#「 but now we call on science. 」⇢ answered.

[dontopenfairies]

The doorbell rings and I go to answer it. My boyfriend’s friend is standing on the porch, holding his notebook and a pencil. “Oh, hi,” I say, “Are you here to work on your science project?”

“Yep,” he says, and I step aside to let him in.

“I’ll go and find your partner,” I tell him. “Honey!” I call out into the house. “Your friend is here!”

My boyfriend hurries out of the bedroom. They’re supposed to work on a university project together, doing a local nature study, and they’ve chosen to study the trees in our neighborhood. I step aside and let them chat and figure out their plans.

“We’re going to start here in the backyard,” my boyfriend tells me as they leave out the back screen door.

I watch them through the window for a little while, measuring the tree and writing down their observations. I’m not really sure what they’re doing but it’s cute to watch.

I work on some of my own work and wash a few dishes before I decide to go out and check on the boys.

When I step outside onto the back porch, my boyfriend has his back turned to me and his head down.

“Is everything okay out here?”

“I’m okay,” says his friend. “But he had an accident.”

“Ohh, honey…” I say, turning my boyfriend around by the shoulder when I get to him. “Ohh, you wet yourself pretty bad, huh, baby?” I turn to his friend. “He’s really been having trouble with this lately.” I take my boyfriend’s arm. “If you can’t stay dry today, let’s go ahead and get a pull-up on you, okay?”

His friend trails behind us as I lead him back into the house.

“I can help,” he says when we get to the bathroom. “I know how to do diaper changes really well.”

“That’s okay. We’ll be fine,” I say. “Why don’t you sit in the dining room and work on your lab write-up?”

“Okay,” he says, sitting down and opening his notebook. He starts to pretend to write, but I can tell he’s going to try to listen to us in the bathroom.

“Here, I’m goin to help you with your belt, okay?” I bend down and unclasp the buckle. I say “help” but I’m really doing it all for him while he holds his arms behind his back. When I look up at his face his lips and forehead are screwed up in a tiny frown.

“Ohh no, are you upset?” I ask, rising and reaching my hands around his back to uncross his arms and hold his hands. “I bet that was super embarrassing, huh, to have an accident in front of your friend?”

He hesitates, mouth open. Then he looks at the floor. “A little…”

“It’s okay.” I run my fingers through his hair. “It’s okay. He knows that you can’t help it.”

He still looks a little bit sad as I help him out of his pants. I clean him up and help him into his pull-up.

“Oh no, I forgot your pants.” I open the door a crack and lean my head outside. “Would you mind getting him new pants?” I ask his friend. “There should be some in the basket in the laundry room.” His friend drops his pencil and hurries to his feet.

When I turn around he’s all red, twisting his shirt between his hands. We can hear his friend’s footsteps thumping down the hallway outside the door.

“What’s wrong, honey? You’re still all pouty.”

“I don’t want to leak my pull-up,” he says quietly.

“Ohh, baby, that’s not going to happen, don’t worry. If you feel like you need to pee again, you’ll come get Mommy, won’t you?”

“I will,” he says, looking down.

“He calls you Mommy?” We both turn around. His friend is in the doorway, holding a clean pair of pants for him. He’s grinning mischievously. “That’s so funny.”

“It’s also kind of private!!”

“Shh, shh. Don’t start fighting, now.” His friend passes me his pants and I shoo him back out of the bathroom. My boyfriend kind of grumbles as I pull his pants back on him but pretty soon they’re out in the backyard again.

I start to put together a snack for them and they must have seen me through the window because I hear them coming up the stairs to the porch.

“I bet your Mommyyyy is making us something,” his friend taunts in a sing-song voice as the door opens.

“He’s teasing me!” says my boyfriend, hurrying over and grabbing my arm.

“Okay, be nice. Why don’t both of you go and sit down at the table?”

As they leave, I hear my boyfriend say, “See, you’re teasing me, but you’ll also do whatever she says.”

[tonycries]

Go For It, Gojo! [Part 2] - G.S.

Synopsis. Just two weeks ago you could barely stand him - so, really, why is your heart beating so loud? Surely, it’s just the way he’s got you pushed against the wall, face stuffed in your cunt - right?

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, academic rivals to lovers, student president! reader, unprotected sex, semi-public sex, slight angst + comfort, vibrators, banter about physics, cunnilingus, Yaga is tired, oral sex (male + female), college! AU, both reader and Satoru do some growing up, overstimulation, super sappy actually, pet names (sweetheart, hardass), swearing.

Word count. 10.5k

A/N. Passed out five times, here’s Part 2 (joke). PART 1 HERE. Art by @_3aem on X.

Gojo Satoru likes to think he’s hilarious. A real connoisseur of the fine art of comedy. The fifth member of Impractical Jokers, if you will. 

Which is probably why, for someone who didn’t know the definition of shutting the fuck up, he sure was intent on staying quiet about whatever this was.

It’s been exactly 2 weeks, 5 days and 17 hours since you and Satoru had entered this weird limbo, and there still wasn’t a peep out of the man about what the two of you are to each other.

Friends? Acquaintances? A booty call that he happens to argue way too much with? You’d smack that pretty nose of his if that was the case - as soon as you admittedly stopped being a pussy yourself…

But, semantics.

And right now, his fingers intertwined with yours as he practically drags you through the aquarium ticket counter - you couldn’t help but wonder - was this a date?

Not exactly lovers, but definitely more than friends, a tense understanding crackling in the air between you two. Something prickly and jittery that pooled in your stomach and made your head spin. 

And as someone used to having the answers to everything, it bothered you that you didn’t have the one to this. 

You haven’t been to an aquarium since you were a kid - quickly having outgrown it at the ripe age of seven. So, really, it made sense that the 6’3 manchild beside you insisted it was the perfect spot to celebrate finishing your assignment.

“That damn quantum entanglement hell.” you’d called it - and ranted about all the way inside - more so to fill the charged silence than anything. His fingers still tight around yours despite the dissipating crowd, burning into your skin.

“You know for someone who loves the elegance of science, you’re an extra hardass about quantum entanglement.” he titters in-between worried mutters of “doesn’t that old lady look like the mafia queenpin from the café.” as you two try to navigate your way through the aquarium.

You desperately cling onto his remark - a sense of normalcy you could finally breathe in.

“Well, Satoru, for someone who treats life like an improv show, you sure have a knack for avoiding scientific precision,” you retort, some strange part of you delighting in the way his fingers tighten around yours. 

“Precision is for pussies.” he chuckles, bringing up a hand to your face, fingers wiggling in a ludicrous attempt at hypnotic suggestion. “Besides, sweetheart, life is a cosmic joke, and quantum mechanics is the punchline.”

“As expected from a Pilot-Wave theorist, that just sounds like an excuse to be lazy. ‘Oh, let’s embrace uncertainty and blame it on quantum mechanics!’”

“It’s also the punchline.”

“At least my punchlines make sense.”

He lets out an exaggerated whine, “And here I thought we were bonding over shared disdain for the hard-headed laws of physics.”

“Shared disdain? I actually respect the laws of physics. They’re the backbone of our universe.”

“Maybe.” he responds, voice a bit uncharacteristically somber. “But, quantum mechanics, uncertainty, whatever. In the end it doesn’t matter the universe, aren’t we all just wandering through a sea of unpredictability? It’s exciting.” he weaves through the crowd with you, gaze flickering between you and the vibrant schools of fish.

And maybe you’re an overthinker - you’ve always been told you were - but it felt like his words carried a heavy tone that went beyond your stupid little debate about quantum entanglement. This was not about physics.

“That excitement often leads to chaos, no matter the universe.”

“Embrace the chaos in every universe then. It keeps things interesting.”

“You’re incorrigible.” you scoff, meeting his intense gaze head-on, skin flaring at the sheer intensity of it. “I bet in every universe you’re an unchangeable hell-raiser.”

“Maybe.” He leans in, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, gaze now locked on you, his lips dangerously ghosting your ear. “Or maybe I’m just more of a hands-on learner?”

It might never have been about physics.

It’s innocent fun, right? Two classmates celebrating the end of an assignment? Innocent, innocent fu-

“Y’know with the way you’re so dripping wet f’me, I’m starting to think our lil’ arguments are just foreplay, prez.”

Sleek plastic cold against your back, Satoru’s mouth hot on yours - hungry and insistent. Lips tangy with the taste of minty toothpaste and the thrill of the forbidden as he cages you against that heady bathroom stall.

“You’re the one that riles me up. Got a degradation kink, Satoru?” you shoot back between gasps as his greedy hands map every curve and dip of your body. Groping. Kneading. Such a fucking tease.

“Mhm~ Love when you talk dirty to me, sweetheart.” he hums into the heated skin of your neck. White-hot tingles of electricity running along your body. “Though, I really prefer when that smart mouth is choking around my cock instead.”

“I’m gonna hah- drown you in the fucking clownfish tank.”

“Kinky, but that’s not that’s not the magic word, sweetheart.”

You grit your teeth - in both pleasure and irritation, but most importantly the need for more more more. He always did drive you insane. Words choked, “P-please.”

A sharp moan rips from your throat as long fingers graze your swollen folds through your soaked panties. Teasing the dainty hem. Pulling it down. Delving in. Curving deftly upwards, easily pressing into that one spot inside. Over and over. In and out in and out in and-

“Teasing hah- teasing bastard.” you hiss, even as your traitorous hips buck into his touch.

Satoru chuckles darkly, breath warm against your ear, sending shivers running down your spine. “Your teasing bastard.” Your heart pounds in your ears, mind caught on the “your”, drowning out the distant hum and bustle of the aquarium outside. 

And before you can open your mouth - maybe to say something so utterly stupid - he falls to his knees. Pretty lips ghosting your inner thigh, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. A stark contrast with the cool air of the bathroom stall. 

Mindlessly, your legs press together, a bead of slick trailing enticingly down them - aching for an ounce of friction. Down, down, down-

And Satoru notices - of course he notices - because his tongue darts out urgently, tracing the seam of your swollen folds. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, pooling your juices on his tongue before letting them flow down his throat - groaning as if it was his favorite taste. 

Shit, you really were his favorite taste. 

Nose-deep in your cunt and on his knees in that cramped aquarium bathroom, all he can do is lap up your juices. Cock aching, tasting you, breathing you in like a man dying of thirst. 

Pulling down his trousers just enough for his throbbing erection to spring free. Leaking tip smearing against his toned abdomen, trailing down the prominent vein in the middle. A large hand firmly gripping the base, pressing his heavy balls so obscenely on your calf, pulling in sinful little tugs to you.

Blood rushes straight to the throbbing erection in his hands at the way your breath hitches, pretty little mewls of his name leaving those kiss-bitten lips. Such a shame he had to muffle them, two fingers in your mouth, forcing you to taste yourself. 

Ah, he didn’t get to see those manta rays yet, but it’s alright - right now, hips bucking helplessly into him, your hands knotted in his hair - you’re his favorite view anyway. His pretty girl.

“Hngh- Jus’ like that, Satoru.” you moan.

He groans into your dripping pussy, vibrations sending a jolt of electricity shooting through your veins, making you clench further around the tongue pushing its way into your heated hole. Cunt aching for release, and his leaking cock not far behind as he fucks his fist urgently. Grinding into you like a fucking dog in heat.

“Please.” 

Granting your unspoken request, he moves purposefully. Nose catching on your clit, rubbing it over and over as he alternates between gentle sucks and rapid thrusts of his tongue dipping into your entrance. Satoru’s unspoken pace sends you spiraling into insanity - and the edge. 

Almost there.

You lock eyes with him, seeing just as much need for you reflected back in his own eyes. Flitting between his hungry gaze and the thumb teasing his flushed slit. Jerky, desperate strokes of his hand along his veined length - up, up, up - just the way you do it.

Time seems to stand still as with one two three thrusts you shatter all over his tongue. Choked-up cries of his name bouncing off the walls of the empty bathroom as you chase peak after peak on his pretty face.

Your vision blurs at the edges, blood roaring in your ears. Torn between wanting to scream in pleasure and not wanting to be arrested for public indecency. Breathless whispers of pleasure slurring together as your mind clouds with only Satoru Satoru Satoru-

As the haze clears slightly, you realize you’re cradling his head, stroking his silky locks soothingly. Pulling away - embarrassed more at this than what just transpired - you let Satoru rise to his feet, towering over you. 

“On your knees, sweetheart.”

Still delirious from your orgasm, you mindlessly drop to your knees before him. Wordlessly, he guides himself into your mouth, precum salty on your tongue and cock glistening in the dim light of the bathroom.

His hips begin to thrust, matching the pace from before as he fucks your hot mouth. You relax your jaw, letting him take control as he plunges deeper and deeper. Fighting the urge to gag as he hits the back of your throat. Saliva drips down your chin so lewdly, smearing on his cock,

Satoru’s breathing grows heavier and heavier as your nose hits the tufts of hair on his pelvis, already wet with precum and spit. Grip searing on your scalp, you look up to meet his gaze - eyes half-lidded and tears clinging to your lashes.

Maybe it was the carnal look in your eyes, or the way your glossy lips stretch so prettily around him - because with a guttural groan, Satoru spills his load down your throat. Grasp steady on your hair, making you sputter and drink every drop as his cock twitches on your tongue. Cum dribbling down the corner of your lips, the tap! tap! tap! of it ringing in your ears.

As his high passes, you feel as if you’re in a daze as Satoru helps you up. Voice shot and throat burning as he cleans the both of you up. 

Gentle hands on your cheek, a thumb caressing your lips. Your face burning at the way he looks at you. Why does he look at you like that.

A soft smile plays on his lips - kiss-bitten and prettily glossed with your juices. Wordlessly, he leans in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips, sending a sudden tug at your heartstrings.

“I bet in every universe we sneak around and choose the worst lil’ hideouts.”

Yeah. Yeah, maybe you did.

And you don’t know why it hurt. 

It’s almost like you’re on autopilot as you quickly smooth down your clothes and follow Satoru outside, back into the bustling aquarium as inconspicuously as possible. 

As you walk side by side, you can’t help but feel the previous euphoria inside you coiling into something more. Something uncomfortable.

Passing by a group of kids excitedly pointing at a giant tank of tropical fish, you feel a wistful ache as you’re reminded of simpler times. Back when you didn’t analyze everything interaction. Maybe back when things were better.

Pulling back, “Satoru…”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“About what happened…about us-” you sputter out, uncharacteristically inarticulate. “I don’t want-”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, y��know.” 

Your head snaps up. Unspoken words lingering in the air - is it me or you that doesn’t want to talk about it.

Your eyes catch on the shine of his hair in the cool light. The subtle flex of muscles beneath his shirt as he leads the way through the mesmerizing corridors of the aquarium, the soft glow of the tanks casting an ethereal light on his silhouette. 

His hand warm in yours, and that little dimple at the corner of his grin as he turns to you. Devastating.

It was like something snapped. And it hits you with a pang. All glory and beautiful.

He wasn’t yours.

And he probably might never be.

Somehow that terrified you. 

Because in the end, weren’t you just playing along in his elaborate cosmic joke? Just part of his unknown?

But why did that hurt so much?

“Gojo, I’m going home.”

Fear.

---

There have only been three times in his life that Gojo Satoru has truly felt fear. The first, of course, was right after kissing your pretty lips in that dingy closet - if there was ever a true “ah, if I live I’m making this my legacy” moment then that was it. 

The second was when he accidentally walked in on Yaga practicing his interpretative dance routine in the faculty lounge. The man had some moves - but it was something that Satoru saw nightmares about for days.

And the third time? Well, that’s the ongoing saga of trying to decipher you and why the hell you were sitting in another row during Advanced Quantum Physics, so gorgeous and unbothered ignoring him.

No texts, no calls, no snarky debates on anything since the aquarium a few days ago.  

Almost as if he was back to square one - worse even.

So yes, Gojo Satoru is scared. In fact, some might even say he’s utterly terrified. 

But even more than that, he’s so so stupid.

Because for the life of him he couldn’t remember what he’d done to mess up that fragile little connection that you two had formed. 

Maybe you just liked seafood too much to visit the aquarium? That couldn’t be it…

Did you find out he accidentally knocked over that stack of books in the library and blamed it on you? No, he’s heard you blame worse things on him to his face. 

Have you finally gotten sick of him?

…

Nahhh.

He steals a glance in your direction. Eyes mapping your ramrod posture, the way you’re hanging off of Yaga’s every word, and that slight frown marring your features. Ah, you looked so beautiful there even when you looked like you’re about to have an aneurysm.

It’s as if you’ve erected an invisible fortress around yourself, and he’s outside looking in. Desperately calling for you.

Satoru sighs inwardly, realizing he’s going to have to pull out the big guns. With the subtlety of a sledgehammer, he clears his throat, shifting his chair a little too loudly to yours in the row in front of him. 

Paying no mind to the irritated glance that Yaga (and you) shoot at him, he whispers loud enough that it probably carries to the entire classroom. “So, prez~ Did I accidentally stumble into an alternate universe where you still hate me or have you just been avoiding me like I’m a contagious disease.”

You flinch - probably both at the audacity and at him addressing you. Eyes still firmly trained on the now-disgruntled Yaga, you reply curtly, “This is not an alternate universe, Gojo. And I haven’t been avoiding you, I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy ignoring me? Space might’ve worked for Neil Armstrong but it won’t work for me, sweetheart. Just tell me what I did so I can get on my knees and beg for forgiveness.”

Your brows furrow, eyes rereading the same sentence on your textbook over and over. “Just focus on these causal dynamical triangulations, Gojo.”

“Oh yeah, I had one of those once.”

“Satoru. I swear to-”

A sharp call of your name - followed by his. Professor Yaga’s irritation, now palpable, hangs in the air like a storm. “If you two can't maintain some decorum, I suggest you continue your discussion outside.”

Satoru grins unabashedly, batting his long lashes, “Why, Yaga, I thought you enjoyed our discussions.”

“Out, both of you.”

Each word clipped and shattering your dreams of becoming Professor Yaga’s protégé into tinier and tinier pieces. 

“You heard the man, prez. Let’s take this show on the road.” 

Hastily, you gather your belongings, shooting an apologetic glance at Professor Yaga, who gives you a sympathetic look in response. As the door slams behind you, noise ringing in your ears, you stand frozen in a mixture of shock and disbelief. 

Satoru, however, seems unfazed. “Well, that was an unbridled success.”

Irritation spikes as you hiss out, “What?”

“I mean, you called me Satoru for the first time in days so I consider that an unbridled success.”

A strange stab at your heart, and maybe for the first time since working together on that quantum entanglement assignment, Satoru’s joke doesn’t land. 

Your eyes narrow at him, “This isn’t a joke, Satoru. I needed Professor Yaga’s guidance - how else am I going to get a research position with him?”

“It wasn’t a joke.” 

Following your weighty silence, Satoru lets out a heavy sigh. The expression on his face looked more serious than you’d ever seen it as his eyes search yours. “Look, prez, I didn’t mean to mess things up for you - though Yaga basically worships the ground you walk on so-” 

At your raised eyebrow he gets back on track, “Anyway, something’s wrong and I just wanted to understand what’s going on between us.”

A humorless laugh leaves your lips, “Now you want to talk about us?”

You clench your fists, frustration and confusion boiling over within you. You know you’re part of this too. You know you’re not blameless in this tangled mess. And right now, the sheer warmth of his gaze made a strange little part of you consider just giving in and running to his arms. Fuck what he wants of you. Fuck all the uncertainty. 

And that’s exactly what scared you.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of thoughts within your mind. “I don’t even know what ‘us’ is, Gojo. And I don’t think you do either.”

Your voice is surprisingly steady - as are your feet as they carry you away from Satoru. You’d caught one, final glance at the slump of his shoulders, and the silent plea in his eyes. 

Purposeful steps sound in your ears as you walk to God-knows-where. Yet, they still stutter - as does your heart - as Satoru’s voice rings in the hallway behind you, “Take all the time you need, prez. I’ll win you back with my world-renowned Gojo charm again~”

Light words following a heavy admission, his humor attempting to bandage over the cracks of what you two had not too long ago. The echo of his words accompany you down the corridor, and despite yourself, you find your lips tugging into the slightest beginnings of a smile. The slightest.

It’s okay. This is okay. Things can go back to whatever they were now - normal, steady.

“World-renowned Gojo charm.” you repeat under your breath, ready to find a quiet corner of campus where you can throw yourself into causal dynamical triangulations. 

Gaze unwavering, Satoru stands still, searching for any signs of you looking back. Turn around. Turn around turn around turn-

“Mr. Gojo, are you going to find the building exit with the same enthusiasm you exhibit when spouting lines from your imaginary romance novel?”

“Ah. Yaga, I was just- wait imaginary? I can assure you that my charm is as real as quantum mechanics - just ask your star student! Although these days even quantum mechanics might have trouble explaining why she’s-”

“Mr. Gojo.”

“Understood. On my way.” A comical salute, “May your lectures be as riveting as my girl when she’s threatening to drown me in clownfish tanks~”

“Good. And please, spare us all from any more ‘unbridled success’ in the future.”

---

The following week turned into a delicate dance, a waltz of cautious side steps and tense half-glances - all of which were met by that fond gaze that made your heart clutch so involuntarily. Like a silent drama where neither of you knew the next line.

The sprawling campus now seemed so tiny, a tension connecting the two of you like an invisible thread. From Professor Yaga’s class - now so dull without that usual bickering - all the way down to that café just off-campus where the stuffy air hums with old banter and unspoken words.

Yet, the routine remained unchanged, you still found yourself visiting there time and time again - by that little booth in the corner, right next to the window. Just without your familiar companion.

You never realized how quiet the café could get without someone talking your ear off about everything from the Pilot-Wave theory to why the little girl at the grocery store who mistook him for a Kakashi cosplayer is definitely conspiring against him. 

It’s thrown you off - and you’re sick of thinking of that stupid smirk when you’re trying to meticulously sort through the overflow of student archives.

Ugh, you’ve been losing sleep over these for days. Feeling hot under your temples, you try to push away the pressure behind your eyes - If you don’t get this categorized before the next meeti-

“Whatcha reading, sweetheart?”

Speak of the devil.

Startled, you look up from your sea of paperwork. 

Ah, there he was. All nonchalance and grace, eyes twinkling with mischief and an easy grin curling his lips. And for a moment - a brief, fleeting moment - you’re filled with a familiar warmth, tension from the past few days melting into nothingness.

“Oh, just some archives.” you blink, with a measured calmness.

“Absolutely fascinating.” Satoru chuckles, sliding into the chair across from you with the casual elegance of someone who’s completely unaware of the mess he left in his wake. “What’s next, a riveting analysis on the historical significance of paperclips?”

Ignoring his banter, you focus diligently on the task at hand - Gakuganji would have your head. “If only. Now what do you want, Satoru? I’m busy.”

His grin widens, undeterred. “Busy with what? Cataloging the thrilling history of staplers and notepads?”

You shoot him a pointed look, “The secret lives of archives can be more scandalous than you think, Gojo.” 

“Just how do you contain your excitement, prez?”

“I don’t.” you drone out. Shuffling your papers, gathering them with a deliberate focus. “Now, if you’re done with your stand-up routine, I actually have work to do.”

Satoru straightens up, the playfulness in his eyes dimming ever so slightly. “Wait wait, sweetheart, we need to talk.”

You let out a sigh - there it is. And maybe you were being petty. Maybe you were slightly scared. “Oh, now, we do? How convenient.”

“Can’t we just go back to the way things were? I don’t want things to be weird between us.” He runs a hand through his silky locks, a gesture that usually accompanies his frustration. 

A bitter laugh escapes your lips. “Weird? Gojo, things have been weird between us for a while now. You just never bothered to notice until it got inconvenient for you..” You stand up, your archives now neatly organized. “I have to finish seven files of these now, excuse me.”

A subtle ache takes residence in your bones as you walk away, his gaze hot on your back. The barista, a friendly soul who had witnessed countless interactions between you and Gojo, offered you a sympathetic smile as you made your way out.

The café's atmosphere, once cozy with laughter, now suffocatingly laced with unease. That invisible thread connecting you both feels strained. Hanging by the thinnest of threads - on the verge of snapping. 

And, yet, through it all one thought rings clear. 

You missed him.

Satoru didn’t know what hurt more - the way you called him “Gojo” or the way he didn’t even get a giggle out of his paperclip joke.

“Gojo, things have been weird between us for a while now.”

Yeah, definitely the way you called him “Gojo”.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the cloud of doom himself. I can barely enjoy my Earl Grey. What’s eating at you, young man?” 

Satoru’s head snaps up at the curious croak, tone a mix of concern and amusement. His eyes meet sharp, perceptive ones that seem to cut through his sulky haze. Oh, it’s the mafia queenpin.

At his wordless staring she plows on, taking a seat opposite him, “Oh c’mon, boy. Don’t think I haven’t seen you lurking and moping about. You’ve got as much subtlety as my late husband - and he once tried to hide a mistress by having her disguise as a potted plant.”

A half-hearted grin makes its way onto his face, “No potted plants here, just the usual existential crisis. You know how it is.”

The old lady snorted, unimpressed. “Please, spare me the theatrics. I’ve seen drama queens with more subtlety. Now spill.”

Satoru hesitated, wincing at the stare that seemed to cut right into his soul. It reminded him of a little someone. 

Finally, he sighs relentingly, “It's complicated. Things with someone... changed. I miss the way it used to be, you know?”

A sharp cackle, echoing in the empty space around them. “Ah, love troubles. You youngsters make it sound so dramatic. Look, boy, if you want something, go and get it.”

He huffs in defeat, now way more into impromptu love counseling than he initially thought he’d be. “I tried but-”

But the old lady cuts him off, sharp and incisive, “Trying isn’t the same as doing, kid. And let me tell you, I’ve seen enough guys like you wasting time pondering instead of acting.” 

It seems this mafia queenpin brought out all the childish, petty sides of him. Because Satoru whines in a way that he definitely wouldn’t if you hadn’t been avoiding him and if you hadn’t called him “Gojo” and-

“But she hates me, and she’s sick of me.” A rare vulnerability creeping into his voice. “Maybe things were better the way they were.”

“Life’s too short for that crap. And trust me, that girl does not hate you, you’re just scaring her off. I would have smacked you after that first dumb comment about paperclips.” The old lady snorts, dismissing his complaint. “Uptight academics, always scared of their own feelings. Afraid that if they acknowledge them, the world might end.” 

Satoru blinks, taken aback by the unexpected insight. “Scaring her off? I'm just being myself.”

She leans in, sharp eyes drilling into him - picking him apart. “Being yourself doesn't mean avoiding the real conversations. You’ve got feelings, boy. Instead of playing the joker, try being sincere for once. Maybe you’ll be surprised.” 

Taking a patient sip of her tea, “Now, go and fix whatever mess you made. Or better yet, just grab the girl and give her a damn good kiss. Works wonders.”

Satoru blinks, taken aback by the unexpected advice. The old lady cackles again, a knowing twinkle in her eye.

“Now, scram, and let an old lady enjoy her coffee in peace.” 

He nods, more to himself than her, feeling a strange mix of determination and embarrassment at being given advice by the same lady he had a silent bet with you about being an underground overlord.

Immediately standing up, he salutes her goodbye before rushing out - only to stop abruptly halfway out the door. Turning and speedwalking back to the table, with a mix of curiosity and urgency. 

“Hey, granny, I have a question.”

“Anything as long as it isn’t my age, boy.”

“Would you happen to have any mafia connections by chance?.”

Ah, you think you’re dying. 

Or maybe that’s just what the towering stack of papers on your cluttered desk want you to think…

It mocks you. A painful reminder of the mundane world you were now in. That invisible thread connecting you to that little booth in the corner of the café now feels like a noose tightening around your neck. 

What’s done is done. And right now you have bigger fish to fry - fish shaped annoyingly like the unresolved chaos of these archives.

You rub your eyes, room swaying slightly as you squint at the tiny print, letters melting into one another and conspiring against you. Rereading the same sentence over and over, sweat beading on your forehead.

God, was the heater on too high?

The documents on the desk seem to dance, a mocking waltz that laughs in the face of your feeble attempts to restore order. Chaos. 

Stop it.  

An incessant pounding on your temples, blood roaring in your ears. 

You reach for a pen, your fingers fumbling as it slips through your grasp. Falling onto the floor with a clatter that reverberates in your throbbing head. Chaos. 

The room is stifling, walls closing in on you. Breaths hot and labored. Temples drumming louder. And louder.  Urgent and insistent. Chaos.

“Open up! It’s Satoru!”

Satoru.

Body acting before your brain, you stagger out of your seat, the world spinning dangerously as you clutch onto the desk for support.

Satoru?

Your unsteady feet carry you towards the door - almost subconsciously. You wince at the stab of pain in your temples as it throbs in time with the urgent knocking.

Hands unsteady on the doorknob, vision bleary, yet you’d recognize that shock of cloudy hair anywhere. His words hit you before the realization that Satoru was here, and why was he here looking so adorably disheveled like he’d run here and what was he rambling about now-

“I'm so so sorry. I messed up, I should’ve noticed. I know I’ve been avoiding the real conversation and I didn’t realize how much-”

His voice, tinged with a vulnerability you’re not used to hearing, is abruptly cut off as Satoru looks up from where he was fumbling with his fingers in nervousness - wide blue eyes taking in your glassy eyes and clammy skin. In your hazy vision you make out the deep concern creeping its way onto those pretty features.

“Sweetheart?”

A sudden wave of dizziness hits you. The room tilts, and for a brief, disorienting moment, you feel like you’re floating in space. Ah, didn’t know you could breathe in space. Wonder if you’ll win a Nobel for this discovery?

A sharp call of your name cuts through the haze, the last thing you register before the world folds around you like a delicate paper. Fading to black., and perhaps the warm arms around you are the only thing grounding you right now. The chaotic waltz has won.

Now, the great Gojo Satoru usually calls his mother for only one of two reasons - 1. His beloved ramen shop is closed, or worse - out of his favorite special spicy sauce, and 2. A dire and life-threatening emergency.

“Mama! I’ve got an emergency and no it’s not the ramen this time.”

His mother’s voice crackles through the phone, a mix of concern and amusement. “Satoru, are you sure it’s that dire? I’m at a work meeting, y’know”

Dramatically, “Of course, mama. Someone I care about is sick. Yes, I have a heart under this fabulous exterior. A real one.”

A brief pause, “Oh my lil’ Toru~ You mean you finally confessed to that student prez you’ve been swooning over for months? The one with ‘a brilliant mind like a quantum computer’ and ‘eyes like-’”

Squirming in embarrassment, “Well- not exactly, but-”

“Spill.”

“I need the recipe to our secret family chicken soup, like, urgently. It’s a life-or-death situation.”

His mother’s laughter echoes through the phone. “Life-or-death, huh? Alright, my little drama king, I’ll send it right away. But you owe me a detailed account of what's happening.”

“Deal!”

With a click, the call ends, and Satoru is left in your hallway, holding you in his arms, desperately awaiting the secret weapon - his mother’s legendary chicken soup.

In the meantime, he shifts you in his arms, steady hands carefully lifting you off the ground, cradling you to his chest. 

Face burning at the practiced way his feet carry him to your room. “Come on, sweetheart. Wake up. Don’t make me regret not calling an ambulance. Should I call an ambulance? No, chicken soup first, then maybe an ambulance. Ugh, I should've paid more attention in first aid.”

Slow, deliberate steps through the corridor. Heart dropping as his eyes catch on the mountains of scattered papers and files. Next time he passes by Gakuganji’s office he’s gonna swap the keys on that fossil’s keyboard. 

The soft click of the door closing seems too loud in the quiet room as he lays you gently on the bed. Heart clenching at the way you bury yourself mindlessly into the covers, pretty eyes still screwed shut, he mutters to himself “What am I going to do with you?”

His gaze drifts to the scattered papers on the floor, starting to gather them, creating a semblance of order amidst the chaos. Satoru glances at you, noticing the creased lines on your forehead even in your unconscious state. A pang of guilt hits him.

“Avoiding the real conversation, huh?” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. He risks a glance at your sleeping figure again, “I’m sorry, my sweetheart.”

Finishing his impromptu cleanup - and after taking maybe one picture of you all snuggled up - he gets up determinedly to make the legendary chicken soup. “I’ll make it right, prez. First, chicken soup. Then, we'll have that real conversation, no matter how scary it gets.”

You wake up to the cacophony of pots and pans, and a voice…cursing bad cooking for being genetic? The aromatic smell of chicken soup hits you - as does the cold sweat beading on your forehead.

Joints aching, you try to sit up, the room still spinning - but ever-so-slightly less than before. Recollections from earlier slowly come to you, you don’t even have to look at the figure now standing at the doorway to know who it is.

“Whoa, there, sweetheart. Lay back.”

Your weakened smile is met with a worried frown. Satoru’s gentle tone, masking his franticness, rings in your ears like a song you loved but haven’t heard in a long time. He rushes to guide you gently back onto the bed, a thumb wiping away the sweat trickling down your temple. “Soup’s on the stove. But first, let’s get you cleaned up. Is that okay?”

Before you can protest - as if you had the strength to - Satoru scampers off to your bathroom. You lay there in the deafening silence as he does. You had an image to uphold, archives to categorize, and a Satoru to distance yourself from. 

But right now, your eyes meeting his like constellations aligning in the night sky as he returns with a small basin filled with warm water, a soft cloth draped over his shoulder, you think that you wouldn’t mind falling apart for him. 

Sitting down beside you, his gaze never leaving your face, “Just relax, sweetheart. I’ve got you.” A tenderness in his voice matching the warmth of the damp washcloth gently dabbing your forehead.

A heavy feeling settles in your gut. You want to shy away from the fondness in those blue depths as they never leave yours. You want to block out the hushed whispers of reassurance as his fingers trail lightly across your skin, uncomfortably hot. You want to cry. 

And you don’t realize you are until Satoru’s hand stiffens, eyes widening with emotions you can’t name. 

Oh. 

Satoru has seen you strong, capable, and fiercely independent. He’s seen you turn his elaborate equation into a doodle of a ramen bowl with the caption, “Even my ramen has more substance than this theory, Satoru.”

But Satoru has never seen you like this. 

“Hey, hey, c’mon. It’s okay, prez. I’m here. I’ve got you.” Satoru whispers, as if afraid that speaking louder might shatter the fragile reality you both find yourselves in.

His words hanging in the air, and the sincerity in his eyes coax you to unravel the knot of emotions you’ve been suppressing ever since you were pushed into that damn closet with him.

“Satoru.” And it spills out. “I’m scared. And I missed you. And I’m scared that I missed you - scared of what that could mean, and scared of where this might lead. Because I missed you and you’re here.”

His brows furrow in concern, but he remains silent, urging you to continue.

“I've built walls, convinced myself that I can’t afford to be vulnerable out of fear of the unpredictable. Yet, here we are. I can’t escape it, and it terrifies me.” you confess, eyes flickering away from the intensity of his gaze as if avoiding the reality of your words.

Satoru inches his hand closer to cradle yours. “You don’t have to be scared, prez, I’m not going anywhere.” His voice a steady anchor, “Though, I was scared too. Scared that if I confronted these feelings, you’d run away. So, I waited, telling myself that I was giving you time, but honestly it was just a shitty excuse.”

His thumb caresses the back of your hand, a gentle rhythm matching the beating of your heart. “Because for all I spout about chaos and uncertainty, facing these feelings head-on is scarier than any angry Yaga.”

A fresh wave of tears - both at his admission and at that familiar attempt to lighten the humor. “You’re an idiot you know.” you sputter.

“I know.”

“And your theories on life and the universe are stupid.”

“Absolutely.”

“And your overpriced glasses make you look like the fourth blind rat from Shrek.”

“Now that’s too far, he’s a mouse, sweetheart.”

A watery chuckle as his fingers interlace with yours. Satoru leans in, his forehead resting against yours - no care in the world for how contagious you might be. Because fuck if the sickness might not be then these feelings sure were.

“You scared me, y’know.” he confesses.

“I’m sorry. I should have taken care of my-”

“Not that.” Satoru’s unspoken words echo in the small, charged space between you two.

Your heart clenches, understanding. “For that, I am sorry, too.”

Disappointment spikes your heart as he withdraws slightly, hand feeling cold at the sudden absence. But before you can question the impending doom at his mischievous glint, Satoru produces a pen from your top drawer. 

“What are you up to now, Satoru?” you drone, raising a brow at his antics.

“Just a little insurance policy.” he smirks at your confused hum, taking your left hand back in his. Pen poised over your ring finger, ink cold on your skin.

“Insurance policy against what?”

“A promise.”

A delicate infinity sign, it draws your gaze and locks it there. You almost miss the flush creeping up on Satoru’s ears, “Just a symbol, y’know- We can get an actual ring if you want, my mother is actually best friend’s with-”

The sight of him makes something bloom in your chest. It hurt. Not because of fear, but because you felt so full. 

Cutting off his rambles with your lips on his. Steady, and electric, molding together as if they were meant to fit perfectly. A lingering promise. 

When you finally pull away, he huffs out an euphoric laugh. “I was gonna say you look like you wanted to kiss me so bad, but you already did.”

Rolling your eyes, “Think if I tell you something now you can write it off as me being sick and delirious?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Satoru, I love you.”

And that’s all Satoru ever wanted to hear.

“And I love you, in every universe.”

---

The sleep that follows Satoru’s “world famous Gojo family chicken soup” - and that heavy conversation - is the best you’ve had in days. You dream of manta rays in tuxedos, the guests of honor at yours and Satoru’s Nobel prize ceremony.

And, 12 full hours later and finally clear-headed, you find yourself groggily standing in the middle of your room. Blinking in disbelief at the perfectly categorized files of archives, and the sparkling organization of your once-scattered space - Satoru, peacefully snoring at your desk, pen still tightly gripped in his hand.

He…finished all of it?

Your heart clenches, warmth flowering all over your body. 

As you approach, Satoru stirs, those familiar blue eyes slowly opening to meet yours. A dazed smile stretches across his face as he sheepishly scratches the back of his head.

“Got a bit carried away. Guess you really are rubbing off on me, prez.” he chuckles, his voice still laced with sleep. 

“Good then, soon your brain won’t be a black hole of theoretical abstractions.”

Eyes sparkling, he throws his head back to laugh, carefree. “There’s my girl. Feeling better now, hm?”

Your face burns at his words, and his proximity as he stands from his chair to tower over you. Heat radiating off his skin. “Yeah, all thanks to your mother’s recipe.”

“And my charm, of course.”

“Oh, yes, the begging on your knees.”

“Hey it worked, didn’t it? Don’t insult the world-renowned Gojo charm that way~!”

You raise an eyebrow, unable to suppress a smirk. “Yes, yes of course. That world-renowned ‘Gojo charm’ strikes again. Is that why Yaga sent me a gift basket apologizing on your behalf?”

“Listen, sometimes collateral apologies are inevitable. And I learned the hard way that wishing Yaga’s lectures are as riveting as my girl when she’s threatening to drown me in clownfish tanks does not go well.”

A startled laugh escapes your lips, sound bouncing off the once-heavy walls, and you almost miss the captivated expression on Satoru’s face. A tender smile spreads across his lips.

Laughter bating, you throw your hands around his waist in one, fluid motion, relishing at his flustered expression. “We should go to the aquarium again sometime.”

“Mhm~”

A beat of silence. One. Two. 

“Satoru?”

He leans in, minty breath fanning your face. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Thank you.”

Body moving almost subconsciously, your lips crush against his. Hungry and yearning. Kissing each other with a desperation that eclipses the need for air. He didn’t mind dying if it meant suffocating by your lips anyway - both of them. 

You let out a muffled moan as he pulls on your lips, hands snaking down to grip your ass, squeezing possessively. His tongue was sloppy, intertwining with yours with matching urgency. Trapping yours between his ruby lips, sucking so lewdly. 

Large fingers bruising on your waist, pulling you flush against his body till you could feel the incessant banging of his heart against his ribcage - or maybe that was yours. 

His shirt is all but ripped off of him - as is yours, and if you were in a clearer state of mind you’d feel sad at the tattered state of your favorite Steins;Gate t-shirt. But all that flies out of your mind at the creamy skin of Satoru’s chiseled chest. 

You raise your hips to meet the throbbing erection now straining against his pants, fabric stretched and precum forming a pool right at the tip of his leaking head. A low groan is stifled into your mouth, almost as if it hurt to be apart. 

Satoru’s fingers dig into your hips, moving you to grind against his achingly hard length at a maddeningly sensual pace. Up and down, up and down, up and-

A white-hot jolt of electricity runs down to your cunt each time the prominent vein down his side catches on your covered clit, thin panties now soaked with your slick and his precum.

You almost don’t recognize the disappointed whine that leaves your lips as he pulls away, delicate strings of spit snapping.

“You drive me insane, sweetheart.” he murmurs, breathless with lust. 

“The feeling’s mutual, Satoru.”

And it was like something snapped - maybe his sanity, probably you by the end of this.

Because with a low, carnal growl, Satoru picks you up as if you weigh nothing. Seating you roughly onto your nearby desk and pinning you down. Papers scattering everywhere in the heat of the moment, rendering his earlier hard work useless. 

Satoru crowds your space, ravaging your mouth, grinding against your heated core till the only thing you can see is him, the only thing you can feel is him, the only thing you can think of-

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. The friction is maddening, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

Yet, Satoru, as always, disrupts your plans. Breaking the heated kiss, he trails his lips down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. You cry out - both in pain and pleasure - as he continues his assault, digging your nails into his sculpted back.

“I won’t be the first one to cum.” he mutters into the crook of your neck as a hand roams up your thigh, deftly pulling off your shorts. You writhe beneath him as lithe fingers tease the hem of your dripping panties, relishing in the choked gasp that leaves Satoru’s mouth as your swollen lips catch on his tip.

“Oh yeah? Damn well won’t be me either.”

You’ve barely gotten the words out before he tears off your panties, pocketing this pair as well for a lonely night - though, with the way your cunt quivers at his touch, he doubts it’ll be any time soon. “Wanna bet, prez~?”

He plunges his fingers inside you with a savageness that steals your breath away. Easily finding that magical spot, thrusting inside to hit it with scary accuracy over and over. Your plush walls convulse around him, crying out his name. Ah, he missed this. 

But you weren’t gonna sit there and be one-upped. A trembling hand moves down to urgently tug down his tight boxers. Rock-hard cock springing out, glistening with precum, your favorite shade of pretty pink. It made your mouth water. 

Satoru’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he feels your tight grip on his length, thumb swirling deftly under the sensitive slit. Spreading his precum along his flushed head. Torturing him. Warmth pooling at your core at the way he fucks your fist in mindless, shallow thrusts.

“Fuck. You really do drive me insane.” he groans, voice strained with desire as he keeps up the punishing pace of his fingers in your dripping cunt. Both of you unrelenting. Both of you in a fight for the other’s release.

It’s a close tie.

“Oh- oh, sweetheart I’m-” 

And Satoru spills into your hand in thick, hot spurts and pornographic moans. Your fist still pumps up and down his twitching length, milking him for all he’s worth as you tip over the edge as well, walls fluttering around his merciless fingers.

“I win.” you challenge, eyes half-lidded as you still reel from the intensity of your orgasm. Satoru’s fingers quiver inside you as he pulls out with a hiss. Pupils blown-out, the look in his eyes feral.

A slow grin spreading across his lips, words breathless and tinged with a bit of insanity that made your pussy clench, “Best out of three?”

“Always knew you were a sore loser.”

“Nah, I’d win.”

“You’re on.”

Before you know it, you’re being thrown onto the bed, bouncing at the sheer force of the throw - cut short as Satoru looms over you, pinning you down onto the mattress.

His lips graze yours with a tenderness that doesn’t translate to his hips as they grind on yours. You moan as his still-painfully hard erection throbs against your wall, head falling back in surrender as your swollen folds envelope him in his favorite heaven. Sensitive - so sensitive. 

Hands moving to your breasts, cupping them, teasing. Rolling your nipples between his deft fingers as your hips buck wildly into his. Precum and slick smearing obscenely. Faster. More desperate. Absolutely filthy. Racing towards the end.

And your voice cuts through the heady air, “W-wait, Satoru, wait. As the winner last time…” Words trailing off enticingly, a hand reaching hastily underneath your pillow. 

Oh, just when Satoru didn’t think you could surprise him any more. 

A jolt goes through his body at the thick, pink vibrator that emerges from beneath the pillow. Sleek metal catching the light, his eyes trailing up, up, up, intimidatingly large in your hands.

Eyes widening, Satoru’s breath hitches in his throat as he watches you handle it with practiced ease. Flip, switch - bzzzzz-

It rings in his ears and resonates through the room. A surprised smile stretched across his lips, despite himself. “Oh, who knew the esteemed student prez was such a little minx. Shit, sweetheart, gonna give me a heart attack.”

“You’re not the only one with lonely nights.” You nod pointedly at his pants - strewn across your bedroom floor and panties stuffed safely in his pocket. 

You bite your lower lip in a way that has probably all the blood in Satoru’s body rushing to his pulsing cock. Aching for something. Aching for you. 

Sensually, you press the buzzing toy against your clit, hips bucking at the immediate and intense stimulation. A jolt of pleasure making you gasp.

Satoru watches, spellbound, as you writhe beneath him - eyes locked so dangerously with his. He can see the slick beading at your folds, pooling onto your bed sheets. 

Impulsively, he reaches out, wrapping a large hand around yours, guiding it to your dripping hole. “Now…” your eyes light up in excitement at his predatory tone. “That’s just playing dirty, prez. I might just cream myself.”

Agonizingly slow, Satoru eases the vibrator inside you, walls clamping down so deliciously. A clever hand draws tight, little circles on your throbbing clit. 

You arch off the bed at the sensation and the stretch - full. So full. Full and so in heaven.

A fresh wave of slick coating the already-glistening metal, Satoru begins to fuck the toy into you, matching the rhythm of the vibrations. Relentless, he was absolutely relentless. Base meeting your swollen lips, tip kissing your cervix. 

It drives you insane. He drives you insane. 

“Fu-fuck Satoru-” Breathing ragged, tears pricking your eyes at the sensitivity, it only takes one two three more thrusts of the vibrator stuffing your cunt before you’re cumming with a loud cry of Satoru’s name, till you see stars behind your eyes. 

“Ah, I’m so glad we made it to the bed this time.” 

“Idiot.”

“Love you too~” Satoru continues to fuck into you mercilessly with it over and over, drawing out your high until you’re left limp and boneless beneath him. The only thing you can do being to take it.

As the shocks of electricity in your body fade, Satoru carefully removes the vibrator. You whimper at the sudden emptiness.

“Round 2 goes to me.” smugness evident in his words, slightly muffled by your lips.

“Shut up and kiss me. It’s the tie-breaker.”

His lips capture yours in a deep kiss. You can taste the salt of your sweat on his lips, and the desperation of the moment. It’s intoxicating. More addictive than any drug in the world. 

Wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him against your body - sticky with sweat and cum - till you can feel his rock-hard cock once more. Eager and aching for you. Teasing your folds with his leaking tip, readily spreading for him.

Finally, after what feels like hours - maybe even weeks - of buildup, he sheaths himself in your snug cunt the way you’d been dying for these lonely nights with just your vibrator. And with the way Satoru lets out a low, desperate moan - head thrown back - you think he might share the sentiment.

“God. Hah- Ah you look so beautiful under me, sweetheart. Hngh- wouldn’t get used to this in my lifetime.”

“Then hngh- find me in the n-next.”

He presses in slowly, languidly - a sensuality that envelopes you and makes you keen at the stretch. Finally bottoming out, he savors the heavenly feeling of being completely inside you. You really were heaven on Earth. 

Pulling back, prominent veins grazing that spot just right, he rams back into you with purpose. Savoring you. Torturing you. “Satoru oh- f-fuck me like you hah- mean it goddamit.”

But it’s not long before the great Gojo Satoru loses his handle on himself. Maybe it was the tears clinging to your lashes. Maybe it was the way your legs wrap so tightly around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust. Or maybe it was the fucked-out whines of his name spilling from your mouth.

Because he’s fucking into you desperately. Feral, deliberate strokes that make you ass sting at the smack of his heavy balls. The harsh slapping of skin on skin echoing in your heady bedroom at his unforgiving cadence.

The air charged so tensely that you could barely breath - or maybe that was the way Satoru’s furious tip kissing your cervix over and over knocked the air out of your lungs. Every nerve ending in your body felt alight with white-hot pleasure, electrifying you from the tips of your toes to the crown of your head - filled only with Satoru Satoru Satoru-

Vision blurry, head dazed so lustfully, you barely notice the way Satoru reaches down between you, his fingers familiarly finding your clit to rub harsh circles on it in time with his thrusts. It’s too much. Ah, you were going to pass out.

Instead, you cum - all over his twitching cock. The sensation almost too much as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. Especially when your walls clamp down, milking his cock so sinfully as Satoru spills into your snug cunt.

Balls tightening as he thrusts thick ropes of seed into your dripping pussy, your juices mixing with his as he thrusts animalistically into you, fucking it deeper and deeper. Decorating your plush walls white, cum spilling out of your sloppy hole as it overflows. 

Flashes of light behind his eyes at the sensitivity - pain, pleasure, yearning all melting into one, gooey mess that mirrored his heart right now. Desperate calls of your name leaving his lips like a prayer. Because maybe you were his salvation.

With a moan of pure ecstasy at the feeling of being so full you think you’d explode, you pull Satoru to you, nails dragging down his shoulder and every part of you wrapped around him so impossibly tight. As if you never wanted to let go - and you didn’t.

You don’t, even as you both gasp for air - and sanity. Even as he collapses his sweaty body onto yours, careful to not crush you with his weight. And you especially don’t let go as those dazed eyes bore into yours, a tender moment in the weighty silence. 

Because right now, no words were needed.

“I love you.”

“And, I love you. In every universe.”

Except maybe those. 

It’s only once reality is setting in, exhausted and intertwined so tenderly in his arms, that a sense of familiarity permeates the heavy air. 

“I win.”

An agitating, grating voice that you loved so much.

You let out a dragged out groan, rolling your eyes. “That’s only because I went easy on you.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’d love to prove you wrong, sweetheart, but I think my dick is out of commission for the next week at least.”

A sharp bark of laughter startles its way out of your lips as he bounces you two on the mattress, laying on his stomach and swinging his feet as if he was at some slumber party.

“Soooo~ Now that we’re finally dating, I can finally stop holding back on the quantum entanglement puns, I’ve got a list on my Notes app that-”

“I’m gonna entangle your face with my fist.”

“Jokes on you I’m into that.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“But you love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

---

Gojo Satoru likes to think he’s hilarious. A real connoisseur of the fine art of comedy. The fifth member of Impractical Jokers. 

So, of course, he had to barge into the hell that was his new 8am class with style. Bursting in through the swinging doors, imaginary cape flowing in the wind. Sue him, so what if he’s an attention-whore?! 

His bright gaze sweeps over all the students barely keeping their eyes open, before finally landing on you - on the edge of your seat, brows furrowed so adorably and eagerly drinking in every word Yaga droned on about. Who the hell found advanced quantum physics that riveting?

Intrigue piquing as he makes a beeline to you, Satoru’s heart lurches at that weird little part of him that wishes your attentive gaze was on him instead. Strange. 

Sliding into the empty seat beside you, of course he immediately turns on his world-renowned Gojo charm. You’ll be putty in his hands in no time~!

“Any closer to Yaga and you’d be fucking his wife, y’know.” 

“...”

Okay, maybe that didn’t come out as suave as he expected, but damn, not even a giggle?

You couldn’t blame the guy for getting nervous in front of a pretty girl! Nor could you really blame him for plowing on despite that - not after the jolt of electricity that ran through his body the second your irritated eyes met his. 

Oh wow. So that’s what it’s like to have your soul pierced and buried six feet under.

It was sort of addicting.

And if Satoru thought his knees were weak at just a glare from you - well, he was not ready for the way you snapped at him and told him to shut the fuck up. Ah, truly a woman of his dreams. 

Not even half an hour into the lecture and if you asked Satoru to recall a word spoken by Yaga then he wouldn’t have been able to tell you. The words went in one ear and he couldn’t even remember if it went out the next - too focused on getting your attention on him at least once more. 

He just wished you’d look at him - let him see all the shades of your eyes, and the exact degree at which your lip curls in annoyance. What would that smart mouth say to him next? 

“Now, would anyone here be able to discuss the interpretations in the debate between the Copenhagen interpretation and the Pilot-Wave theory?”

Which is why he positively jumped at the chance to show off his academic prowess to you. Only to find…you teetering on the edge of your seat as well? 

Your voice is even, a fiery glint in your eyes. He’s entranced. 

“The Copenhagen Interpretation uses Heisenberg's uncertainty principle and emphasizes measurement to state that quantum-level particles can act as both waves and particles. It’s the most widely accepted and pragmatic theory.”

Oh. This was going to be interesting.

Heart banging against his ribcage, voice slightly shaky, “Not to be the devil’s advocate but the Pilot-Wave theory makes way more sense practically.”

Thus, Gojo Satoru, in his failed attempts to flirt, starts a rivalry with you that shakes the entire physics department - and his heart. 

He was sure if he told Shoko and Suguru the real reason why he was suddenly spending hours poring over his physics textbooks then they’d definitely laugh their asses off - after giving him a good smack for being so ridiculous. 

It’s not that he didn’t like being on the receiving ends of your snarky remarks and death stares - but it’s just that he also wishes you’d kiss him silly while you do it. God, for someone voted campus hottie three times in a row, why was it so hard to just ask you out?

Which is why, seeing you being dragged into their little circle at that off-brand frat party, he thinks - ah, this might just be fate. 

Silently thanking Shoko for her accidental wingmanning, Satoru watches in amusement as you reluctantly scribble your name on that crumpled piece of paper. And if he slipped in a couple extra with his name on it, well, he was only glad you were too busy cursing his entire bloodline out to catch him.

The smell of cheap beer filling his senses, strobe lights matching the banging of his heart against his chest. Even if he did cheat at the game a little, Satoru didn’t think he’d end the night with your soaked panties burning a hole in his pocket - and the whisper of your lips on his searing even more. He was dazed. 

Was that…a dream? 

It must be, right? There’s no way the gorgeous student prez who hates his guts would suddenly be in the same proximity as him - let alone let him tonguefuck you into insanity. 

You tasted so sweet.

Yeah, must’ve been some hallucination. 

Months later, your soft grumbles in his ear, and your hand warm in his, swinging playfully between you two in the buzzing aquarium - a part of Satoru still thinks he’s hallucinating.

“Slow down, Satoru! The fish aren’t going anywhere.” you huff as he flits excitedly from tank to tank, eyes sparkling like a kid in a candy store. Yet, you couldn't help the beginnings of a smile curling at the corners of your lips at his childlike excitement.

“Can’t! I couldn’t show you this last time, even a hardass like you’d love it.” 

Whatever retort on the tip of your tongue is cut off by the breathtaking sight before you.

A grandiose tank - a kaleidoscope of an underwater world that stretched beyond your field of vision. Hues of blues and greens glimmering before you. Marine life you wouldn’t be able to name - no matter how many hours of watching NatGeo - in an ethereal dance across the water.

“Last time we were here we talked about multiverses. I know now, I hope that in every universe, we’ll be here together. Standing side by side, watching the deep blue and arguing about physics.”

Eyes widening at the beauty - and his words - you turn to Satoru, only to see his piercing gaze already on you. Satisfied grin bathed in a soft blue light from the tank, his twinkling eyes reflecting you and the lights and you. It was beautiful. He was beautiful.

“See? Didn’t I tell you you’d love it? I’m always so great at these thi-”

You shut up that big mouth - with your lips on his. 

Tender and weighty - as if you two had all the time in the world. And, your hands electric under Satoru’s touch, cold metal of the infinity sign searing into your ring finger - you think you probably do. Because Satoru’s tastes like candied apples and everything you could ever want. A promise.

“T-told you I was irresistible.” 

Confident words, muffled by your lips. You pull away with a disbelieving huff of laughter, and you’re glad you did - because you catch a glimpse of the nervous twinkle in his eyes and the flushed cheeks betraying him.

“You wish.” you chuckle, brushing your fingers over his cloudy white locks. That familiar, easy grin tugs on the corners of your heart, and for a moment - just this moment - it feels like just the two of you in this bustling aquarium. In this uncertain world.

“Sure do.” he whispers, as if a secret - meant for just the two of you. 

“Now, my prez, wanna go to our little booth at the café and debate the Copenhagen interpretation and the Pilot-Wave theory?”

A/N. Can you tell the title was inspired by Go For It, Nakamura?

Also so sorry for posting only sporadically this week, for some reason my posts refuse to show up under any tags and as a creator that’s really discouraging. But here’s to next week being better hopefully!

Plagiarism not authorized. 

Taglist:

@bbyxxm @maskedpacific @mrs--imperfect @dunixxd @scarammouch

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 5

in which spencer reid and fem!reader are reunited, but the worst kind of sparks are flying. you meet a man named randall. derek morgan buys you a drink (sort of). it seems that some things can't be unsaid.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: r goes to a bar but doesn't drink alcohol, gets hit on by weird men, dramatic, angst, sorry in advance a/n: surprise! i'll see myself out. love you! lmk your thoughts on this bad boy! i KNOW you'll have some! i'm locking all my doors and the cops are on speed dial after posting this. stay tuned for part six tho

You don’t call Spencer for four days. 

Spencer doesn’t call you for four days. 

It’s scary. 

There’s some texting—mostly him giving you updates on how things are going and when he expects to be back. Mostly you giving the messages a thumbs up and saying nothing else. 

Finally, on Thursday afternoon, his ringtone (the Bill Nye theme) makes you jump as you’re sitting on your bed staring into space. 

His caller ID photo—which is simply his passport photo, because you’d thought it was adorable—stares at you. You stare back. Contemplate not picking up. 

But you’re not quite there yet. 

And you cannot keep listening to Bill Nye the Science Guy. 

The answer button is cold under your thumb, but not as cold as your greeting. 

“Hi.”

You barely recognize your own voice. 

It seems to send Spencer for a loop as well, because his reply is halting. 

“Hey! Hi, um—how are you? I feel like we’ve barely talked this week.”

That would be because you told me my feelings for you are stronger than your feelings for me and I don’t know how to stop making every single word I say secretly mean I love you. We can’t have a conversation without me loving you. It will always be in the room or on the phone with us. To ignore the presence of it is impossible, and I don’t know if I can ignore the absence of yours, either. 

“Uh… yeah. I’m fine. What’s up?”

There’s a pause. 

“We wrapped up this morning. We’re getting on the jet here in a few minutes, and, um—I know it’s not ideal, but we missed Derek’s birthday and Penelope is insisting we all go to his favorite bar tonight. And he told me that for his birthday he wants to meet you. So… would you be up for that?”

“You want… to take me to a bar?”

“No. I mean—I know it’s not really your thing, but we missed Derek’s birthday three years in a row, and—and I understand if you don’t want to meet him tonight, but we wouldn’t have to stay very long and I really, really shouldn’t skip it. Derek has saved my life on more than one occasion.”

“You could go without me.”

More silence. Every second hurts, but you don’t understand why he wants you to come meet his best friend if he thinks the two of you are in different places emotionally. 

But maybe he’s not going to break up with you just yet. Maybe he’s going to keep inviting you to bars and foreign film festivals and bookshops. Maybe he’s going to treat you exactly the same as he always has but with this new added layer of knowledge that the way he treats you isn’t actually love, and it never was, and you’re not sure if it has the potential to ever become love. Because if it did—wouldn’t it have already? What more do you have to offer than what you’ve already given him?

Breakup or no breakup, you feel sick. 

When he speaks his tone is similarly chilly. It’s welcome. You want him mad. If he can’t reciprocate your adoration, then the very least he can do is have the decency to reciprocate your reproach. 

“I could. Is that what you want?”

No. I don’t want any of this. I need you to know me well enough to know that. And if you can’t love me then at least get angry. At least show me you feel something other than passive contentment. 

“Yeah. Sure. I don’t know.”

A pause stretches so long your heart pounds. You watch the elapsed time of the call tick by, second by second, and you wait for the anticipation to crack under the weight of silence, to give way to some terrible jump scare or to give way at all. 

But the words that end the conversation (if you can even call it that) aren’t any great relief. They’re just sad, and chalk full of defeat. 

“Alright. I’ll… I’ll call you later.”

You feel like you’ve swallowed an ice cube. All the words you’d like to say are frozen in your stinging throat. 

“Okay. Um… I’ll let you board now.”

“The jet’s not…” but he trails off. When he speaks again he sounds just as hurt as you’d wanted—and it doesn’t make you feel better at all. “Okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

The line goes dead, and your face is burning as tears fill your eyes for the hundredth time this week. That call was terrible and poisonous and you don’t feel like yourself. 

Things have gone so wrong so quickly, and all you know how to do is ice him out so he can’t do it to you first. But it’s not going to make this better. No matter how mean you are to him, at the root of it all you feel unloved and scared and alone and Spencer knows things about love and relationships that you don’t. He’s confusing you with all this talk of feeling differently about each other and I’ll be home tomorrow I miss you and things get complicated when one person likes the other more and let’s talk in person and will you come meet my best friend tonight. All of it leaves you motion sick and ugly crying in the fetal position. 

All you have to get through this is who you’ve always been, a little of the person you’ve become, and the love you harbor for Spencer which rattles around in your chest like a nail in an empty toolbox. At the moment it hardly seems helpful. It mocks you, pointing out the pathetic hilarity of your paradox. The only person who can comfort you, the person you want more than anything, is the reason you’re so upset in the first place. But you can’t help being drawn to him. 

Maybe the love you have for Spencer is more like a magnet in a compass. 

Even if he doesn’t feel it for you, you do love Spencer. And that goes beyond just loving the parts of him that like you. To hide from that love would be a gross disservice to yourself and all the work you’ve done to get here. It’s not as if you suddenly know exactly what the answer is—but you’re sure that hiding is the most childish, cowardly thing you could do and the furthest you could get from a resolution. Even if you can’t make him love you back, you refuse to allow yourself to fizzle quietly out of his life. This relationship deserves something more than that. 

So maybe you don’t have a plan when you wipe your eyes and pick up your phone. Maybe there’s no strategy behind your actions as you text Garcia for the bar location. But if you keep running from everything you’ll never get anywhere. All you can do is show up. It seems like the next best step. 

------

The pub isn’t too crowded—but for a Thursday night, you suppose it’s a bit busy. 

Boot heels hooked onto the metal foot-beam of the stool you’re sitting on, elbows resting on the polished mahogany surface of the bar, you’re staring into an untouched mixed drink. Then you glance down the bar to your right, at the man who’d bought it for you. 

Maybe your ensemble gave him the wrong idea. 

Coming to this gathering had required bravery, and you came armored. Your ensemble projects significantly more confidence than you’re currently feeling. It was intentional, a form of self-protection—but now you’re wondering if it’s projecting a little too much confidence. 

All done up, clearly still a little rough around the edges, and sitting alone at a bar was bound to draw the wrong pairs of eyes. 

“Hey, darlin’,” the gruff man says, approaching when you inadvertently catch his gaze. “Are you gonna drink that, or should I? Otherwise I’m lookin’ at eleven dollars right down the drain.”

You avert your eyes, scanning the groups dotted here and there. 

“I’m waiting for friends.”

“Does that make a free drink less appealing?”

He takes the stool next to you, off-gassing the scent of cigarettes and leather. 

“I’m not drinking.”

“Really? I’ve never seen a girl who looks as sad as you do come sit at the bar to stay sober.”

You frown, looking back up at the man next to you. He seems like the Hell’s Angels type—tattooed knuckles, leather jacket, grey beard, and a weathered face that’s clearly spent decades with the sun. Fifties, maybe younger and just looks more rugged. What does it say about how I look tonight that this is the kind of man I’m attracting, you wonder. Maybe you look desperate and just as lonely as you feel. As he claims you do. 

“I’m not sad.”

“Alright. I’ll take your word for it. But a happier girl wouldn’t be all alone.”

“I’m waiting for friends,” you repeat, letting the words drip like venom from your tongue. 

“I’m Randall. See? Now we're friends.”

“I don’t need more friends. I like the ones I have.”

Something catches Randall’s attention long enough to catch yours. He raises his bottle vaguely, gesturing beyond your shoulder. 

“Are those angry lookin’ guys in the suits marching right over here the friends you’re talking about?”

You turn your head, brows furrowed, and immediately see the gentlemen to whom your new pal is pointing out. 

Spencer is storming across the bar looking close to furious (which for him, means an expression so placid it gives you chills) followed by Derek Morgan—a man who you’ve only seen pictures of and is even more impressive in person. 

You hate how your breath catches, how your heart is already beating a little faster than usual at the sight of him even though you’re not exactly pleased with each other right now. 

Suddenly the bubbles in your cocktail are once again fascinating.

“Those are the ones.”

“And why are they dressed for church?”

Church?

“They’re FBI.”

“Ah. My lucky fuckin’ day.”

You almost snort. 

“Hey,” Spencer says sternly, hand settling on your back as he partially fills the small space between you and the strange man. “Who’s this?”

You shrug, sit up a little straighter, and take a shallow breath—not because you’re scared of this man but because Spencer is suddenly so close to you and you can feel his warmth and the air bending around him and the scent of him is genuinely dizzying to you. 

“Randall,” you exhale unenthusiastically. But the odd thing is that you’re rather grateful for Randall’s presence. Because now Spencer is here and you have no idea what you’re going to say to him. 

“Oh,” Randall says, sipping his beer unhurriedly before using it to gesture to Spencer. “You’re the boyfriend. You know, that’s funny, because she didn’t mention a boyfriend.”

“I didn’t mention anything. We weren’t having a real conversation.”

Randy holds his hands up defensively, fingers still wrapped around the neck of a sweating bottle. 

“I’m just saying it’s in-ter-esting. Not trying to start anything.” He stands, pauses for another sip—Spencer obviously isn’t sure what to make of this man because he says nothing. “But listen, man to man—you better buy her some flowers or a real pretty fuckin’ necklace or somethin’ because a happy girl in a happy relationship does not come pout at the bar all by herself.”

“Get out of here, man,” Derek finally speaks up. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He sets his empty bottle down and fishes in his pocket for a cigarette, sticking it between his lips. “But—just for the record—I have a wife. I wasn’t gonna do anything weird. Sometimes when you’re my age you just gotta live a little. Buy a pretty girl a drink. Piss off some Mormons, or whatever the fuck you are.”

This guy sounds like a bad Bruce Springsteen song. But part of you would almost rather hang out with Randall than be forced into a conversation you’re not prepared for with Spencer. 

And whose fault is that, you remind yourself. You decided to come be mature. Suck it up. 

“Goodnight,” Derek emphasizes. 

Spencer doesn’t say a word. You can feel his eyes boring smoking holes into the side of your face, and you look anywhere else.  

“I’ll be here next week after physical therapy like clockwork,” the stranger waves as he ambles away—but not before pointing at you. “You enjoy that drink, friend. And don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

What a weird man. 

There’s silence for a moment—in which Spencer refuses to stop watching you and you refuse to acknowledge that. 

“And here I was thinking Spencer made you up.” Derek has a beautiful smile and a warm, charming cadence as he holds out his hand for you to shake. “I’m Derek.”

You take the proffered hand and shake, offering him a shy smile and introducing yourself in kind. 

“Happy birthday, by the way. Sorry for crashing your party.”

Really, he’s stunning. 

“Thank you, sweetheart. And you’re not crashing anything. I told pretty boy here I wanted to meet you the second he started talking about a friend. But nah, he just wanted to talk and talk and talk about you—” 

“Alright,” Spencer mumbles, blushing, eyes finally torn from your profile. You smile slightly, brows knitting as Derek magically melts some of the terrible tension.

“Pretty boy?”

Before either of them can explain, someone shrieks in your general direction. You startle backward in your seat, and Spencer steps closer, hand sliding up your back as Penelope, JJ, and Emily join your little huddle. For only a second you allow yourself to shrink into him—before you’re straightening your posture like your spine is a metal rod and his touch burns. It’s a knee-jerk defensive reaction for which you have no explanation. You can’t see him, but you don’t feel his hand on you again. 

“Oh my god! Look at this beautiful person who I love!” Penelope exclaims, pushing past Derek to grab your face and kiss both of your cheeks. “Oh my god,” she says again, wiping sticky lipgloss away with her thumbs, “I totally meant to ask before I did that. But your face is just so kissable. I’m so glad you decided to come!”

“Hi, Penelope,” you smile half-heartedly, incapable of reciprocating her cheery mood. Fortunately, she’s cheery enough for a standard commercial flight’s worth of people, and probably thinks of Derek’s birthday as a national holiday—so she doesn’t pick up on this. 

Emily and JJ offer you tamer although perfectly kind greetings. 

“Ooh, what are you drinking?” Emily asks, leaning closer to examine the forgotten beverage in front of you. 

“Not that,” Spencer mutters, grabbing the glass and sliding it away from you. You give him an affronted look—and immediately wish you hadn’t, since you’re meeting his eyes for the first time since he left. His words stall for just a moment as his eyes dart between yours before he’s saying, “you shouldn’t accept a drink if you didn’t watch someone make it.”

The audacity of him to be acting protective makes you scoff. 

“That guy didn’t spike my drink. He was harmless.”

“People thought Ted Bundy was harmless, too.”

It’s such a ridiculous thing to say that you don’t even have a response—your eyes simply narrow and you shake your head. A claustrophobic silence falls over the small group. 

“Okay…” JJ murmurs. “Um, do you guys want to go check out the jukebox with me? We have to play all of the birthday boy’s favorites.”

Several enthusiastic yeses go around, but you’re too busy having a stand off with your boyfriend to take much notice. 

Soon, it’s just the two of you. 

“Controlling isn’t a good look for you,” you finally say, spinning to rest your elbows on the bar once more and studying the bottles of liquor on the shelves beyond. 

“Evasive and avoidant isn’t particularly flattering, either. I was under the impression that you had no intention of coming after that phone call earlier.” 

You scoff again as your blood heats. Already the conversation is going worse than you’d expected—and your expectations were not high. 

“Do you think the cab driver was a serial killer, too? Or maybe the bartender?”

He’s still behind you and slightly to the side—but he leans down, resting his own fists on the bar right next to you and speaking lowly, directly over your shoulder. 

“Why don’t you try speaking to me like we’re adults instead of starting meaningless arguments in order to get under my skin?”

From him, that hurts. 

It’s a branch on the tree of your greatest insecurity—the fear that you’re too inexperienced with relationships and that makes you too immature and he’s been lying every time he says it’s not an issue. Because of course it’s an issue. It’s why you fell in love with him, it’s why you don’t know how to fix it, and it’s why you’re incapable of actually expressing any of your feelings to him.

“Why do you think I’m here right now?” you whisper—as sharp and stinging as a poison dart. “I’m trying to be a fucking adult. I don’t want to be here.”

Silence. 

“Then why did you come?”

His voice is so calm it burns like dry ice. 

“Because! Because you asked me to, because—”

You can’t bring yourself to say it aloud. 

Because I’m obviously still in love with you and I can’t just turn that off. I tried to do the right thing. 

Instead you bury your face in your hands and let it hang in the air, unspoken. You know he knows. You just don’t know why he’s acting like you’re so unreasonable for being upset. 

“Let me make this very clear to you,” Spencer murmurs, brushing your hair away from your ear so tenderly, speaking so softly you could convince yourself that he’ll say something kind. It’s the closest he’s been in days and now that he’s here you feel how much you missed him in your bones. And even though you sense a trap, you can’t help but sit up straighter. You’ll be complicit in your own undoing if it means you can have him close. His breath shakes slightly as he inhales and you brace as best you can. “Nobody is forcing you to be here. You told me you weren’t coming and then you decided to show up. I was ready to give you the space that you were too scared to ask me for. But I can only take responsibility for so much of what is ultimately your bad behavior and your adolescent volatility. You can only blame so much of your bad behavior on inexperience before I run out of patience because I don’t find thoughtlessness and emotional immaturity compelling. I told you that if there is a disparity in the way we feel for each other, that was fine, and I meant it. But if you can’t cope with how I feel about you then don’t let me hold you back. I am not holding you hostage. You can leave whenever you want. So don’t waste your time punishing me because you don’t want to be here. And if you do want to be here, good. I want that too. But act like an adult and make a decision. My leniency has limits, even for you. I am asking that you do not push it any further than you already have.”

You don’t know how long it’s been since your last breath by the time he finishes his address.

Long enough that you’re dizzy when you push away from the bar and shoulder through the throng of patrons as quickly as you reasonably can without outright running. 

Long enough that when you burst out the door into the biting-cold night air, and finally take a deep, gasping breath, it burns and stings and aches and so does your head and your eyes as they well with hot, furious, heartbroken tears. 

You speed-walk to the end of the block, hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your cries and all the curse words you’d love to scream. 

Part of you knows you walked away from the bar in case he decided to try and follow you—but when you look over your shoulder the sidewalk is empty. You should’ve known better than to think he’d follow you after that. But at least it means you can have your breakdown by the relative safety of the bar, leaning your back against the dirty brick facade next to the entrance alcove and sliding down until your butt hits the cold concrete and you don’t even care. 

Who the fuck was that man in the bar who looked like Spencer and sounded like Spencer but spoke to you like this is all your fault, like it’s your fault you love him and he doesn’t love you back, like it’s ridiculous that you’d be upset, like you’re cruel and petty for having feelings about it, about him—for having any fucking feelings at all? And to think that was the man who you let know you more intimately than anyone ever has. Every insecurity you’d ever admitted to him was hurled back in your face like it was nothing. Hell—he even handed you the ones you’d never mentioned. He proved every terrible thought you’ve been having about yourself right. 

How could he be so unabashedly mean to you?

Spencer doesn’t have to love you. It seems clearer now than ever that he doesn’t. But part of you wonders if he suffered some sort of traumatic brain injury because that’s the only explanation for why he could go from treating you how he did before to treating you like he doesn’t even like you. 

You feel like you might throw up. 

“Called it,” a rasping, grumbling voice says from a few feet away. 

You look up, and spot fucking Randall standing under a street light ten feet away, still smoking. 

You go back to studying the tar spots on the sidewalk through bleary eyes. Pebbles sting as they press into your palms. Another one of the universe’s terrible jokes, you suppose. Just earlier you’d thought that you’d rather talk to Randall than Spencer and now here you are and here he is. 

“That kid as much of a dipshit punk as I thought he was?”

Hearing Spencer described as a kid and a dipshit punk is so jarring you almost stop crying. 

“He’s not a dipshit,” you sniff, voice thick with tears as you find yourself explaining Spencer Reid to this stranger for no reason at all. “He has an IQ of 187. He’s a genius.”

“Ah,” he scoffs dismissively, flicking ash from his cigarette. “Dipshit-ism don’t discriminate. Anyone can be one. Even your genius punk boyfriend. As a recovering dipshit myself I know what the work of a fellow dipshit looks like. And this has dipshit written all over it.”

You sob harder. 

Randall speaks calmly around his cigarette. 

“You know, I’m sorry for whatever you got goin’ on. But I’ve never not been the asshole when I got a hysterical woman in front of me. It’s nice that I can confidently say this time it is not my fault.”

The bar door opens, letting a warm burst of jovial music and chatter into the otherwise still night. Steps that are too heavy to be Spencer’s hit the concrete next to you—you look to your left and see Derek Morgan before he looks down and sees you. 

“Hey—you okay out here?”

“Why don’t you go ask your Jehovah’s Witness buddy? He did this.”

Derek makes a face, locating the source of this interjection. 

“Sir, I asked you to leave her alone once and I don’t appreciate being made to repeat myself. Are we clear?”

“Yeah, whatever. Fuck me for making friendly conversation, I guess. Gonna have to call my wife and tell her to pick me up down the street. I don’t want her on the damn phone while she’s driving.”

Randall wanders away again, still muttering to himself and smoking. Derek watches him go, staring daggers into his back until he turns his gaze to you. 

Goodbye, Randall, you think. Great. Now I have neither of them. 

“Hey,” he softens, crouching down to your level. “You okay?”

You sniff, wiping your cheeks and attempting not to smudge your makeup. It’s impossible not to feel awkward—you just met this guy and now he’s here trying to do emotional labor for you on his birthday. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. This is embarrassing.”

“You don’t look fine. Can I do anything for you? Do you want some food? A drink?”

“You really don’t have to—”

“I know, I know. But look—Reid is always talking about you. You’re important to him, and he’s important to me. I’ve never seen him this happy and I’ve known that kid a long time. It is in my best interest that someone maintain you, and if it’s not him, it’ll be me. Call it a favor to him, if that makes you feel better.” Derek is sporting a slightly more modest Cheshire grin again by the end of his sentence. Listening to him speak that way about Spencer speaking about you, it’s impossible not to feel a teeny bit lighter. Even if you’re not entirely sure where you stand on all things Spencer related at the moment. “So I’ll ask you again. Is there anything I can do for you?”

You sniff again. 

“Sure. A ginger ale or something might be good.”

“Got it. I’ll be back. And come inside if Randall tries to run up on you again, okay?”

Despite yourself you manage a laugh at the way he says the name. His warm smile flickers warmer at this.  

“Will do.”

When Derek returns a few minutes later, the plastic cup he’s holding looks decidedly not like ginger ale. 

“Penelope insisted that this is what you would want. I don’t even know.”

You smile slightly as you take the cup, full to the brim with bubbles and thick red syrup. A cherry bobs underneath the layer of cubed ice. 

“Shirley temple,” you chuckle. “I’ll take it. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he says, flashing that brilliant smile again, and you look into your cup as you drink. Maybe your face warms just a bit. You’re still shy around men, you realize. Especially attractive ones. And Derek Morgan definitely qualifies as attractive. 

“So,” he begins, and to your surprise, crouches down in front of you. “I have to be honest—I came out here in the first place because Reid sent me to check on you. But now I’m wondering what the hell he did.”

Spencer sent him. A considerate action that would theoretically signal his care for your feelings. You take another sip, staring into space and trying to digest this information, but it only jumbles with the rest to confuse you more. 

Of course, you don’t know how to convey this to Derek in a way that’s not overly-familiar for just having met the man, so you go with an old standby. 

“I’m probably just overreacting.”

“Uh-huh. I have sisters. I know what an overreaction looks like and if you were overreacting you wouldn’t be out here hiding. What’d he do?”

You can only keep up the facade of emotional stability for so long. Your chin wobbles in a horribly embarrassing way and you look down again. 

“I’m not sure—I’m not sure if he really did anything or if I’m just being dramatic and I don’t want to make him seem—”

“Why don’t you stop defending him and just tell me what he did?” Derek urges. “Trust me—I love that kid to death. But I also know he can be a dick sometimes. You don’t need to worry about making him look bad in front of me.”

Part of you is glad Spencer has such a good friend on his side. And Derek is right—Spencer is an adult. You don’t need to worry about besmirching his reputation. So you take a shuddering sigh, staring into the red of your drink. 

“He just doesn’t like me as much as I like him. Which isn’t his fault, like I said, but—he’s being such an asshole about it.”

Derek pulls a face, strong eyebrows making an impression as they knit.  

“Did he tell you that?”

“Over the phone,” you nod emphatically. “And just now he gave me this whole fucking speech about how immature and horrible I am for not being 100% happy about it. And maybe he’s partially right, I mean—I know people feel things differently and maybe he just was asking for more time. I worry I fucked it up so bad because I couldn’t handle that—but at the same time he didn’t say he wanted more time. He was really fucking unclear and vague about what he wanted, and he asked me to come to this bar like it was nothing when I’ve been worried he was going to break up with me all week. So yeah, I guess he’s right and I have been a bitch about it because I was upset that he didn’t… like me as much. And I wanted him to feel bad because I was so embarrassed, and I also didn’t want to act like everything was normal if he was just going to dump me, I…” you realize you’ve been hardcore rambling and your face heats. “I don’t know.”

There’s a pause, and you worry you’ve done exactly the thing you didn’t want to, which was overshare to this man who seems like he’s significantly more normal and well-adjusted than you. You drink deeply, swallowing sugar and the rest of your words. 

“That’s… bizarre. I don’t mean to invalidate your feelings, but… that just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, projecting annoyance so you won’t start crying again. “I was confused too. I thought he really liked me.”

“No, sweetheart, I’m saying—that doesn’t make sense because he does really like you. Really, really likes you, more than I’ve ever seen him like someone before. I mean, last week I finally finished that Tesla biography he’s been on my ass about for months and when I told him, all he wanted to do was talk about your thoughts on it. And then it wasn’t even about the book anymore. I have never, ever seen Reid pass up an opportunity to talk about Nikola Tesla. I’m talking never in my life. He finds a way to make every conversation about you. I can’t even follow the connections sometimes but he always finds a way.”

Your nose wrinkles. 

“Sorry you’ve had to hear so much about me,” you mumble. Though you’re not really sorry. It feels good. A twinge of joy in all the murk. 

“I’m not. Like I said, I’ve known Spencer for a long time and I’ve never seen him this happy. I’m not about to let him fuck it up.”

“If I make him so happy then why did he tell me we don’t feel the same?” you whisper, reaching into the puddle of syrup and ice at the bottom of your now empty cup. 

“Is that exactly what he said?” Derek asks, after a long pause. You bite the maraschino cherry off the stem and nod morosely, grinding a long-gone stranger’s cigarette butt with your boot just to crush something. There’s another beat of silence. “Alright. You know what I think?”

You raise your head to meet his gaze, your own wide-eyed and expectant. 

“I think you two need to have an honest conversation. You’re both confused and hurting—I promise Spencer is feeling it too. If you talk to him he won’t be unkind to you.”

“He already was,” you admit. 

“I apologize if I’m out of line here, but you just told me you’ve been icing him out all week because you want him to feel bad. I’m willing to bet you don’t realize how sharp these claws are.” Derek grabs your hand as he says it and you marvel at how much he is the opposite of you. Everything he does and says seems so natural and reasonable and charming even if it would piss you off from anyone else—and you just met the guy. You can see why Spencer and Penelope speak so highly of him. “I think you’ve probably both had your moments these past few days. But that doesn’t mean neither of you deserve any more chances.”

He puts your hand back on your knee and pats it. 

“Besides, Spencer‘s not good at mean. I bet he’s inside worrying himself sick over whatever dumb shit he said to you. He’s probably hyperventilating as we speak.”

“It was really out of character for him,” you concede. 

“Yeah. He’ll be apologizing for a long while. It will get annoying. But he sure as hell won’t be doing it again, I can tell you that much. If he does, let me know. Emily and I will whoop his ass and call it a fitness evaluation.”

“I think that’ll be unnecessary,” you laugh thickly, pulling your sleeve over your hand and wiping away the few tears that haven’t quite dried. “But thank you.”

“Anytime. Now, it’s my birthday, and as a grown man I should not be getting involved in someone else’s relationship drama. I was supposed to be on the dance floor a while ago.” His tone is so warm and sugary by the time he finishes it could rot his perfect grin. It’s futile to hide the way your mouth twists into a reluctant smile as you look down and fix your hair—praying he can’t tell how fazed you are by his kindness. “You’re going to talk to him, right?”

“I’ll—yeah. Right,” you say quietly. But the sinking feeling in your stomach knows it’s a thing easier said than done. 

“Good,” Derek grunts, taking your empty cup before pushing himself back up to his feet and offering you a hand. “Do you want me to send him out here or do you want to come find him inside?”

You balk.

“Like—right now? I have to talk to him now?”

Before he can give you an answer you think you’d rather not have, the bar door is opening. From your spot you can’t see who it is right away, but Derek turns over his shoulder and does a double take before looking back at you. 

Spencer steps out onto the sidewalk, eyes scanning for until he realizes you’re a few feet shorter than usual. Sitting on a filthy public walkway is probably his worst nightmare, you realize, as you scramble to your feet and dust the crumbs of concrete from your palms against the back of your cold jeans. He begins to say your name, and it sounds like relief and regret, but you stop him. 

“I have to go wash my hands.”

It’s monotonous and mumbled and comes out too quickly but you don’t have time to worry about that as you brush past both of the men on your way back into the bar, making an immediate beeline for the bathroom. 

Your face burns with anxiety as you shut the door behind you, immediately drowning in the yellowish lighting which is so harsh but seems to illuminate almost nothing. Who paints a bathroom red? It’s suffocating. You feel like you’re inside an aorta. 

Water runs cool over your hands as you sniffle, rinsing the bits of dirt from red indents made by pebbles and things, and the soap is too floral and powdery but you wash twice anyway. Maybe you’ll just stay in here and wash your hands forever. 

There’s a light knock on the shiny wooden door and it makes you jump. Your name is muffled from the other side. 

“You in there?” 

Quickly you wipe under your reddened eyes in the mirror, trying to fix the slightly smudged makeup. 

The door opens when you don’t respond, and there’s Spencer, looking weary and tense all at once. Is that your fault?

“Hey,” you sniff, trying to effect casualness, but it comes out too quickly and your posture is too stiff. Under his all-seeing gaze you cross and uncross your arms, look at him and look away. Your hands end up in your pockets. He’d say crossed arms are a sign of self-soothing. 

“Hey.” His is more measured, and of course makes you feel embarrassed in comparison. The door swings shut behind him as he enters the small room and makes it feel that much smaller. “Are you… hiding from me in here?”

Yes. 

The graffitied toilet stalls to your left suddenly look fascinating. 

“Nope. Just washing my hands.”

This is not what Derek told you to do, you scold yourself internally. Stop being so scared. Be honest with him. 

Silence rings. All the brutally honest things you’d like to say choke you until your throat hurts and your eyes get hot. Yet again you feel like a stupid little girl who’s too emotional to communicate. 

You cross your arms. It’s an indulgence you feel you’re owed. 

Spencer says your name again and it’s too much. He never says it this often. When he does it feels good but now it’s too formal, makes you too aware of your own inadequacy, and how he must be seeing you—a wraith of a girl in a dingy bar bathroom with clammy hands and smudged eyeliner, practically shaking with fear under an unforgiving light. Someone who is too scared and much too sensitive. 

Spencer attempts to speak again. 

“What I said before, it was—”

“Can you just take me home?” 

It comes out on one exhalation and seems to stall him with all the effectiveness of a slap to the face. 

You don’t know where it comes from, either. 

Easier said than done, you’d thought a few moments ago. All the bravery Derek had tried to instill in you is gone, swallowed down the drain like soap scum. And now you’re choosing to let your fear win—because at least that’s a known quantity. The fear will never reject you. It will always be waiting with open arms. 

Too scared. 

The end feels imminent. You try to press yourself back together, fingernails biting into palms, trying to make something feel more tangible than the terrible knowingness that you’re careening toward an end which was supposed to be a beginning. It’s stifling and you wonder if Spencer is breathing it too. 

You can’t look at his face, but you watch him pocket his hands in his pants and there is so much impossible space between you in such a tiny room. 

“Yeah. I can.”

Something breaks. It’s small, and without fanfare. But it feels final. 

It’s just a ride home. Just a ride home. 

That’s all you have left, and you don’t know how you know it but you do. 

Something so important is being left in this stupid, dingy bathroom. Something that was at one point beautiful and shiny and so arrogant in its newness that it seemed it would never become ugly. And now you’re abandoning it without dignity on the chipped tile floor and in the cobwebs on the walls. It was bigger than you, it was you—and now it’s going to be nothing. 

A vehicle honks on the street. A boisterous group laugh explodes somewhere beyond the door. Water drips from a faucet. 

“I’ll… I’ll bring my car around.”

“Okay.”

But he just stands there for another moment. Like he can’t get himself to move. 

If only time would freeze before he could walk away. 

But it doesn’t. 

He sucks in a decisive breath. 

“Okay,” he murmurs. 

It’s that fucking phone call all over again. 

Then he spins on his heels and leaves you there.

Your time is up. 

-

part 5.5

[sagelasters]

scientific study on the void state

For decades, people have thought sleeping is a momental period or pause where both the body and mind is asleep. When I stopped remembering my dreams, I recalled seeing just pitch black in my sleep, and I never thought much about it until I started getting into the void and loa in general. It’s strange how my mind remembered those moments of nothingness and pure darkness, they were briefly short but I came to the conclusion that every single one of us has been in a void state. Whether or not you remembered it, maybe you do, maybe for a split second you were enveloped in pitch blackness till you woke up. Most of us brush off these strange phenomenals, but here’s the real question: Is it possible to be aware in your sleep? The answer is yes, our subconscious mind is fully awake even in your sleep. I think one of the most interesting scientific experiments I’ve read was an interview in 2022, it explores the ‘objectless awareness’ in our sleep. 

There were about 38 participants in the experiment, in which they were given a word to mentally spell and then they were interviewed based on that specific spelling. This is to measure participant’s memory accuracy, just to make sure they didn’t fabricate or make up any descriptions in the experiment. When participants pass the first round, they are given a survey if they have experiences of being conscious in their sleep. The result is that some participants recalled to lack any bodily sensations or imagery, one person reported that they lost the sense of being ‘themself’ but they identified as a ‘light’ or ‘orb’. Another person reported that after being in the state of nothingness, they were shaken up and brought to another ‘dream scenery’. Others recalled that their thoughts were completely non-existent in this state and they are aware of being ‘transitioned’ to what they called the ‘black spot’ and ‘nothingness state’. 

The chart summarizes what the participants experience in their sleep, the ‘nothingness phase’ seems to be the middle ground between regular sleeping state, to hypnagogia (transition between being awake and sleep, you experience sleep paralysis and muscle jerks in this stage). Most participants were unable to recall what happened after they transitioned out of the ‘nothingness phase’. The following is what they said:

Participant 1

"So, this sensation of nothing was letting me know that I was still in a dream, because I made the comparison to, I cannot feel any of my limbs. So, I know that I’m not just in bed right now with my eyes closed. Because none of my body’s there."

Participant 2

"I no longer have an idea of a body.. a dream body at that point. And then I [emphasis] became or was this just like this little ball of light, […]. So like I knew that the sphere of light was ME, but also like the light that was around the sphere was me, […] Once I become the sphere, you are asking if I have any body perception? I do not have any at that point […] having a dream body is just completely gone."

Participant 9

“And then, and then all of a sudden, there was just nothing I could not, I’ve gone from, from my body, I guess. And I’ve had other bodies before and this felt very, very, very different where I did not like there was no dream body, no dream scene. No, no ANYTHING. It almost seems like a form about a body. But it almost seems like you are, you are caught between, caught between somewhere where you are trying to get in and the physical, you are, you are somewhere else. […] And so, so I was able to feel that I guess.” 

Participant 8

“It’s more like I was the void. ”

Participant 12

" It’s just total darkness. And you…, there’s very little difference between you and what’s around you. ”

Well didn’t that blow your mind away? This probably raises more questions on more phenomenal that modern science has no idea about, considering the fact that we just discovered our sense of awareness is still on even in our sleep. 

Citation

Alcaraz-Sánchez A, Demšar E, Campillo-Ferrer T, Torres-Platas SG. Nothingness Is All There Is: An Exploration of Objectless Awareness During Sleep. Front Psychol. 2022 Jun 10;13:901031. doi: 10.3389/fpsyg.2022.901031. PMID: 35756253; PMCID: PMC9226678.

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Biology

JK Rowling: hello children Rowling: i am born again! hallelujah! Rowling: tell me Rowling: have you heard Rowling: the good word about biology? Poe: what Poe: what is this now?

Rowling: on the Scottish census, i answered that my religion is "biology" Poe: King: Koontz: Lovecraft: Barker: damnnnn Barker: that's real edgy

Mary Shelley: sup fuckers? Poe: joanne says her religion is biology Shelley: haha yes... YES!!! Poe: yes? Shelley: Yes! that's right, fuckers! Shelley: throw out the false morality of religion!! embrace soulless science!

Shelley: finally! The pure, terrifying light of science burns away the shadows of superstition! Shelley: unencumbered by the false morality of so-called religion, mankind can tamper, unimpeded, in God's domain! Shelley: we can make SO many abominations! Shelley: i fuckin' love it!

Rowling: no that iss the oppossite of what i'm trying to ssay Shelley: that's cuz you're weak Shelley: we're attack and dethrone God, fuckers!!

Rowling: that iss not what i meant! Rowling: i meant i hate transs people Shelley: yeah i know what you meant Shelley: i don't give a shit Shelley: my idea is way cooler Barker: yeah she's right that is way cooler

Rowling: no! my religion of biology is actually ANTI-abomination Rowling: i think abominationss are bad Rowling: i'm against them! all of them! Barker: and what abominations are these? Rowling: you know Rowling: transs, fat people, and toiletsss Barker: ya know what, you've lost me

Shelley: abominations are so hot right now Shelley: i'm really into them Barker: not gonna lie i'm actually pretty excited about these abominations now

Koontz: gosh i don't know about all this Shelley: dean what if you made a dog that was SO big Koontz: so big? Shelley: yeah like SO big uh Shelley: so big you needed 2 hands to pet it Koontz: wow! Koontz: that's a big dog! Koontz: that's so big you'd better lead, follow, or get out of the way!

Rowling: thatss the problem with you lot Rowling: alwaysss sso busssy thinking about how to make a big dog, you don't ssstop to think whether you SHOULD make a big dog

[minswriting]

Hey can you do one where the reader and Aaron is in the middle of having s*x and Aaron gets a phone call about a case he answers the phone while he is still inside of her

nsfw | mdni | aaron hotchner x reader

When you both had gotten home from a long and stressful case, Aaron didn’t hesitate to undress you and take you on your bed. Your legs were in the air, over his shoulders as he pounded into you. His cock was plunging in and out of you as a harsh and fast pace, fucking the stress out of the both of you. You had one hand gripping the sheets while the other gripped his forearm, holding onto Aaron for dear life.

Aaron grunted as he fucked you, closing his eyes in pleasure as he relished in the feeling of your wet and tight pussy wrapped around his cock. “God, you feel so good,” he said, placing a hand onto your right leg.

“Aaron,” you moaned out his name, “love your cock.”

“I know you do, baby,” he groaned, giving you a particularly harsh thrust before pulling out completely, causing you to whine from the loss of contact. “Turn over for me,” he said as he pulled away. You obeyed, moving yourself so that you were laying on your stomach with your ass in the air slightly. “Good girl,” Aaron stated as he grabbed your hips, inserting his cock inside of you before leaning over you so his chest was pressed against your back.

The both of you moaned in unison as he thrusted his cock inside of you. This new position allowed for more intimate contact and a deeper penetration. It has always been one of Aaron’s favorites. You let out a whine of pleasure as his cock went deeper inside of you. “Oh fuck,” you moaned out.

Aaron snapped his hips, picking up his pace quickly as he got into the rhythm of fucking you in this position. Your cunt was clenching around his cock and there was in no way that he was stopping now.

And then his phone began to ring, causing the both of you to groan in frustration.

“Damn it,” Aaron cursed into your ear. He stopped moving his hips, taking a moment to catch his breath before reaching over to grab his phone. His cock was still buried inside of you but remained unmoving. “Hotchner,” he said, answering the phone.

You couldn’t hear what the other person on the line was saying. You also didn’t care to hear it. However, it wasn’t rocket science to know that it was someone calling about a new case for the BAU to solve. As the person on the other line continued to speak, Aaron began moving his hips slowly, thrusting his cock in and out of your cunt. You gasped before immediately covering your mouth with your hand.

“How many victims have there been?” Aaron asked the person on the phone, keeping his voice steady as if he wasn’t fucking you. He gave a particularly harsh thrust, causing you to whimper as you tried to choke back on your moans. “Send me the file and I’ll go over it in the morning with my team,” he said, letting out a shaky breath. “Unfortunately, we cannot get on the case right this moment as we had just gotten back from another and haven’t slept in a few days. We’ll be able to work better in the morning,” he explained smoothly.

You began moving your hips in sync with Aaron’s, meeting his thrusts with your own. His cock continuously hit your g-spot, making you see stars. You purposefully clenched your walls around his cock. “Alright th-th-“ Aaron stuttered before clearing his throat. “Thank you for the information. I will brief the team in the morning and we will be there by noon,” he exclaimed. “Bye,” he ended the call, tossing his phone to the side.

He began moving his hips faster, gaining the speed that he had earlier. “Fuck,” he grunted as he gripped your hair, entangling his fingers. “You liked that didn’t you? Teasing me while I was on the phone like a little slut?” he said breathlessly into your ear.

You let out a pathetic moan, nodding your head. “Yes!” you said, closing your eyes in pleasure. “Oh fuck, so good,” you moaned.

As his cock pounded into you, it didn’t take long for the heat in your abdomen to build. And by the way Aaron’s hips were moving frantically, you could tell that he was close too. “Gonna cum inside your tight cunt,” he whispered shakily. “Can feel you’re close too, princess.”

And with a few harsh thrusts, you moaned loudly, clamping your walls around his cock as your thighs tried to close as well. You arched your back against Aaron, cumming hard on his cock. Aaron followed suit as your cunt milked him, filling you up with his cum as he groaned into your ear about how much he loves you and how good you feel.

When the both of you finished, Aaron pulled out, laying down next to you on the bed. You rolled onto your back, looking up at the ceiling as the two of you tried to catch your breath. And after a few minutes of silence, Aaron finally speaks.

“Looks like we’re going to Upstate New York tomorrow,” he sighed, looking over at you.

You looked back at him. “Well, I’ve always wanted to visit the Adirondacks,” you replied, grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers.

“Mm,” Aaron said as he pulled his hand away from yours, moving to pull you close to him and hold you with both of his arms. “I love you,” he murmured.

“I love you too,” you murmured back, resting your head on his shoulder.

[sobfultoast]

•~°◇ Just the Little Human Things ◇°~•

Prompt: Humans and demons are different, no duh. There are some things that we do naturally that shocked and freak out the brothers. Here are some random few (each linked to a specific brother, like 1 means Lucifer, etc).

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor.

• ~ ° ◇ ° ~ •

1. Cracking bones.

You spent a long day dealing with your studies. Your fingers cramped. So you cracked them. Lucifer was appalled. He thought you just broke yourself. Lucifer goes straight to you and asks if you just broke your finger or something along those lines. After calming him down and just explaining that you were popping the air bubbles in your joints because they ached, he was more appalled.

Humans can get air bubbles in between their bones?! That's so weird. Demons can't crack their joints. If they make any cracking noise, they probably cracked their bones.

At least you're not hurt. That is all that matters to him.

2. Adrenaline.

Demons have instincts like humans, but they don't have adrenaline. They have the same amount of strength and power, no matter the situation. No amount of tension will give them a random boost in a fight. Humans do. It's called adrenaline (SHOCKING). Boosting our stamina, pain tolerance, reaction time, and strength. It's like a superpower! A superpower that Mamon was unaware of at the time.

You both were running from trouble, as normal. Even though your body was in its flight or fight, no amount of adrenaline will make you run as fast as the fastest demon in hell! So how was he supposed to know! It was until there was a dead end. The door was locked. Mammon was about to use some magic to open it because the angry demons were very close behind you guys. before he could, BAM! You ram right into it and smash it open

What. The. Hell??? Are you on steroids or something?!

Once you escape, Mammon has so many questions. He now thinks adrenaline is so cool.

3. Being social animals.

Demons aren't necessarily social creatures. Some will go millennias without talking to anything, and they don't go insane. It's just a lot of demons like socialising. Levi is not one of those demons, though. Levi will go some months without speaking to anyone, even some days without speaking to his brothers. He thought humans were the same. He didn't know that it could cause mental issues like insanity or depression.

Levi only found out because he was watching a horror anime, where a human character was isolated for months and went insane. He thought it was fiction, but then he asked you. As soon as yes leaves your mouth, he is in utter disbelief.

Now he feels bad whenever he has you holed up in his room. Don't you want to socialise? He wouldn't mind if you went to party with Asmo and Mammon... At least he'd try not to mind. Are you sure you're okay with just him? Yeah? ... He thinks he is okay with just you, too.

4. Humans on the moon?

When you came to devildom, even though Satan wasn't that close to you, he did research about humans out of curiosity. Satan learnt about human history, myths & legends, science (a.k.a human magic), medicine, and even decided to research human technology.

The only thing he didn't know was that humans went to the moon. When he was doing human history, he was doing ancient human history. Being a demon who was immortal, Satan classed anything from the last 100 years as morden to him. He was alive during it. He should know when it happens. But somehow, no one talked about the humans landing on the moon.

You wanted to know if demons had also gone to space, and he answered with, "No. Some of angels have... What do you mean also?" Humans, flightless and magicless fleshbags, have gone to the stars?!

5. Baby teeth falling out.

Asmodeus wanted to see childhood pictures of you! He was going on about how cute you were until he saw that in one of your photos that you were missing a tooth?! Asmo didn't know you were missing a tooth! He immediately tried to look in your mouth for that missing tooth, but there was a tooth there?! What?! Did you get some sort of tooth surgery?

Demons and angels don't have baby teeth. They are made not to naturally lose any of their teeth, and if they lose a tooth, they have to get a surjery to get it back. So, this concept is crazy to them.

Asmo was thankful it was natural. You made him panic!

6. Stretch marks.

Demons have rapid regeneration, so they don't get stretch marks. The scars just heal immediately as it isn't a deep wound to them.

Beelzebub had no idea humans could get them. He thought some demon attacked or tried to put a hex on you, but once you explained it to him, it blew his mind. Losing or gaining weight causes these marks? Humans are stretchy??? That's cute.

Beelzebub likes running his hand over the marks. It's fascinating to him.

7. Modern medicine.

Belphegor knew a lot about humans due to his human phase when he was an angel. There isn't anything that you do that surprises him. Belphie even knows humans went to the moon because he is an astrology girlie. But he is clueless about morden medicine.

Belphie lost interest in humans when he fell, obviously. He didn't want to interact with humans after his hatred for them developed. So he has no idea about morden human medicine.

Humans don't use frog eggs anymore? They were unsafe? Really? Belphie thought they worked. He did not know humans were just as unknowledgable as he was back then. Belphie learnt after you accidentally got a paper cut, and Belphie said he'd go get the plasters and leeches.

You had to tell him that the leaches were outdated by a few decades.

•~°◇ Have a kind day! ◇°~•

[whiskeyghoul]

She blinded me with science || [Spencer Reid X Goth!reader]

A/N: self indulgent little fic here. I have been in a writing slump for a few weeks and needed to do something just a little self indulgent. So we have this which has been on my mind for ever. I love Abby Sciuto from NCIS and thought how fun it would be to see our little nerd fall in love with the alternative lab rat of the FBI. This is not proof read or anything so it might not be the absolute best but I just wanted to put something out here again.

WC: 1737

Tags: fluff, crush, first meeting, love at first sight possibly, multiple parts, opposites attract, self indulgent fic, reader is described as female, reader is alternative

Warnings: Mention of human remains.

Read part 2 here, read part 3 here

The music coming from the lab was muffled. Even through the closed door Spencer could hear the barely legible lyrics as he got closer and closer. As he reached the door and knocked there seemed to be no answer. Certain his knocking wouldn’t be heard over the noise that he now recognized as Siouxsie and the banshees. He opened the door. As soon as the barrier between him and the music was lifted it sounded so clear. It was turned up to 11 and he wondered how anyone could even focus with music that loud.

That was until he saw you, swaying along to the music, the white coat exaggerated the movements. Swishing from side to side as you reach for a pasteur pipette while bobbing your head along to the music. You seemed absorbed in the music, focussed on your work leaning over the bench and carefully dripping a clear substance on a piece of paper while still perfectly on beat with the music. Spencer cleared his throat loudly, hoping to make himself known before he interrupted you in whatever you seemed to be doing. Though it didn’t quite reach the decibel level to alert you. “L/N” he called out your last name but once again no response. So he took a few steps closer. Once Spencer was close enough he reached out and softly tapped your shoulder. You jumped in response, whirling around in shock with the pipette in your hands raised like a weapon. Like somehow you would be able to defend yourself with the lab instrument. A yelp falling from your lips. 

“Oh my god! Can’t you knock!” You accused, eyes wide as you placed your free hand on the top of your chest, taking a deep breath. “I did. I also tried to clear my throat to not scare you.” Spencer retorted, his voice raised a little louder so you could hear him over the music. You twirled around, placing the pipette in the holder. “I’m Doctor Reid, from the BAU.” He continued loudly. You turned, holding your left hand up to shush him. Your right fishing the remote from your coat pocket. It gave Spencer some time to look you over. 

Your lab coat was about the only light thing you wore. The outfit underneath was black on black on black. A band tee with illegible writing that peeked over a corset, layered with a ripped fishnet top underneath. The abundance of necklaces of all different lengths, cascading down your neck like silver waterfalls. Ripped jeans he wasn’t quite sure were safe for the lab environment, but the skin of your thigh caught his attention. Something inside of him stirring. He fidgeted with his hands in front of his body.

“So… you were saying?” You spoke. Spencer’s eyes snapped back to your face. You looked up at him with big eyes, a small smile accompanying them. The music was turned down now giving him room to think. Though your eyes still made it difficult to really focus. “Oh, I am Doctor Reid, from the BAU.”  He answered after swallowing for a moment. “Ah! You are here for the clothing analysis, right? Penelope mentioned one of the team would come pick it up. Normally it's her or Derek, though I think Derek has complained about hearing loss.” You whirled around while rambling on, pony tail waving behind as you turned, bounding over to a table with scattered papers. Spencer followed close behind, not focussing on the words rather just the tone of your voice, a slight intrigue towards you. He didn’t even know your first name, yet somehow your mannerisms, your unconventional style, it made him want to know more. “Right.” He said, realizing he hadn’t technically answered your questions. 

Spencer looked over your shoulder as you picked up a stack of papers neatly stapled together. He thought he might be a bit too close as he could smell the subtle perfume wafting off of you. Though he also strangely enjoyed it. It was sweet but not overly so. A hint of cherry that was fitting in his eyes. The color of the fruit matching that of your lipstick. As you looked over the paper and began to talk again, “So, the substance that was on the clothes seems to be turpentine. Commonly used in oil painting. The vapors can already cause irritation to the eyes, skin, and airways if exposed to them for longer periods of time.” you rambled off the words as you read them. “There were some other things found on the clothes that coincide with the oil painting. Different pigments and paint residue.” You turned, eyes still on the paper nearly bumping into Spencer as he had been standing so close. When you looked up at him surprised he could feel a tightening in his chest. “Oops, sorry.” You apologized, a small smile on your lips.

You apologized to him while he was the one in your way. “Oh it was my fault. Shouldn’t have stood so close. Sorry.” He muttered. The words falling from his lips unceremoniously. He felt like half of his intelligence had up and left his brain as he talked to you. Not really knowing what to say at that moment. His hands fidgeted at his sides again. His left hand playing with the hem of his cardigan sleeve. He cursed himself internally for being reduced to a stumbling mess in front of you. You kept standing there though. Clearly you had turned around to go somewhere and Spencer had been in your way. Yet he was nailed in place and so, it seemed to him, were you. “Did you know they used to make oil paints with human remains?” You spoke excitedly. Like you had been waiting to tell someone, anyone, that little fact. He knew that. He knew that for a long time yet seeing you, tell him a fact with such delight, made him want to lie. “Now I do.” He answered, his smile matching yours.

“It was called mummy brown. They ground up mummies, both human and animal, and put it in the paint.” You continued. Your voice trailing off slightly after the word animal. You held up the stack of papers to him. “Everything you need is in there. If you need me to clarify something just give me a call. Or stop by whenever you want.” Spencer nods after your sentence. Taking the papers from you his hand touched yours ever so slightly. His brain short circuited for a moment before the neurons started firing accordingly again. “I eh- I don’t have your number.” he stumbled over the words.

As if you realized that in that moment you took a step aside and walked past him. Walking over to a desk and rummaging through a drawer. Spencer walked a bit closer to your desk. No longer being nailed in place by some unspeakable force. You pulled out a thin sharpie, and Spencer raised a brow ever so slightly at that. You walked back over, holding out your hand to grasp his. Spencer placed his hand in yours. His mouth felt incredibly dry for a moment. His tongue was uncomfortable in his mouth. His heartbeat raced faster. Nothing like he had ever really felt before. You could have done it on the papers, or maybe even a sticky note. Yet you decided that his hand would be the perfect place to write down your number. He thought about it for a moment, your hand was soft and warm. You twisted his hand, writing down your phone number along with your name. Once you finished you let go off his hand. Spencer looked at the black numbers, committing them to memory, and your name. God your name would be bouncing around his head for days. “Y/N.” He said, testing the name. It felt right.

“That’s me, you better put that in your phone. These markers are not nearly as permanent on skin. It’s the oils.” You went on, capping the marker as you spoke. “I will. Thank you.” Spencer said and smiled. He stayed standing in place for another moment. Trying to commit you to memory just in case his eidetic memory failed him. He realized he was staring a little and cleared his throat. “I eh… I have to go.” pointing his thumb to the door. You giggled a little, a sound that made Spencer’s cheek heat up a little. “Right, pretty boy, head on out. I need to get back to work too.” You smiled casually. Spencer’s face was only heating up more. He swallowed. The nickname the others used for him sounded so much better when it came from you. He turned around to hide his ever heating face from your sight, walking over to the door quickly. Once in the opening he quickly looked back, giving an awkward wave that you returned with a smile. 

When Spencer entered the bullpen his face had calmed down a little. Not feeling nearly as hot as before. He was able to think clearly again, but when he looked at your number and name on his hand he felt giddy inside. Reaching his desk he sat down, placing the analysis file on his desk. “That took you long enough, pretty boy.” Derek called out from his desk, humor in his voice. The nickname had no effect when he said it. “Sorry, the lab tech… she was explaining some things to me.” Spencer quickly lied. “Alright, can I get the file?” Derek had his hand already out. Spencer gave him the file and Derek’s brows raised at the number scribbled on his hand. “You got her number?” He smirked. Spencer pulled his hand back covering the numbers and your name with his other hand. “If something needed more clearing up.” He retorted. Derek merely chuckled at his awkwardness, “She’s friends with Garcia, you wouldn’t have needed her phone number.” He added with a smirk. Spencer felt his face heat up a little again, embarrassed. He knew that. He knew that he had known that. But in that moment he couldn’t think.

He looked back at his hand. Your name on his skin. A little flutter in his chest kicked up when he did. Derek cleared his throat, making Spencer look up again. Derek pointed at him with his pen, before opening his mouth. “You better call her soon.”

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 8 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: It has been too long since you heard from Bradley. Perhaps something went wrong. Or maybe he was avoiding you. Just when you start trying to accept that the last few months were too good to be true, things start to turn around again.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, language, Bradley being sweet

Length: 3000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

Days went by. With only two weeks left of Bradley's deployment, you weren't really expecting to receive air mail at school with your name on it, but you certainly did miss it anyway. Your students asked about him every morning, wondering if he'd sent a new email, hoping for another video with Marty. But you got nothing in either of your email inboxes.

He was on your mind almost constantly. What happened on his mission? Did the Navy decide it was okay to cut off communication right when you were completely attached to hearing from him? Did this really mean you had to wait until the aircraft carrier arrived back in San Diego? 

It was right before your students were due to arrive in your classroom that you had perhaps the most distressing thoughts of all. What if something went terribly wrong and he didn't survive? Or what if this was simply his way of ghosting you before he had to see you in person?

Jayden raced in ahead of the rest of your class, calling your name along the way. "Did Lieutenant Bradshaw write back yet?"

You pointed him toward his desk as you shook your head. "I already explained that he may not have time to respond before his deployment ends."

Jayden just bounced in place in front of you. "Then that means he can visit us when he gets back!"

Now a small group of your kids surrounded you, and you wished more than anything that you could tell them that Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw, their beloved pen pal, would definitely be visiting your classroom in a few short days. Instead you told them, "Please, take your seats so we can start our Natural History lesson."

This turned out to be your new normal. Every time you got an email notification, you jumped to unlock your phone, but it was never a message from Bradley. When you saw a box tucked in your mail cubby in the school office, you ran for it, only to find the science supplies you ordered weeks ago had arrived. You even forced yourself to go back and read some of the old emails from him, just to make sure it all really happened, but his words left you aching for more.

...I like giving Gorgeous teachers butterflies...

...You'd look adorable snuggled up in your bed. But then again, when aren't you completely Gorgeous?...

...Gorgeous girl, you're messing with my head...

...And it's not a matter of if I touch you, it's a matter of when...

After nearly two weeks had gone by, you tried to figure out if the USS Theodore Roosevelt was back in port, but short of driving to North Island to see for yourself, you couldn't seem to find a solid answer online. And if you did drive there and found it at the dock, what were you supposed to do? Contact the US Navy? If they told you that nothing happened to Lieutenant Bradshaw and that he was perfectly fine, you'd be mortified. If they told you something in fact did happen to him in the last two weeks, you'd be devastated. That's assuming you could even get them to give you any information at all which was doubtful.

On Friday, you were on the verge of tears as you got ready for work. "You're being ridiculous," you whispered, and that fact made you want to cry even more. You tried to take the time to make yourself look presentable, thinking that may be the key to having a good day. Your outfit was cute. Your makeup looked nice. But you weren't smiling, and you didn't feel like doing so at all. 

You grabbed your bag, hoping the short ride with your favorite playlist would be enough to get your spirits up, but all you could think about was how you probably weren't cut out for life with a guy in the military anyway. Waiting around like this to see what was going on was making your stomach upset, and you weren't getting enough sleep. When you closed your eyes, you just pictured a very kissable face with a scarred cheek and big brown eyes.

"You need to focus," you scolded as you parked your car and headed into the school with your ID badge. You had eighteen kids who required your attention, and you'd once again give it to them, because you were fantastic at your job. 

This morning, Violet was the first one to mention Bradley in passing, and you had to shake your head. "Please find your seats. If I hear from Lieutenant Bradshaw, I promise I will let you know. I'm not hiding any letters or emails from you all, okay?" You tried to smile as you said, "I'd like to hear from him every bit as badly as you would. I can guarantee that."

You struggled through your morning lessons, often reminding yourself that you needed to focus on your students. Then you sat quietly at your desk with the classroom lights off during lunch, scrolling back through the dozens of emails you'd exchanged with Bradley on your phone. You pulled up the picture of the sun setting behind him in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, and even though you tried, you couldn't find anything other than the most sincere expression on his handsome face.

Maybe he would text you this weekend, letting you know he was back and your date was on. You had to believe he would still contact you. When the bell rang, you counted to ten, and then your students came flooding back through your classroom door. They wanted to tell you all about how Jasper from Mrs. Wynn's class got in trouble during lunch, and you humored them before saying, "I'm sure none of you would misbehave like that in the cafeteria."

"No way!" Henry promised.

"That's what I like to hear," you told him with a forced smile. "Once you're all in your seats, we'll start our math lesson. Maybe I'll put a few aviation problems on the board at the end if you show me how well you can focus for the next twenty minutes."

You had just started copying the first fraction that you wanted to discuss from your notebook onto the board when there was a sharp knock on your classroom door. You sighed and let your forehead rest briefly on the white board, knowing that another disruption would completely derail your kids after all the lunchtime nonsense. When you turned to face the door, they were already starting to chatter with each other. 

"Come in!" you called out, and every head in your room whipped around to see who was there and what they wanted. 

When the door swung open, the room went silent. The first thing you thought about was how peculiar it was to see someone in a khaki military uniform standing there. Then your eyes slid up that tall, muscular frame as your lips parted in surprise. As soon as you met his gaze, he smiled and said, "Hey, Gorgeous."

You couldn't speak. As he took a full step into your classroom and pulled the door closed, you finally noticed he was holding some pretty flowers. Then he was heading your way, his combat boots squeaking ever so slightly against the tile floor with each long stride. Bradley Bradshaw wasn't hesitating at all as he made his way directly to you while your students started talking again.

"It's Lieutenant Bradshaw!"

"I knew he'd come visit us ever since I asked him to!"

"Does this mean his deployment is over?"

"Why does he have flowers?"

He didn't stop until he was standing right in front of you, and the butterflies in your belly were fluttering so much, you were convinced you could float off of the floor. You weren't sure what else to say, so you simply whispered, "Bradley."

His smile grew as he said, "I love the way that sounds when you say it." You could only squeak in response, and his warm gaze flicked from your eyes down to your lips. At this rate you'd be a puddle at his feet in the next ten seconds. He swallowed hard, cheeks flushed as he leaned in closer, taking another small step forward until his boot gently bumped your shoe. His voice took on a raspier edge as said, "You told me you wanted me to kiss you as soon as I saw you."

He didn't stop slowly closing the distance, and when you reached out and let your fingers tangle with his, you whispered, "Please." Then you closed your eyes as his lips brushed feather light against yours. You gasped. He was here. Nothing had ever felt as good as this in your life. You opened your eyes to find him grinning right in front of you, and you chased him for another one of his dreamy kisses.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw kissed her!"

"I think they're in love!"

"They are definitely going to be girlfriend and boyfriend!"

Bradley wrapped his fingers around yours a little tighter as you and he laughed, and he ducked his head before looking up at your class. His cheeks were the most alluring shade of pink as he told them, "Hey, I hope you don't mind that I decided to surprise you and your teacher."

"We don't mind!" shouter Oliver as he was practically sitting on his desk now in excitement. All of the kids were bouncing with anticipation, and you couldn't stop smiling as Violet clapped her hands together.

"Great, because I brought my responses to your last batch of letters, too. I can't thank you enough for being my pen pals for the last few months. You made my time away from home a lot more fun." He turned to look at you before softly adding, "And you made coming back home feel really good."

You wanted to kiss him again. You wanted to run your fingers along his scars and press your lips to his skin in their wake. You wanted to bury your nose against his neck and inhale the smell of his skin and his uniform collar. You wanted to feel his mustache on your lips. Instead, because every eye in the room was on the two of you, you told him, "I'm really happy you're here." You tugged on his hand so he was standing front and center, and you turned to your kids and asked, "What do we say when we have a special guest visit us?"

"Thank you!" they all shouted in unison.

"That's right," you told them. Then you looked up at Bradley, and he handed you the flowers with a crooked little grin, and that's when you noticed he had a small notebook in his hand as well. 

"Can I call each kid up to get their letter?" he asked, as if you would deny him anything at the moment. "Then I can put faces to all of the names."

You were still definitely at risk of melting. "You wrote each of them a personal letter again?" you asked him, holding your flowers to your chest and trying not to swoon.

"Yeah," he replied, opening his notebook to show you. He stood there, looking devastatingly sexy, tearing out a page for every kid. He called each of them up and talked to them for a minute. He remembered the name of Jayden's dog. He remembered that Violet loved neon-colored everything. He remembered that Henry said his grandfather was in the Navy. He remembered so much, and he was so willing to indulge all of their questions.

You just stood there with your flowers and watched this endearing man captivate all nineteen of you with his words. He let Oliver try on one of his insignia pins. He drew a diagram of an aircraft carrier on your white board. He met your gaze more often than not. He smiled at you every time he did. He told your students that the reason they were so smart was because you were such a good teacher. The butterflies were here to stay now.

When you looked around, you noticed that your kids were cherishing their personal notes just like you were your flowers. You didn't want this afternoon to end, and yet, as soon as the first bell rang at three o'clock, you jumped to attention. The sooner your students cleared out of the room for the weekend, the sooner you could hopefully have a few minutes alone with Bradley before he wanted to go home and rest.

"We need to pack up," you announced, finally setting the bouquet down on your desk while Bradly affixed his pin back on his uniform shirt.

"Do we have to?" whined Jayden. "Lieutenant Bradshaw like just got here!"

He had in fact been in your classroom for over two hours, but you couldn't blame them for wanting more. Bradley cleared his throat and looked at you as he said, "I could come back again?" with that sincere gaze you were already weak for. "Spend a few more hours answering questions? Maybe bring some engine parts with me?"

You bit your lip before you could whimper out loud, and he started to head in your direction. "We would love that," you told him.

"Yeah?" he asked you as your kids erupted into a rowdy mob, grabbing all of their belongings as the final bell rang.

"Mmhmm," you hummed, waving lazily to your students as they shouted their goodbyes to both you and Bradley. His steps had him reaching you right as the last few kids left your room, and you whispered, "You'll come back?"

He reached for your hand as he said, "I'll do anything you want, Gorgeous." He must have been able to read the needy look on your face, because when you tugged on his hand, he came all the way to you. His other hand ended up at your waist as his lips found yours, and this time, the feather light kisses deepened as you parted your lips. Bradley groaned softly, kissing you just right, and then he whispered, "I've been dying for this."

Your arms went around his neck, kissing him a little frantically, melting at his touch and the feel of his soft, wavy hair between your fingers. "Me too," you told him before pulling his bottom lip gently between yours. He backed you up until you bumped into your desk, and all you could think about was how good his weight would feel on top of you.

Your skin felt too hot when he finally broke the kiss, panting softly as you ran your thumb along his scars. "I didn't like not hearing from you the past two weeks," you told him, and his brown eyes softened even as his hold on you tightened a little bit. "It was... kind of scary."

"I didn't like it either," he told you. "And I was going to text you immediately when we docked this morning, but then I decided to just come here instead." He grinned as your fingers crept back up into his hair. "If they didn't let me sign in with my military ID in the front office, I don't know what I would have done. I just wanted to see you."

You kissed his chin and said, "Usually I hate surprises. But this one was perfect."

"Okay, see, that's good information to know," he rasped. "I only got a ride home long enough to throw my duffle in the front door and hop in my Bronco. I stopped for the flowers, and then I just wanted to get here with my notebook."

You tipped your head back and whispered, "How am I supposed to deal with how sweet you are?"

"Oh! That reminds me," he muttered, rubbing his hand along your back before releasing you and strolling over to where he left his notebook on Oliver's desk. The way your body wanted you to follow him was surprising, but it gave you a chance to look at him again from head to toe as you stood next to your desk. There was nothing out of place on this man, and you pressed your lips together as his bicep flexed against his shirt sleeve. He tore another sheet of paper from his notebook and said, "I have one more note to deliver."

He walked back over to you, and when he held it up with a hopeful look, you took it from him and read.

Hey, Gorgeous. I couldn't wait one more minute to see you. And now that I'm here, I don't want today to end. Is there any way I can convince you to let me take you out for our first official date tonight instead of tomorrow? Bradley

When you looked up from the page, his eyebrows were raised, and that crooked little grin was hovering close to the surface. "I know I said to plan for tomorrow, but I can't fucking wait that long."

You bit down on your lip, shocked by how much better today turned out to be than you could have ever imagined earlier this morning. "Yeah. You've convinced me, Bradley. Tonight sounds perfect."

With that, you were treated to a little smirk beneath his mustache. He carefully took the sheet of notebook paper from your hands, set it down next to the flowers on your desk and proceeded to kiss you senseless.

----------------------------

He's going to make me hyperventilate. Those kids were SO excited to have him in their classroom, but they were nowhere near as excited as Gorgeous! He's home! And he wants to have his beach picnic and takeout and makeout sesh immediately. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 9

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@chassy21

@solacestyles

@daisyhollyxox

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@shanimallina87

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@xoxabs88xox

@thedroneranger

@cherrycola27

@fanboyswhore9

@xomrsalliej4787xo

@desert-fern

@horseslovers2016

@mattyskies

@hookslove1592

@blahehblah

@sadpetalsstuff

@local-spidey

@schoollover

@lex-winchester

@magicalmorg

@nicole01-23

@jessicab1991

@happyrebelruins

@samsgoddess

@ughthisisntright

@bellaireland1981

@sagittarius-flowerchild

@mygyn

@yuckosworld

@daggerspare-standingby

@nessjo

@trickphotography2

@lyn-js

@marve2014

@furiousladyking

[eczlipse]

your stalker - h.j.

summary : jisung has been your stalker for god knows long— you both get paired in class for a project and he tricks you into coming over at his place.

pairing : stalker/perv!jisung x fem!reader

warnings : smut! oral, fem!receiving, needy reader, stressed out (soothing you) , picture taking, lowercase intended. lmk if i missed any!!

wc: 1.6k

jisung didn’t like to call himself your stalker, preferably your admirer. he’d been very secretive about his excessive interest in you. had he followed you home sometimes? yes. had he stolen some clothes from you? yes. would he harm you in any way? that, he absolutely wouldn’t do.

after all, you were his twisted fantasy. and now, he had to face you. you two were put together in class for a science project. unlucky you, you hadn’t paid attention in class, making you have to talk to the brunette beside you.

- hi, jisung. im y/n! nice to meet you.

that angelic voice of yours never failed to make jisung melt. he’d been so interested in you for so long, yet, seeing you and hearing you from up close mesmerized him even more.

he cleared his throat and began,

- nice to meet you.

he tried to play it off cool although inside he was thrilled to speak to you.

- do you know what to do? cause’ i really don’t—

you chuckled, almost feeling embarrassed of your inattentive behaviour in class. you hoped he knew what had been assigned to-do in class today.

- ah— don’t worry about’ it, i can work on it. also um, the teacher did say we had to complete it by midnight though. maybe you could uh- come over and work on it together at mine’s after school?

jisung had lied to you completely. the teacher hadn’t said that you needed to complete it by midnight, he just wanted you over. so clueless, you answered him positively.

- sure, why not? it’d be easier if we bussed back together then… i don’t think have my city bus card on me though.

- no worries, i can pay for both of us.

he seemed excited to pay, excited to be at service to you. jisung smiled, waiting for you to accept his offer.

- alright then, if you insist!

you’d never had really noticed jisung but, from this interaction, he was nothing but a nice guy— right? you hoped to get to know more about, either if it were in class or in the bus— the bell rung, abruptly stopping your train of thought.

it had been last period so you followed along jisung to get to his house. first you both stopped by his locker then followed over to yours, it hadn’t been too far away. as the crowd was so big, you held onto his backpack and attempted to duck down and follow his lead.

luckily enough, you both made it safetly into the bus as he paid for both you and himself. found yourselves a seat, and sat down side by side.

- god, that was so much. you have to deal with that everyday?

you’d been almost out of breath because of the quick movements from earlier.

- yeah— but i’ve gotten pretty used to it, sorry should’ve warned you… this route takes a while so you can sleep if you want.

sleep, the word you’d wanted to hear all day. you’d given him a nod and slowly put your head on his shoulder. falling asleep to the commotion around you, the outside view from the other windows and a surprisingly warm, comfortable shoulder.

jisung had been speechless the whole ride, a part of him wanted to spend the whole ride gazing at you. the other wanted to put his head on your head too, but, he knew that wouldn’t be something you’d want. he’d sneak a couple pictures of you, not in any bad intentions, he genuinely just found you very alluring. even when you were asleep. he’d do other things with other pictures he’d taken of you, not the sleeping ones—

after a while, you both arrive to jisung’s stop and he slowly woke you up, tapping on your arm and gently lifting your head. this action did infact awake you and you got up very quickly. he almost chuckled at your initiative and made you follow him out the bus. getting off, you couldn’t help but notice how captivating his neighborhood was.

- it’s so pretty here, are we going to have to walk a while?

- thanks, and no we’re only a couple houses down.

he assured. checking the time it read 5pm, his parents wouldn’t be home— perfect. a part of him felt guilty for dragging you out here but, it was a friday and he promised himself to offer you an uber to get back. as you both walked under the magnificent sunset, you followed his steps. the walk may have been silent but it felt peaceful.

this had probably been jisung’s dream : hanging out with the girl he’s obsessed with.

- this is it… my parents aren’t home either.

he whispered while he opened the front door, let you in and closed it behind you.

- oh, okay! this is beautiful— where do we set our things down?

- uhm, i guess we could just chill in my room.

- okay, that’s fine.

you both went up the stairs and into jisung’s bedroom. his room had been decorated with posters, figurines and even a couple mangas. it had been so cool to see. you’d been able to recognize a few anime figures, some looking a bit more suggestive than others atleast—

- this is so cool.

you hummed, he smiled at you and grabbed your things as you both sat down on his bed. he opened both of your science books and lended you a pencil to start working.

he couldn’t contain himself from looking at you so much. your beauty had been blissful to him. the way you curved your lip a bit when you were writing, how you fidgeted with your lip if you were stressed or how your eyebrows would curve up if you didn’t understand something. to him, you were the most captivating girl.

as time passed by, he noticed that you’d been stuck on a question. almost as if you were stressing yourself out, constantly writing and erasing, checking your answers and more.

- hey, what’s going on? do you need help? you seem stressed.

he questioned, putting a hand on your hand attempting to soothe you.

- it’s just this uh— question. i keep getting it wrong and— i keep trying to mm’ restart? nothings work—

- maybe you just need to, relax.

he cut off your stuttering and confusion, only to confuse you more…

- how? how can i relax?

you spoke, breathy because of your ranting from earlier.

at that he slowly placed down your homework and lied you down on his bed. then grew a smirk on jisung’s face. did he want to…? you couldn’t lie to yourself and say he was unattractive. because, he really was cute to you. you let him lie you down until he asked you a simple question.

- maybe i can calm you down, hm?

it’s like you were seeing another side to him, you were more vulnerable to him. you knew what he meant by calming you down, especially with the way he cooed at you—

- um, y— yes, sure.

you shuddered, what kind of affect did he have on you? the way he’d been speaking, that grin— that grin had been once sweet, now so enticing.

you let him slowly unzip your jeans, the wetness between your legs growing. he held eye contact with you, just to see how much you’d squirm or if your face would change in any manner.

as you slid off your pants, he began rubbing his hand over your underwear, making you let out a whimper. jisung’s touch was driving you crazy, and you couldn't get enough of him.

not only were you getting wet, but jisung’s erection had been growing since you’d entered the room. he slowly pulled your panties to the side as you felt the first brush of his fingers against your clit. his smirk never left his face as he’d seen you gasp at his touch.

- you’re so wet for me, need more?

you hummed, curving your eyebrows up. he’d melted at your reaction, that face of yours. he’d finally be seeing you aroused, in front of him. for him.

he began slowly rubbing, his fingers dipping into your wet folds. you moaned, digging your head into his shoulder. he then moved himself down to you, now in between your legs. you could see the hunger in his eyes before finally darting his tongue into you in order to taste you. your hips bucked up, moaning his name.

- fu- fuck, jisung—

he licked and sucked, his tongue working at a perfect pace, you couldn’t help but pull on his hair wanting him deeper in you. his pace increased, your moans and his filling up the room. his erection only grew more, palming himself as he pleasured you. this had been his dream, having you, being in between your legs and making you feel weak over him.

- i’ve wanted you for’ so long—

he groaned in between your legs, fastening his pace. you felt your body tighten as you whimpered, tightening your grip on his hair.

- m’ so close—

you cried out, his hand now gripping onto your thigh. with a loud moan, you came, your orgasm washing over you. your body had been shaken, as you heard jisung’s moans of pleasure, tasting you. he pulled back, his lips glistening in your cum, a stain now evident on his pants.

he finally had you to himself.

[traveler-at-heart]

Lessons of Love

Summary: So, Nerd!Natasha and Fem!R, their first date and everything fluffy. I just have a lot of thoughts about them and maybe this will be a series (and it will eventually contain G!P Natasha so if that's not your thing, you've been warned). Nerd!Natasha x Fem!Rogers Reader

Don’t count the days, make the days count.

Natasha’s father had told her that as if it was ancient wisdom and not a fortune cookie message.

It was also easier to say it when you didn’t have to attend high school. There were days when she couldn’t cope with it, like when the football team was agitated before a match, or there was some drama around the most popular people in school.

Those times were a stark reminder that Natasha had no one to talk to, a confidant to mock the jocks or a friend to share the gossip with.

Genius comes with a cost.

That one was her mom’s way of comforting Natasha.

She was the smartest person in school, miles above her peers. What she didn’t have in social intelligence, she more than made up with a sharp, quick and brilliant mind.

But as she entered the chem lab, and took a seat at the last table where she was always alone, Natasha wished that things could be different.

If only for a day.

“Morning, everyone” professor Fury greeted as people went to their seats. “You might have heard about an explosion during class” the few giggles that were heard were quickly silenced by Fury’s glare. “So, to keep this from happening again, we’ll switch the teams for the rest of the semester”

Natasha’s heart raced. What if people could choose and then she’d end up front of the class, everyone staring because no one picked her?

“So, alphabetically” Fury read the list, Natasha going over the name that was before hers…

Rogers.

She looked at you, sitting next to Wanda on one of the first tables. You waved at the twins when their names were called, laughing at Wanda’s annoyed stare. Being paired with her brother meant she’d do most of the work while he fooled around.

“Rogers and Romanoff”

Natasha saw you gathering your things and looking around. When you found her, a smile broke out and you walked to join her in the back of the room.

How does one greet the most popular girl in school? Head of cheerleaders, little sister of legendary quarterback Steve Rogers, not to mention the most beautiful girl in all of Shield High.

Not that Natasha was paying attention.

“Hey, Natty” you greeted, sitting next to her and looking around. “Wow, you can really see everything from here”

“I-I guess”

Natasha wanted to crawl under the table and hide. What was she supposed to talk about?

“Guess it’s my lucky day” you said, unable to deal with the silence. Natasha had a hard time understanding if you were being sarcastic. “I mean, you’re the capitan of the Science Club. So, that makes you the best partner anyone could hope for in Chemistry”

Natasha didn’t have time to answer, as Fury finally started with the lesson. Once he gave you all the instructions and wrote some exercises on the board, everyone went silent. Of course, Natasha was done in half the time.

“Show off” you teased and felt your heart beating faster when Natasha actually laughed.

“Want help?” she offered and you went over your notes, nodding.

“I think I got most of them except… this one?” you pointed with your pencil. Natasha leaned, reading again and pulling her chair closer to yours.

“You see, when you choose a coefficient, try to select one as low as possible”

“And that would affect all of the atoms in the molecule” you said and Natasha nodded. “Ok, I think I got it”

But the redhead kept staring as you began to write again, and you poked her side.

“Stop it, Romanoff”

You went back to work, missing the way Natasha blushed at the physical contact.

“Good. Now, I want you to get to know each other even better, so you’ll do a project for next class. Do not sass me, youths” Fury raised his voice as everyone began to protest.

“We’ve known each other our whole lives, can we skip this one?” Pietro said while pointing to his sister, and everyone laughed.

“No” Fury said, turning to write on the board again. “Do some research on why it’s important to balance chemical equations and what other parts of chemistry rely on this skill. Bonus points for concrete examples where it helped advance important research on other fields”

He dismissed the class, and everyone began to pack their bags to move to the next session.

“So… uh… how do you wanna do this? Wanna meet somewhere?” Natasha said, unfamiliar with team projects. Teachers would let her work alone, because pairing her with someone meant she’d do all the work and split the credit.

“Yeah, not my place though. The boys have their weekly pool game after football practice and they can get so loud” you rolled your eyes, walking out of the classroom next to the girl.

Natasha’s stomach turned at the idea of being anywhere near the school jocks.

“So, the school library?” you offered, giving her a way out in case her house was off limits.

“I think my mom has more books about it than the library”

Damn it, where did that come from? She couldn’t handle a class with you and now she was suggesting her place? Where would you even work? And Melina would make some embarrassing remark, or Alexei would ask a million questions and say something silly…

“Yeah, cool. I’ll stop by after cheerleading practice”

“Let me give you the address”

“Natty, I know where you live” you chuckled, surprised that she seemed surprised. “Remember your birthday party? I was there”

“That was like seven years ago”

“Yeah, so? I remember” you smiled. “Gotta run, see you later”

Natasha stared as you walked to History class. You turned around one last time, smiling shyly and waving at her.

Natasha waved back, her cheeks turning red at being caught staring.

Crap, she wasn’t going to survive this assignment.

—

You went up the steps, fixing your hair before ringing the doorbell.

God, how were you going to manage this afternoon with Natasha? You were barely able to keep it together during class.

You were still torn on how to manage your fight or flight response when the door opened.

“Y/N!” Natasha’s sister practically shouted your name.

“Hey, Yelena. I’m here to…”

“You know my name” the girl said.

“Well, yeah, you’re Nat’s sister”

Speak of the devil.

“Yelena!” Natasha went down the stairs in record time.

“What?” Yelena said, talking back as soon as Natasha switched to Russian. They went back and forth for a while, and you stood outside, wondering if you’d ever manage to get in.

“Sorry about that” Nat finally turned to you, Yelena leaving the room in a rush.

“No worries. I couldn’t understand you. Literally”

“My room’s this way” Natasha said, scratching the back of her neck.

A second later, she regretted letting you go up the stairs first. Your skirt moved with each step you took, toned legs in full display. Natasha had to pray she wouldn’t trip on the way up.

“Which door?” you turned to look at her, her ears red. You bit your lip, trying not to think how adorable she looked all flustered.

“The one on the right” she pointed and you nodded, waiting for her to tell you it was ok to open it.

“Wow” you said, looking around at the shelves full of books and scale models of different machines.

“You can take the chair if you want” Natasha offered her desk, and you were so busy reading the titles of the books you almost didn’t hear her.

“Oh, that’s ok. I can sit on the bed” you said, placing your backpack in the corner. You pulled out your laptop and opened a new tab. “I was thinking we can get all the info we need, and then decide how to organize it. I’ll write a draft and you can review it”

It was Natasha’s turn to be distracted, appreciating the way you leaned against her headboard, stretching your arms above your head.

“I-I got some books from my mom’s study.  Let me find the right one…” she sat on the floor and you laid on your stomach, your heads at the same height as you looked over her shoulder.

Natasha began reading and taking notes, while you reviewed some articles on your laptop.

“Ready”

“Ok” you said, changing to sit next to her on the floor. Natasha felt your shoulder against her arm, and your sweet parfume invaded her senses.

You always smelled good. And looked so pretty. It was hard to focus but she managed just enough to dictate some of the things she’d found useful.

“You don’t have to write this down, but let me know if you think any of it is interesting for the paper” she said, and you really wanted to pay attention, but your eyes kept drifting to her lips. “Y/N?”

“Huh?”

“Sorry, I’m boring you” Natasha said, closing the book and looking dejected. She was about to put it away when you reached for her hand, sitting up.

“Now hold on. You weren’t boring me”

“It’s ok”

“Nat, look at me” you asked. The redhead seemed to forget you had moved closer when you reached for her hand, and when she turned to look at you, you were inches apart.

“I…”

Was she looking at your lips? Were you leaning forward? Did she want this?

You didn’t have time to find out, as the door to Natasha’s room opened and you jumped back.

“Oh! Yelena was telling the truth”

“Hi, Mrs. Romanoff” you greeted, hoping she didn’t notice your cheeks turning pink.

“Y/N, it’s so good to see you. Why are you sitting on the floor? Natalia, where are your manners?”

“Mom”

“No, that’s ok. I prefer the floor. Your hydrengias are looking spectacular, by the way” you tried to change the subject.

“Thanks to you! You were right about the change of place. Oh, I should have sent you a plate of cookies, you helped me with it and I didn’t even thank you”

“That’s ok, Mrs. Romanoff”

“Well if you want to stay for dinner, you’re more than welcomed” Melina turned to her daughter, with a more serious demeanor. “And you, remember to put those books right where they belong. I have a very particular system”

“Yes, Ma’am” 

“So…”

“I…”

You both spoke at the same time. 

“Sorry” you tried to breathe, putting a strand of hair behind your ear. “You were saying?”

“I didn’t know you spoke to my mom about flowers?”

“Oh, that” you blushed and Natasha bit her lip, drinking in every word you said. “Yeah, Mom and I ran into her at the farmer’s market. They were talking about plants and we gave her some tips. That’s how we spend quality time, working on the garden”

Natasha nodded, but you still stared at her.

“Can I ask you something?” you said, looking at her lips. Natasha swallowed and nodded. “I… uh… why was Yelena acting weird when she saw me?”

That’s not what you meant to ask, but you had lost your courage.

“Oh…” the redhead looked disappointed. Or were you imagining things? “She’s obsessed with joining the cheerleading squad, and you being the President…”

“I’m not, anymore” you blurted out, surprising even yourself. “I mean, I’m still on the team… but I thought Pepper would do a better job” 

“But they won the Nationals last year because of you” Natasha protested, and you were taken aback by her sudden rage. “There’s no one better than you”

“That’s really sweet, Nat” you placed your hand on hers. “But it’s for the best. Trust me. I’ll have more time to focus on the school paper or… I don’t know, dating?”

“I guess you could do that…” Natasha said, looking at your hands. For the second time in the day, your eyes found hers and then traveled to those beautiful lips.

“Y/N!” 

Bucky shouted from the door. Damn it.

“My ride’s here” you said, disappointed. Natasha nodded, standing up and offering her hand to help you up. You took it, surprised at her strength. 

A gasp left your lips when you were face to face, inches away from her lips. All you had to do was step forward and stand on your toes…

“Y/N/N” Bucky insisted and you had to control the urge to tell him to go to hell.

“Sorry. I have enough notes to write something. Can I text you once it’s done?”

“Sure, let me give you my number”

“I already have it…” you blurted out, trying to hide your face.

“How?”

Now, this time you were grateful for Bucky’s insistence. 

“Coming, Buck! See you later?” 

“Yeah. I’ll walk you out” 

You nodded, allowing Natasha to lead you to the front door. Her father, coach Romanoff, was chatting with Bucky at the door.

“Good practice today” Alexei said and Bucky nodded.

“Thanks, coach” he then turned to you, offering his hand to get your bag. “Ready to go, doll?”

“Yeah. Thanks for having me, Nat. Say bye to your mom and Yelena for me?” 

“Sure”

An uncomfortable feeling took over Natasha as you walked next to Bucky, watching him take your bag and carry it for you. You laughed at something he said while he opened the car door for you and then drove away.

“They make a cute couple, don’t they?” Alexei said, but Natasha shrugged her shoulders and went back to her room, almost knocking Melina over on the way up the stairs. “Did I say something wrong?”

—

Natasha felt weird doing it, but she couldn’t help herself. 

She only opened an Instagram account to watch cool science videos. But she knew your username because Yelena followed you and now, she was acting like a creep, looking at your profile.

In search of what? She wasn’t sure. Maybe proof that you were dating Barnes.

“Hey” Yelena walked into her room and Natasha dropped her phone. “Ew, were you watching porn?”

“What? No! What do you want?” Natasha said, the blush in her cheeks only making her seem guilty.

“Well, just wanted to ask you if Y/N mentioned anything about this year’s tryouts?”

“No, we didn’t really talk about… that”

Natasha didn’t mention the conversation you had about stepping down as president. She had a feeling that was private.

“Ok, go back to watching porn” Yelena said, closing the door before Natasha could throw a pillow her way.

Then, her phone pinged and Natasha looked at it as if it was a cursed object. 

Unknown number: Hey, Nat. I have a draft ready. Lmk if I can send it to you

Natasha: Hi. Sure thing, I’m not doing anything

Damn it, way to be a loser, Natasha. 

She didn’t even wait a few minutes to reply.

Y/N: Ok, should be on your email now.

Natasha: Thnx, reading now.

Y/N: Gotta get ready for dinner. It was nice seeing you today.

Y/N: Outside of school, I mean.

Y/N: So… yeah. Anyway. I’m being weird, haha. Talk soon. 

Y/N: XO

Natasha’s heartbeat sped up with every new text. She caught herself reading them over and over again.

She didn’t have time to worry about what to reply, because her mother came knocking.

“Dinner’s ready. You can take your time… Yelena told me you were busy.”

“Oh, my GOD!” Natasha jumped out of bed, opening the door. “I am not… watching porn!”

“She said you were stalking Y/N’s instagram” Melina said, turning to find her youngest daughter holding a laugh.

“сука” Natasha screamed, running after her.

“Papa, help!” Yelena screeched, going down the stairs. 

“Language! And no running inside the house!” 

Melina sighed. With the way Natasha was looking at you today, she had a feeling that parenting was going to be even more complicated now.

--

Throughout the week, you never left Natasha’s mind. It was a strange feeling. She’d never dwelled on social interactions that much, thinking it wasn’t worth her time. 

But still, when Friday came, she was excited because you shared English class as well. 

And there you were, leaning against the door, speaking to Barnes. Again. Natasha sighed, trying to ignore the heavy feeling in her stomach at the way you laughed with him, smacking his arm playfully.

As usual, the redhead kept her head down and went to the last table of the classroom, where she could be left alone. Only, you walked straight to her as soon as Professor Harkness started the lesson.

“Hey” you greeted, sitting next to Natasha. 

“H-hi”

“Sorry, do you want me to find another place to sit?” you said, looking around the room. 

“No!” Natasha practically shouted, making you flinch. “I’m sorry. No, you can sit here”

You nodded, occupying the chair next to hers. It was going to be a slow day, as Ms. Harkness set up the projector to show a documentary about Patricia Highsmith. 

“You have to write a report about this so pay attention” the professor said, taking a seat to start the film.

While the documentary played, your mind kept drifting back to Natasha, sitting a few inches away from you. Truth be told, you had always found her to be beautiful, intriguing… but after spending an afternoon with her, those moments when you touched hands or locked eyes, kept replaying in your head. 

Instead of taking notes, you decided to execute a plan that was saved for the next Chemistry lesson. Drawing on a sheet of paper, you created a game of hangman, double checking the number of letters for each of the three words. 

Without looking at Natasha, you pushed the sheet her way. She looked at it for a second too long, and then at you. You were beginning to regret the whole thing, and then she underlined the letter T. You smiled, writing on the designated place.

Natasha took her time analyzing the sheet, but by the time the lesson was over, she had guessed some of the letters.

_o_i_   o_   _ _ tur _ _ y ?

The bell rang, and as the lights were turned back on, you looked at her, smiling nervously. 

“So… want me to tell you what it says? Or, you can take the sheet and text me if you figure it out?” 

God, you sounded so desperate. No wonder Natasha looked at you as if you had grown a second head. 

“I’ll take it” she smiled, placing it between her notebook and walking out.

“Actually, Nat…” you went after her. Why not just ask straight away and see what happened?

“Yes?” she said, turning to look at you. Truth be told, she was anxious to get out. Your proximity had distracted her during the entire class. And it only got worse when you slid that sheet her way, and she saw the way you were biting your lip nervously.

She had to force herself to look away from your lips. 

“I was thinking, if you’re not too busy…”

“Go on a date with me”

You were both taken aback by the interruption. The words were stolen right out of your mouth by a junior student, Peter Parker. He was staring at Natasha excitedly. 

“Never mind” you grumbled, rolling your eyes and walking away. 

Natasha flashed an angry glare at Peter, but you were walking down the hallway at record speed.

“What is wrong with you?” Natasha said. Peter was a year younger, but knew the redhead from science club. 

“Sorry, it’s just that I… those were the words that came out of my mouth to ask MJ out. MJ! And she said yes!”

“Yeah, start with that next time” 

Natasha spotted you across the hall, talking to Thor. Of course. 

“I have to go” Natasha pushed the boy aside.

She was so distracted, she never noticed where she was going until she opened the door to the computer room, where Barnes was making out with another senior, Sharon Carter. 

“Knock, damn it” Barnes said, but Sharon smacked his arm, looking stern.

“Don’t be a dick, James”

Natasha wanted to call Barnes a lot more than a dick, because who on their right mind would cheat on you? She stared at him a second longer, too angry to even speak, and then turned around, shutting the door behind her. 

You deserved so much better than Barnes. 

—

Y/N: Were you able to figure it out?

Natasha kept staring at her phone. She hadn’t replied to your message since yesterday and the longer she waited, the worse she felt.

Should she tell you about Barnes? Would you believe her? Or would you call her the worst name in the book and refuse to be in the same class as her? 

The girl was pacing around in her room, but of course Yelena chose that moment to play her music at full volume. Natasha let out an exasperated sigh, going to her sister’s room.

“Turn it down!” she yelled from outside, knocking several times to get Yelena’s attention. “Yelena? Your music is too damn…” let the record show she had tried to knock. Natasha walked into Yelena’s room without permission, ready to get into a screaming match with her sister. What she didn’t expect was to see you sitting on her bed, while Yelena showed you different things on her closet.

“I told you it was very loud, Yel” you said, smiling at the girl and then at Natasha, who took a step forward to shut the music down. “Hey, sorry about the noise”

“I don’t recall giving you permission to come in, sestra” Yelena said, examining a t-shirt and her favorite vest. She turned to you. “What about this?” 

“Yeah, that’s better. And hair braided, don’t forget that. Pepper and all the other girls love braids. I think the ones Natasha wears sometimes are really… uh, pretty”

You didn’t mean to sound like a creep, but of course you had noticed Natasha’s fiery hair braided from time to time. 

“So, since you’re standing there and made me turn off my music” Yelena turned to her sister, showing the outfit. “What do you think? Tryouts are on Monday and Y/N is helping me pick an outfit”

“That one’s nice” Natasha nodded, trying to avoid your stare. She thought she had today and tomorrow to figure out what to do over Barnes. But what if you came to talk to her and she just blurted the whole thing out?

So, she excused herself and thought it would be better to hide in her room. Peace didn’t last long, though.

“Knock!” Natasha grumbled when her sister got in. 

“Hey, you didn’t knock either just now. I wanted to ask if you got the tickets for the movie”

“Yes, of course I did”

“Good. I can’t go with you, so you should take Y/N”

“Wait, what?” Natasha hissed, trying to not lose it at Yelena’s ridiculous antics. “You can’t just cancel like that and she probably doesn’t even want to…”

“Ask her” 

“What?”

“Ask her. Or if you’re too afraid, I can do it for you. But honestly, Natalia. Just do it. You’re both driving me crazy”

Natasha didn’t know what Yelena meant by that, so she just rolled her eyes and sighed.

“I’ll ask her, I don’t want it to seem like my little sister has to arrange my outings”

“Fine. I’m getting some water, you should do it now. Don’t pass out” Yelena winked, knowing her sister could barely handle social interactions.

 Natasha felt her heartbeat strong in her chest, but didn’t wait too long before going back to Yelena’s room. She knew her sister meant it and would absolutely ask you out on Nat’s behalf.

“Hey, Y/N” she walked into the room, door ajar.

“Hey. What’s up? Want to try on outfits with us?” you joked. In spite of her nerves, Natasha smiled.

“I wanted to ask if you wanna go to the movies”

“Really?” you smiled. “What time?”

“It starts in an hour so… we can leave in thirty minutes if it works for you”

“Yeah. Awesome”

You didn’t think about asking which movie or anything else really. The fact Natasha had asked you was all you cared about. The redhead left the room once her sister came back, trying to hide her anxiety. Yelena gave her a knowing look, and kept chatting with you but wasn’t surprised to find you smiling out of nowhere, distracted and constantly checking your watch.

Once it was time to go, Natasha waited downstairs to drive you both to the movies. The ride there was quiet at first, until you reached out for the radio.

“Very cool” you praised when OK Go came on. “Their best music video is for I won’t let you down”

“What? No way! This too shall pass. That Rube Goldberg machine was insane”

“But what about all the extras and the umbrellas? Imagine the coordination it took. I tried to talk the girls into doing it for Nationals but they said I was insane”

Natasha laughed at that, humming along to the song, feeling more relaxed. You also smiled, and enjoyed watching her drive. She looked hot as she held the wheel. 

As you were arriving to the theater, you mentioned Barnes and how he always forgot to get the tickets and once again, Natasha’s anxiety came back. 

She was quiet as she parked and you both exited the car. 

“Wait. I’m sorry. I can’t do this” 

“Do what? What’s wrong?” you looked at her, searching her eyes. 

“Please don’t hate me” she pleaded.

“Natty, I could never” you shook your head, the term of endearment almost leaving Nat out of breath. 

“I saw… Barnes and Sharon Carter kissing in the computer room. I’m sorry”

“Ew. Yeah, they tend to do that anywhere they can. I’m the one who’s sorry you had to see it” you laughed, but the sound died down when Natasha looked at you as if you had grown a second head.

“Aren’t you dating Barnes?” she said, trying to understand everything.

“What? Gross. He’s like my other brother. Slightly less annoying than Steve, that’s for sure” 

“You’re serious?” Natasha said, feeling as if a giant weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

“I’m very serious and very much single… waiting for a pretty girl to come sweep me off my feet” you said, smiling as Natasha blushed. You took her hand, going inside the theater. “Come on, the movie is starting soon”

You waited in line for the candy store, her hand still in yours. Once it was time to get your stuff, you stood behind her, looking over her shoulder by standing on your toes. Natasha blushed at the contact, your chin resting against her shoulder while you asked the clerk for some chocolate.

“Let me” Natasha said, paying before you could give the man money. 

“Chivalry isn’t dead” you said, enjoying how much she was blushing. You smiled, helping her with the soda and finally going inside the room. 

“So, what are we watching?”

“It’s this new zombie movie, like found footage”

“Oh, cool” you muttered, feeling the palms of your hands get sweaty. 

“Sorry, I didn’t even ask if you were ok with that”

“No, it’s fine. I’m just a bit of a chicken” you laughed, settling in your seat. You hoped Natasha didn’t think you were lame and as the movie started, you really did try to be brave. And then a zombie came jumping through a window and you hid your face behind your hands. 

“Hey, it’s ok” Natasha took your hand. “We can leave if you want to” 

“No, I’m fine” you said, forgetting about the movie as soon as her hand let go of yours, arm going around your shoulders to comfort you. 

No way were you leaving now.

You leaned against her chest, hiding when something scary was about to happen. Natasha held you close, her hand going up and down your back in a soothing manner. 

Who knew all it took was some scary zombies to get close to her…

The movie didn’t last as long as you’d have liked, but still, you were happy when she kept holding on to your hand as you left the cinema.

“That was fun” you commented and Natasha let out a laugh. “What?”

“You were hiding half the movie”

“Maybe I liked that part the most” you challenged, pleased when she blushed again. “But next time, we’re watching a rom com or a sci-fi movie.”

“I’d like that” Natasha said and you were looking at her lips when your phone rang. “Want a ride home?”

“I couldn’t possibly ask you to”

“It’s not a problem. Come on” she walked next to you, opening the car door. 

“What else do you listen to?” you played with the radio, going from A-Punk, to Keane and Travis. “Really good taste”

“What about you?”

“Anything really. I have like 45 playlists that are completely random. I could send you one if you’d like” 

“Yeah, I’d like that” Natasha nodded. You smiled, enjoying the view (and by view you meant Natasha, her fingers tapping against the wheel) for the rest of the ride. 

Once you got home, she opened the car door for you again. You didn’t move from your spot next to her, enjoying the proximity.

“Nat?”

“Yes?”

“I like you” you said without a warning, and it was hard to tell who was more embarrassed, you or Nat. “I’m sorry for being so forward but I think I needed you to know. I’m thinking about kissing you and holding your hand and…”

For the first time in her life, Natasha did something without thinking. She pulled you by the waist, connecting her lips to yours. You groaned in surprise, but sighed against her mouth a second later. Your hands went up her neck, to keep her close to you as you moved your lips against hers.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help myself”

“Never apologize for doing that” you smiled, leaning your forehead against her shoulder. Natasha smiled, kissing your temple. “Are you good to drive?”

“Yeah” she nodded.

“Ok. I don’t want you to do it if you’re distracted or something. It could be dangerous, you know?” you rambled and Natasha saw genuine concern behind your words.

“I’ll text you when I’m home, how about that?”

“Yes, please” you sighed with relief. “Be careful. And thank you for today” without being able to help yourself, you stood on your toes and pecked her lips one more time.

Natasha got in the car, smiling as she drove back home. True to her promise, she texted you as soon as she arrived. 

She was expecting Yelena to greet her with a million questions, but the girl was back in her room, still listening to music.

Going back to her own room, she found the game of hangman you had done for her, now complete with Yelena’s handwriting.

Natasha was really clueless.

Movie on Saturday?

This whole time, you were asking her out. Natasha took a picture of the paper and sent it to her sister.

Nat: You went through my stuff.

Sestra: Ur welcome.

Natasha would never hear the end of it. Her phone pinged again.

Y/N: Glad you’re home safe. 

Y/N: Still thinking about that kiss.

Y/N: So… yeah. When’s our second date?

Coming to think of it, she was happy to pay that price. 

[lazycats-stuff]

Batfamily x male reader

Batfamily x male!reader - this is part 1 everyone.

Summary: some talking is done.

Warnings: angst, fluff, (Y/N) is trying and so is the fam, cursing, trying to forgive, a punch was thrown, cutting people out

The fight echoed through the manor. Even days after it, the tension was still palpable. (Y/N) truly wanted nothing more with his so called brothers and father. If they tried to talk to him, they would be ignored or (Y/N) would just snap at them.

Almost biting their head off.

Safe to say, things were going to complete and utter shit.

Bruce didn't even know how to start talking to (Y/N). Was he emotionally reserved? Yes. But will he try everything in his power to make it right?

Yes. Everything he can do, he will do.

Bruce has decided to call a meeting. He made (Y/N) leave his room and (Y/N) has never looked worse. He couldn't sleep for days on end, only getting about 4 hours per night. He wasn't in the mood to eat either. He was only alive because Alfred had to make sure he was still alive.

Everyone noted that he looked like he didn't want to live anymore. More so, he looked dead. (Y/N) just sat down, an angry look on his face, arms crossed and body language closed off. He sat down as far as away as he could from them, clearly not happy to be here in the slightest.

He tucked himself in the chair, ignoring everyone and everything.

" (Y/N)... " Bruce started quietly, clearly not wanting to have a blow out and an explosion. " We have to talk through this problem. " Bruce continued just as softly and (Y/N) scoffed.

" We know we have been... Neglecting you, to say the least. But... We want to fix our mistakes. We want to be better. " Bruce said and (Y/N) chose to roll his eyes instead of listening. No matter what they could say could ever fix this.

" Well... 10 years too late. " (Y/N) said sarcastically, tapping his fingers against his tucked up knee, clearly anxious to leave this room behind. He really was anxious too leave.

" And we realize that. " Tim started softly, looking at (Y/N) with a sad look on his face. (Y/N) wouldn't allow them to see them sweat.

" Bullshit. " (Y/N) said quickly. They don't realize shit. " You are only doing this because Jon came over and pointed it out and now you are worried that the word doesn't spread. " (Y/N) spat out, leaning on his tucked up knee, glaring that the floor.

" That is not true. " Damian said and (Y/N) looked up, glaring at Damian, scoffing at the words, then laughing bitterly.

" Oh please. You never told Jon about me! I'm assuming all of your friends don't know I exist, right? " (Y/N) said as he rubbed his eyes from the exhaustion.

The silence was the only answer that (Y/N) needed.

" Yup and there it is. No one knows I fucking exist! " (Y/N) said loudly, blood pressure raising. He took a deep breath to calm down. " Just as I thought. No one knows I exist. No one even cared about my school achievements either... Let me ask you something Bruce. " (Y/N) asked, turning his attention to Bruce.

" Do you have a college fund for me? Just like you do for other four? " (Y/N) asked, itching for an answer. When Bruce looked away in shame and (Y/N) scoffed yet again.

" Also, don't you fucking dare setting it up. I have got a scholarship anyway. " (Y/N) answered the unasked questions. Bruce was proud of (Y/N). How could he have done this to (Y/N), forget to put a college fund...

" I'm sorry (Y/N). I didn't mean to forget you. " Bruce said, keeping his distance, but wanting nothing more than just hug him and kiss the anger away.

But alas, that's not how it works. (Y/N) has to forgive him first.

" Can you tell us more about the scholarship? " Jason chimed in, wanting to speak about something that (Y/N) could be happy about.

" It's for MIT. " (Y/N) said quietly and everyone was in shock. They didn't know that (Y/N) was into science and mathematics and what not.

Another mistake of theirs.

" That's amazing (Y/N). " Tim praised, smiling at (Y/N). Getting into MIT is hard as hell.

(Y/N) rolled his eyes, but deep down inside, he craved that praise more than life. But some praise won't erase everything that happened.

" You would really have to move then... " Dick said sadly and (Y/N) glanced at all of them. They all seem sad that he would have to move all the way to Massachusetts, but it would be necessary. (Y/N) needed to get out of here. One way or another.

" I think what we all mean to say is that we are sorry. There is no excuse, not a single thing that could justify what we did and what we have caused to you. " Damian said and (Y/N) was shocked to hear the word sorry just tumble out of his mouth like that, so effortlessly. So easily. But he composed himself quickly.

" How do I put his nicely? " (Y/N) said, looking sarcastic. " I don't give a damn about any of you. I don't give a damn about apologies at all. I don't care about any of you. The moment I move out, all of you are going to be dead to me. Period. " (Y/N) said as he quickly stood up, going to his room.

He isn't going to fucking listen anymore.

" No, (Y/N) wait! " Everyone called after him and tried to stop him. Jason managed to grab his arm, but (Y/N) threw a punch and knocked Jason down on his ass, making the others rear back. It was a truly what the fuck moment for all of them.

(Y/N) was never violent.

(Y/N) slammed the doors of his room shut and everyone was silent. Jason was breathing heavily through his mouth as (Y/N) broke his nose.

" He has a hell of a punch. " Jason muttered as he stood up.

" We have a shit ton of gravelling to do. " Tim muttered and everyone nodded in agreement. Saying that they are dead to him, well, will be dead to him, that was sort of a nail in a coffin. Coffin about their relationship...

That was probably on the brink of death, if not dead already.

" Come on, he needs some time alone. " Bruce said and ushered everyone out of the hall, mostly Jason to take a look at his nose, to treat it and heal it.

That same night, (Y/N) quietly managed to get his things into a car, while others were on patrol and blocked them in the process. Then he started driving to MIT, because he didn't have the nerve to put his things onto a plane and go. And besides, he didn't have enough things anyway.

(Y/N) could finally start his new life.

[dollielliot]

˳ ･ׅ ⠀⠀ . ﾟ* 𑙕 ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ׁ𐄙transcripts from police calls about columbine

F.B.I. report excerpt about the Library 911 call:

"On April 20, 1999, Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold shot and killed twelve students and one teacher at Columbine High School Littleton, Colorado. During the incident, teacher Patty Nielson placed a call to 911 Emergency. Neilson was in the library when she placed the call. The 911 operator answered the call stating "911" at 11:27:47 a.m. The phone call lasted 26 minutes. During the call, noises including gunshots, explosions, screaming, and yelling can be heard. The initial backround noises heard come from the hallway just outside of the library. Four minutes and ten seconds into the call, Harris and Klebold entered the Library and begin shooting. They left the Library eleven minutes and forty-five minutes into the call. The remaining gunshots and explosions heard on the tape occur in the Cafeteria, Science classroom area or the hallways of the school."

Eric - "Get up!"

Dylan - "GET UP!"

Eric - "Stand up right now or we'll blow your fucking heads off!"

Dylan - "Fine I'll start shooting then..." (shoots Velasquez) "Woohoo!"

Dylan - "All jocks stand up... white baseball cap"

Eric - "Pigs are here..." (begins firing out the window)

Dylan - (shoots Hall, Ireland, Steepleton) "Yahoo!" 

Patti Nielson - "our father.. who art in heaven... hallowed be thy name" Dispatcher - "ma'am, you need to forget about praying right now. What's happening there?"

Nielson - "They're in here... they're killing kids... I have to go." (drops phone)

Eric - (kills Curnow) "Die! Motherfucker!"

Dylan - "WOO!"

Kasey Ruegsegger - (after being shot by Eric) "Oh!"

Eric - "Stop your bitching! It's merely a flesh wound."

Dylan - (laughing hysterically)

Eric - "peek-a-boo" (kills Bernall)

Dylan - (shoots Ireland) "Die! …..down on the floor!"

Dylan - "REB?"

Eric - "Yeah?"

Dylan - "hey, man... there's a [ n word w/ the hard r] over here."

Eric - "shoot him."

Dylan - "SHIT YEAH!"

Shoels - "no…no…no.mom!"

(shoels and kechter killed)

(C02 bomb detonates)

Valeen Schnurr - "oh my god... help me..."

Eric - "do you believe in god?"

Valeen - "no. yes..."

Dylan - "Why?"

Eric - "God is gay."

John Tomlin - "Don't... done enough?"

(shots fired)

Dylan - "You think we've done enough?" (laughing)

Eric - "nice glasses" (shots fired... sounds of a scuffle.. shots fired again, Mauser killed)

Dylan - "was he trying to jump you?"

Eric - "yeah"

(shots fired... DePooter killed)

Dylan - "Look what we have here..."

Eric - "What?"

Dylan - "just some fat fuck"

Dylan - "give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you."

Evan Todd - "I don't want to get into trouble."

Dylan - "Trouble! You don't know what trouble is..."

Evan Todd - "That's not what I mean... I don't have a problem with you guys..." 

Dylan - "I'm going to let this fat fuck live... little fat fucking piece of shit... you can have him if you want." 

Eric - "Let's go to the commons"

Dylan - "One more thing" (sound of something smashing)

Dylan - "Reb, ya ready?"

Dispatcher - "Columbine Senior High School. There's been a shooting. There's a female in the south parking lot. OK, I'm sorry, can you tell me where she is?"

Student - "She's in the south parking lot on the lower parking lot."

Dispatcher - "She's in the parking lot, the lower one?"

Student - "Right, toward the east end of that parking lot .... I just saw everyone running. I just saw the smoke."

Dispatcher - "OK. We had a report of explosions down there. Is there a car fire or anything?

Student - "People are saying there's a gun."

Dispatcher - "Do you know if anyone was carrying a weapon out there?"

Student - "No, I do not. There's like smoke going off in the parking lot right now. There are loud noises. I'm not sure exactly. A cop is pulling up."

Dispatcher - "Can you direct them?"

Student - "No, but they're going in the right direction. People are running out of the school like mad right now."

Dispatcher - "Where is the female ... is she still in that south parking lot?"

Student - "I can't see her anymore. I ran to the phone."

Dispatcher - "Can you see anything else?"

Student - "A lot of people are at the front of the parking lot and they're running out."

Dispatcher - "When the kids came out of the school, which direction were they going?"

Student - "They went down towards the street."

Dispatcher - "What part is this? Is it like the gym area, the cafeteria or just classrooms?"

Student - "They're coming from like the commons, the lunch area right now."

Dispatcher - "The commons area? 

Student: Everyone's running and I'm still standing here."

Dispatcher - "You're out of the way of danger, aren't you?"

Student - "I believe so, I don't know." 

Dispatcher - "Do you mind if I keep you on the phone here so you can tell me if anything else is going on there?"

Student - "I think the fire alarm is going off right now. Yeah, the fire alarm is going off."

Dispatcher -  "...Shots fired at Columbine High School, 6201 South Pierce, possibly the south lower lots toward the east end. One female is down"

[unintelligible]

Dispatcher - "71"

Deputy Neil Gardner - "Shots in the building. I need somebody in the south lot with me."

Dispatcher - "MC-2's in the area."

Dispatcher - "140 enroute. 11:26" (dispatcher gives time of broadcast). 

[unintelligible field radio with siren in background]

Dispatcher - [unintelligible] "11:26"

[unintelligible, officers acknowledging their response]

Deputy Neil Gardner - "Several shots. Code 33."

Dispatcher - "71. Several shots fired. Columbine High School. Use caution...."

[unintelligible]

Dispatcher - [unintelligible] "You were covered."

[unintelligible field unit]

Dispatcher - "Copy. Attention. All units, there's a code three on this channel. For the officers at Columbine High. Take your traffic to channel two...."

[unintelligible field unit]

Dispatcher - [unintelligible] "11:27"

Officer - "41"

Dispatcher - "41"

Officer - "Yeah, the alarm's OK. Enroute down to Columbine."

Dispatcher - "11:27"

[unintelligible]

Dispatcher - "71 requested assistance at the south lower lot."

Officer - "At the lot?"

Dispatcher - [unintelligible] "at the lot. That's where we had the female down.... [unintelligible] 127 [unintelligible]"

Officer - "OK ... We've got the pupils leaving the grounds."

Dispatcher - [unintelligible] "I have report of possible grenades in the school."

Officer: "147"

Dispatcher: "147"

Officer: [unintelligible] "teacher thinks somebody is in the school with a gun."

Dispatcher - "Report units of possible parties inside the school with weapons. Also we have reports from outside the school that possibly grenades are being thrown from the roof of the school."

Officer - "27. I'm set up on Pierce at the, uh, south side lot."

Dispatcher - Pierce south side of the lot.... [unintelligible]

Officer - "44. I'll be set up on the west side of the back of the school, by the ball field."

Officer - "MC-2. I've got the west side by the ball field. Supposedly they're in black trench coats."

Dispatcher - "MC-2. West side by the ball fields, parties in trench coats, possibly has a shotgun."

Officer - [unintelligible] "copy."

Officer - [unintelligible]

Dispatcher - "Last unit"

Deputy Neil Gardner - "71"

[atlabeth]

mine forever

request from @nghtwngs

pairing: nikolai lantsov x fem!tidemaker reader

a/n: SO sorry for posting this early and having to delete 💀 i was formatting and didnt realize i was not saving it as a draft lmao. but thank you for sending this in love!!! and PLEASEE send in as much nikolai as you want i miss writing for him so much

wc: 1.4k

warning(s): hurt/comfort. reader is insecure, nikolai is the sweetest as usual

join in on my 3k celebration!!

“You’re avoiding me.” 

Your eyes didn’t move away from the horizon when you heard Nikolai’s voice, though you felt your muscles tense. 

“Clearly not well enough,” you remarked. “Seeing as you found me.” 

“You know I’ll always find you,” Nikolai murmured. “But that means little if you will not talk to me.” 

Of course you were not talking to him. You did not know how to talk to him—not when you so clearly didn’t understand the issue plaguing you. 

All you’d ever known was the life of a Grisha. You were tested when you were young, revealed to be a Tidemaker, and whisked away to the Little Palace, where you’d been honing your abilities ever since. You rebelled against the one thing you knew, joined the side of the Sun Summoner, and now you were in the midst of a war for the very survival of your people. 

There were so few Tidemakers left after the Darkling’s massacre, which meant Alina and Nikolai were counting on you more than ever in their fight to reclaim Ravka. 

But when you needed your powers most, they disappeared. 

You— you just didn’t understand, because it didn’t make sense. You’d spent years studying the Small Science and how to wield it, how to manipulate the water around you no matter how miniscule. 

This was not merzost. You had never tampered with the way of the world, never attempted to bastardize the abilities you’d been granted.

Like called to like. There was a part of you that connected to the water, that allowed you the affinity for all of this.  

You had just… lost it. For no apparent reason. 

“There is nothing to talk about,” you stated simply. The cold of the railing shocked your fingers as you set your hand down, but you welcomed any sort of feeling. 

“Do not be ridiculous,” Nikolai said wryly. He came out onto the balcony and stopped beside you. You could see him looking at you through your peripherals, could feel his intent gaze. “Nobody avoids me unless they have a reason.”

You huffed a bitter laugh. “I certainly have a reason, moi tsarevich.”

“So we’ve gone back to titles?” Nikolai’s lips quirked up. “Shall I start referring to you as Grisha? Tidemaker, even?”

You scoffed. “That would be inaccurate.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “We’ve reached the root of the problem.”

“We hardly did anything,” you said. “Do you talk just to hear the sound of your own voice?”

“I do, as a matter of fact,” Nikolai said. “But you should know your scornful words have no effect when I’m aware of your true feelings.”

“If you are aware of my true feelings, you should know I would like to be left alone.” 

“You want to be left alone because you feel useless without your power,” he said. “Any man worth their salt would not fall to that, and fortunately, I’m worth quite a lot.” 

You finally turned to look at Nikolai, though you could not muster the full force of your anger when you did. He had that slight smile still, the glint in his eyes, and all you could think was that you didn't even deserve this kindness. 

“Because I am,” you said. 

He shook his head. “You are not. Far from useless, actually.” 

“You served in the First Army, didn’t you?” 

“I hardly see how that’s relevant—” 

“Just answer my question.” 

“...Yes,” he said. “I was infantry. The 22nd Regiment.” 

“And if you had lost the ability to shoot a gun, would you be allowed to stay on the front lines?” 

Nikolai shook his head. “I will not participate in hypotheticals to help you feel worse.” 

“Because you know it’s true.” You looked back out at the horizon—the sun was steadily setting. “I have no place here anymore.” 

He said your name with a slight huff. “That is not true.” 

“I’m not Grisha anymore!” you exclaimed as you whirled back to face him. “The only reason I have ever gotten anywhere— the only reason I am here, the only reason I ever met you in the first place— it is all because of my power.” You pulled your jacket tighter around yourself in the wake of a cold wind. The material was noticeably thinner than your kefta, but you could not bring yourself to wear it anymore. “I’m useless now. To— to Ravka, to the Second Army— to you.” 

His brows furrowed. “You are not useless to Ravka— and you could never be useless to me.” You averted your eyes, unable to meet the full weight of his softened gaze, and his frown deepened. “That’s what this is about then? 

“Don’t act like it’s so ridiculous,” you muttered. 

Nikolai had the nerve to laugh, and you glared at him. He held up his hands in defense, but he could not fully bite back his smile. 

“I apologize, lapushka, but I did not even consider that as an option for why you were so upset.” 

Nikolai took your hands in his, hands that had been the key to your power the entire life, that were failing you, and he held them like nothing else in the world mattered. “Do you know how absurd the thought of me not loving you is?” 

You glanced away, but Nikolai gently cupped your chin with a few fingers and tilted you back to meet his eyes. 

“Because it is,” he continued, letting his hand fall back down to grasp yours. “I love you with everything in me. I love you because you are you—not because of your powers. Not because you are Grisha.” 

“Who am I if I am not Grisha?” Your voice came out as little more than a whisper, near a desperate plea. You’d never felt weaker, never felt smaller. The only thing you’d known all your life had been ripped away from you, and you felt as if you’d been shoved into an endless void. 

Nikolai said your name softly as he squeezed your hands. “You are a soldier of great renown. A revolutionary on the right side of history. The most loyal friend someone can have. And lest you somehow manage to forget it, you are the woman I love.”

“You deserve better than—” you swallowed the lump in your throat. “—than some broken, failed Grisha.”

“You are not broken,” Nikolai murmured, and he never looked away from your eyes as he lifted your hand to press a kiss to the back of it. “We are merely on… a different path.” 

“A different path,” you repeated, and you could not help your wry laugh. 

“Yes,” he nodded. “And we will go down every step of it together. Do you understand that?” 

Nikolai fought for everything he had, despite his standing as a Lantsov. He was a soldier on the front lines, he rose through the ranks on the sea under a pseudonym, and now he was clawing his way through useless formalities in order to take back the throne that he deserved. 

And here you were—someone who was given everything because of some power inside you. And now you didn’t even have that. 

It just did not seem right. It did not make sense. For a man as powerful as Nikolai to stick by your side despite such a misgiving. 

“If you don’t, that is alright.” Nikolai shrugged. “I will just have to spend extra time showing you how much I revere your very being.” 

“Nikolai,” you murmured, and his grip on your hands tightened. 

“I cannot pretend to understand what you are going through,” he said. “I cannot lose what you have lost because I’ve never had it in the first place. But I can promise you wholeheartedly that we will figure out what is wrong. Together.” 

“And what if we don’t?” you asked. You couldn’t help it. 

“Then nothing will change,” Nikolai vowed. “Milaya, nothing can tear me away from you, whether you are Grisha or not. Do you understand that?” 

A part of you still could not. Who were you if you were not of use? 

But when you met Nikolai’s eyes, those beautiful hazel eyes that seemed to glow with the sunset, full of softness and admiration and love, you found that you could start to.

You may not have believed in yourself, but Nikolai did. And that had to mean something.  

“I’m beginning to,” you murmured. 

“Good,” he said, and his lips quirked into a smile. “But fear not, milaya. I hold enough love for you inside of me for the both of us in the meantime.” 

[natalievoncatte]

It took four calls before Lena answered. It crawled across her side table, vibrating angrily like some persnickety insect until she gave it the attention she wanted.

You could just turn it off.

“What do you want, Danvers?”

Alex’s voice was thick.

“We can’t find Kara.”

Lena let out a slow, long, theatrical sigh. “So now you’re accusing me of crimes over the phone. At least your ex had the courtesy to cuff me in person.”

Alex’s patience was clearly short enough, and wearing thinner.

“I’m not calling you to accuse you. I’m calling you to ask for help.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because she’s burned out her powers and we can’t find her, Luthor. Supergirl is missing and she’s powerless.”

Lena licked her lips.

“Is this some kind of weird test to see if I’ll try to kill her? An entrapment scheme or something?”

“First of all,” said Alex, “fuck you.”

“Mutual,” said Lena. “What was the second part?”

“The second part is that I know you. I know you’re pissed off at her. I also know that you don’t react the way you’ve acted because your BFF lied to you, Lena. Just like I know that buying a $875 million company isn’t what friends are fucking for.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Lena snapped.

“Right. Help us find her.”

“No,” Lena said, coolly. “Goodnight, Director.”

Lena stabbed the end call key with her finger, resolving to herself that L-Corp was going to release a smart phone that made it more satisfying to hang up on people.

Then she very pointedly did not go out looking for Kara. Instead, she boiled water for tea, and spread open a technical journal on her lap.

After ten minutes, she had not drunk the tea, and her attention was sliding off the abstract like the wrong end of two magnets jammed together. Rubbing at her eyes, she decided she’d had too long a day for even light reading, and decided to enjoy a news broadcast with her tea.

Of *course* the lead story was Supergirl. She tried putting on the Lakehawks game, but that had been preempted for Supergirl coverage.

She turned to the science channel. Oh, of course they’d decided that tonight was the night to premier some ridiculous companion documentary for the World of Krypton exhibit running downtown at the convention center, and of course Lena works tune in right as Kara appeared on screen, grinning ear to ear as she charitably gave some literal kid reporter the interview of her lifetime, fielding softball questions about her dead planet.

“What do you miss most?” the kid asked.

Lena saw it, saw it the way only someone who knew Supergirl was just Kara Danvers, the nerdy, dorky, kinda basic goof in a pompous costume, could. The flash of real pain in the hero’s eyes, the softness in her voice, like she was apologizing for the honest of her answer.

“Red sunrises,” said Kara.

Lena threw the teacup across the room, and it shattered across the screen, leaving the dregs tricking down the surface. Lena wished the TV had been knocked out, but the screen was shielded by a transparent aluminum she’d invented herself.

So she changed the channel, just in time to get a face full of The Princess Bride, just as Buttercup was shoving a then-disguised Westley down the hill as he shouted the line the revealed his identity.

“Oh fuck you all,” Lena muttered, as she scooped her keys from the kitchen counter.

Lena decided it was a night for subtlety, so she took the BMW, driving with the top down and and her phone in her jacket pocket, so she could feel it if someone called.

Lena drove for the better part of an hour, reflecting on the absurdity of simply looking for Kara in a sprawling city; National City had about two thirds the population of Metropolis, but it covered nearly four times the land area and was surrounded by sprawling suburbs that extended the entire metro area to the size of a small state.

This was hopeless, unless Lena knew where to go.

You know what you have to do. You know what you’ve always had to do.

Kara answered on the third ring.

“Hi.”

Her voice was tiny and small, and Lena felt like she was clutching some small fragile thing to her cheek.

“Hey,” she said, with all the softness she could muster with the top down. She pulled to a stop on the side of Ocean Avenue so she could soften it further. “I heard what happened.”

“I beat the monster.”

“I know,” said Lena. “You always do. Where are you, Kara?”

There was a beat of silence.

“I don’t know who out you up to this, but you don’t have to do it, Lena. I know how you feel about me now.”

No, you fucking don’t, Lena thought, before she could silence her own frantic mind. If you knew you wouldn’t have lied to me.

“Tell me where you are.”

“I’m where I belong,” Kara sighed, the hint of slurring in her words hinting that she’d been drinking.

Then she hung up.

A wave of anger welled in Lena’s chest, and she clenched her teeth, seizing the shift lever to throw the car in drive and head home; Kara and her sister could handle their own bullshit.

She didn’t drive home.

Lena arrived at the convention center in a frantic five minutes, parking crazily in a towing zone. Finding a way in took another few minutes, and soon the flat soles of her tennis shoes were squeaking as they echoed across the polished granite floors of the lobby.

She found Kara in the exhibit, surrounded by quiet, dark displays as she stood in front of a bannered exhibit proclaiming “RAO, THE SUN OF KRYPTON”.

Kara ignored Lena as she approached, tipping back a sloshing, mostly empty bottle of Jack Daniels to take a hearty gulp.

“Kara?” said Lena.

Kara swayed slightly on her feet. She’d gotten a raincoat somewhere and put it on over her suit, cape and all, and even from a distance she stank of whiskey. She was staring at the display in front of her, an expansive orrery surrounding a lit model of Rao. Lena had never seen her so haggard, even her lustrous hair limp sallow.

“Hi,” Kara said, taking another drink.

“What are you doing?”

“Chasing a red sunrise.”

Lena approached slowly, until they stood side by side.

She stole a quick glance. Kara had a black eye and she was swaying slightly, and Lena wasn’t sure if it was from the booze or the fight. She started to take another drink.

Grasping the bottle by the neck, Lena took it from her. Kara didn’t resist as Lena tipped back a long pull on the bottle herself. It offended her palate in every possible way but one, but it was a good way to numb herself.

“Alex send you?”

“No,” said Lena. “She just had to tell me. She knew I’d send myself.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s a lot more observant than you are.”

Kara studied her for a moment, then reached for the bottle back.

Lena looked at it. “How much of this have you had?”

“Not enough,” said Kara, taking another drink.”

“If you insist on destroying your liver, at least let me give you something that actually tastes good.”

“It all tastes like paint thinner,” said Kara.

Lena sighed. “Get in the car.”

Kara shrugged and followed Lena out, flopping extravagantly in the passenger’s seat. Lena drove in silence, using the excuse that the wind noise made it too hard to talk.

When they arrived at Lena’s apartment, she practically shoved Kara inside, and poured the rest of the swill down the drain.

“Hey,” Kara muttered.

“There’s still some of your clothes in the guest bedroom. Take that damned suit off and put on something else.”

Kara complied, trudging into the bedroom. She emerged a moment later, looking small and sad with her hands tucked up inside an oversized hoodie, wobbling giving Lena a glassy look.

As she sat down, Lena handed her a glass of wine and perched on the edge of the couch cushion beside her, gently pressing an ice pack to her eye. Kara leaned into it and let out a soft, unsteady sigh.

“Pain hurts,” she observed.

“It’ll do that.”

Then she went quiet, sinking into Lena’s couch with Lena’s ice pack pressed to her face. Lena stepped into the kitchen and pulled out her phone. Alex answered immediately.

“I have her.”

“Thank God. I’ll be over to get her in a few minutes.”

“No you won’t,” Lena sighed.

Alex didn’t answer her for a too-long pause.

“Yeah. Call me in the morning.”

“Will do.”

Kara had found the wine bottle when Lena came back, and was taking a drink form it. Lena sat down next to her and took it, drawing on it hard before passing it back.”

“What now?” said Kara.

“Is the ice still cold?”

“Yeah.”

Kara curled up next to Lena, bringing her legs up, her toes wiggling in empty air. Lena sighed and found her a blanket, spreading it over her too carefully.

As soon as Lena sat down, Kara spread the blanket over her, too, and Lena noticed that her absurd body heat hadn’t abated from the loss of her powers.

“You have tea on your TV,” Kara observed.

“Yeah,” said Lena.

It took her a few minutes to find something on television that wasn’t Supergirl or The Fox and the Hound.

(Fucking seriously?)

Nature documentaries were Kara’s kryptonite, to turn a phrase, and soon she was sleeping on Lena’s shoulder, the ice bag fallen into her lap. Lena stared down at the soft features of the surpassingly lovely little goddess snoozing against her and couldn’t help it anymore.

She started to weep softly, her shoulders hitching as she struggled to stop it, knowing the attempt was hopeless.

It got worse when Kara began to purr, a deep and soothing rumble in her chest that seemed to seep into Lena’s bones. After a moment she realized that Kara was crying too; she’d woken up.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m so fucking sorry, Lena. I can’t… I can’t breathe I’m so sorry. I lost my red sunrise. I can’t lose you too. I’ll do anything. Please let me make it up to you I promise I will, please.”

Lena shifted to a more comfortable position, known this was it for the night, that something had shifted. No, shattered. She was tired of being angry, of being afraid, if thinking of could-have-beens and come-what-mays. Yes, Kara had lied. Lena had lied. They’d kept secrets and been stupid and and they’d hurt each other, but nothing in the world, no principles or closely held rules or petty anger would justify watching her suffer like this.

She was careful as she cupped Kara’s jaw, avoiding the injury, feeling a flash of rage at whoever had done this to her. (That his ass had been throughly kicked by an angry Kryptonian was irrelevant; her vengeance would not be forestalled.)

The kiss was quiet and gentle, at once too soft and quick, more request than declaration, and Kara swiftly answered with one so fierce and honest and hopeful that Lena didn’t care that Kara’s mouth tasted like whiskey and wine.

When it was over, Lena found herself whispering, “As you wish.”

[clxja16]

Enough

Charles Leclerc X Wolff!Reader

Genre: betrayal (?)

Warnings: I think there's some swearing, angst

Word Count: 5K+

Author's Note: Okay you guys voted for this one, and honestly I thought that the fake dating trope was going to win but I guess not. also I kind of need help with the genre, because its not really forbidden lovers. Like is there a genre of your parents betraying your trust in the name of protecting you??? but anyway lmk what you guys think. Actually please tell me what you think, because I'm scared I made this too dramatic. enjoy though <3

-----------------------

You lingered in one of the back halls before the start of qualifying.  It was the Austrian Grand Prix.  You looked around making sure that no one was in sight.  Charles started to giggle at your antics of keeping this under wraps.  You pulled at him, trying to push him right out the door. 

“Go back to your garage,” you say gently pushing Charles further out the back entry of the Mercedes garage. 

“After I get a good luck kiss?” Charles asks, as he holds his hands up in surrender.  

You shake your head at him, before saying, “quickly, before someone sees us,” pulling Charles into a kiss, by his race suit.  Charles grabs your face with both hands, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss further.  You pull away first, worried about who might catch you sneaking about the garage halls, “okay now go, I’ll see you tonight.” 

Charles doesn’t let go of your face, pulling you back in for a quick peck on the lips, “okay I’m going.”  Charles finally lets you go, and shoots you a quick wink before walking off.  

You turn back around to take your place in the garage next to your father, when you hear him calling out for you.  You look back to see Charles has walked just far enough away to be out of sight, as your father turns the corner to come face to face with you.  You let out a breath of relief that they missed each other.  “y/n,” your father calls to your attention, “let’s get settled, qualifying is about to start.” 

“Yes, daddy,” you answer, following after your father, to watch qualifying.  

You have just finished your degree, a Masters in Business Administration from HBS and a Masters of Science from Harvard John A. Paulson SEAS.  It took you nearly 5 and a half years to complete, but you did it regardless.  Now, you attend the races to better learn how to apply the knowledge learnt in school to running a formula one team.  This is all so that one day you will take over the formula one team from your father. 

As you watched George and Lewis set out to do their first few qualifying laps of the session, you longed for it to be you in those cars.  You really didn't dream of being behind the scenes, you dream of being up front and center, in the limelight, in the car.  You wanted to set the fastest lap, you wanted to be getting grand prix victories, you wanted to win championships.  However, you didn’t get a seat in formula 2, so your parents did the ‘reasonable’ thing and sent you off to school, instead of waiting around for the chance of a seat opening up.  

“Look here,” your father spoke to you, as he pointed at some data on one of the many monitors in front of him.  

“George is a tenth too early,” you say, trying your best to understand the data in front of you.  

“Yes, exactly, good,” your father praises, before speaking with a couple of the race engineers.  “Now we don’t want George to overly focus on what is going wrong, so we praise, advice and praise again.” You listen to the radio as the engineer, compliments George on his turn 3 and 4, critiques his turn 7, and compliments his turn 10 and 11.  “When you take over, you have to remember that you are going to have to manage the drivers' psyche as well as their driving.” 

“Father, I won’t be taking over for a long time, you’re gonna need to find someone in between you and me, to manage the team.” 

“No,” your father declares, like his decision is final, “I will retire late, and you will start early.” 

“Yes Father,” you say, no reason to start an argument now. 

-

“Congratulations on another podium,” you spoke sweetly to Charles at the end of the Austrian grand prix weekend. You and him were hiding out in his hotel room, trying your best to stay away from the cameras, from fans and most importantly from your father. 

“It’s only the second podium of the season,” Charles said as he dried his hair with the towel while walking out of the bathroom.  “We’re so far behind this season, it’s laughable.” 

“You could always make the move to Mercedes, Daddy would love to have you racing for him,” you say, as you wrap your arms around Charles, after he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.  

You can hear Charles chuckle a little, before turning around to face you. “Never,” he says with a smile, pushing you back down on the bed, kissing you deeply.  You can’t contain the laughter that spills from your lips.  

“We would make sure you win championships,” you argue, teasing Charles once again. 

“And who’s giving up a seat for me?” Charles asks, as he moves from your lips down your neck, spreading his kisses all around.  

“Lewis isn’t going to stay much longer,” you reveal.  

“What?” Charles asked, as he pulled away to look at you.  The seriousness setting in. 

“Don’t say anything to anyone,” you start off, as you sit up in the bed, looking at Charles deeply, “Daddy offered Lewis another four years, Lewis said he only wanted to sign on for two more right now.”  

“Why?” 

“I don’t know,” you say honestly, “believe it or not, Lewis does not reveal his intentions to me like you do.”  

Charles cracks a smile hearing you tease, “well, maybe I could do Mercedes silver,” he says as he goes back to kissing you. 

You and Charles spend the night together, as the two of you have done many times before.  The next morning, you try to sneak out early enough where no one notices your empty hotel room.  Charles makes your heart feel full, being around him makes you feel at peace, he wears your worries like his own.  He’s everything you ever wanted and needed, and more.  You know that there was no plausible way you could keep this a secret any longer.  You love him too much to pretend nothing is going on.  Although, you also know that your father would not be the happiest, he always said drivers weren’t the type of people you bring home.  However Charles is different, you know he’s what you need, you know that you can bring him home. 

When you did make it back to your own hotel room, you don’t think anyone checked in on the empty room.  You made quick work of packing up your belongings, your father was flying out of Vienna this afternoon, to get a jumpstart on Silverstone.  It being a home grand prix for both of your drivers, the entire week was packed with events.  All events in which you had to attend.  

-

After arriving in Silverstone, did you finally take a breather.  George and Lewis both went to visit their families for the first day.  This allowed you and your father to spend some time away from the race track.  Father instead just went to the factory, and spent some time in the office.  You on the other hand went out with Mamma, before she had to head down to Monza for the F1 Academy race.  

“Mamma,” you called out to Susie,  “do you think Daddy is serious about me taking over the team one day?” 

Your question was enough to stop Susie in her tracks, “yes, I do think he’s serious about it.”  She gave you a perplexed look.  Your father has been talking about you taking over the team since you went off to college.  He is determined that with his recommendation the board will approve for the team principal position. 

“I don’t know if that’s what I want to do though,” you say truthfully.  “I don’t know if I can handle being so close, but not being able to race.” As much as your mind was focused on being a team principal, your heart wanted to drive. 

Susie came up to you, pushing your hair behind your ear, holding your face. She had a gentle smile on her face, but there was a sadness behind her eyes that you couldn’t place.  “You are racing, if you take over the team, you are still a part of the race, but if you walk away, you will only be a spectator.” 

You sigh, you know she’s right, “you’re right, like you always are.” 

Susie laughs at your joke, “tell your Father because he never seems convinced that I’m always right.”  

You laugh, as you and Susie enter the restaurant for lunch.  “Mamma, can I ask you another question?” 

“Of course sweetheart,” Susie answers worryingly, you are not normally this ominous.  

“Would you be upset if I started seeing a driver?”  

Susie doesn’t hide the shock on her face, after your question, “who is it?”  She smirks at you, you weren’t the best at hiding your feelings from Susie.  She was the first to know about your first boyfriend in High school.  She was the first to know about the guy who cheated on you.  She was the first to know about the college boy you wanted to bring home.  And she was the first to know that none of them were enough to match you.  

“It’s no one, it's just a hypothetical, Mamma.” 

“Who, sweetheart?” 

You debate for a second about how to answer, but you know you can’t lie.  You gave away too much, and Susie knows you only use ‘hypothetical’ when it's real.  “Charles.” 

“Leclerc?”  Susie doesn’t mask her shock for a single second.  

“Mamma,” you whine at her reaction.  

“Sweetheart, your father is gonna have an aneurysm when he hears this.” 

“Mamma,” you whine again, this time more seriously, as you feel the water works coming on.  

“Sweetheart?” Susie questions, her face going from shock to stone cold serious as she sees how upset you are.  “This is serious.” 

You sigh, “I really like him, Mamma.  He makes me very happy.”  You look at Susie, and you don’t like the look she has even more.  

She looks very seriously at you, while also having the ‘its not good’ look.  “Your father is not going to like this,” she says honestly, “but,” you watch Susie as she begins to smile, “if you’re happy, that is what's important.” 

You begin to smile as well, “Daddy will get over it right?” 

“I hope so,” Susie says truthfully.  You were Toto’s oldest, nothing would ever be good enough for you.  You were his pride and joy, you were the first, and as the first, you are everything to your father.  Susie knows this, and she knows that no matter how much Charles tries, Toto still won’t think he’s good enough for you.  

-

Susie reminds you that the best way to handle this, is to inform your father sooner rather than later. You agree, but you want to make sure that you and Charles are on the same page as well.  Thursday night, once again you are hiding out in Charles' hotel room, instead of staying in your own room.  The two of you cuddle together on the bed as a movie plays on the TV. 

“Charles,” you start off softly, afraid to disturb the delicate peace that’s settled across the room, “where do you see this going?” 

“What do you mean by that?” Charles asked, as he glanced at you.  

“Us, our relationship, where do you see it going?”  You stared at Charles, while listening to his steady heartbeat. 

“I don’t know,” Charles answers, his answer holds a brutal truth that you don’t like, you sit up to look at Charles, “but, I hope it goes far and long.”  Charles continues to lay in bed while you stare at him, “ I hope that it gets out of hotel rooms, and garage halls, and private phone calls.  I hope it gets you into some red Ferrari gear,” you smile at Charles’ preposterous hope, “I hope that it gets further than this. I love you y/n.”

“I love you too,” you reassure.   

“Why do you ask me that ma chère?” 

“I’m going to tell my father about us,” you say, “and your plans to move to Mercedes.”  You just have to tease him a little bit.  

Charles laughs at you, “you mean your plans to be a Ferrari fan from now on.”  And he always knew how to handle your teasing. 

You laugh going to kiss Charles, “that’s so much work,” you say with another kiss, “you should just switch teams.” 

Charles laughs sarcastically, he loves the banter.  “y/n,” he calls.  It stops you, he never uses your name, “I really do love you.”  He’s probably told you this same sentiment over a thousand times, but each time, it still feels like the first time.  

Your cheeks hurt from how hard you’re smiling, “I love you too.”  Somehow these ‘I love you's' are different, they’re more significant, more meaningful, more genuine, more heartfelt, more profound.  They’re more serious, because they’re not just ‘I love you,’ they’re a promise, a commitment, a lifetime, together.  

-

“Daddy, please can you be rational about this?” You ask as you follow your father about the Monaco home.  Trying to get him to stop complaining about your choices in men.  

“Why couldn’t you date George, at least you would still be supporting Mercedes,” your Father says as the two of you make your way into the kitchen to see Mamma and Jack. 

“Mamma do you hear him?” You ask, indicating your father as ‘him.’ “George is very much in a relationship, Father” 

“And what’s wrong with Lewis?” Your father clearly is not thinking about the age difference between you and Lewis.  

You looked to Mamma to see if your father was serious, and even she was shocked with the suggestion, “you would be okay with me dating someone that is 14 years my senior?” you ask with a brow raised to your father, “you’ve convinced me Daddy, I will stop seeing Charles and start seeing Lewis.” 

Your father sighs, “that is not what I…” 

“Daddy, I invited Charles over for dinner, tomorrow night, that way you can properly meet him as my partner, instead of as a driver.” You tell your father, hoping that you're just imagining the steaming coming out of his ears, “one dinner, Daddy, that’s all.  He makes me really happy.” 

“Okay,” your Father says.  You don’t miss the slight eye roll he gives though.  

“Thank you Daddy,” you say, giving him a hug, before running off to your room like a teenage girl to call Charles and let him know about dinner tomorrow night.  

After your father hears your bedroom door shut, does he turn to his wife.  “Susie,” he calls out, still listening for you, to see if you were coming back out. “A word, privately.” 

“Okay,” Susie answers a bit confused about the request, she turns to Jack, “why don’t you go play for right now.”  Jack nods along excitedly, before running out the room.  “Toto, what is it?” 

“She can’t date Charles.” Toto says, turning his full attention to his wife. 

“What?” 

“Susie, I have seen the drivers in relationships.  They have their girlfriend one weekend, then they have a club girl the next weekend, and then some lucky fan the following weekend.  Charles is no different.” Toto doesn’t hold back in his recounting of the drivers stepping out on their partners, “y/n is gonna get hurt, and her entire image will be tainted by being cheated on by Charles.” 

“Toto don’t you think you’re being a little unfair.” Susie tries her best to defend Charles, but she knows Toto is telling the truth.  She’s seen it too, from a number of drivers amongst the ranks throughout the years.  

“Charles is a hell of a driver, but I'm not gonna allow him to ruin my daughter.”  Toto declares as final, “we need to find a way to stop them from seeing each other before the public catches wind of their relationship.” 

“Toto,” Susie takes a breath, if they do this, they would have to tread very carefully, or they could end more than just your relationship with Charles.  “If she ever finds out that we are interfering in her life like this, she won’t forgive us, she's not a kid anymore.” 

“She wasn’t a kid when we pulled her from racing,” Toto drags up a long forgotten and regretted moment, “we do what we have to, to protect our children, regardless of how it may look.” 

“We’ll need to play this close to the vest.” 

-

To say the evening was filled with tension and awkwardness would be an understatement.  Your father continuously gave Charles dirty looks throughout the night, and you wanted to slap him for being so childish.  Susie was pleasant throughout the evening.  Jack was just being Jack.  He probably talked the most, asking Charles about what it was like to be a real race car driver. 

“This is a very lovely meal,” Charles says to Susie.  You appreciate him trying his best to not ruffle your father’s feathers. 

“Thank you Charles,” Susie appreciates the compliments.  She doesn’t know what is best, because Toto is determined to stop you and Charles from seeing each other.  

“Charles, did you ever pee in the car?” Jack asks, as he shovels another pile of food in his mother.  

“Jack,” you say in a scolding manner, while Charles just laughs at the question.  

Charles has to take a sip of water before answering, “I try my best to make sure I use the bathroom before I get into the car.”  

“Enough questions Jack,” you say to your little brother, getting irritated with how much he was talking.  

“I just wanted to ask the racecar driver,” Jack pouts.  He makes that face with an exaggerated frown, that almost makes you feel guilty.  

“Jack, we’re all race car drivers.  Me, Mamma and Daddy have all raced cars before and you never ask us.” you argue back, you almost feel stupid that you have to argue with a five year old.  

“But you didn’t make it to formula 1,” Jack points out, and now you don’t feel guilty, you just feel sad that Jack had to point out one of your biggest regrets in life.  

“Jack,” Susie says, scolding your brother.  

“I didn’t know you raced,” Charles says, turning to look at you.  

You smile, thinking back to the time, “Yeah, I did karting for years, then I did formula renault, F4 and F3.” 

“Why did you stop?” Charles asks, wondering how you could give it up. 

“I didn’t get a seat in Formula two, and the agreement was if I could get a seat I could race, but I wouldn’t pass up opportunities to race. I got into college, so I gave up racing and went back to school.”  You reveal to Charles, he can hear the regret in your voice, but he chooses not to point it out.  You don’t see that look Susie and Toto exchange when they hear your retelling of events. 

“I see,” Charles says, “It’s a shame, I think you would’ve been a hell of a driver.” 

You chuckle at Charles, “I would definitely have more wins than you by now,” you tease.  

“Oh?” Charles smirks at you, “you would?” 

“Of course I would, because I would be driving for Mercedes, for sure.” You chuckle at your own joke.  

Charles shakes his head at you, his smile spreading far and wide.  Susie watches you and Charles, she's been watching you throughout the night and she knows Charles is enough for you.  She knows that this is your person, that they will never be another that will be able to compete with Charles.  It's him or nothing.  

-

You skip the Hungarian grand prix, especially as the media releases pictures of you and Charles, going back to the Monaco Grand Prix.  Your father thought it best that you stay home, he wasn’t sure how people would react to the relationship news.  You spent a few days before your father left for Hungary, arguing with him that it was unfair to bench you, because of the possibility that fans won’t like the news. 

Clearly, your father won that argument as you sat at home in Monaco, watching the sessions through the TV, instead of being there in person.  What Toto doesn’t tell you, is that he wants you home, so that he can meet with Fred without you getting suspicious. 

After the qualifying session, Toto asked Fred, the team principal of Ferrari, to join him for dinner.  As the two men met away from the paddock, away from the cameras, from the drivers, from the team.  They sat in a private dining room, in an elite restaurant.  Only here did Toto feel comfortable asking what he was about to ask.  

“What are we doing here Toto?” Fred asks, as he sips the beer he ordered.  Fred wouldn’t say it, betraying his French roots, but he always preferred a bottle of beer over a glass of wine.  

“Fred, I have a favor to ask,” Toto requests, he ignores his gut feeling telling him that this is wrong, and continues on, “I want you to delay Charles' contract signing.” 

“Why would I do that?” Fred asks, delaying a contract signing seems like it’s not a big deal, but there's many implications to what that could mean.  

“You would do it, because then I will be in debt to you,” Toto says, he's thought about this, he knows his way through a negotiation. 

“Okay,” Fred says, he has a reason to do so, but what is Toto’s reason for asking? “Now why do you need me to do this?”  

Toto sighs, “y/n.” 

“Your daughter, I saw the news about her Charles,” Fred pauses, taking another sip of the beer, “well actually Charles told me about the relationship back in Miami.” 

“Miami?” Toto questions, “she didn’t tell me until after silverstone.” 

“Charles said he wanted me to know before the public knew, would like to know what else he said?” 

“What?” Toto sighs, once more. 

“Charles said he wants to do this right, that he is serious about her,” Fred offers. 

“We’ve both heard drivers say one thing and do another,” Toto fixes his posture, sitting up in the chair, “I won’t allow my daughter’s image to be run through by Charles.” 

“So you want me to delay a contract signing, to do what?  So you can scare Charles into picking a seat over your daughter? And what happens when he picks your daughter over his seat?”  Fred sits up in his chair as well, looking Toto square in the eyes.  

“If he picks my daughter over his seat, then I know he’s serious about her,” Toto stands upm buttoning his jacket, “but we both know he won’t do that.”  Toto sticks out his hand for Fred to shake.  

Fred stands to shake Toto’s hand, “this doesn’t mean I agreed to anything.”  

“You will agree,” Toto smiles, a little amused at the situation, “we both know me in debt to you is too valuable to pass up.” 

-

Since the news of your relationship has been made public, you and Charles are seen together around the paddock during the Belgian Grand Prix a lot more.  Although you guys did try to keep it as professional as possible, there weren't any public displays of affection between the two of you.  However, that went straight out the window after the race podium celebration.  

Instead of watching the podium you stayed in the garage with your father, since there wasn’t a Mercedes on the podium.  As soon as Charles was done with the podium celebration, he ran straight into the Mercedes garage to collect a celebratory kiss from you.  His, sweaty, champagne-covered, sticky self, pulling you into a tight hug with a deep kiss.   He had one arm wrapped around your waist, while his other hand held onto his trophy.  You were taken aback by the initial kiss, but soon you cupped his cheek and held him close.  

Charles would’ve kissed you longer, but he could feel the cameras on the two of you.  When he finally did pull away, you were a giggling mess that you didn’t even notice the cameras at first.  “Let’s go,” Charles whispers to you, “let’s get out of here.” 

You wanted desperately to leave right then and there with Charles, “I can’t,” you say.  You watch his smile drop just a little, “I have work to finish,” you say while giving the side eye to where your father sat in the Mercedes garage, watching you and Charles.  “And you have a press conference.” 

“Okay, after that then.” Charles says, kissing you on the cheek this time.  

“After that.” 

-

That night, while you and Charles celebrated his podium finish, the picture of you and him making out in the Mercedes garage after his podium celebrations, hit social media. That photo is more talked about than Max’s 8th grand prix win in a row.  That photo is in all the group chats around the paddock.  That photo makes it to the official formula 1 social media pages.  And the biggest take away is your father’s face in the background of the photo.  Everytime you look at it, you laugh knowing that your father most likely made that face subconsciously.  

Since summer break has begun, you spend more time with Charles than at home with your family.  Today, you just so happen to need a few things from your closet, that you stopped in the Monaco home.  That is when you could overhear your parents talking in your father’s office.  

“We need to be more discreet about this now,” your father says to Mamma. 

“Toto, I don’t think this is right.  It’s not fair to y/n or Charles,” Susie says.  Normally you wouldn’t eavesdrop on your parents, but the mention of you and Charles caught your attention.  

“I am trying to protect our daughter,” Toto says, and you can’t help but think. What is your father trying to protect you from? 

“This isn’t protecting her, this is your fear about what could happen,” Susie says.  You can hear in your mamma voice, she’s getting defensive.  

“Like how your fear pulled her from racing,” Toto says in a raised voice.  You’re completely confused as to what your father could mean with that statement.  

There’s a pause.  It goes silent for a second, and you listen closer.  “I was saving her life, we weren’t sure what the FIA would do after Jules.”  There’s a pain in Susie’s voice.  

“Safety measures were put in place,” Toto argues.  

“After you pushed back on them.” 

“I have changed my position on the halo, you know that,” Toto says.  Even though the wood doors separate you from seeing your parents, you can clearly imagine what this fight is looking like. 

“After Lewis almost dies!”  Mamma never shouts, is your singular thought after hearing that statement.  “What if you had gotten your way and the halo was never placed?  What if it was our daughter in that car?  I pulled her from racing to save her life, because you sure as hell wasn’t going to do it.”  Susie pulls open the office door to see you standing on the other side.  You watch her face drop from anger to sadness quickly.  “Sweetheart…” 

“Mamma… you pulled me from racing?” You question as the tears begin to well in your eyes. 

“Sweetheart…” Susie repeats, shes at a complete loss for words.  

“You told me that I wasn’t picked up for a seat.” you take a breath before you start crying, “was that the truth?” 

“Darling,” Toto calls out to you.  

“Was it the truth?” You ask again, this time you make the hurt evident in your voice, “you told me a team didn’t want to pick me for F2, was that the truth?” 

“You weren’t anybody’s first choice,” Susie pauses, “but you were on the list.”  You feel your break, as you start to cry.  “We worked a few negotiations to ensure that you didn’t get picked.  We worked to pull you from racing.”  

You were a hyperventilating mess, you couldn’t stop the tears, the sobs, the heartbreak from happening. “You told me…You told me, if I earned my seat without you or daddy interfering I could keep racing.  You promised that you would let me race.” 

“We wanted to protect you, we didn’t want what happened to Jules.” 

“Don’t you dare,” you snap at Susie, “don’t use what happened to Jules as an excuse.”  You walked away, racing up the stairs.  Towards your bedroom, you could hear your parents rushed footsteps as they followed after you.  You began to shove clothes into a bag, as you tried to violently wipe away the tears.  

“Where are you going?” Your father asks in a calm voice.  

“I’m gonna stay with Charles for a while.”  When you mention Charles, you remembered the beginning of the conversation.  You stopped packing your clothes.  Slowly you turned to face your parents.  “What did you do?” 

“Excuse me?” your father questions. 

“What did you do to Charles?  Mamma said it wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair, whatever you were doing.  What did you do to Charles daddy?” You’re out of breath, you fear whatever your father has to say.   

You watch as your father sighs, he hangs his head.  “I asked Fred to delay his contract signing.  Ferrari wants to keep Charles, they’re going to give him whatever he wants.  I asked for Fred to just hold off on signing the contract.” 

You scoff at the revelation.  “Just long enough to scare Charles into picking a seat over me.  This is rich from the both of you.”  

“Sweetheart…” Susie calls out to you as she reaches to hold you.  

“Don’t touch me,” you snap once again.  You couldn’t tell if you were really angry or sad or shocked, but you did know you were just hurt.  Your parents had taken away your dreams, and they were trying to take away your love.  “You took away racing,” you take a breath, you strip away all the excess, you let them hear the hurt in your voice, “I won’t let you take Charles away too.”  

When you do make it Charles’ place.  When he opens the door for you, he sees you silently crying and shaking.  Your voice is hoarse already, that it’s only a whisper when you ask, “can I stay with you for a few days?” 

“Of course,” Charles says as he welcomes you inside.  When he finally closes the door, you drop your bag to the floor, and just hold onto Charles tightly.  He wraps his arms around you, providing you with the comfort you longed for.

-----------------------------

Part II