that means he has you.

And who knows, maybe one day Bad Omens could get big enough to where he can support you both, bring you out on the road with him. The thought makes him feel giddy, even if it may not become a reality anytime soon.

"Ready to head home?" You finally speak up, pulling away from him.

Your eyes showed no more tears, which he was thankful for, and the softness in your gaze has him wanting to just kiss you right in front of everyone. At the mention of home, which would involve a bed - hopefully yours - he nods, before yawning loudly.

"Fuck yeah." He says mid-yawn and you laugh, reaching out to pat his chest. "Yours? I like your bed better than mine."

You wordlessly grab his suitcase, waving him off as he tries to take it from you before sliding your free hand into his, gently tugging him with you.

"I think you've slept in my bed more in the last 6 months than you did your own." You tease, giving his hand a squeeze.

"Like I said, I like yours better than mine." He shrugs. "Also, it's just... very you. And I like you. So, I like sleeping in your bed."

"Didn't realize you liked me that much, babe."

"I like you too much," He hums. "It's concerning."

Your cheeks flush and he watches you turn your head to try and hide it, but he sees it. He always sees it. He feels giddy, hand squeezing yours as you turn your head to look at him again, lips stretched into a wide smile and a slight pink coloring to your cheeks.

"I think I like you too much, too."

Your eyes meet and he realizes there's something else under those words, and the smile the two of you share is one in understanding. He won't say it now, thinking he'll wait a little bit longer, but his chest twists in a way that he knows that you feel the same. He gently tugs you closer to him, lips finding the side of your head.

"Let's head home."

#bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fanfic #nick folio fanfiction #nick folio fic #nick folio fan fic #mine