#and i see people I grew up with that seem to be doing so much better

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 5

Chapters 5 and 6 are done! Yippy! Chapter 7 is going to be a slice-of-life type of thing because I don't want to time skip straight to the bats finding out quite yet. Also, did y'all know that Gothamite also means an inhabitant of NYC? Whenever you see me use that just know I mean an inhabitant of Gotham City.

Enjoy!

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 5 >>next

NYC was hell on earth and that’s coming from a Gothamite.

Sure- did a rogue attack 3 times a week, maybe more, in Gotham? Yes. But NYC felt lawless and without rhyme or reason. Every day something was happening, every day a building went down if it wasn’t a whole street, every day a hero would almost run you over while you were just trying to chill in the air.

At least on the third Tuesday of every month, there would be no robberies in Gotham, at least if something happened to the city and Batman wasn’t around the rogues would keep the people safe. Here it seemed to be everyone for themselves, and the rent was heinous for the type of bullshit that went down, in Gotham it was pennies compared to NYC. The constant feeling of being watched didn’t help either it irked at the back of your head every time, only stopping in the safety of your home.

The shadows stopped talking to you as well, you could barely hear them anymore, your theory being that NYC was simply too bright compared to G. City. Visiting Midnight City helped keep you connected to them, it felt somewhat like Gotham. But Darkwing felt too much like Batman, making you paranoid, so you never truly lingered for long. You missed them. Missed the rogues, the garden, the kids, the manor. The house really grew on you.

But you liked it. You liked the chaos, the myriads of heroes, the aliens that kept trying to conquer the world, and you enjoyed how the heroes knew that sometimes the best course of action was to kill the threat.

You were still bitter about how Joker took Jason from you, about how Mr. Wayne hid that from you, so seeing Omni-Man, War Woman, Immortal and so many more deal with clearly deadly threats as they should be dealt with felt nice. They would never let Joker live, the clown wouldn’t have millions of kills, and he wouldn’t have gotten Barbara and Jason.

Of course, you’ve heard rumors that while Batman doesn’t go out of his way to kill, he lets others do the dirty work, everyone in Gotham has. You’ve seen Lois Lane cover some of the bigger, worldwide alien attacks that the Justice League helped with. Batman didn’t seem to have a problem with killing or seriously injuring them. He was either a hypocrite or afraid to lose it once he did kill a human, either way, both were bad options.

So, you put up with it, found yourself a studio apartment owned by an old woman, overlooking the fact that the whole building may have been owned by a gang, and kept on doing your online schooling. Kept on making art, donating to charities and shelters, found yourself a nice job pet sitting, and even did some volunteering at local shelters when they needed an extra hand.

You got better at flying, getting so fast you could go around the globe in 5 minutes. It was fun visiting the places you heard Bruce talk about to the others, Algeria, Argentina, Australia, Austria, Bangladesh, Belgium, Brazil, and China. You were planning on visiting every city in every country with this newfound freedom. It was fun, and Bruce didn’t even notice as you used more and more of your allowance.

Sadly, your moments of peace and happiness always seemed to last for a short while. You were happy with just flying, it opened opportunities you didn’t even think were possible, but you’ve never seen a meta whose ability was only flying, not if they didn’t have wings, and maybe paranoia settled in.

Were you just dreaming? Was this just a really long dream? Were you dead? Would you go off the rocket when or if other powers showed up? What will you do when they do show up? You wanted to be an artist, to paint until your heart gave away. But if people needed help you wouldn’t be able to stay on the sidelines knowing you’re more than capable of lending a hand.

You knew you already had some strength power active- you wouldn’t be able to fly that fast without your skin peeling right off. Maybe it just made your skin stronger? Well, that’s how you ended up in a forest, or deep in a park- you weren’t sure, you flew without thinking, your thoughts and theories eating at you until you had to act.

The tree in front of you had an average-sized trunk, maybe on the smaller side compared to the others around you. You’ve been staring at it for a bit, debating if this really was something you wanted to see if you could do. “Ignorance is bliss” flew through your mind, but the full sayings of these quotes always rang at the back of your head. “Where ignorance is bliss, ‘tis folly to be wise”.

Your fist met the trunk with a small thud, you didn’t feel any pain, nothing was happening, so you bit your lip, closed your eyes tight, and punched the trunk harder. You heard the wood splinter before you saw it, your eyes flying wide open at the sound. The trunk had a dent in the shape of your fist, not quite all the way through. You still felt nothing.

Maybe you shouldn’t have tested out your strength this much, Ivy would have been quite mad at you for destroying so many trees, each one thicker than the last, but you were simply curious and made sure to clean up after yourself. It was weird. If you hit fast enough your arm could go right through quite cleanly, but there was no pain, none at all… Is this how Superman felt?

In your excitement, you didn’t even notice the figure above you, watching your every move or the flying orb camera doing the same. And while the figure kept watching you grow in your powers for a year, watched you help around in small ways, mostly clean up and small muggings, the orb stopped after a few months.

It took a while for you to be able to lift as much as you could now, for the first half of your newfound power you had to break stuff like big rubble down before you could lift them, you still found it amusing how Red Flash stayed quiet about you, but how could he not when you shushed him the first time he tried to tell the others. The man wasn’t about to fuck with Cecil’s worker, even though he might have said a word or two to the old man’s face about child labor.

Despite all that you truly felt happy, fulfilled even. You were doing art, helping people, and despite still working on having friends during the day part, you were glad you left. You were on cloud nine, well, literally more than figuratively. You were flying above the clouds, basking in the sun. Nothing could cloud your life anymore.

…Where did the sun go? Your eyes opened, blissful expression turning into a frown as your eyes caught a dark figure flying just a few paces over you, its eyes glowing, a wide grin showing a full set of teeth, cape billowing behind it.

What. The. Fuck.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion

hope I didn't forget anyone 😬

[jackalope-patronus]

Wait but ur my new fav writer and I just thought of another one. Y’know in the game when there’s the option to do crucio on seb or yourself? I’d love a fic like that but where seb has a better reaction and just holds us and comforts us and ominis is lowkey third wheeling but also being comforting. Sorry I’m literally in love with Sebastian. Just something where he shushes us and kisses our head or something. I feel like the game (and movies) the cruciatus curse was very underwhelming, compared to how it was described. It’s used to torture and can make the victims go insane, it is so excruciating. It can even make people forget where they are.

Im so sorry. Tell me if im being overbearing. Thank you so much

summary :: You find yourself in an all too familiar situation, with Sebastian’s wand pointed your way and the words “Crucio.” Coming from his mouth.

warning :: torture, crucio, trauma!

note :: you’re not being overbearing at all! I really enjoy interacting with you and your ideas. A few different writers have created their own version of this scenario so I’ve done a little spin to make it just a tad bit more original.

“Anything to do with Salazar Slytherin is dangerous.”

You remember Ominis saying that some years ago, although you think you’ve misremembered a word or two from his original warning. The scriptorium was years ago. Sebastian, Ominis and you had long since graduated and settled down.

You and Sebastian had even married.

Although your school days felt distant your body seemed to remember because it was shivering at the sight of Sebastian holding his wand towards you.

“Cast it on me.” You’d said. And at first he said no, absolutely not. He would never cast such a cruel curse on his wife! The anger recollected in Ominis’s eyes spoke the words you already have.

That’s why you told him it was okay, and that it was nothing you hadn’t handled before. Opening a chamber kept by Salazar Slytherin by casting crucio, all three of you had been there! It was almost nostalgic. Almost.

“I can’t. You must cast it on me.” Sebastian’s grip on his wand faltered.

“No, Sebastian. You know I won’t.” You shook your head gently.

“Ominis—”

“Don’t you dare ask me, you know I would never.” Ominis had found a corner of the darkly lit tunnel to retreat to.

“You have to mean it. I’m not sure I’ll be able to— not again. You’re my wife.” Sebastian sputtered.

“Please Sebastian, don’t drag it out. I’d rather not stay trapped in this place much longer.” You tried to smile softly, but you knew it was no use. Your husband knows you, he can see past every fake smile.

He didn't utter a word but instead his face grew graver and he observed you carefully. You know his thoughts, you can practically hear them. Is she too frail for this? She’s handled it before, but what if it’s somehow different this time? Will there be a lasting effect? His eyes darted quickly to your tummy, but you placed a hand over your stomach to sheild yourself from his thoughts. What if she’s pregnant? It’s intrusive at best, you both know you’re not pregnant. You began to feel your stomach churn sickly in anticipation so you hardened your face. Sebastian got the signal and regained a strong grip on his wand.

You remembered seeing his knuckles blanch, before he cast the curse.

“Crucio!”

It’s familiar, a pain you recall from nightmares. One your brain liked to remind you of on sleepless nights whilst Sebastian laid beside you. You don’t blame him for it, you were children. Would you have blamed him for it now? Blame him for relenting and casting this torture on you, his wife? But you couldn’t bear him feeling it, feel the charring of nerves and the agony of retracting muscles. He doesn’t deserve it. Nobody does, but especially not him. You love him too much to think otherwise.

By the time the magic relented, you’ve regressed into a fetal lay on the floor, with twitches of remaining aches and quiet, voiceless cries coming from you.

You’re quickly scooped up into Sebastian’s warmth.

“The book Sebastian… you’ve got to get the book.” Your eyes are foggy, but you can recall only that you need to help Sebastian get a spell book to cure Ann.

However, you weren’t inside the scriptorium hidden in the walls of Hogwarts and you weren’t looking for Slytherin’s spellbook. Sebastian gazed at Ominis with a fraught face. The blonde only clutched his wand and turned his head away miserably.

“For Ann, For Ann,” you murmur.

“It’s alright. We found the book, my darling.” Sebastian’s voice was hoarse with emotion and he brought your head to his lips, uttering another reassurance before kissing your temple. He had hardly noticed the path to your exit had finally opened, he didn’t much care for anything other than your abused body.

Another incoherent mutter came from you, although the tight embrace of Sebastian’s arms matured you to reality, but a woozy reality.

“She's barely lucid. We must get her to a healer.” Ominis’ voice came as a strong command, but it barely moved Sebastian from holding you on the cold, stone floor.

You uttered something again and Ominis couldn’t be sure what it was, but Sebastian knew it was filled with sorry and regret. Whatever lingered in your mind, whether memory or illusion, made you small and weak. The complete opposite of how Sebastian knew you.

Warm lips still at your temple, Sebastian hushed you calmly, although the lump in his throat threatened to ruin him. “Ann is well. You are well.” He whispered. Both lies. His hand began to pat down your hair, removing stray strands from your face.

“Sebastian,” Ominis barked and this time, he listened.

His arms around you tightened and you were lifted further into him and away from the floor that made you shiver. “What should we do?” He pleaded.

You could now see a blurry Ominis lean over you. “Put her to sleep, give her mind a rest from the pain for a moment.”

The last thing you could hear was Sebastian muttering the sleep charm whilst both of your dearest friends looked upon you with misery. Then a peaceful rest finally found you.

[covertleathers]

Chapter 1: Smiling Faces Tell Lies

AO3 Link

Rating: 18+ Explicit, drugs, sex, murder, guns, blood

Relationships: Lucanis Dellamorte/m!Rook (they/them), Neve Gallus/Bellara Lutare, Taash/Lace Harding

Chapter Summary: A campy/gritty Disco Mafia Murder story taking place in 1970s New York City. Zi (Rook) is a down on their luck thirty-something who seems to have lost everything they had in one really awful week. They decide to head to one of their old haunts - The Viper's Den - a discotheque to relieve some stress. Unfortunately, this night out throws them into a bigger web of problems involving several murders, the law, and the mob.

Author's Note: I'm honestly very excited to share this because it's been so fun to work on! I've been listening to music, watching some 70s movies, and looking through old photos. Just so you know, I'm not the type to like, preload my chapters. I just post them as soon as I think I've got one finished enough to my liking. But, I've got plenty ideas swirling in my nogging for this.

Sheer luck. The rain had just stopped before Zi parked and got out of their car around the block from The Viper's Den. The 46th St club had been crammed for at least three hours by the time Zi arrived in their finest threads close to midnight. It was too easy to slip past security and bypass the line going around the block. They couldn't afford to pay the $25 for the cover (even if they could, they weren't gonna).

Full to the brim with cigarette smoke, silk, and sweat. This had to have been the hottest basement they had ever had the pleasure of cruising through. Surrounding them were hundreds of people, writhing to the beat. Plenty of delicious specimens for them to pick up that night. Man, woman, neither, it didn't matter if they were fine.

Just a little upper, some mezcal, a sweet high, and a hottie to bed. This was exactly the Friday night they needed after this incredibly fucked up week. Varric's dead and thus the print shop closed, losing the only semblance of employment they could keep, and Davrin still wasn't returning their calls. Fuck him. Always on his high horse… Zi wasn't like him, they couldn't hold down a real job. Oh maker, they missed him. No, they told themself, Have some self respect.

As they prowled the edge of the crowd, they kept an eye out for a familiar face. Usually, he was right at the bar…Yup, Elek. A slick, young dark-haired man who's smile captured most hearts pretty easily. Unfortunately, Zi never thought to get mixed up with him sexually or romantically, mainly because they grew up together. Two Brooklyn kids who were both caught in the muck of this city. Well, Elek was doing much better than Zi. Most were.

Elek must have saw them coming because he visibly sighed and shook his head, his gold chain nearly sparkled in the club's purple and rose lighting. He took a long drag of his cigarette, then knocked it against an ash tray on the bartop. Nursing a tall glass of what Zi assumed to be beer, he watched them approach.

From what they remembered, he wasn't related to The Den's owner, whoever she was, but somehow had free range of the place for selling and gambling. He was small game, though, compared to the other sharks that swam in these waters.

Elek was a piece of home, even if he had a hard time admitting it. They had history. If there was anyone who had what they needed to make tonight an extraordinary experience, he would be the one they'd tap. Which they absolutely were about to. You know…he looked good. Maker, they needed to get laid, this was ridiculous.

"Elek!" they called with a wave. Zi had to put on their charming face, a slight sideways smile seemed to always work. "Long time no see?"

An incredulous smirk crossed his face. "Rook," he said. "Looking for work?"

"Not tonight. And I don't sell anymore." they replied with a light chuckle. If they knew anything about Elek, he couldn't resist a cute face. Zi just had to turn the charm up to one hundred. "I was thinking, you look absolutely smoking in jewel green, is this a new sports coat—"

"You still owe me two hundred bucks, Rook," Elek casually remarked examining his watch. It looked new, gold-plated maybe. He was hiding a genuine smile behind that annoyed grimace, Zi felt like they cracked him a bit. "Want to bother me when you've got some cash?"

Right, they had totally forgot about that. A few months back Elek loaned them two hundred dollars to help cover their car note. That's why I stopped coming around so often, they mused awkwardly to themself. Shit.

"About that…" they sidled up next to him on the bar, leaning on their elbow and giving him a perfectly arched eyebrow. "My boss is dead, his print shop closed. I'm out of a job. I just need a…favor."

"Fucking…" he moaned. "Zi…do you like being like this?"

They winced on the inside, but knew not to show it. That smarted. Alluring grin still plastered on their face. To win Elek over you had to be all smiles and play to his kinder side. He didn't show it often and Zi had an unfair in to his good nature. They exploited it as best as they could. "Just one hit. It's all I'm asking for. I've had an absolute shit week and you know I'll get you back…eventually...and tell your mom I said 'hi'?"

Elek, exasperated and tired of fighting Zi's simpering act procured a tiny ziplock bag of white from his coat jacket. "If it's going to get your pathetic ass out of my face…"

"I love you!"

"Can it before I change my mind," he grumbled.

Zi got a bit closer to hid it from view and scooped away a pinky nail portion of its contents. A quick sniff and it disappeared. A familiar head rush and that wonderful heat to their face. An almost instantaneous confidence boost hit their brain like lightning. Fuck this was what it felt like to be alive. Suddenly, they felt the music pumping through their body so loudly it was impossible to stop themself from moving.

"You are a godsend," they cawed before grabbing Elek's face and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "I owe you!"

"You already do, moron."

Riding that high, Zi flew to the dance floor. Fuck, nothing was better than this. Except sex. Maybe not. They couldn't decide in this state of mind and really didn't have to. The DJ made sure that anyone at the center of the dance floor could barely hear anything else but the beat. It was so loud, Zi felt their sternum bumping in time. This wasn't Soul Train. It was far messier and stickier with a layer of cigarette ash and spilled whiskey. Everyone danced with their shirts open, bodies packed tight against each other, glistening sweat rolling down their chests.

As they moved, Zi scanned the crowd for a new friend to bed. There were a fair amount of folks from what seemed like all over town. Qunari, elves, dwarves, a few humans. What mattered most to them was their moves. If Zi knew anything, great dancers were even better fucks. They would know, an art school drop out with nothing to show for it but agile feet and impeccable flexibility.

A fairly tall and lithe qunari locked eyes with them, a smile spread across her face and they drank in her long neck and silky chestnut hair. Lovely. Zi really did like brunettes. Were they in the mood for a tall glass of water or something more…exciting?

Then, Zi spotted him. Cutting through the dance floor with precision was a man in all black. Open collared shirt with rolled sleeves. A head shorter than them, built like a gymnast with slicked back black hair. He was walking with purpose in each step, slipping between revelers like a shadow. Oh, furrowed eyebrows and a determined stare! Unfortunately, they were a sucker for somber faces, too. Zi loved the look of a serious man with his mouth around their cock. It was its own kind of art.

It was probably the cocaine that made them grab his arm as he passed (it wasn't). In hindsight, they would have realized something was off. But, a bird couldn't resist a shiny object, no matter how sharp. The man paused as if snapped from a trance and whipped his head around locked eyes with them. A heavy brow, deliciously scarred lips. He was…handsome.

"You know the discoteque is for dancing!" They quipped into his ear, flashing what they knew was a captivating smile. No one could resist Zi when they turned it on tenfold. The shadowy stranger seemed surprised that someone noticed his crossing the floor. Unfortunately for him, Zi knew a good dancer when they saw one. "Show me what you can do!"

Zi studied him a bit closer in the dizzying, spinning spotlights at the center of the club. Under deep red shadows, spliced with stark white beams of light. He wore an expensive silk shirt and neatly tailored pants. Heavy leather belt. Silver diamond chain falling into some delectable looking chest hair. Italian shoes. Wow. Rich boy. They tugged his fingers and he followed with a long careful glance around. What was this guy's deal? He was acting like he had to go somewhere. "Looking for someone?"

"Yes."

A man of few words. Sexy.

"Dance with me in the meantime, I'll make it worth your while," they crooned in his ear as they sauntered closer, dragging a single finger down his chest. The stranger grasped Zi's wrist before they could pull at his belt. His grip was strong. Fine, they thought, and instead they guided his other hand to the small of their back, their waist asking his to move in time.

"One dance." The man stated firmly. They caught the accent that time. Spanish. And they picked up on deadly confidence. Zi glimpsed the ghost of a smile briefly grace his face. Oh, they had to figure out a way snag this one.

Of course they had been right. He could move. He must have been trained. They whirled together in a blur of black and maroon, keeping in step with each other as if they had done this one thousand times before. When Zi switched to a salsa, for the hell of it, he followed easily without missing a beat and took the lead. They felt lighter than air in his hands. And that was not the coke talking.

It was as if they were easily riding each other's rhythms like the tides. Their hip would collide, then separate and each instance sent their mind reeling in joy. It had been a very long time since they vibed with someone like this. They caught the smell of his cologne, musky sandalwood and leather, and that tipped them over. There had to be a way to get this guy to come home with them.

In all the nights they had cruised The Den, Zi had never seen him. Not that they knew everyone who passed through the club, but you get used to seeing the same bodies. You remember their movements. Recognize their limitations. And yearn for their possibilities. Which this newcomer had in spades.

Zi studied his face. He was half in it, half somewhere else. Espresso brown eyes scanning the club as they turned chest to chest at the center of the dance floor. It was almost unbelievable he wasn't entirely focused on the sculpted specimen before him. Zi never had this much trouble capturing someone's entire attention.

The song was coming to a slow down, ready to end this exhilarating venture. But Zi didn't want to stop. Beads of sweat were forming at their scalp from the stifling heat of a packed room. They didn't want to stop this magnetic connection. But, something had caught The Spaniard's eye, they knew they were losing him.

The stranger nodded at the end, inclining his head slightly, "Thank you—"

"No, thank you! You're an amazing dancer." they breathed, catching his wrist again before he could turn away. The music started to swallow them again. "Could I get your name? Your number? Maybe we could go out sometime? Do you like Chinese?"

He shook his head, whatever was weighing on him had his full focus now. Zi had become an afterthought, again. Expression changing dramatically to become grim and severe. The stranger was becoming more unknowable by the second.

Shit, shit, no! They panicked on the inside, I need this!

He delved back into the crowd, hand slipping from Zi's fingers with ease. The immensity of his presence on their hip left a looming empty space as he disappeared from view.

His loss, they grumbled internally and tried to let the music take them again in a haze of treble and synths. It wouldn't be hard to find someone else, they just needed to find the groove again.

Several candidates came into view as they spun through the crowns. Eventually, that Qunari woman found them again and their bodies were forced against each other as the crowd on the dance floor swelled and ebbed like tides in the harbor. Her name was Anjelika.

Zi asked over the music, "Come home with me?"

She gave an enthusiastic nod and smile. Fuck, she was gorgeous. An angel in white, Zi seemed to encircle and twirl with her for what could've been an eternity. They shared a cigarette, then an absolutely delicious kiss. Another, then another. They had feasted on her neck. She tasted like gin and lemons and ran her hand down the front of their trousers. The mysterious man slipped from their mind like water through their fingers. Only the wet essence left in his wake. Eventually, though, their high was fading.

It could have been well past 3 AM, they weren't keeping track of time. That's when the screams rang out. A record scratched and the music stopped abruptly, lights coming up to reveal the barren black walls of The Viper's Den.

"Uh…party is over, loves." The DJ stammered over the speakers, his voice slightly muffled by his facial hair against the mic. The crowd moaned in disapproval and folks weren't moving.

"Hey we paid the cover, we want to dance!" Someone said. Zi spotted a shot glass thrown at the DJ booth.

Another, "Yeah, we want to keep going!"

The sound of someone grabbing the mic and popping it against their palm, causing five agonizing seconds of horroble feedback that rocked their ears. "Get out you fucks! We're CLOSED."

Zi kept their arms wrapped around Angelika's waist, burying their face in her hair. She smelled so good. They asked again, "You coming, right?"

Then suddenly, she was all hesitation. They kissed again, her touches lingered on their neck and back, briefly pretending the music was going. There were plenty of others partiers were doing the same.

"Actually, I'm going to leave with my friends," she admitted with a sweet smile, glossy sweat sparkling down her neck. "You're a great dancer, though."

You've got to be fucking kidding me. At this point Davrin must have put a curse on them, because never had Zi came to the club and left alone. What the fuck is going on? They felt around in their shirt jacket and found their keys. Maybe it's a good night for a long drive home, then.

The crowd started moving back upstairs, murmuring anger and disappointment as they filed out. Zi followed, watching their feet in case someone dropped a bill or two. They ended up snagging three bucks. Ok, their luck hadn't totally run out.

Zi was one of the last stragglers to make it out of the cramped basement stairs. The club door was open to let in a cold wet draft, but also the sounds of walkie talkies…shit. The red and blue lights bounced around in the stairwell like memories of the dance hall. Guess they understood why the party stopped now.

All along the avenue were three or four cop cars, with officers stationed at the sidewalk, ushering partygoers out of the way before heading back inside. Eventually, they stretched caution tape over the club entrance. Zi glanced for Elek, hoping to catch him and ask what happened, but couldn't find their old friend among the lingering crowd across the street.

With one of the dollars they found, Zi bummed a cigarette, twiddling it between their fingers until they got into their car, one of the few consistent loves in their life. Wicked Grace, or Grace, for short. She was a 1969 Nissan Skyline, a car they had worked three odd jobs to get. Part time waiter, selling, and making prints at Varric's shop. Only one of those gigs turned out long term, until it wasn't. They popped open the glove compartment, rummaging around for their lighter. Dice, an old pair of aviators, a few parking tickets, condoms…no lighter.

"Fuck," cigarette hanging from their lip, they grumbled.

Zi turned over the ignition and powered the radio. Time to go home. Alone, they were reminded. It was the last thing they wanted. Or needed. In the face of Davrin kicking them to the curb, Varric's death, and in that no job. No cash. Nothing but Grace, a shitty apartment, it was all becoming too much. The precarious stack of cards they had worked so hard to build seemed to be collapsing. How could they call up Myrna and ask for the academy's help again? No, no. They'll find another way. There was no need to go nuclear.

Without warning, the passenger side door whipped open and a figure in black sat next to them. Not some drunk asshole…

Zi whipped their head and spat, "Hey, this isn't a fucking cab—"

Their cheek was met with metal so cold it nearly burned. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not again.

The shadow put pressure on the pistol's barrel against their face, "Drive. Fast."

"Hey, I don't want to get involved in whatever the fuck this is," Zi complained, their face pushing back on the gun.

"Battery tunnel. Now." he said. "Or I kill you and I drop you into the East River."

Zi hit the gas and pulled off. At this point they were convinced their life had become some cruel, tragic comedy. Down 7th Avenue as fast as they possibly could. Of course, it was 3AM, there was hardly any traffic so they were passing 42nd in less than a minute.

"Will you get that thing offa me—"

The shadow pressed it deeper, it was painful.

"Faster," he turned around, looking through the back window. Out of the corner of their vision Zi caught a flash of intense, dark eyes.

They gunned it, pedal almost to the floor, flying at speeds they only attempt on the expressway. Narrowly dodging other cars as they barreled downtown.

Grace swerved, nearly hitting a taxi on their left side. Zi, with many, many days spent putting her to the test was course correcting with little effort, but this Mexican standoff was making them more agitated by the second. You know how hard it is to make right turn with the business end of a gun jammed into your face?

Zi swallowed nervously, "If you're running from someone, you might as well tell me where the fuck we're going. I don't snitch."

"This is nice," the man remarked nonchalantly, admiring the interior and ignoring what they said entirely. "A powerful rally car. Fast."

At least he had taste in…wait, that voice. More specifically that accent. Once that panic subsided enough for them to think clearly, they realized. The Spaniard.

"You're…you're from the club." Zi stammered, fully recognizing the handsome man they had danced with earlier in the night. His face was cast in mostly shadow, but those eyes were unmistakable.

His stare changed, but only slightly. A sign of recognition. They had to win over his good graces. He was going to be a hard one to work, but Zi had cracked harder nuts. This night had turned into some twisted fucking nightmare.

The Spaniard paused, glancing down at the cigarette somehow still precariously dangling from their lips and reached into his jacket pocket. Zi flinched until they peeped the silver lighter gleaming in his fingers. Pistol still pressed firmly against them, he leaned in, flicking it open and alight just under the end. Close enough to get it to burn. They could still smell his cologne, just like from earlier, but now there was the distinct smell of…iron. Blood. His hands were covered in it. A few precious seconds with a semblance of calm passed and he let Zi take a long, exhausted drag.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

[drunkewok]

Tiger Inside Chapter Thirty-Eight

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WC: 4.8k

Pairing: Lee Know x reader

Genre: Series, Enemies to lovers, non-idol AU, Mafia AU

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, drinking, swearing, violence, weapons

Please do not copy or repost my work

The night wrapped around me like silk, cool and crisp, carrying whispers of pine through the darkness. Above, stars scattered across the deep blue canvas of sky, their light competing with a low-hanging moon that painted everything in silver. I watched as it caught the liquor in my glass, transforming each tiny movement into ripples of light, as if I were holding captured moonlight instead of alcohol.

My feet swung idly over the edge of the deck, a childish habit I couldn't seem to shake when my thoughts grew too heavy. Spring had chased away the snow, but tonight's air still carried winter's bite, seeping through my thin hoodie and settling into my bones. I hugged my arms closer, though I knew the chill wasn't entirely to blame for my restlessness.

I wasn’t sure how much time I had successfully wasted staring into the darkness of the trees before me. The moon had made a small journey across the night sky, signaling that time was slipping faster than I realized. Its soft glow filtered through the branches, casting faint shadows on the deck around me, but my thoughts wandered too far to focus on any particular detail.

The distant sounds of laughter and footsteps from inside faded in and out, barely registering. My mind felt like it was floating, thoughts sluggish, the quiet of the night feeling soothing among the chaos that had been the last few days.

I rubbed my arms absentmindedly, the cool night air starting to sink into my skin. How had things gotten so complicated again? It was supposed to be different this time. Coming back was meant to give me purpose, direction - a chance to reclaim what was taken from me. Instead, each day brought new complications, new threats lurking in familiar shadows. Tiger's face flashed in my mind, and I took another long sip, trying to drown out the memory of his warm smile, how it had once meant safety instead of betrayal. The alcohol wasn't helping as much as I'd hoped, just making everything feel softer around the edges while leaving the sharp points of reality intact.

The wooden planks emitted a faint creak, drawing my attention to the emerging figure. I had initially expected to see the figure of someone like Felix or Jisung approaching, but back-lit by the warm glow of the house, Minho’s familiar silhouette came into view as he approached.

He settled beside me, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body, a stark contrast to the cool night air. With a playful glint in his eye, he reached for the bottle with a cocked brow. The moment he glanced at the label, a grimace flashed across his face, but he took a swig nonetheless.

“Oh no, please do. Help yourself.” I teased, stifling a laugh as I watched his reaction.

As the liquid hit his throat, his composed demeanor cracked for just an instant. His eyes squeezed shut, and his brows knitted together tightly. He coughed slightly, the harshness of the alcohol evident as he fought to regain his composure. “What is this, rocket fuel?” he sputtered, shaking his head as he tried to catch his breath.

“You knew you weren't going to like it the moment you looked at it,” I laughed, enjoying his pained expression. “Why did you still drink it?”

“How can you stand this stuff?” He asked, half-gagging and wiping the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Take your complaints up with Chan. Pretty sure it was one of his.” I replied, smirking.

Minho chuckled, shaking his head as he glanced at the bottle. “Can’t say I expected you to resort to a life of drunken thievery.” He waved it towards me in mocking disapproval. 

“People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.” I playfully ripped the bottle from his hands, carefully focusing on refilling my glass. “You’ve already made yourself an accomplice.”

"I'll make sure to tell our attorney to add it to my list of offenses." His lips curved into that dangerous half-smile as he lay back, folding his hands behind his head with casual grace. The moonlight caught the sharp edge of his jaw as he turned to me, eyes glinting with mischief. "Better be careful though. When they finally catch us, I might just flip on you to save myself. After all..." He paused for dramatic effect, voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "We are in the mafia."

My hand clasped across my heart with a dramatic gasp, “You dirty rat!”

Our laughter faded into the night, leaving behind a comfortable silence. I leaned back on my hands, letting my head fall back to look at the stars scattered above us. They seemed impossibly far away, free, untouchable. 

His joke about this life lingered in my mind, the word feeling heavier now that the laughter had died. Even in jest, it was a reminder of the walls that surrounded us, of the life we'd chosen. Or maybe, the life that had chosen us.

The alcohol must have loosened my tongue more than I realized, because before I could stop myself, the question I'd been carrying for weeks slipped out. "Do you ever think about just... leaving it all behind?" The words came out barely above a whisper, hanging in the air between us like smoke.

As soon as they left my lips, I wanted to grab them back. This was exactly the kind of conversation we all carefully avoided, especially during rare moments of peace like this. But something about the night, the stars, the warmth of the alcohol, it made the impossible question feel safe to voice.

His silence following felt deafening, making me wish I could stuff the words back down my throat. I watched as he shifted, pushing himself up to sit beside me again. His head tilted slightly, moonlight catching the sharp angles of his face as he considered my question with an intensity that made me want to look away. When he finally spoke, his answer was both confident and gentle, wrapped in a single word: "No."

I turned back to him, not hiding the confusion and surprise on my face, “Really? Not even for a moment?”

He exhaled through his nose, his casual shrug feeling like it didn’t quite match the weight of his words. “I used to,” he admitted, his voice steady, but there was a hint of something resigned beneath it. “But then I realized I can’t keep wishing for a future that doesn’t exist.”

"Why can’t it though?" I said with an easy shrug, as if we were discussing something as simple as changing coffee shops. I shifted toward him, caught somewhere between amusement and confusion at his certainty. "I mean, I did it once already, walked away, started fresh.”

The airy chuckle he let out had no humor, sounding closer to a scoff as he glanced over his shoulder, gesturing vaguely toward the house with an arm sweeping wide. “Look where we are right now, Dear,” he said, his tone hardening just enough to sting. His eyes locked onto mine, the intensity in them cutting through the night like a blade. “You’re right back where you started. And even deeper than before.”

"Still," I pressed. My fingers curled against the deck boards as I leaned closer, challenging him. "You can't just decide it's impossible if you've never even tried."

He responded with a forced laugh, the sound low and bitter, like he’d heard it all before. Reaching for the bottle sitting between us, his fingers wrapped around its neck. “I did try,” he said quietly, bringing it to his lips and taking a more than generous swig, clearly getting more used to the burn. It was as if he was telling himself it could erase whatever memory was replaying in his mind, or it would make the topic easier to digest. He sighed, setting the bottle back down with a dull thud and clearly not wanting to elaborate further. “This life… It's a gamble. And if you try to end the game, it’ll make sure to take the whole pot.”

His words hung in the air like a thick smoke, curling around us in the night’s stillness. I watched him for a moment, the way his eyes flickered with something too heavy for me to name–regret, resignation, maybe both. The moonlight caught the edge of the bottle, reflecting dimly in the glass, like it too was a witness to the weight of the conversation. 

I couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in my chest. “But what if–” I started, but he cut me off with a glance, not harsh, but firm. The kind that said there was no point in chasing ghosts. 

“There are no ‘what ifs’ in this game,” he murmured, leaning forward on the railing and focusing on the subtle movement of the wind through the trees. “Only what is.”

I watched him closely as he spoke, the quiet conviction in his voice pulling me in despite the chill that ran down my spine at his words. The shadows danced across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders. For a moment, the only sound between us was the soft rustle of leaves and the faint hum of the night around us. I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling the coolness of the evening settle deeper into my skin. The world outside seemed so calm, so unaffected by the storm of uncertainty that swirled within us.

Sensing the heaviness in the air between us, I bit my lip and shifted in my seat, trying to dispel the weight that had settled over the conversation. "Alright," I said softly, forcing a small smile, "enough of the deep, existential crisis for one night. We need to talk about something else before we both drunkenly spiral."

He turned to me slowly, one eyebrow arched in that way that always made me feel like he was seeing right through me. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Running away from heavy conversations now?" he asked, his voice carrying that familiar teasing lilt as he leaned back. “Alright, shoot.”

I tapped my fingers against the wooden deck, racking my brain for something, anything, lighter. The alcohol wasn't helping my thought process, making each attempt at a topic slip away before I could grab it. What did I even know about him, really? Beyond the carefully constructed image he showed everyone else.

"Okay," I said after a beat, a spark of curiosity finally breaking through the haze. "If you weren't..." I gestured vaguely at everything around us, not quite finding the right words, then tried again. "I mean, if none of this existed, what would you actually want to do?"

Minho's expression softened, the corners of his lips twitching into something close to a smile. "Are you trying to ask me about my dreams?" The teasing edge in his voice made my cheeks warm.

"Maybe," I shot back, matching his tone. "Is that so hard to believe?"

He seemed to consider this for a moment, taking another small sip from the bottle. "Well, if I could do anything..." He paused, a playful glint flickering in his eyes. "I think I'd be a chef."

"A chef?" The answer was so unexpected, so... normal, that I couldn't help but smile.

"Think about it," he said, his voice carrying an enthusiasm I rarely heard from him. "Creating something from scratch, having people actually enjoy what you make. Plus," his lips curved into that familiar smirk, "food is universal. You can always win people over with a good meal."

"I can see that," I said softly, studying his profile. "Though knowing you, you'd probably run some fancy restaurant with a menu impossible to read just to watch people struggle with the pronunciation."

He laughed, the sound low and easy, sending that traitorous warmth through my chest again. "Look who's catching on," he drawled, turning toward me and stretching his legs out in front of him like a lazy cat. The bottle dangled loosely from his fingers as he tilted his head. "Though if the restaurant thing doesn't work out, I could always try dancing."

"Dancing?" I asked, my voice coming out quieter than intended. The image of Minho, SKZ's intimidating right hand, gracefully moving across a stage felt impossible to imagine.

"It's not so different from what we do now," he said, his voice dropping lower as he shifted closer. "Reading your partner, anticipating their next move, knowing exactly when to lead..." His eyes met mine, and the air between us seemed to thicken. 

I cocked an eyebrow, catching the slight shift in his tone. “Oh? So you think you’d be the type to lead?”

His head tilted slightly. “Depends on the partner.” His gaze lingered on mine for a beat too long, the air between us thickening just a little. 

I rolled my eyes, trying to play off the sudden heat creeping up in my neck. “I’ll take your word for it,” I said, my voice lighter, teasing even, but my heart thudded in my chest.

Minho chuckled, the sound low and smooth, before taking yet another sip from the bottle. “Maybe you’ll get the chance to find out soon. You might even enjoy yourself.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d ever let you lead,” I shot back with a scoff, trying to regain control of the conversation. But the playful spark in his eyes told me he was enjoying the back-and-forth. I pulled the bottle from his hand, the contents starting to dwindle between the two of us, and I could tell his speed needed to be halted by the same playful demeanor that had surfaced back at my apartment. 

"Well," he said, his voice dropping to that low tone that always spelled trouble, "the gala is right around the corner." He shifted slightly closer, and I could feel the warmth of his shoulder against mine. "And there will definitely be dancing."

The way he looked at me then, eyes dark with something between mischief and promise, made my breath catch. A slow smile spread across his lips as he leaned in, just enough to make my heart stutter. "I can see it now. You're already imagining it, aren't you? Me, leading you across that ballroom floor..." His gaze flickered to my ears, and his smile turned knowing. "Your ears are going red just at the thought."

I subconsciously pulled my hair over my shoulder, trying to hide whatever hue he thought he saw growing on my ears. “If I can find a dress that actually makes me feel good, maybe we can talk about that.” 

“Oh?” His brow lifted, his interest clearly piqued. “Still undecided?”

I looked down, studying the glass in my hands. “I just don’t know how I feel about dancing in a dress that makes me feel so…” I trailed off, not totally sure how I intended to complete my sentence.

“So?” He turned to me, brows furrowing slightly with his question.

I sighed “Look…” I set the glass down beside me, tucking my cold hands into my lap and turning to him. “Ji and Lix are absolute angels for helping me out, but none of their choices feel right. There’s so much pressure on me walking into that ballroom, everyone’s eyes are going to be on me whether I like it or not. I just don’t want to stand out any more than I already will.”

Minho tilted his head slightly, watching me with a sharp gaze. “Hate to break it to you, but no matter what you decide on, no dress will protect you the way that you want. They’re gonna see you, so might as well let them see what you want them to.” 

I frowned at him, his words sinking in a little too deeply for my liking. “It’s not just that. It’s more than just being seen. I have to walk in there with confidence, with…power.” I let out a frustrated breath. “These aren’t just regular partygoers. These are people I have to start leading, influencing. I’m supposed to be in charge of them, Minho. And if I don’t look the part, if I don’t act the part, they’ll never take me seriously.”

His gaze didn’t waver, but a flicker of something crossed his expression. “You’re putting a lot of stock into a dress,” he said after a moment. 

“It’s not just the dress,” I snapped before catching myself. I closed my eyes, exhaling slowly as I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I know it’s not just the dress. But it feels like… like it represents everything I’m not ready for. I’m supposed to walk in there and be this unshakable, commanding presence, and I can’t even pick an outfit without second-guessing myself.”

“Ah,” Minho said simply, leaning back on his hands as understanding settled across his features. “So that’s what this is really about.”

I gave him a sideways glance. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re not frustrated with the dress,” he said calmly. “You’re frustrated with yourself. You think if you can find the perfect thing to wear, it’ll make up for whatever you think you’re lacking. But it won’t. Because you aren’t actually lacking anything.”

I blinked, his words hitting me square in the chest. “Minho, I–”

“You’re projecting,” he interrupted, his tone firm. “You’re scared you’re not good enough to handle what’s coming, and you’re letting that fear latch onto something as superficial as a dress because it’s easier than dealing with the real issue.”

I stared at him, unsure whether to feel grateful or offended. “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” he said, shrugging. “But it’s the truth. And you know it.”

Silence settled between us, heavy but not uncomfortable. I hated how right he was, how easily he read through the layers of excuses I’d built around myself.

“You’ll figure it out,” he said, his voice softer now. “Haven’t you been figuring everything out this whole time?”

The corners of my lips twitched into a small, reluctant smile. “You’re annoyingly good at this whole ‘insightful’ thing, you know.”

“It’s part of my charm,” he quipped, smirking as he brought the bottle back to his lips. “You’ll just have to try the dresses on again.” He set the bottle down, turning his gaze back out to the trees. “Maybe you’ve already got the perfect dress waiting for you.”

“You’re probably right.” I sighed.

He shrugged, the corner of his mouth twitching into a half-smile. “I’m always right. You’ll learn that eventually.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “Wow, don’t strain yourself carrying all that humility.”

“Humility doesn’t suit me,” he shot back smoothly. “I leave that to the rest of you mere mortals.”

I couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking my head. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“It’s all part of the package, Dear.” He reached for the bottle again, holding it out in an offer. “But admit it, you needed this pep talk.”

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at my lips as I held my glass forward for a refill. “I don’t know if I’d call it a pep talk, but… thanks. For…this. Whatever this is.”

His smirk softened just a bit, but his next words still carried his usual teasing edge. “Don’t get used to it. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Oh, believe me,” I said, narrowing my eyes playfully. “I’m well aware this is a rare occurrence. I haven’t witnessed you being supportive like this. Even in your weird, roundabout way.”

He chuckled, tilting his head slightly as if conceding the point. “Guess that makes this moment special, huh? You should savor it.”

I shook my head, laughing softly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet,” he said, smirk back in all its glory, “here you are, thanking me. You’re welcome, by the way.” 

I gave him a look, but the amusement in my eyes betrayed my attempt at being annoyed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

 

There’s a tipping point, the one you don’t see coming until it’s already there. When your limbs start feeling like they belong to someone else–heavy, uncooperative. It’s that odd sensation of floating and sinking at the same time, when your thoughts slow down, and your body still feels two steps behind. The world around you blurs at the edges, softening in ways that make it hard to focus, and every sound seems just a little too distant or too loud. 

I sat there, fully aware that I had crossed that invisible line, the alcohol coursing through my veins faster than I intended. I was almost scared to look down at the bottle, wanting to keep a blissful ignorance on just how much the two of us had consumed. The quiet between us suddenly felt too loud, too noticeable, making me hyperaware of just how far I’d slipped past my limit.

Somewhere in our shifting through the night, I found myself huddled beside him, my head resting on his shoulder as my eyes were starting to grow heavy. I could feel the gentle weight of his presence next to me, the warmth from his body cutting through the cool night air. 

“You know, sometimes I–” I started softly, lifting my head from where it had been resting. But when I moved, I must’ve been a little too quick–blame the alcohol or the moment’s haze–and suddenly, my face was far too close to his. 

I froze, whatever was left of my sentence lost to the wind.

Minho stilled as well, his dark eyes widening into two large boba pearls, though he didn’t pull back. For a fleeting second, everything seemed to have paused, leaving just the two of us, and the faint sound of the wind brushing through the trees.

I could feel the warmth of his breath, see the way his gaze flickered to my lips for the briefest of moments before returning to meet my eyes. My heart raced, every nerve in my body screaming at me to either move away or lean closer, anything to break the tension.

Neither of us did.

His lips parted slightly, as if he were about to say something, but the words weren't coming. Instead, his expression softened, something unreadable flickering behind his calm exterior.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low, with the faintest hint of amusement.

The spell broke, and I drew back, heat rushing to my face as I dropped my gaze.

I laughed, but it came out more like a breathy, nervous chuckle. “Yeah, that was–uh, whoopsie,” I mumbled, cringing inwardly at how ridiculous I sounded. I was trying to make a lighthearted joke, trying to dispel the tension, but the words fumbled and fell flat, awkward, and flimsy.

For a moment, Minho didn’t say anything. He just leaned back, his gaze slipping away from me and toward the dark horizon. If he noticed my flustered state, or the way my hands fidgeted with the glass in my lap, he didn’t show it. His expression was unreadable, calm as always, and I hated how effortlessly unaffected he seemed.

And that’s when it hit me.

I was imagining it.

Of course, I was imagining it. The pull between us? That subtle flicker in his eyes? It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. My brain had just gotten ahead of itself, tangled up in the haze of the alcohol and the intimacy of a quiet night.

He hadn’t wanted to kiss me. Why would he?

I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to focus on my drink, on the cool glass against my palms, on anything that wasn’t Minho’s profile or the way my heart stuttered in that fleeting moment.

He was just teasing me, like he always did. The ‘careful’ wasn’t loaded with meaning, it wasn’t some cryptic acknowledgment of the tension I thought I’d felt. It was just… Minho being Minho. He was amused by my clumsiness, not caught up in the moment like I was.

God, how embarrassing.

I took a slow sip of my drink, the liquid burning just enough to pull me back to reality. I had to let it go, push the thought away before I spiraled further into whatever delusion I’d managed to conjure up. He probably hadn’t even noticed the way I’d paused, or the way my breath hitched in my throat. 

The warmth in my face lingered, but I plastered on a faint smile and forced myself to speak, hoping to salvage the situation. “Guess I’m more tipsy than I thought,” I said lightly, tilting my glass in his direction with a small shrug. 

Minho glanced at me, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “That makes two of us,” he replied simply, his tone easy.

I let out a quiet laugh, relieved that he didn’t seem to be lingering on the moment like I was. He wasn’t overthinking it, and I needed to take a page out of his book. Whatever I thought had passed between us, it was just the alcohol, the night, and my overactive imagination. 

I laughed again, a bit too loudly this time, the sound awkward and forced as I shot to my feet. “I think… I think I’m done drinking for the night,” I blurted, my voice shaky as I waved off the bottle, refusing to meet his eyes.

Minho raised an eyebrow but stayed silent, the faintest ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. It was like he could see right through my pathetic attempt to brush off what had just happened.

My pulse hammered in my ears as I turned sharply, practically bolting for the door. “I’m uh…just gonna head to bed,” I mumbled, the words barely coherent as they tumbled out. I didn’t wait for his reply, didn’t dare to look back at him.

With each step, my unsteady feet betrayed just how far gone I really was, the alcohol making itself known now that I was upright. But the burn in my veins was nothing compared to the heat crawling up my neck and settling under my skin, hot and unbearable.

I reached my room, the soft click of the door shutting behind me offering a small sense of relief. Leaning back against the wood, I let out a shaky breath, rubbing my hands against my face as if that might somehow erase the whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. 

But it didn’t help.

This was the last thing I needed to add to my racing mind. The image of his face, inches from mine, replayed in my mind, vivid and unrelenting. The way his dark eyes had flickered down, just briefly, to my lips, the quiet weight of the moment. The spell I’d thought had broken but now realized had lingered, silent and dangerous, just waiting to catch me off guard.

I was tempted to try and slap myself to get rid of it.

We had almost accidentally kissed. The thought circled in my mind, each repetition sending another wave of heat through me. And the craziest part? I wasn’t sure how I felt about it.

Was I relieved it didn’t happen? Or disappointed?

My stomach twisted as I grappled with the thought, torn between mortification and something else, something I wasn’t ready to name. I let out another shaky laugh, trying to shake it off, but it was refusing to fade.

With a heavy sigh, I pushed away from the door and stumbled toward the bed, peeling off my shoes and letting them drop to the floor with soft thuds. I didn’t bother changing out of my clothes, too drained, physically and emotionally, to do anything more than collapse onto the mattress.

I stared up at the ceiling, my head spinning with more than just alcohol. Tomorrow I'd have to face him across the breakfast table, pretend my heart didn't race every time he looked at me. Worse, I'd have to focus on the gala, on maintaining my composure while Tiger watched from across the room, the man who might have ordered my father's death, who might still want me dead.

But instead of strategizing, instead of preparing for what could be the most dangerous night of my life, all I could think about was the way Minho's breath had felt against my lips, how for one crazy moment, I'd wanted to close that gap between us. How part of me still did.

"Stupid," I muttered into my pillow, but I couldn't tell if I was talking about the almost-kiss or my inability to focus on what really mattered. Maybe both. The worst part was knowing that tomorrow, I'd have to look into those eyes again and pretend I hadn't seen something there, something that terrified and thrilled me in equal measure.

I pulled the blanket over my head, as if I could hide from my own thoughts. The gala loomed ahead like a storm on the horizon, and here I was, distracted by a moment that probably meant nothing to him. I didn’t need this. 

Not tonight. Not ever.

Next Chapter (coming soon)

Taglist:

@leagreenly @jamlessstars @moonlight-the-writer @ishz @caillout24

@linocz @stayceebs97 @lefay-ette @hrskt @kayleefriedchicken

@generousnachofox @avathebuttercup @bubbly-moon

[00valentina-writes00]

✞⛧ Ellie loves you ✞⛧

Warnings: self-deprecation, emotional vulnerability, insecurity, body image issues, comforting dialogue, fluff, tender moments, slight teasing, soft angst, college au Ellie

Word count: 1.3k

You were sitting on the edge of your dorm bed, fingers mindlessly flipping through a worn-out notebook, your gaze unfocused. It wasn’t like you were actively trying to be in a bad mood, but everything seemed off today. Maybe it was the mess in the room or the annoying guy who knocked into you on the way to class. Maybe it was that stupid argument with your roommate about laundry. Either way, the frustration was building, and you could feel it in your chest. It made your skin crawl with irritation, and before you knew it, the muttering started.

You weren’t even aware that you were speaking out loud, but the words came anyway.

“I hate my hair. It’s always so flat and messy. Why can’t I just—ugh, why do I even bother? I hate how I look in these jeans. They’re too tight, and I feel like a damn sausage. And why is my face always breaking out? It’s like, what’s even the point of skincare? I’m so bad at everything, always…”

You trailed off, taking a breath, not even realizing how much you had spiraled in such a short amount of time. You’d been so caught up in your own head, you hadn’t noticed Ellie standing in the doorway of your room. The soft sound of her voice broke the silence, and you froze mid-rant.

“You know, I didn’t realize I was dating a comedian.”

You blinked, lifting your gaze to see her leaning against the doorframe. She had that damn smirk on her face, the one that always got to you. Her green eyes twinkled, but there was something more behind them—something that made you feel like she could see right through the tough exterior you’d put up.

“You’re really gonna sit there and complain about yourself when I’m trying to tell you how amazing you are?”

You frowned, your shoulders slumping as you looked away. “I’m not amazing, Ellie. I’m just… me. And I don’t like it.”

Ellie pushed herself off the doorframe, moving toward you with that lazy confidence she always carried, like she was ready to prove you wrong. You tried to avoid eye contact, but she wasn’t having any of it.

Before you could respond, she sat next to you on the bed, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them, her messy brown hair falling over her forehead as she gave you that familiar sideways grin.

“Alright,” she started, leaning in a little closer. “If you’re gonna go on and on about what you don’t like about yourself, then I’m gonna hit you with a list of what I do like about you.”

You raised an eyebrow, still not looking at her. “You’re gonna try to cheer me up? I’m not sure that’s gonna work.”

Ellie’s grin only grew wider. “Oh, trust me, babe. This is gonna work. You ready?”

You shot her a half-hearted glance. She looked so damn sure of herself, and despite your mood, you couldn’t help but feel a little curiosity rise. You sighed, folding your arms across your chest.

“Go ahead,” you muttered.

Ellie leaned back slightly, as if preparing for a long, epic speech. She took a deep breath, her expression shifting from playful to earnest. And then she started, her voice steady and warm, almost like she was reciting poetry.

“First of all, I love how your eyes light up when you’re passionate about something. Like when you talk about the books you’re reading, or when you’re telling me about some random fact you learned and can’t wait to share with me.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how easily the words flowed from her. You didn’t know what to say, so you stayed quiet, though the tension in your chest began to ease.

Ellie kept going, her eyes focused on you now, as if she could see everything beneath your tough exterior.

“I love how you’re always so kind, even when you think you’re being hard on yourself. You make everyone feel welcome, you know? I’ve seen you with people who are struggling, and you always know exactly what to say to make them feel better. It’s something I could never do.”

Her voice softened a little, like the words were making her vulnerable too. You swallowed hard, feeling a lump form in your throat. But Ellie didn’t notice, or maybe she just didn’t care.

“And your hair?” Ellie said, scooting a little closer, her voice teasing now. “That messy, wild hair of yours? It’s my favorite thing. Every time I see you with it in that stupid ponytail, I think to myself, ‘Damn, she’s perfect just like that.’”

You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly at that, shaking your head despite yourself.

Ellie nudged you with her shoulder, a playful grin crossing her face. “And those jeans you’re complaining about?” She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a half-smirk. “Honestly, they look damn good on you. Like, really good. Trust me, I notice these things.”

You rolled your eyes, but the blush creeping across your face made you look away, your heart skipping a beat.

Ellie wasn’t done yet. She had a lot more to say, and it wasn’t all about your appearance.

“And your brain? You’re so smart. Like, I don’t even know how you manage to fit all that knowledge in there without your head exploding. I’m not talking about school stuff either; I’m talking about life. You’re sharp, you get things in a way that most people don’t.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you just let her words sit in the air, feeling that weight of honesty settle in your chest.

“And I haven’t even gotten to your heart,” Ellie continued, her voice quieter now, more sincere. She placed a hand on your shoulder, and for a moment, everything felt still, like the world outside didn’t exist.

“You’re one of the most caring people I know, even if you don’t show it all the time. When you care about something or someone, you go all in. You’re there for the people who need you. You’re always ready to fight for them. And that’s not something you see every day.”

You felt something in your chest tighten at her words. You didn’t know how she could see all of this in you when all you saw was your own flaws. But somehow, Ellie saw something else. Something you didn’t even know how to recognize in yourself.

“You get me, you know that?” Ellie added softly, her voice tinged with something softer than usual. “You make me feel like I’m not the screw-up I always think I am. You make me feel like I’m worth something. So don’t go beating yourself up for stupid stuff, okay?”

Your heart fluttered in your chest, and for the first time all day, the tight knot of frustration inside of you began to loosen. You turned to Ellie, meeting her gaze for the first time since she started her rant. She was staring at you with a mix of tenderness and determination, her green eyes full of warmth.

“You’ve got no idea how much I needed to hear that,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

Ellie smiled, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I know. I’m just doing my job as your girlfriend, babe. But seriously, stop being so hard on yourself.”

You finally let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, the weight of her words lifting you. Maybe you weren’t perfect. Maybe you had your flaws. But the way Ellie saw you—really saw you—made it feel like none of that mattered.

You shifted closer to her, wrapping your arms around her in a tight embrace. “Thanks, Ellie. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Ellie chuckled, hugging you back with that same quiet confidence. “You’ll never have to find out.”

[liam-bean]

💔

[classical-vanity]

There’s days when I really feel like a failure/ disappointment because I think everyone had pretty high expectations of me growing up and I feel like I’ve done nothing with my life

[phantajam]

my hot take about descendants is that NONE of the core four were ready for a relationship until maybe like, the third movie (rant in tags)

[naggingatlas]

i looove putting spark over songs about like heroes and saving the world (tom cardy's 'level clear', uncle outrage's 'saved the world' <- nice voice hc for him!. and 'my superhero movie'.) when he like. Did. Not : ) funney.

[ilonacho]

the fucking audacity of watching the pixar short film “going home” while i’m home for my grandma’s funeral.

[weaselle]

had an interaction with a cat at my mother's friend's house (we dropped by to feed her while my mom's friend was out of town) and my mother said "i was surprised how much that cat liked you, she doesn't usually let people pet her but she followed you around and let you pet her a lot"

and in explaining to her my interaction with the cat i put into words a thing i'd never put into words before, having always automatically understood what i was doing. But once i put it into words my mother said she'd never thought of that and it felt like something worth sharing here.

This cat did a typical cat thing where she sniffed my fingers i was holding out, and then acted like she wanted me to pet her, but then when i started to move to pet her, moved her head away slightly to prevent it.

I instinctively understand this interaction, and stopped trying to pet her and moved back to a neutral position and waited to see if she would re-initiate an interaction.

Because this is basically a consent test. This is how a cat can assess "how closely are you paying attention to what i'm telling you" and "how respectful of my boundaries are you".

If i am responsive to her yes/no game, moving to pet her when she indicates i can, stopping immediately when she seems to change her mind, then she knows she can trust me to understand her, and also to respect her choices. That's what i did, so then she knew she could trust me and relax around me and enjoy my company. She was actually a very friendly and social little cat, who clearly wanted to make friends with me.

But if i had insisted on trying to pet her when she seemed to change her mind instead of simply understanding that she didn't want to be pet in that moment, she would have known she couldn't trust me to understand or respect her, and she would have treated me like she has to treat 90% of the people who visit that house, evidently.

I work mostly with dogs these days, but i grew up with cats too, and am generally good with animals. Many shy animals will also do this same "sniff sniff okay touch me nope just kidding" routine, especially if they've had experiences with people that make establishing that kind of communication and trust important to them.

And in fact, a lot of animals will do some version of this kind of consent test in a whole variety of situations. When well socialized dogs do that thing where they are rough housing and then they both stop suddenly for a moment until one of them play bows or makes a little pouncing motion and then they fly back into rough housing mode, that's what they are doing, they are doing a consent check-in, like "whoah this is getting wild, are you still in? are we still playing, is this still a good time for you?"

anyway, that's why this lovely little cat followed me around asking me to pet her the whole time we were visiting that house, because i showed her that i understood her signals and respected her boundaries, which is something i see a lot of both men and women not doing when interacting with cats and dogs.

[snekdood]

i worry a lot about some transfems and its not me trying to be like "im better than you" or some shit its bc some of them remind me of me when i was a kid and new into being considered a girl/woman and being really naive thinking people would treat me better than they would- like i knew people were gonna be shitty but i wasnt prepared for the sheer amount of dehumanization and being reduced to just a sex object... idk... I just want some of you out there to be careful...

[gor3sigil]

Before starting T, when I socially transitionned, I was surrounded by radical feminists who saw masculinity as gross and inherently evil, something to avoid, something to make fun of, something to destroy. The other transmascs in my friend group, sometimes, told me that they didn’t knew if they really were non-binary or if they just were scared shitless of saying “I am a man”. Because they saw this as a betrayal to their younger self who had been SAd and abused.

I saw many of my masc friends and trans men around me hate themselves, not outing themselves as men because it would imply so so much, it was like opening the Pandora Box. Even when we were just together, talking about our masculinity was always coated with bits like “I know we’re the privileged ones but…”, “I don’t want to sound like I have it bad but…”, “Women obviously have it worse, but last time…” and we were talking about terrible traumas we experienced while taking all the precautions in the world in the case the walls were a crowd of people in disguise waiting to get us if we didn’t downplay the violence we faced, or like crying and being upset and being traumatized and afraid and scared and to say it out loud would make us throw up the needles we were forced to swallow every second of every day living in our skin.

Most of us weren’t on T yet, some of us were catcalled every day and harassed in the streets or in abusive relationships nobody seemed to care to help them get out of because they were “strong enough” to do it by themselves.

I was using the gender swap face app and cried for ours when I saw my father looking back at me through the screen. The idea of transforming, of shedding into a body that would deprive me of love, tenderness, and safety, was absolutely terrifying. I knew I couldn’t stay in this body any longer because it wasn’t mine, but I also knew that if I was going to look like my dad, my brother, my abusers, it would be so much worse.

5 years later and I’m almost 2 years on T, and almost 2 months post top surgery.

I ditched my previous group of friends. I was bullied out of my local trans community. But let me tell you how free I am.

I was scared that T would break my singing voice: it made it sound more alive than ever.

I was scared that T would make me less attractive: it made me find myself hot for the first time in my life.

I was scared that T would make me gain weight: it did. But the weight I put on is not the weight I used to put on by binging and eating my body until I forgot that it even existed. It’s the weight of my body belonging to me, little by little. The wolf hunger for life.

I won’t tell you the same story I see everywhere, the one that goes “I started going to the gym 8 times a week, I put on some muscles, I started a diet and now I look like an action film actor”, in fact if you took pictures of me from 5 years ago vs now I’d just have more acne, I’d have longer hair and still look like I don’t know what to do with myself when I take selfies.

But the sparkle in my eyes, my smile, tell the whole story way better than this long ass stream of words could ever.

I want to say some things that I wish someone told me before starting medically transitionning.

It’s okay to take your time. It’s your body, it’s your journey, if you don’t feel comfortable taking full doses and want to go slow, the only voice you need to listen to is your own. Do what feels right.

If you feel overwhelmed, it’s okay to take a break, it’s okay to ask for support.

Trans people are holy. Everyone is. You didn’t lose your angel wings when you came out because you want to be masculine. You are not excluded from the joy of existence, from being proud of yourself, from being sad, from being scared, from being angry. The emotions and feelings you allowed yourself to feel while processing what you experienced when you grew up as a girl and was seen as a woman are still as valid as before. Nobody can take that from you. If someone tries to, don’t let them.

It’s perfectly normal to grieve some things you were and had before you started to transition, like your high soprano voice or even your chest. Hatching is painful. You can find comfort in things that don’t feel right, so making the decision to change can be incredibly scary and weird and you deserve to be heard and supported through this. Wanting top surgery doesn’t make the surgery less intense, less terrifying, less painful to recover from. When it becomes too much you have the right to take a break and take some deep breaths before going on.

You don’t have to have a radical, 180° change for your transition to be acceptable or valid or worthy of praise. Look at how far you’ve come already. It doesn’t have to show, you’re not made to be a spectacle, you’re human and it is your journey.

Oh, and last thing, you know when some people say “Oh this trans person has to grow out of the cringy phase where you think that you can write essays about being trans or transitionning or just their experience because it’s weird” ? If you ever hear this or see this online, remember all the people whose writing you read and, even if they were not professional writers, helped you more than any theorists did ? If you want to write, do it. It won’t be a waste. It can help people. Or it won’t, and even then, if it helped you, that’s enough.

Love every of my trans siblings, take care of yourselves. You deserve the world.

[nezuscribe]

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: you find yourself in a marriage that you never wanted in the first place. your husband seems to hate you and you begin to wonder if anything you used to think of him was even true. who would have though a marriage to gojo satoru would be so difficult?

warnings: 18+ mdni, arranged marriage, misunderstandings and just not talking shit out, mentions of cheating, slight angst (with comfort), eating out (fem! receiving), fingering, gojo doesn't really know how to husband for some of it

word count: 10.9K (whoops)

note: part two is up! i really had a lot of fun writing this so reblogs and comments are always appreciated! as always, thank you to @jadeisthirsting for beta reading <3

jjk masterlist

never did you think that you’d be stuck in a marriage to a man who didn’t love you, but there’s a first for everything. 

you should count yourself lucky that he’s not old and bald. he’s pretty. in fact, he’s the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. his eyes are the bluest, bluer than the sky. his hair mirrors the winter snows, and his back ripples with muscles whenever he fights. 

his agility is unlike any other man. he fights swiftly and cleanly, never taking more than a couple minutes to get rid of whatever it was that stood in his way. he’s charming with his words (or so you’ve heard), and he knows how to make somebody swoon if he really wants them to. 

and he seems to despise you.

you had known gojo since you were a child, the two of you running around each other's fields as you chased him with your wooden sword. you remembered watching him in training, wishing him good luck whenever he went on a hunt. you could even remember how he would stutter whenever he tried to talk, something he must have worked on because he never seemed to stutter anymore. 

he was always nice to you, his cheeks rosy whenever you kissed him goodbye. he was kind back then, grinning brightly whenever he saw you. 

but as time grew and you with it, and it was only a matter of years before the two of you went your separate ways. it didn’t help that once he turned thirteen he had to leave for training and fighting in whatever it was that was needed of him, but you had hoped that he would be able to write back. 

you would send him letters whenever you could, it was tradition whenever the two of you were separated for too long to do so. each letter telling him about new experiences and embarrassing things that happened in your life, but he never responded. you liked to send one every week, sometimes including little tokens you thought he might enjoy. but you stopped sending them after the first two years and stopped asking about his whereabouts after three. 

but you were hopeful that when you saw him that night so many months ago, he’d be civil with you. you were nervous, sure, but who could blame you? you had recently gotten news that his time to serve his clan was over and that he was finally back home. it wasn’t as though the two of you had left on bad graces, so you were hopeful that he would at least remember you. but he could barely meet your eyes whenever you tried to catch him from across the room, acting as if you had never existed. 

he looked so different since the last time you had seen him. he was taller than most of the people in the room, his white hair just as bright as it used to be. he had gained muscle mass almost everywhere, and you felt yourself wondering just how much training he had to go through to look this way. you could see him talking to a girl, a smile on his face as he tilted his head to look at her better. you gave him some time to socialize, not wanting to intrude on anything. 

after an hour you decided that it was long enough, and tried to weave your way through the crowd to get to him. you had tried to call out to him, waving to him despite your mother quickly shoving your hand down, saying how improper it was. he heard you and you knew that he was purposely ignoring you, so you began to feel heavy-hearted after a couple of attempts at trying to catch his attention, eventually giving up. 

and now, despite you wanting to, you can’t even blame him for hating you. 

ever since your mother caught you, alone with him, a man you hadn’t seen in so long, she had swiftly and promptly proposed the idea of marriage only a few days later. it was really to save face for the two families, but it helped that this marriage would unify the two clans. 

you were sure he had ladies lined up to marry him, and you weren’t somebody he was actively trying to pursue. you didn’t even know if he was in love with somebody else if he shared a connection with a girl who was surely not you and cursed you for taking that away from him. 

not that it mattered now. 

all you wanted was to reconcile, to catch up on all the things happening in your lives. you wanted to hear all the stories he must have racked up over the years, not for this to happen. all the things he wanted for himself were ripped away because of one night from one simple act of kindness, and so you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate him for the way he acted.

you rarely come down for dinner whenever he’s there, but when you do, you feel those eyes turn icy, tracking your every movement till you sit down opposite of him. he doesn’t say much, just mutters a quiet “good evening” and you’re sure he’s only doing it so the maids don’t start to gossip. 

whenever your hand brushes his you feel him snap back, flexing his hand as though your touch burned him. he rarely came by to ask you about how you felt, and so you stopped trying to act kindly towards him if he didn’t want anything to do with it.

any semblance of romance you had dreamed of as a young girl quickly dissipated when you realized your husband wanted nothing to do with you, so you didn’t try to pursue any sort of love, deciding it’d be easier if he just did his part and you did yours so the two clans wouldn’t worry. 

he was always gone, which might be the best for the two of you. when he’s not training new men then he’s gone in a hunt. if he’s not in a hunt then he’s somewhere in his endless home, hiding away. 

you don’t know if he does this for him, for your sake, or for everybody else. 

“did you see your husband this morning?” one of your maids said excitedly as she tugged the undergarments over your raised arm, a gleeful smile on her face as she rambled about something gojo had done. you couldn’t help but return a smile of your own, although it didn’t quite meet your eyes. 

“yes, briefly. he’s busy with having to worry about the feast,” which wasn’t a total lie. you’d seen him hurriedly brush past you, quickly glancing at you as if he had forgotten you were his wife. you felt your chest tighten up with the way he glanced at your hand, and then quickly left. 

it was only a few nights away and you knew that it was the only buzz of news anybody seemed to talk about. unfortunately, for you, it meant having to socialize with other clans. you were fine with that aspect, you’d been doing it since you were young, but this time they had a right to be nosey. you knew there would be endless questions asked about the honeymoon stage of your marriage, to which you had no answer. 

sure, you’d been making up answers to hypothetical questions, but you didn’t know what gojo would be answering with, so you were only praying some of your responses would line up. 

for a night the two of you would have to pretend to be husband and wife, and while the people around you knew you were anything, you knew you had to commit to the role for the sake of you and your family’s dignity. 

but all this worrying isn’t good for your head, you could already feel the pang as you squeezed your eyes to try and get rid of it. you tried to move on from your worries, going to comment on her necklace, it seemed new, but a knock interrupted you. the two of your heads popped up, looking at where the sound came from. 

“come in!” you called out, buttoning up the last bits of your top as you thanked myra. she nodded, bowing as she went to open the door. you could hear her faint footsteps, not bothering to look up as she greeted the person behind. you guessed it was franchesca coming with the fabric samples. 

“sir,” you heard myra say, and your head swirled around, only to see the topic of your conversation make his way into your room, excusing your maid with a swift motion of his hand. she glanced once at you and then to him, ducking her head as she left, closing the door behind her as she left you two alone. 

you felt heat prickle at the back of your neck as he looked at you and then to your room. the two of you slept separately, as per your request the first night. you couldn’t bear the agonizing silence between the two of you, and he obliged. 

he was dressed for sparring. he had a loose-fitting tunic on, and pants that would allow him to move freely and without constraint. it was in moments like these that you were reminded of the fact that gojo was the strongest warrior that any of the clans had seen, that the child who once splurged on sugar in his tea was capable (and has done so before) of taking down entire armies. 

he had matured so much since what you last remembered from him. he no longer acted rashly nor spoke without thinking about what it was he wanted to say. but you still saw him eating sweets with the same fervor he did as a kid, and it never failed to make you smile, hiding it behind your hand so nobody could hear your quiet giggle. 

it had been a while since it was just the two of you, alone, and all you could think about was that night. your cheeks heated up just thinking about it, and it seemed that gojo could tell your discomfort with the way he cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair as he began to speak. 

“good morning,” he started, his eyes darting around, never setting on yours. it was funny if it didn’t cause your heart to hurt irrevocably, at how the strongest warrior in all the land could barely look at his wife. 

if only you knew.

“good morning.” you offered him a quick, disingenuous smile, moving around until you found your vanity, rummaging through your laid-out earrings as you kept your back to him, not trusting your face to give you away if you were to look at him for too long. 

you heard him take in an audible breath, but he continued whatever it was he wanted to say. 

“with the feast coming up, i want to clear some things with you,” you turned around, looping the earrings in as you nodded for him to continue. it was such a shame he was so stunning, effortlessly attractive as the sun caught off his cheekbones, bouncing off of his chest. he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, and you wondered if being here was just as painfully awkward for him as it was for you. 

“we should act like we’re…” he trailed off and you felt yourself itching to leave, knowing what he meant without having to say it. 

“in love?” you finished and he slowly nodded, gnawing on his lip as you brushed past him, going to find the mirror so you could adjust your jewelry. you could see him fidgeting in the corner, and for once you could see a hint of nervousness and unease on his features. 

and a part of you hurt. you would never admit out loud that you harbored a crush on him for as long as you could remember. it hurt knowing that you acting like you were in love was perhaps the lost genuine form of love you could show. 

“what if they ask about the night we met?” you ask after a couple of seconds, looking up from what you were doing. deep down, you knew somebody was bound to ask. even if it was just your mother who had caught the two of you alone in that garden, the news of it somehow spread (she was always one to talk). 

he scratches his head, shrugging as he eventually settles on an idea.

“just tell them the truth.” 

the truth. 

tell them how he followed you after you had run outside, sick to your stomach after a man, who was as old as your father, had introduced himself as a possible suitor. how gojo, the most ruthless warrior in all the land, had carefully put his hands on your back as you retched, offering you a towel he had fetched from inside to clean yourself up. 

tell them how you hadn’t seen him in years but the first thing you had done was to hug him tightly. how his hands wrapped around your back as though they were the only things keeping you afloat. perhaps they were. 

tell them how he murmured words in your hair to bring you back to reality, his thumb running up and down your arms to calm you down. how it seemed like even though it had been years since you two last saw each other, it felt so right, so normal, to be back in his arms. 

tell them how he had looked at you with such worry, such care, unlike anybody else had looked at you, and you for once felt safe in somebody’s arms. 

tell them how your mother found you two in such a compromising position, with your head nestled in his chest as he tried his very best to soothe your cries. it was humiliating and embarrassing to be caught with a man you had only seen back in your teenage years, and especially so in such a vulnerable position. 

you shake your head, scoffing at the idea, “i’ll just come up with something,” was your answer and he nods along, realizing how the story would be too private to share with people you barely knew.

“and we need a reason for why,” he cleared his throat once again, pink dusting on his cheeks as his eyes dropped to your stomach. your eyes met his in the mirror, and one of your eyebrows raised, “well, you’re not exactly looking like you’re carrying a child at the moment.” 

you quickly looked away, the tension in the room increasing as you moved away from the mirror, doing anything you could to keep your hands occupied. you flushed at the comment, your throat drying up as you glanced at your stomach.

the two of you have barely touched, much less been intimate with each other. you were glad he hadn’t forced the idea onto you, instead, leaving it to you to bring up the topic. you only talked about it, once, the night of the marriage, and then never again. you knew that it would have to happen eventually, but you couldn’t do it right now, not with your state of mind. 

you scrambled to say something. in all honesty, you had been dreading this question. you hadn’t been answering any of the letters your mother sent, and you knew people were expecting to hear the news of a pregnancy. 

“we’ll just say we’ve been so busy and preoccupied with the politics of marriage that we couldn’t… consummate.” you offered and he just shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as if this was the biggest inconvenience to him. 

you knew that this marriage was brought upon quickly and before either of you could object to it, but at least you tried to hide it away. if only he hadn’t acted so rashly that night, his hands on your shoulders, eyes bewildered as they racked over your figure. if only he had been more careful, or you were smarter in picking some place to be more concealed, you wouldn’t be put in this position. 

but neither of you was thinking ahead, and here you were. but he was certainly making sure that you knew of his contempt for this arrangement far more than you were. it was irritating, it scratched at your skin and ate away at your mind the more you saw each other.

“look,” he couldn’t take his eyes off of you, off of the way you were fiddling with the ring he had delicately placed on your hand so many weeks ago, “i can come up with whatever they ask, so just try your best to do the same.” you say, your voice tinged with anger, the ring on your finger acting as an anchor to the depths of the sea with the way it weighed down your movements, feeling your chest swell as he stayed silent, watching you as you opened the door. 

“i don’t-”

“um, i won’t be joining you for dinner, so don’t wait on me…i apologize, i need to work on some things for the feast…have a good day.” you swiftly murmured, shutting him in your own room as you left, your heart thumping erratically in your chest as you almost ran down the hallway. 

you had no idea how you were going to persuade the masses that this marriage was working if you couldn’t even persuade yourself. 

---

the feast of clans came earlier than you expected. 

you found yourself perched at the end of the table, gojo next to you, your stiff bodies mirroring each other as the people around you joyously helped themselves to the vast variety of food offered. 

you could barely touch the meal in front of you, your stomach churning uncomfortably with the sheer number of people that surrounded you. back home, you hated these feasts, opting to leave after a couple of bites and finish the rest of what you could pocket in your room, but here, as the clan leader's wife, you had no such luxury. 

“are you not hungry?” you looked to your side, gojo staring at your plate and then to you, his eyes squinting as he tried to decipher what you were feeling.

“i can’t eat,” you murmured, playing with your utensils as you swallowed thickly, “i don’t do well in large crowds.” 

he nodded once, looking out into the sea of bodies as he inched a little bit closer to you. he was donned in expensive fabrics, although his hair still messily fell all over. the candle that was lit in front of you had different hues of oranges and reds bouncing off of his pale skin, and if you didn’t know any better, the blush on his nose and cheeks could have been from the frigid winds from outside. 

“i’ll have myra save you a plate,” he said, giving you a curt smile as he went back to eating. 

you were momentarily taken aback by his comment, but tried not to show it, going back to fidgeting with your ring as you looked at the sea of people. nobody had thankfully come up to you and bombarded you with questions, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t going to eventually happen. 

“thank you,” you say, glancing at him and then back to your plate. 

“anything for my wife,” he replies. it’s only for show, you remind yourself, after all, when was the last time he referred to you as such? 

“gojo,” an old man had walked up to your table, his face lined with wrinkles and a beard, dressed in orange as he offered gojo his hand to shake, “i’m glad to see that you finally settled down.”

gojo blushed deeply, trying to offer him a smile as he motioned to you. 

“it’s hard to resist marriage when such a woman offers it.” he says, and you feel your eyes widen as you try to laugh off his statement. 

“yes,” the old man chuckles, eyeing the two of you. he looked familiar, and you were sure you had seen him around these sorts of gatherings before, “it was only a matter of time before it happened. we all knew just how much you liked her back when you were children.”

the two of you sputtered on your coughs, and you felt a little smile grow on your face as gojo did what he could to usher the man away. 

you could tell with the way he shifted uncomfortably in his seat that gojo wasn’t expecting that, and before you could realize what you were doing you found yourself talking. 

“i’m not a fan of feasts.” you quickly said, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them. it’s not like you felt you owed him an explanation, but you said it regardless. 

gojo looked up from his plate, grabbing his cup so he could wash down his bite. 

“any feast?” he asked, and you could feel the way the air shifted. he was glad you brought up a different topic. 

“one’s as big as this,” you twisted your ring back and forth on your finger subconsciously, “i get nervous in big crowds.”

“i remember,” a small smile grew on his face as he thought back to when the two of you were children, “you would hide under the tables and force me to come with you.” 

you chuckled, blood rushing to your ears at the fact that he remembered this about you. it was the bare minimum of what you remembered from him, but you had convinced yourself that he had washed every memory of your last selves from his mind. 

a rush of distant memories came to your head; nights spent under the tables, laughing as you two tried to keep your voices down as you tried to dodge the feet. you could still hear his whispers of staying quiet, trying to sneak out so he could smuggle in some pastries for you to eat.

“the adults scared me; they were always loud and insistent on asking personal questions.”

“like they are now?” he replied back, a tilt in his voice as you nodded feverishly. 

“yes!” you covered your mouth with your hand as you let out a laugh, a genuine one as you tried to look as put together as you could, “i swear, it’s even worse than when we were young. just the other day a wet nurse came to me and told me the best positions to get into when giving birth!” it really was a mortifying moment, your eyes darting all around as the old lady even took it upon herself to demonstrate the movements, but gojo didn’t seem to mind, laughing along with you. his eyes twinkled as they took in your giggly state, years since he had last seen you like this. 

“i feel like i should apologize,” he starts, having to cover his own infectious smile as he ducks down his head in shame, “i had her sent up to your chambers.”

your mouth dropped open in shock, lightly smacking his arm as he grinned at the look on your face.

“to mortify me so that i would never leave?” your thumb moves your ring back and forth and gojo watches you as you do it. 

“you seemed sick at breakfast, but i guess she thought it was a different sort of sickness.” gojo tells you as he cuts off some of his meat, not knowing just how much his words affected you. 

you had forgotten how simple and easy conversations were with gojo. although this was under a guise to fool people, you felt at ease with him, as if you didn’t have to be on guard with your emotions when he was around. 

“do you still want to hide under the table now?” he asked a couple of seconds later, chewing on a potato as you shrugged, looking around before your lips grew into an apologetic smile. 

“…yes,” you admitted bashfully and he smiled at your honest response. 

“if you want to hide, i’ll-”

“satoru!” a booming voice interrupted your endless spiral of thoughts as the two of you glanced upwards at the sound, “it’s been too long!” 

a man with hair as dark as night and a smile wider than any ocean had come up to your table. he was the first one to do so all night, but gojo didn’t seem bothered by it. he seemed to smile, crescents forming around his eyes as he took his friend's hand.

“too long,” he emphasized with a charming grin, motioning to you and then back to the man in front of you as if he suddenly remembered the two of you and never met, “suguru, this is my wife, y/n. y/n, this is one of my oldest friends.” 

you extended your hand outwards and the man, suguru, took it, placing a soft kiss on the back of it as he shot you a playful smile. he wasn’t at the wedding, but then yet again, it was a rather quick one. the only people who had attended were your families. 

“it’s a pleasure to meet you.” he greeted, and you nodded in agreement, sitting back down next to gojo. you felt his long fingers reach for yours, enveloping your hand in his as your heart sputtered at the touch. 

“likewise,” you answered and the man grinned politely before he slightly tilted his head, looking at the two of you sitting next to each other. 

“he’s not bothering you, is he? i know satoru can be fiendish when he wants to be, so call for me and i’ll take care of him.” he teased and you could only smile tightly and laugh along, gojo’s fingers slightly tightening around yours as he moved your hand to rest on his thigh. 

“i can take care of him when he’s fiendish. i just have to take the sugar away, right?” suguru snorted and gojo glared, but it was playful the way he looked at you. 

his hands were warmer than you would have expected. you could feel the indents of calluses on his fingertips, could feel his thumb moving back and forth on your skin in a calming sort of manner. he didn’t look over at you as he did it, playing it off as second nature. 

“i apologize for not having much time to get to know you, but i have something i need to talk to gojo about. would you mind? it will only take a minute?” he asked, and gojo let go of your hand at the time of his friend's voice. you had to control your urge to roll your eyes, shifting in your seat as you motioned for suguru to talk to your husband, watching as he stood from his seat, leaving with the man as they went somewhere a little more secluded. 

you watched as gojo leaned down to hear whatever it was that suguru was whispering in his ear, pulling back with a frown on his face. he snapped something that only caused suguru to reel back, cast a quick glance at you, and then shake his head in clear annoyance. 

you saw gojo look up, his eyes landing on somebody from across the room, and you followed his stare, only to land on a girl. 

she wore a dark yellow tunic and skirt, colors from a neighboring clan. you hadn’t seen her before, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t known. just one look at the men surrounding her and you could pick up on their lovesick expressions. 

she motioned for gojo to come to her with a bend of her finger, slyly brushing her hair out of her face to make it look as though it was nothing, exiting from the dining area and vanishing into one of the halls. 

you looked down in case either of the men glanced over to see if you were staring. your eyes pierced through the meat on your plate, bile rising up your throat. 

you gave yourself some time, counting up to a minute before you looked back to where suguru and gojo were, finding suguru standing alone. you looked at where the girl was and saw a flash of white hair before it disappeared, your heart sinking as you glanced back at suguru, only to find him looking at you. 

you looked back at your plate, picking up a knife and fork as you stabbed the meat. you couldn’t keep anything down but it’s best to pretend.

---

gojo didn’t return until half an hour later, and you refused to talk to him. 

“did anybody bombast you with questions?” he teased, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. he didn’t seem to pick up on your darkened mood as your fingers dug into your dress. 

“i had a woman ask me if you had disappeared with your mistress, but that was it.” you remarked, silence filling the void between the two of you and you realized that all you had thought of him was crumbling down. 

you didn’t care for your image anymore, giving curt answers to any questions somebody had asked. you could feel his stare on the side of your face but you didn’t humor him in looking over, focusing on your plate instead. 

so what if he was seeing somebody else? you would have been naive to think that he wouldn’t wander. the two of you barely touched each other. 

once all the guests had left over the course of the following days, you did everything you could to steer away from gojo. 

you no longer came down for breakfast or dinner, choosing to eat in your own quarters. if he wanted to have his own secrets, he could do whatever he pleased. 

though you rarely saw suguru after the feast, he did try to talk to you the morning after it took place. he cornered you after you had left from breakfast, his once playful demeanor turned serious as you tried your best to end the conversation. 

“what you saw last night-”

“is none of my business,” you finished, raising your hand as you cut him off, “if gojo has his own private matters to deal with, i’m indifferent to them all.” 

“you know that’s not what it was.” his hand hovered over your arm, careful not to touch you but not wanting you to leave either. 

“i ruined his life, didn’t i?” you tilted your head a bit in questioning. after all, that’s all you could hear from the women who gossiped as they folded the laundry, or behind the hands of the girls who watched you and gojo interact and the mothers who wanted their daughters to be set up with him only sneered at you from across the tables. 

“you…where’d you get that from?” his brows scrunched together in confusion as you scoffed, hoping he couldn’t see the tears welling in the corner of your eyes at the sting of your own words. 

“i can see it on his face. if gojo wants to have his own affairs, he can have them. it’s not like we’re in love. hopefully, i find my own way out so that the two of us look happier and this marriage looks somewhat presentable to the public.” 

you didn’t want to see the look on his face, but you’re sure he reported this all back to gojo because he didn’t look at you once after it. 

you heard from a maid a week later that he was gone for another meeting with a clan, a southern one from what you picked up, and that you should probably go and wish him some luck. 

leading up to the night of his departure you anxiously paced around your room, your feet padding on the floor as your nightgown swished behind you. 

you hadn’t talked to gojo at all that day, and purposefully so. 

it was petty, you know it was, to not want to see him, but a part of you still aches when you look back on that night. at how he didn’t explain where he was even after you asked, at how it was suguru he had sent to fix his dirty work for him. 

“y/n?” a muffled voice came from outside your door. 

your head shot up at the familiar sound, quietly dragging yourself out from your bed as you grabbed the candle, hovering on the other side as you waited for him to say something else. 

“are you awake?” you heard a soft thud from his side, almost as if his head or arm had hit the door. 

you didn’t answer, still, waiting. 

“i’m leaving tomorrow and i wanted to see you before i left.” your heart skipped at his words, careful not to make a sound as you near the door. 

“if you’re sleeping i won’t bother you anymore but if you’re not,” you could hear the old stutter he had coming back, his words meshing together as he tried to regain control, “and you’re choosing to stay quiet, i…” he sighed, his forehead thumping down as he rested it on the door, “i wanted to apologize for the feast. i shouldn’t have left you alone, and if you’d open the door, i would explain why…” he could see the flicker of the candle from underneath the crack, and saw the way it blew away, darkness following suit. 

you walked back to your bed, turning your back to the door as you set the candle down on your table. 

“goodnight,” his voice was quieter than before, and you felt guilty, but pushed the bitter feeling down.

a couple of seconds later you heard him let out a sigh of defeat, his footsteps leading away from your bedroom as you curled into yourself, hoping you would let your heart stop taking control of what your head should be doing. 

---

gojo didn’t return for a while, and you grew more impatient by the day. 

it normally took him and his men a week at maximum, and once two had passed, you felt yourself growing uneasy. 

you tried to act as passive as you could, but even myra could pick up on your growing apprehension. you have never voiced your worries over your husband before, but she knew this wasn’t like any other time. 

when you went to bed, the only thing you could dream about was that night, your brain re-running the images as you tossed and turned. 

“are you alright?” he asked, his hands on your elbows as you could barely speak, your blurry vision impairing your sight. you could only see a mop of white in the darkness, your stomach betraying you as you tried to keep the sick down. 

“i don’t feel too good,” you mumbled, trying to put some distance between the two of you as you pushed him away, only to feel him coming closer as he placed a hand on your forehead and then to your cheeks. 

“you’re burning up,” he muttered under his breath, guiding you gently so that you wouldn’t trip over your feet. 

“i’m sorry, you can go back inside, i don’t want to keep you out here.” you were slurring your words as you tried not to throw up on him. you wiped at your eyes so that you could see him better, only to reel back in utter shock to see the face of your childhood friend frowning down at you. 

your mouth formed in the shape of his name, going to say something else, before you hunched over, feeling his strong hands pat your back and keep the hair out of your face as you felt your world tilt on its axis. 

you ate your dinner at the table, eyeing his empty seat as you tried to shove his last night out of your mind. you shouldn’t feel this way, especially about a man who feels nothing towards you, but your little heart was churning in its confines the more you let yourself think about it.

sitting in the same spot where the feast took place only brought back the venomous taste in your mouth, and so you pretended that you were back home, eating somewhere without the worry of your life weighing you down like a thousand weights on your shoulders. 

myra tried her best to distract you, but she could see the distant look in your eyes, how your voice never seemed too genuine. she began to worry for you, but it seemed like your mind was fixed on one thing. 

until you found yourself pacing around your room, just like you were the night you last heard of him, playing with the ring on your finger as the moon carded through your window. 

“my lady,” you heard myra through the door, her voice shaky and a bit more on edge than usual, “there’s-” but before she could finish it slammed open, revealing the man you’d been biting your nails over, standing in the flesh.

his eyes were a dark blue, squinted as they looked right through you. his chest heaved as he looked like he was trying to catch his breath. you could see the streaks of blood that lined his usually clean clothes, the red that stained his cheeks and jaw. 

he looked feral, and it was throwing you off balance. 

“out.” he snapped at myra, and before you could scold him for his tone she fled, the door shutting roughly behind her. 

the two of you could only stare at each other. you didn’t know what to think after weeks of uselessly worrying over him, not knowing about his well-being, to see him here, in front of you, but looking different than he ever had. 

“are you alright?” 

you could barely get it out, the works sticking on your tongue as you took a tentative step forward, not knowing what to do with his state of being. 

he eyed the blood on his shirt, wiping at his cheeks as if he had forgotten it was there. he didn’t look too dirty, less dirty than one would expect from a five week endeavor through the woods, but he didn’t look too good either. 

“you were awake.” is all he says, his chest still moving up and down as though he couldn’t breathe properly. 

“that night i came by, you were awake. i saw your candle, i heard your footsteps.” he says this as though it’s fighting its way out of his mouth as if it’s all he could think about to tell you. 

“i,” you pretend that you don’t care, shrugging, “i wasn’t up to talk.” 

“you were with suguru.” he snaps, his tone shocking you, and he steps back as if he had shocked himself. he jammed his palms into his eyes, tilting his head upwards before he looked back at you. 

“for five weeks you were all i could think about. i wanted to come back, i wanted to tell you what i felt but we kept running into issues with other tribes and clans.” 

“what could you possibly think about that occupied your mind for five weeks?” you so desperately wanted your voice to come out strong but it sounded weak, as though you were hanging off of his every syllable. 

“you had told suguru that you were going to find your…own way out,” he took a step forward, and here you could see the scratches on his chest, the cuts on his arms, “i was praying to every god there was that you hadn’t found somebody in these past weeks, that you hadn’t…”

you could barely believe his words, not knowing if you should feel offended, shocked, worried, or a mix of all those three. 

“what business would it be to you if i did?” you hate that this was the response you settled on. hurt flashed across his face but he tried to regain his composure. 

“you are my wife-”

“and you are my husband!” you snapped and watched as he was momentarily taken aback by your outburst, but you continued your nose flaring, “you cannot argue with me on this when you left with some girl in the middle of our feast!” you felt all your emotions finally pouring out and you had no control over them, “everybody was talking about it, everybody was looking at me in pity!” your voice cracked, tears poking at your eyes as you pointed an accusatory finger at him. 

gojo looked down, running a hand through his hair as he pointed a finger back. 

“if you had let me explain myself, you would have known that she was trying to do what you thought she was. i left as quickly as i could but you would barely look at me!” you wanted to rip your hair out, cursing yourself for ever feeling any sort of worry for this man. 

“i know that this marriage was the last thing you wanted but at least you could play the part of a husband! you didn’t send a single note, anything to tell us that you were okay, that you were alive!” you heaved, fidgeting with your ring as you wiped at your cheeks, “and you come back here accusing me of adultery? all everybody could talk about was the fact that you were warming somebody else’s bed! they said a meeting never takes this long unless something…somebody else comes up.” your voice wobbles at the end, and you find yourself furiously rubbing your tears away, hiding your sniffing as though that would do anything.  

he paused upon seeing you cry, his face falling as he tried to step forward but you angled yourself away from him, hoping he’d get the hint. 

he wanted to hold you, to tell you that all the rumors you were hearing were false and that the only room he had left in his heart was for you. but he couldn’t blame you for feeling or thinking this way. hell, he was so sure that he’d open the door to find another man comforting you that he didn’t even stop to consider what must have been going through your head all these weeks. 

“one of the clans tried to attack us, and we weren’t ready for it. that is why we took so long.” 

you sniffle again, not caring for his explanation although it did soothe a part of your past self. 

“you could have at least sent a letter telling me what happened,” you fidget with your ring, your thumb running over the diamond, “everybody asked me questions that i should have had answers to, but i had no idea where you were or what you were doing…” he nods, his lips pressed into a thin line as he agreed with you. 

“you're right,” his voice was thick with emotion, the words slurring in his mouth as he found himself anchored in place, not knowing what to do. but you were rambling, your thoughts going on and on and you couldn’t stop yourself. 

“…but i know you don’t like letters, so the least you could have done was send a parchment saying i’m alive or something like that.” you rub at your nose again, feeling like all the weeks of worry we’re coming to a standpoint. 

he looked confused now, if anything, and scratched at his jaw. 

“what do you mean?” 

you scoff at the audacity, rolling your eyes as you feel anger prickle at your skin. 

“you never once responded to any of my letters. in my eyes, that must mean you have some sort-”

“letters? what letters?” 

you glance at him, taking in his shaking form. 

“come on gojo,” you feel embarrassed as he urges you to speak, having to spell it out for him, his eyes pleading with you to continue, “the ones from when you left for training.”

his mouth opens and then closes, looks at the ground and then back up to you as he shakes his head. you could hear your fireplace crackling in the background. the only sounds circling the room were the pops of ember and your breathing. 

“i…” he feels like there’s cotton in his mouth, hoping that you’re lying, “i never got any letters.” 

the fire crackled once again and you could almost hear a pin drop as you shook your head vehemently at his statement. 

“n-no, no you did. i wrote to you every week, i sent one every week for two years and you never responded and my mother said that you must have forgotten about me…” and you trail off, the tears in your eyes stoning as he furiously wipes at his own eyes, and for the first time since you had seen him fall down when he was a kid, you saw his own tears staining his cheeks. 

“nobody gave me your letters. i thought that you,” he takes a deep breath, tongue poking inside his cheek as he tried to control himself, “i thought that you didn’t care for me anymore.” 

you hug your midsection, your emotions running wild at his words. 

“i was under the impression that you hated me.” you admit, and he looks as though you stabbed him through the heart. if only others could see the powerful warrior now, stripped bare to his conscience and all he could think about was you. 

“why…why would you think such a thing?” you two inch closer without knowing it, longing to touch each other, wanting to know that the other was really there and that this wasn’t a figment of your imaginations. 

“gojo, you could barely looked at me that night at the gala and now it seems as though you, well, look at you - you’re flushed!” you’re grasping at straws, motioning towards his face,  twinged with pink as you rub at your nose, “you seem angry whenever i am near-” 

“the only person i am angry at is myself.” gojo whispers, but his voice echoed around the expanse of your skull. 

“yes, i’m aware,” you feel cold despite the fire in the corner, your tone carrying an air of know as you scorn, “i know the last thing you expected by comforting me was a marriage but-” 

“you think i am angry because i married you?” he was moving closer, his hands shaking, his eyes wet. you could see the ring on his finger glow in the dim light of the fireplace, how it shined brighter than any of the night skies, “the only good thing that has happened to me these last few months was being able to introduce myself as your husband. i know that i stripped you bare of any love you may have had for any other man, but call me selfish for feeling glad that i did.” 

you could barely focus on what was happening, his words sinking deep into your skin, going to your bones. 

“i told myself that you had forgotten about me those years i left. when i saw you that night i was so sure you had come with the intention of finding a suitor that i didn’t want to distract you, but then i saw that man come up to you…” and he couldn’t finish, choking on his words as he stuttered, and you saw a glimpse of the boy you had fallen in love with so long ago. 

“and i followed you out. if i knew that simply being alone with you would have gotten me married to you then i would have cornered you in a closet the moment i saw you enter the dining hall.” 

a tear rolls down your chin, splattering on the ground beneath you as you struggle to make sense of what he was saying. it felt as though the months of being married to him were weeks spent pacing around your own rooms, thinking the same worried thoughts, and not having the strength to confront each other about it. 

“you…you don’t hate me?” your voice is timid, almost not believing yourself as the statement tumbled out. gojo had the audacity to laugh a bit, shaking his head as strands of his hair fell into his face. 

“my every waking moment is spent thinking of you. when i was in training, you were all i could dream about, hoping that when i’d come home i could finally have you to myself. 

“you have control over my emotions, my mind, my soul, and i cursed myself for taking away your options for a husband, but the only thing i’ve wanted to do these past few weeks was to hold you in my arms. to tell you just how deeply i yearn for your love back.” 

he wiped at his cheeks, glistening in the faint light. he looked angelic, despite the grime and blood that decorated his clothing. you didn’t want to think about the men he had killed just to come back, to come back to you, and the thought of ever losing him hurt you more than when you spent nights wondering why he never responded to any of your letters. 

you couldn’t stop your feet from leading you toward him, and you could only watch as he met you in the middle, catching you with all his strength, holding you as if you weighed nothing, and it only took a few seconds before your lips collided. 

it was rushed, and messy as you felt his hands holding you as if you carried the weight of the universe. your teeth clashed, your tears staining each other's skin as your hands gripped at his hair, using it for leverage as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, enjoying the whimper that escaped your lips when he nipped at yours. 

it was what years of longing and desperation felt like. how it felt like you two just molded into each other as if your bodies were cut out with the other in mind. you felt like your heart was about to stop beating, and you knew gojo felt the same with the way he’d whine against your lips, wanting you more than you could have ever imagined. 

“we’ve been stupid people, haven’t we?” you whispered as you pulled away, trying to catch your breath as he smiled against you. if only you knew just how much he’d been wanting to kiss you like this, to see your swollen lips as you looked at him from beneath your eyelashes. you were his venus, his only saving grace, and he could only vex himself for ever making you feel anything but love. 

“very, “ he pressed a kiss to the corner of your eyes, “very,” to your nose, “stupid,” his lips were on your cheeks, feeling like he was breathing in new air at the sound of your laughter, “people.” he pressed his lips to yours again, cherishing in the way you whined at the harshness. 

he had spent months convincing himself that you no longer cared for him. weeks of perilous training to only come back to a bed and dream of a girl who didn’t share his emotions when in reality you did. he wants to track down the letters you had sent him, to read every word carefully, as if each sentence carried its own riddle inside of it. he wanted to apologize for never having the honor of experiencing your skilled penmanship, for leading you to believe that he had simply forgotten about you. 

“gojo,” your fingers curl in his tunic, your heat transferring, trying to be rational in such an irrational state of being, “you’re bleeding, i should call for the doctor.” he didn’t stop kissing your face, moving to your jaw as he smiled hearing you shudder. 

“it’s not my blood,” he murmured and you wanted to smack him for how cocky he sounded, “and don’t call me gojo.” he nipped at your lips again. 

“husband?” you found yourself smiling at the title, but he shook his head. you saw how he was trying to hide his own grin. 

“sire?” you tested it out teasingly, hating how it sounded. he seemed to agree with the way he grimaced at the name. 

“my lord?” he wanted to bottle up your laughter forever, knowing he could get drunk off of the sound. his nose nudged up at your jaw, pressing wet kisses wherever he could. 

“hmm, what about my liege?” you're curling a strand of his hair around your fingers letting him settle you down on your vanity as you spread your legs so he could slot between them. 

“my men call me that.” he says, cringing as it falls off your mouth. you pretend to think, not knowing how you were able to live without this banter for as long as you did. 

“satoru?” you felt breathless saying it after so long. but he still didn’t seem to find it satisfactory enough, a pout on his lips as he wanted you to find a better one. 

“close, but only when you’re angry with me.” you tuck that information in the back of your mind for if you ever need to scold him, your cheeks flushed as he interlocks his fingers through yours. 

“‘toru…?” his lips broke into a giddy smile, and you had to control yourself as he swooped back in for a kiss. his eyes were so much softer when he laughed, the kind ones you fell in love with so many nights ago. 

“there it is,” his voice was husky, raw as your fingers gripped at the baby hairs at his nape. he was taking your air away with him and you couldn’t find it in yourself to fight back for it. 

“i forgot how cheeky you can be,” you bite your lip to keep the moans inside, feeling feverish as his tongue ran over his love marks, not knowing what to do yourself as you scrambled to grab onto something to keep you afloat.

“you have no idea how much self-control it’s taken not to ravage you,” his breath is hot on your skin, and he’s tugging at your shirt, fingers slightly brushing upon your breasts, “every night you’d come down for dinner i wanted something different to eat.”

“stoppp,” you mewled, not used to this. he chuckles as his slender fingers work to untie the knot keeping you together, tugging at the string until it falls, revealing your naked chest, heaving as the fabric pooled at your hips. 

you wanted to cover yourself up under his heavy gaze, to take the fabric and hide, but you felt pierced by his stare. his eyes darted to yours as if checking to see if you were okay. when you gave him a timid nod, it seemed as though it prompted him to finally move. 

his fingers were gentle as they ran across your waist, large as they covered the soft of your stomach, eager as they went upwards. he looked like he was crazed and starved, as if you were his last meal and he couldn’t wait for the sweetness death would give. 

your breath stuttered as his fingers found your mounds, rubbing a soothing thumb over your nipples as his pupils grew. he was eager as he flicked them over and over, a cheshire grin growing as they hardened under his touch. 

“you’re perfect,” he murmured, dropping down so he could suckle at your tits, his spit shining in the light of the fire, and you tilted your head back, soft moans escaping as his tongue drew circles around your buds. 

“f-fuck, ‘toru, that’s,” you couldn’t even finish your sentence, his second hand coming to cup your other tit, not wanting to leave her unattended as he sucked and bruised, wanting to forever leave his mark on your untainted skin. 

“good?” he’s so cocky, and you want to smack the smug smirk off his devilishly handsome face. 

his knee is purposefully rubbing against your clothed clit, and you feel yourself subconsciously rubbing yourself against it. you hope that he can’t feel how drenched you are from him just sucking your tits, but he pinches you, pressing his tongue flat against your skin as he looks up through his lashes.

“horny from just me touching you?” he’s teasing you, it’s so painful the way you want, need him like oxygen. you tug on his hair roughly, bringing his spit-soaked lips back to yours as you bite down on his lower one, enjoying the groan you draw out from him. 

“don’t be mean ‘toru,” you taunt, and you feel him melt in your fingers, nodding to your request as he lowers himself down. 

he presses wet kisses down your torso, stopping just above your hips, his fingers hooking along the rim of your underwear, being careful and slow in his movements as he waits for any objections, making sure you’re okay with this. 

but you were in your own world, hitching your leg over his shoulders, drawing him in closer to you, sweat dotting your forehead as he licks a stripe over the cotton on your pussy, smiling to himself at the taste of you. 

you were so sweet, sweeter than any desert he’d indulge himself on. he was sure that once he had a taste of you he’d be able to repent, to go before any god, and to tell them that you were his religion.

he had spent countless nights, tossing and turning in his bed, the only thing putting him to sleep being the idea of coming home to you. running after you that night was him running home to you, regardless of where you were. he was glad he got your hand in marriage, but if he had to, he’d wait another ten years just to hold you in his arms again.

he peels your underwear off, a string of your arousal connecting to it, and he tucks it in his pants, for safekeeping. 

“you’re going to be the death of me.” he says against your heat, his nose rubbing against your clit as your eyes wring shut in pleasure. his hands grip your thighs, making sure you stay in place as he kitten licks around where you need him the most. 

“don’t let…don’t let any of your enemies hear,” your voice comes out in bits, your hand resting on the back of his head as your leg tightens around him, “don’t want them to come after me or something.” 

he snorts, pinching your thighs as if anybody could come within a ten feet radius of you without losing an eye. 

his lips come closer to where you desperately want him, a finger prodding at your tight entrance, his tongue finding your clit as he begins to suck. 

it’s all too much, the sensations far better than your own fingers have ever proved to be. 

his fingers are skilled, long enough that they reach deep within you. he sinks one fully in, your walls clamping around him as he continues sucking your clit, his teeth grazing it every so often, making your head thump against the wall. 

“talk to me, how do you feel?” his mouth discontented from your bud and you whine at the loss. he sinks in another finger to make up for it, but he doesn’t move them, waiting for your response. 

“‘s good,” one of your hands is fisting your discarded robe, trying to hold onto your senses as you desperately nod, “don’t stop ‘toru, please,” and he obliges, loving the sounds of your begging, but loving the sound of your pleasures more. 

his fingers stretch you open and you welcome the sting, your nails digging into him as you long for more. 

he switches his mouth with his hand every now and then, his tongue taking the place of his fingers as it licks at you, groaning at your taste as he eats you out with his entire being, his chin shining with your essence and his spit as his thumb rubs furiously at your clit. 

“mmhhh, just like that, fuck!” you’ve never heard your voice at this pitch, never knew it was possible to feel this way. his other hand reaches up to flick at your nipple, the extra sensation making white dot around your vision. 

you feel yourself getting closer to the sweet release, feel your wall clamp around him even tighter as that knot in your stomach builds to a crescendo. 

“come on, let go f’me, know you want to, know you can.” he spurs you on, his fingers unrelenting as they piston in and out of you, reaching that gummy spot that makes you go dumb.

“fuck, ‘toru, m’gonna, m’gonna come!” you cry out and you’re sure anybody walking past you could hear the debauchery. your thighs were starting to shake and you felt it all go black as you reached your high, your orgasm washing over you unlike anything you’ve ever felt. 

you creamed around his fingers, gushing around him as you wailed out, tears dotting your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure you were feeling. you squeezed around him, wanting to never lose what this felt like, trying to catch your breath as his mouth never stopped sucking at your nub before he was sure your climax was over. 

when he finally pulled away the only thing that could be heard was the two of you, trying to come back down as stupid smiles made their way onto each of your faces. 

he was boyishly charming as he stood in front of you, licking yourself off of his fingers as he grinned at the taste. you couldn’t be bothered to be embarrassed after having him just between your legs, but you still felt a heat blossom in your chest. 

“so…” you awkwardly start, sweat dripping down your face from just how hot the room had suddenly gotten as you avert your gaze, “what now?” 

he shrugged nonchalantly, despite the fact that his heart was about to beat it’s way out of his chest. you let him pick you off of the vanity and tucked you safely away into his chest as he led you to your bed, gently setting you down in your mountain of pillows and blankets as you felt sleep etch away at you. 

“i’m going to clean you up,” he pressed a kiss to your hair, smiling at the way you giddy smiled at whatever he did, a dopey grin on your face as your hand searched for his, interlocking you fingers with his as if you didn’t want to watch him go, “if you let me.” 

you yawn, your head tilting as he sat down at the edge of your bed, still not letting go of your hand as your fingers run through the soft pelts beneath you. 

“and what about you?” your chin points the obvious hard-on growing in his pants. he looks down as if suddenly realizing, and he plays it off by looking back up to you with a wink. you felt your mouth going dry at the size of it, not knowing if you could even be able to take something as big as that. 

“for another day,” he promises, and you’re sure he’s not going to forget it. not like you want him to.

“and then?” 

your question lingers in the air. you don’t want to wake up to him acting like this never happened, as if your feelings were only a figment of your wildest dreams. but his eyes hold onto yours, never letting go as he brushes some strays away from your face. 

“and then i get a bigger bed for my room because there’s no way i’m letting you sleep here alone after this.” his thumb runs along the palm of your hand, his fingers tracing patterns into the soft of your legs. 

“and then?” 

“and then you tell me all the things i missed out on when i was gone. i’ll tell you about the time suguru shaved my head, and you’ll tell me about anything on your mind.” 

“what if i run out of things to say?” sleep is overtaking your voice, and you’re already nodding off, not even truly knowing what you were asking. 

“then i’ll make up stories so that you’re not bored.” he finds a clean towel, soaking it in water from a nearby pitcher as he drags it slowly across your body, as if your fragile and made of porcelain. 

“how do i know you’re not a dream? you might just be,” you yawn, rubbing at your eyes as your finger traces his ring, “you might just be my own mind tricking me.” your eyes are shutting, but the teasing smile on your face never leaves. 

“because a dream wouldn’t hide under a table with you if you asked.” he whispers, kissing your lips with a soft peck as he pulls the blanket over you, letting you sleep into a slumber as he crawls in next to you, holding you to his chest just as he did that night, just as he will every night from now on, and just as he longed for those nights he wished you next to him.

[superiorsturgeon]

out of curiosity, why do you like sturgeons so much?

A chance to info dump about my favorite fish…?!

I grew up in the Great Lakes area of North America, where fishing is pretty popular but everyone knows that fish populations aren’t anything like “the good old days” when people took out huge numbers of fish while messing up their spawning sites. I got pretty into fishing when I found out that I could catch bluegill in the surrounding farm ponds, and once in a while my family took me to an isolated fishing cabin for vacation, but for years I never encountered a wild fish bigger than a kilogram or two.

BUT THEN…

I found out about sturgeon! They were HUGE fish that had once lived in the rivers and lakes all around my home, and better yet, fish almost exactly like modern sturgeon had existed all the way back in the Cretaceous period alongside the dinosaurs, and they STILL EXIST TODAY!!! The fact that small numbers of these huge dinosaur fish still existed made them seem almost like a real-life lake monster/cryptid, except that we had proof of their existence!

Furthermore, there’s just nothing else like them. Sturgeon get big. Like, REALLY big. The record for the largest sturgeon was almost 11 meters/24 feet long, which is colossal for freshwater animals. They have armor plates of bone running down their sides, and at the same time they don’t have bony skeletons. They also have a crazy mouth structure, which allows them to actually pop their jaws out like a tube and suck up food. And on top of all of this, the adults are absolute tanks. I’ve seen skin nearly 8mm thick, and it’s so tough that people make leather out of it, and they occasionally lose fins or even entire gill plates and just keep on swimming! (I found out about that last one when I tried to wrestle a big female out of a river and my hand went straight into her gills. She didn’t seem that bothered by it!)

For a long time I filed sturgeon along with Alligator Gar, Giant Mekong catfish, and Yangtze paddlefish as a semi-legendary fish that may still exist, but I was never going to see except possibly in an aquarium, until I enrolled in graduate school. For those unfamiliar with grad school in the US, it typically involves both high-level classes as well as an independent research project the student designs and carries out with help from an experienced professor. When my mentor asked what kind of thing I wanted to study, I tossed out “sturgeon” as one such possibility, expecting to hear that I would probably have to limit myself to more common/accessible species.

I was blown away when she said “Actually, I think I know a guy…”

For the next several years, I got to ride along collecting wild adult sturgeon, gathering eggs, and raising the baby fish in a lab and in a hatchery. I was holding something that I had thought of as a semi-mythical lake/river monster in my own hands! I got to see a river choked with giants as big as 2 meters long, and I got to hold a 5-centimeters mottled baby whose armored scutes were still sharp and possessed the little arrowhead shape and big black pectoral fins that remind me of Mickey Mouse ears! In the video below you can even see a little heartbeat! (Don’t worry, this little guy was returned to the tank soon after to recover from his anesthesia!)

Sadly, I didn’t find anything super groundbreaking in my research, but my experience DID land me a job working in sturgeon aquaculture! If you’ve ever had caviar that wasn’t poached, it probably came from a sturgeon farm, and if you want to see a lot of big fish up close, this is a good place to do it! I probably personally handled more individual sturgeon than there are wild fish in several sturgeon species. In addition, while the wild broodstock I mentioned above might reach 2 meters and over 50kg, the sturgeon I dealt with at the farm would easily double that, and there were a LOT of them! I got to see sturgeon behavior that had never been recorded in field guides, and even a few crazy one-in-a-million mutations like the infamous “ghost” sturgeon!

I even got the opportunity to cook my own sturgeon meat (Yeah, I basically turned into the Touden siblings from Dungeon Meshi except for sturgeon instead of RPG monsters). I got pretty good at making smoked sturgeon, but the meat is also good on the grill or baked, and people have been cooking them in various ways for centuries.

My favorite part of the job was physically wrestling the big fish! Sturgeon are easier to grab than other fish with the right know-how, but a human-sized fish often has its own plans for the day and won’t always cooperate. I was pretty good at moving the adults by the time I left that job, but it was still a wild rodeo every time!

Even more exciting was how we spawned each new generation of sturgeon. In the wild, they form massive spawning runs in big rivers that in the past would be enough to tip small boats, but in a lab or farm we have to use other means. I’ll spare you the details, but I am one of a small number of people who have surgically extracted eggs from a live sturgeon and sutured them back up to swim another day.

The tldr of this essay is that sturgeon are a big, crazy-unique fish that have been around a long time, and I’ve spent a lot of my career handling and working with them. There’s just nothing like them for a fish nerd and they’re damn cool!

(Clip art not mine, I think @sturgeonposting drew or shared it!)

[gf2bellamy]

drunk — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: spencer is drunk and is spilling things about your relationship content warnings: established relationship, drunk spencer, the team mocking them a/n: i've never had a sip of alcohol so if i made any mistake i'm very sorry honestly i just went of what i've seen in tv shows, movies and books

The neon glow of the bar cast a warm haze over the room as you sat nestled in the corner booth, sipping your soda.

The ice clinked softly against the glass as you absentmindedly swirled the straw, half-listening to Garcia and Emily’s gossip.

Their conversation faded into the background, however, as your attention drifted elsewhere—specifically, to the two men across the room. 

Spencer Reid, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, was talking at a rapid pace, gesturing wildly with his hands as Derek Morgan grinned at him, clearly entertained. Your brows furrowed as Derek slid another drink into Spencer’s hands. 

You sighed, not bothering to hide your disapproval. 

“What’s up with you?” Emily asked, her head tilting slightly as she sipped from her drink. 

“That.” You nodded toward the scene unfolding across the room. 

Emily followed your gaze just in time to see Spencer take another eager gulp of whatever Derek had handed him. A second later, Derek’s mouth dropped open before he burst into laughter, clapping Spencer on the back like a proud older brother. 

“Yeah… Morgan’s having way too much fun with drunk Spencer,” you muttered, narrowing your eyes at them. 

Spencer, completely unaware of your scrutiny, continued rambling, his hands moving faster than his words. Meanwhile, Derek's smile just grew bigger and bigger.

Garcia snorted. “Oh, come on, it’s adorable.” 

You weren’t sure if you’d call it adorable. More like mildly concerning. Because if history had taught you anything, drunk Spencer Reid was unpredictable—and God help anyone who had to deal with him when the alcohol finally hit its peak. 

And from the looks of it, the moment was about to happen or based on Derek's grin , has happened already.

“What is he doing?” you mumbled, eyes narrowing as you watched the two of them. You had a bad feeling about this. 

Garcia glanced at you with a smirk. “Sweetheart, we are at a bar. That’s what people do. You know… drink?” She gestured pointedly at your own glass. 

You scoffed, lifting your soda in mock acknowledgment. “Yeah, well, some of us have to drive,” you muttered before taking another sip. 

Before Garcia could quip back, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. Derek had turned toward you, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face.

Oh no. 

Your stomach dropped. “Oh god,” you muttered. 

Oblivious to what was happening around him, Spencer continued rambling, hands flailing dramatically.

You watched, unamused, as Derek made his way over to you, his smirk growing wider with every step.

Trailing beside him, Spencer was entirely oblivious. He barely paid attention to where he was walking, nearly stumbling into Derek at one point, but that didn’t stop him. 

When they finally reached your booth, Derek didn’t even bother with pleasantries. Instead, he kept his gaze locked on you, his grin downright devious. 

“You don’t say?” he mused, clearly continuing whatever conversation Spencer had been having—though it was obvious his real focus was on you. 

Spencer finally seemed to register where he was, his hazy eyes flickering to you. He blinked, as if surprised to see you there. 

“Hi,” he said, his voice slightly softer than before. 

Before you could respond, he slid into the booth beside you—well, more like half on top of you. He scooted in so close that his thigh was practically draped over yours. 

You stared at him. “Hi.” 

He grinned, leaning in ever so slightly, the scent of alcohol and something distinctly Spencer clinging to him. His eyes, glassy but bright, studied your face with open admiration, like he was seeing you for the first time all over again. 

His curls were a mess, strands falling over his face, making him look even more disheveled than usual. You reached up instinctively, tucking a stray lock behind his ear, but he barely seemed to notice. 

“Seems like you’re having fun,” you murmured, shifting your gaze to Derek, who was watching the interaction with barely contained amusement. 

Derek simply shrugged. “Guess so.” 

You turned back to Spencer, who was still staring at you—completely dazed, his hazel eyes glassy and unfocused, like you were the most fascinating thing in the room. 

With a chuckle, Derek turned his attention to Garcia and Emily, leaving you to deal with your very drunk boyfriend. 

“You okay?” you asked softly, tilting your head as you brushed more of his hair out of his face. 

Spencer hummed in response, his eyes fluttering shut for a second before he blinked them open again. “Mhm.” 

You let your fingers linger in his curls, absentmindedly threading through them, and Spencer melted under your touch. 

“What were you telling Derek back there?” you asked, keeping your voice gentle, watching as his eyelids drooped slightly. 

He mumbled something incoherent before finally managing, “M’don’t remember.” 

Before you could press further, he sighed contently and let his head drop onto your shoulder, his body going slack against yours. 

Your hand was still tangled in his hair and you felt his breath fan against your neck as he let out another sleepy hum. 

Now Garcia and Emily were both staring at you, matching grins on their faces. You frowned. 

“What?” you asked warily. 

Emily’s smile widened. “Oh, nothing. It’s just… Spencer had a lot to say about you.” 

On cue, Spencer lifted his head from your shoulder at the sound of his name, his movements slow and a little clumsy. You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. 

His brows furrowed in concentration, as if trying to grasp onto a fleeting thought. “I remember now,” he said, dragging out the words, squeezing his eyes shut like that might help jog his memory. “I think.” 

You waited, not sure if you wanted to hear whatever was about to come out of his mouth. 

“I told them… about how much you like touching my hair,” he finally said, his voice a little too loud, like he was completely unaware of the fact that everyone was now hanging onto his every word. 

Your mouth fell open. “What?” 

You whipped your head toward Emily, Garcia, and Derek—who were all watching you with knowing smirks, looking way too amused for your liking. 

“Oh, and I told them about how you—” he paused, blinking a few times, “—always trace patterns on my back when you think I’m asleep.” 

Your face burned. 

Spencer, oblivious to your horror, continued, his voice dreamy and soft. “And how you always steal my cardigans, even though you claim they drown you and make you look ridiculous. But I know you secretly love wearing them.”

Derek let out a full laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, this is gold.” 

Garcia sighed dramatically, clutching her chest. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.” 

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Spencer, why—” 

He leaned in even closer, his lips nearly brushing your ear as he whispered—though it wasn’t much of a whisper at all, given his current state—“And I told them that you—” 

You slapped a hand over his mouth before he could say anything else. 

Spencer blinked at you, wide-eyed, and you felt his lips curl into a grin against your palm. 

“Okay, Spence, I need you to stop talking now,” you said firmly, your hand still covering his mouth. 

Spencer blinked at you, his hazel eyes glassy with amusement. Slowly , hesitantly , you removed your hand, watching him like he was a ticking time bomb. 

Then you turned to your friends. 

“Don’t,” you warned, narrowing your eyes as Derek parted his lips, no doubt ready to deliver some smart remark. 

Derek smirked. “But—” 

“Don’t say anything,” you groaned, already exhausted, cutting him off with a pointed look. 

Emily took a slow, deliberate sip of her drink, her expression entirely unreadable as she observed the chaos unfolding in front of her. 

Penelope, however, was a different story. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” she cooed, placing a hand over her heart as she looked between you and Spencer like you were her new favorite romance novel come to life. “This is adorable. I mean, we knew you were soft for our resident genius, but this?” She gestured at Spencer, who was still pressed against you, his head once again finding its way to your shoulder. “This is next-level domesticity.” 

You sighed, “I am never letting him drink around you guys again.” 

Spencer hummed sleepily against your shoulder. “M’not even that drunk.” 

Derek let out a loud laugh. “Oh, you so are.” 

Spencer attempted to lift his head in protest but gave up halfway and settled deeper into your side. “M’just happy,” he mumbled, and if your heart didn’t squeeze at that, you’d be lying. 

Emily set down her drink, eyes glinting with mischief. “So, what else does our drunk genius have to say about you?” 

You shot her a glare. “Emily.” 

Spencer, on the other hand, perked up slightly, as if the question had unlocked another memory. 

“Oh!” he said suddenly, lifting his head, a dreamy smile spreading across his face. “I also told Derek about how you always fall asleep on my chest when we watch movies, even though you swear you never fall asleep during movies.” 

Derek actually clapped at that one. “Man, you are so whipped.” 

You buried your face in your hands as Garcia gasped dramatically, reaching for Emily’s arm like she might faint. “They’re so disgustingly cute! .” 

Spencer, now clearly on a roll, turned his dopey, love-struck gaze back to you. “And I told them—” 

You groaned. “Spencer!” 

He grinned, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “Love you,” he mumbled sleepily. 

You patted Spencer’s thigh three times—a silent I love you, too, acting as if you weren't melting completely on the inside. You weren’t about to give your friends any more teasing material. 

“We’re going home,” you announced, realizing how sleepy Spencer was getting. 

Derek groaned dramatically. “Oh, come on. We wanna hear more.” His grin was absolutely wicked. 

At that, Spencer lifted his head slightly, as if he was about to continue his drunken confessions. 

You shot him a look—a playful but very clear don’t even think about it kind of look. “Spence.” 

His lips parted like he was going to argue, but instead, he let out a soft hum and dropped his head back onto your shoulder, completely surrendering. 

Derek laughed. "Man, he's totally wrapped around your finger."

You ignored him, instead rubbing soothing circles into Spencer’s back. His eyes fluttered closed, and he was half-asleep, his weight pressing into you completely. 

“One word about this at work,” you warned, shifting your gaze between the three of them, “and I’m never talking to you guys again.” 

Emily smirked over the rim of her glass. “Oh, sure. No words at work. Can’t promise about the PowerPoint presentation Garcia is definitely going to make, though.” 

Garcia gasped, scandalized. “Emily, you know me so well.” 

You groaned. “I hate all of you.” Derek chuckled, waving you off. “Nah, you love us.” 

Spencer hummed sleepily. “Mhm. Love them.” 

You sighed, adjusting him slightly. “Yeah, yeah. Let’s get you home, Dr. Love-Confessions.” 

“Okay, come on,” you sighed, scooting Spencer out of the booth. He stood—well, wobbled—barely managing to keep himself upright. 

You steadied him with a hand on his arm as he instinctively laced his fingers through yours, clearly unwilling to let go. His drunken state had made him extra clingy, but you weren’t exactly complaining. 

Turning back to your friends, you gave them a pointed look. “I’ll see you all at work,” you said, voice laced with warning. “Where we’re only going to have professional conversations. Got it?” 

Emily smirked, raising her glass in mock agreement. “Oh, sure. Definitely professional.” 

Garcia let out a dramatic sigh. “No gossip whatsoever,” she said, not even trying to sound convincing. 

Derek just grinned, shaking his head. “Yeah, good luck with that.” 

Meanwhile, Spencer was barely paying attention to any of this. His eyes had glazed over, staring blankly into the distance as if lost in thought—or maybe just lost in general. 

You exhaled, already exhausted and thinking of calling in sick. 

“You,” you said, pointing a finger at Derek, “you get to pay for both our drinks.” 

Derek’s eyebrows shot up, realization dawning on him. “Whoa, hold up—” 

“Nope,” you cut him off immediately, shaking your head. “Not happening. You let him get like this, you pay for it.” 

Derek let out a laugh, looking at Spencer, who was still in his own little world. “Man, I didn’t force him to drink.” 

You shrugged. “Don’t care. Enjoy the bill.” You tugged Spencer’s hand, leading him toward the exit. 

“Bye,” he mumbled sleepily, barely loud enough to be heard. His steps were slow, and his body felt heavier against yours.

You pushed open the door with your free hand, the cool night air rushing past you. Spencer let out a quiet sigh at the change in temperature, his grip on your hand tightening just a little.

Without thinking, you started tracing slow, comforting circles with your thumb over his skin. 

Spencer hummed softly, leaning into you as you walked toward the car. “Feels nice,” he mumbled. 

You glanced at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah?” 

“Mhm,” he nodded lazily, his curls falling into his face again. “You always do that.” 

“I guess I do,” you smiled softly at your boyfriend, your heart warm as he squeezed your hand tighter. 

Spencer didn’t seem to notice how tightly he was holding onto you as you arrived next to your car. But when you tried to pull your hand out of his grasp, he made a small noise of protest, a soft whimper that almost made you stop in your tracks. 

“Spence,” you said gently, “I need to look for my keys.” 

His hand reluctantly loosened, but his gaze never left you. You opened your bag, rummaging through the contents, your eyes scanning for the keys. 

“You usually keep them in your front pocket,” Spencer mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You froze, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, right.” 

Without missing a beat, you reached into your front pocket, feeling the familiar jingle of your keys. “Thanks, Spence,” you murmured, more to yourself than him, as you unlocked the car. 

You quickly moved to open the passenger door, holding it wide. “Okay, come on. Sit down.” 

Spencer gave you a sleepy, lazy look but you gently tugged him towards the car, your touch soft yet insistent. His steps were slow, and as he started to get into the car, you reached up to guide his head down so he wouldn’t hit it on the top of the doorframe. 

“Head down,” you instructed, your voice a little more authoritative than usual, though the affection in your tone made it clear you were only looking out for him. 

Spencer let out a soft, obedient hum as he finally slumped into the passenger seat. His body collapsed back into the seat like a ragdoll, eyes heavy. 

“Good,” you said, closing the door behind him, watching as he settled into the seat, already half-asleep. 

As you slid into the driver's seat and closed the door behind you, you glanced over at Spencer. His head was resting against the seat, eyes shut, his expression soft and peaceful. You couldn’t help but feel a little bad for disturbing his rest. 

“Do you want to go to your apartment?” you asked quietly, glancing at him as you started the car. 

Spencer’s voice was barely above a whisper when he replied, “I wanna stay with you.” 

You paused, looking at him—his face relaxed, eyes still closed as if he were half in a dream. Your fingers itched to reach out, and you gently brushed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. He hummed contentedly at the contact, leaning into your touch without even realizing it. 

You smiled softly, your heart melting at how utterly endearing he was. “Okay. We’ll go to my apartment, then.” 

You drove in silence for a few minutes, just listening to the soft hum of the engine and Spencer’s breathing. It wasn’t long before you arrived, and as you parked in your spot, you glanced over at him.

He hadn’t moved, still in the same sleepy position, his head leaning against the seat. 

“Spence,” you said gently, turning off the car. “We’re here.” 

All he did was hum in response, barely acknowledging you. 

You sighed softly, knowing this was going to take a little effort. Stepping out of the car, you closed your door quietly before making your way to the passenger side. 

When you opened the door, Spencer was practically asleep, his head resting against the seat, lips slightly parted. He looked so peaceful, you almost felt bad for waking him. 

“Spence,” you muttered, reaching out to touch his shoulder lightly. He didn’t budge. 

You frowned, leaning in slightly—careful not to hit your head on the car frame—as you gave his shoulder a firmer shake. Still nothing. 

“Spencer,” you said a little louder, this time with a touch of amusement in your voice. 

Finally, he stirred, cracking one eye open lazily. 

“Hi,” you greeted with a soft smile, watching as he blinked sluggishly. 

He let out a slow breath, rubbing his face with one hand. “We’re here?” he mumbled, voice thick with exhaustion. 

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “Come on, let’s get you inside.” 

Spencer groaned lightly, shifting in his seat as if even the thought of moving was too much effort. 

You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “I’ll help you, but you have to stand up, Spence.” 

With a deep sigh, he finally nodded and let you pull him to his feet. He swayed slightly, and you immediately steadied him, wrapping an arm around his waist. 

“Whoa there, genius,” you murmured, adjusting your grip. “Let’s not face-plant in the parking lot.” 

Spencer huffed out a sleepy chuckle, leaning into you more than he probably realized. “You’re warm,” he muttered. 

You rolled your eyes, but your smile never faded. “Yeah, well, let’s get you inside where it’s actually warm, okay?” 

“Okay,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper as you guided him inside the building. He leaned into you slightly, his steps slow and heavy. 

As you waited in front of the elevator, the only sound was the distant hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional ding from the floors above. You tapped your foot lightly against the tile, watching the numbers slowly descend. 

Then, out of nowhere, Spencer spoke again, his voice soft but certain. 

“I like you a lot, you know that?” 

You turned to look at him, surprised by the sudden confession, but the sincerity in his hazel eyes made your heart melt. His gaze was a little unfocused, heavy with sleep and alcohol, but the emotion behind his words was crystal clear. 

“I know, Spence,” you said, smiling warmly as you reached up and brushed his curls away from his face again. It was something so simple, yet something you always found yourself doing.

He leaned into your touch instinctively, his body seeking out your warmth. 

The elevator doors finally slid open with a ding, and you gently tugged his hand to lead him inside. As soon as the doors shut, Spencer sighed and rested his head on your shoulder, his body completely relaxed against yours. 

“You smell nice,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your jacket. 

You let out a soft laugh, wrapping an arm around him for support. “Thanks, Spence. You smell like alcohol and bad decisions.” 

He chuckled sleepily, barely lifting his head. “Bad decisions? No, no. Liking you is the best decision.” 

Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you just stared at him, warmth spreading through your chest. Even drunk and barely coherent, Spencer Reid somehow managed to be the sweetest person alive. 

The elevator doors opened, and you shook your head fondly, guiding him toward your apartment. “Come on, Casanova. Let’s get you to bed before you pass out in the hallway.” 

Spencer let out a hum of agreement, still clinging onto your hand like he never wanted to let go. 

You let go of him just long enough to unlock the door, pushing it open before guiding him inside. As soon as you shut it behind you, Spencer immediately reached for you again, clinging onto you like he had no intention of letting go. 

You sighed fondly, helping him shrug off his jacket while he clumsily toed off his shoes.

“Okay, Spencer, just a couple more steps,” you encouraged, wrapping an arm around his waist as you led him toward your bedroom. 

When you reached the bed, he sat down heavily, sighing as his body sunk into the mattress. His eyes scanned the room, though they were hazy with sleep. “I like your room,” he mumbled, as if just realizing where he was. 

You smiled softly, watching as he flopped back against the pillows, his head sinking into the plush fabric. 

“Me too,” you murmured, standing by the edge of the bed as you watched him. 

Spencer’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment, but then, with a small, sleepy smile, he peeked up at you again. 

“You know… I think my favorite thing about your room is that you live in it,” he said, his voice thick with exhaustion but filled with sincerity. 

Your heart swelled at the unexpected sweetness of his words. 

You shook your head with a soft laugh, brushing his curls out of his face once more. “You’re such a sap when you’re drunk, Spence.” 

His smile grew just a little. “M’not drunk,” he mumbled, already halfway to sleep. “Just in love.” 

You felt warmth spread through your chest as you pulled the blanket over him, watching as he relaxed further into the bed. 

“Go to sleep, Spencer,” you whispered, but the smile on your lips never faded.