#and if we turn on all the lights it helps make the flashing light less bad

[marinettesaltprompts]

The Perfect Partner (Part 3)

Prompt by @ironicreality

The expressions on Ladybug and Ryuko’s faces was worth every second he’d spent in the all-too-tight suit.

“Cat!?” Ladybug stumbled on her landing as she stared at the struggling butterfly he kept tightly trapped in one hand. “You got the Akuma- *already*?”

‘Without me!?’ went unsaid, but Cat Walker could practically feel Ladybug’s sense of reality breaking down.

“I found an opening.” Rubbing it in would be pointlessly petty and they were there to do a job, not play for points; “ready when you are.”

He held out his hand and Ladybug recovered enough to call for a Lucky Charm- an umbrella of all things- and promptly ready her yo-yo. One purification and a Miraculous Cure later, and there was no sign that Stormy Weather had ever been a threat.

“You dealt with that threat quickly,” Ryuko spoke first.

“She let her guard down,” Cat Walker calmly walked over to his dropped baton and snapped it into its compact form.

“The Akuma can multiply,” Ladybug finally regained her senses, and blurted out her critique;“If it’s left too long on its own, the Akuma can make hundreds- *thousands* of copies of itself.” Ladybug told him. “You *shouldn’t* have broken the Akumatized object before I was here.”

Well that *would* explain why no one else on her team ever tried to break the Akumatised object without her. Though from the curious look Ryuko let slip towards her leader it was news to her too.

Either way, there was nothing to be gained from point scoring;

“I understand, my apologies Ladybug.” Cat Walker calmly conceded. “I was only trying to prevent further chaos-.”

“That’s why you were here!” Ladybug sharply insisted. “To *distract* Stormy Weather until we arrived so she wouldn’t harm civilians!”

The former Akuma victim herself was still there, and turned red with embarrassment.

Ladybug instantly went pale and apologetic as she swiftly turned to the victim;

“Oh- ah, not that it’s your fault or anything!” She assured her with a wide smile. She swiftly stepped closer to Cat Walker, “I’m just grilling the team rookie on a few pointers!”

She turned to him with a far less cheerful expression. “*And there’s a lot to go over*.”

Cat Walker felt a flash of annoyance, but pushed it aside. He had places to be anyway and again; there was nothing to be gained from a petty public spat with Ladybug. “I agree, but with the attack over it might be best to table that for later. It’s the middle of the day and I’m sure we all have lives to return to.”

Ryuko was staring at him with some surprise like she expected some protest. Ladybug’s eyes narrowed for a moment before she turned on her heel to put her back to him;

“Sorry for calling you out Ryuko. We’ll talk more later.”

“That’s okay Ladybug, I’m always ready to help when I can.” Ryuko nodded to Ladybug and jumped away. Within seconds she had vanished over the Paris skyline, and with a cold look to prompt him Cat Walker quickly made his own way back to his home.

Ladybug of course was quick behind him and landed in his room just seconds after him.

“Okay let’s get something straight.” Ladybug put her hands on her hips. “Handling the Akumas is *my* job, not anyone else’s. All *you* needed to do was keep Stormy Weather busy for a bit- was that too much to ask for?”

Cat Walker bit back a sharp response and composed himself with arms held behind his back. “I was not aware of the Akuma multiplication, and was a novice fighting alone against what I understand is a *very* dangerous Akuma victim. I apologise for taking matters into my own hands, but there was a genuine risk that I would be neutralised before you returned and this Miraculous would have been lost-”

“You don’t need to worry about that anymore.” Ladybug pointedly held out her hand.

Cat Walker gladly pulled the ring from his finger- and Adrien let loose a gasp of relief as the suit peeled away in magic light.

Again there was that little black cat-thing for a second, but Ladybug practically snatched the ring out of his hand and snapped the box closed before it could say anything. Immediately she turned and zipped out the room without another word.

“… Whatever,” Adrien rolled his eyes, then stumbled as his shoes slipped. “Hey- oh *real mature*.”

Mysteriously enough, the water she’d tracked in from before had remained despite the Miraculous Cure.

Oh well. If nothing else good happened that day; Adrien was pretty sure that it would be the last time Ladybug pulled him into playing bait.

—

It happened again, this time after one of Adrien’s fencing classes.

Her was kind of bored really. Kagami had had to go with her Mom to a trip home in Japan, so he was stuck with opponents who couldn’t really stand a hope against him. He was pretty sure it was arrogant to think so, but Adrien’s many medals kind of proved that he was in another league compared to anyone in his school (most of the country in fact, if his records were true).

Whatever else he could say about Gabriel Agreste, the man had raised him to be damn good at sports (or at least paid other people to do so).

Anyway when the Akuma alert rang out, he wasn’t that bothered. That changed a bit when he was marching to the shelter with the other students though, as the others kept babbling about the heroes and Shadowmoth’s minions like it was a spectator sport;

“… Nekomata’s not been out much lately even though Butterfly man’s really been at it.”

“Think she quit?”

“Maybe, but wasn’t Ladybug already using a bunch of different cats? Could be it’s just not her turn or something.”

“Yeah but Neko’s the best of them by far…”

Adrien resisted the urge to groan. It didn’t pay to let people know you weren’t in on the whole ‘Ladybug craze’. But he couldn’t help but absorb information by osmosis anyway.

Nekomata was the name of the most capable Cat Hero since Chat Noir had retired. But she wasn’t seen that often, instead Ladybug had a bunch of others who she switched in and out with the ring on the regular.

There were theories that she was using her other heroes to hold the ring, since certain cat heroes and other regular heroes were never seen in the same battle-

“… What about that other one, the guy with a ponytail?”

“Yeah I heard he was pretty good. Kicked Stormy Weather’s butt all on his own-”

“Yeah but apparently he screwed up so-”

Whatever his fellow fencers might have thought about Adrien’s alter-ego was lost to time as a high pitched squeal ripped through the building;

“Oh Adrien~~” the squeak turned into a sing-song parody of an alluring voice. “I know you’re in here~~.”

Adrien felt the collective turn their ire against him like he’d called the Akuma to their very school, and he knew in his bones if he didn’t leave of his own volition he’d be thrown to the Akuma as tribute.

“Hunh, fangirl Akuma from the sounds of it,” Adrien chuckled with barely hidden nerves, “I should probably leave before they come here looking-”

“THANKSADRIENYOU’REABRAVEMAN!” There was a garble of shouting voices as they ‘gently’ pushed him out of the designated shelter room and locked the door behind them.

“… You could have at least pretended to object,” Adrien sighed.

Still though, he *did* need to get moving if he didn’t want the Akuma to find him and turn him into a living bodypillow or something even worse.

(Out of curiosity he’d once taken a look at some of the mail his fans sent in before his father’s assistant curated it. *Never again*.)

Fortunately for him, this Akuma was relatively easy to evade once he managed a stealthy look at it. Deranged super-powered cosplayer of some sort from her appearance. And unlike Stormy Weather, her feet were firmly planted on the ground as she marched towards the school entrance.

The solution to escaping (literally) unmolested was a simple one then; when Adrien had first come home he’d found one of his room walls covered with a climbing wall that to his surprise he’d been able to scale with inhuman agility from muscle memory alone. And now in the present that muscle-memory served him well as he slipped away from the school, turned the corner and easily scaled one of the buildings nearby.

The handholds were few and far between, but his body handled them with an ease that still surprised him, and within a minute he was resting on a rooftop facing away from the school: safe from any empowered fangirls who might have designs on him.

For five minutes.

Adrien had closed his eyes and leaned back against the roof tiles to try and get some rest (not easy against said roof-tiles and the screaming coming from his school but what else could he do?) when an annoying familiar *zip* caught his attention. He opened his eyelids to find Ladybug suddenly standing above him on the apex point of the roof, well and truly visible for anyone to see.

Adrien stared at her as she stared down at him.

There was another scream from the school as the Akuma probably did something awful.

Ladybug kept staring at him.

Adrien decided to be a good boy and help the hero so she would leave sooner; “the Akuma’s in the school.” He jammed a thumb over his shoulder.

“Yeah, *I know*.”Ladybug apparently wasn’t deaf, because she responded. There was an amused look in her eyes. “She really wants Adrien Agretse-”

“So I’ve heard,” Adrien cut her off with a shudder. “Why do you think I’m hiding here where she can’t get at me?”

“LADYBUG!” The Akuma’s screeched suddenly confirmed that she’d spotted the hero standing in bright red and black polka-dots against the Paris skyline. “GIVE ME YOUR MIRACULOUS SO I CAN KEEP ADRIEN SAFE!”

“You should get going before she comes here.” Adrien politely but pointedly motioned for her to leave.

A nasty smirk appeared on the heroine’s face though and Ladybug folded her arms and rested back on her heels. Clearly not intending to move even as the Akuma’s voice started getting closer.

“*Now* would be good.” Adrien helpfully pointed out.

“Sorry Adrien,” Ladybug ‘sighed’. “This Akuma’s a tricky one. Any time we get close she mind-controls us into Adrien fanatics We need someone to distract her, to keep her *occupied*-”

“Adrein~~~!” The Akuma was very, very close now. “I can *smell you*~~~”

“-Sorry, but we’re going to need you to keep her attention for a bit.” Ladybug suddenly grabbed Adrien’s collar and lifted him supernatural strength, clearly about to show him to the Akuma. “Just for a minute or two-”

“H-hey!” Adrien slipped himself out of his white coat sleeves and scrambled back on the roof, “why don’t you just use another heroes like usual- whoever’s using the cat ring-”

“Nekomata’s out of town and everyone else is occupied.” Ladybug casually tossed his coat over the edge of the roof, and a delighted squeal confirmed that the Akuma had caught it.

“T-then-” Adrien grit his teeth and whispered. “I’ll do it- just give me the ring and I’ll keep her occupied as Cat Walker.”

“Hmm…” Ladybug exaggerated a thinking pose and tapped her chin, “and why should I let you even touch the ring after last time?”

“Because you need *someone* on the Cat and you know I’m ‘good with the ring’, *remember*?” Adrien insisted.

Ladybug probably would have drawn things out more for whatever gratification she was getting (what, did she really hate blond models or something? Clearly she had an issue with him), but the Akuma was getting closer. And luckily for Adrien Ladybug deigned to allow him to defend himself.

“Alright Cat Walker,” she opened up her yo-yo; “just follow my orders this time okay?”

—

The fanatic Akuma was surprisingly strong, but not necessarily a complicated opponent to fight. All it took was another of Ladybug’s strange plans and a few bruises to Cat Walker’s torso and the embarrassed fangirl was purified.

Unfortunately for Adrien, that wasn’t where it ended.

Sure, Ladybug reclaimed the ring as usual; but Shadowmoth was apparently on a spree. Within an hour there was another Akuma rampaging through the streets, and Ladybug showed found Adrien to practically shove the ring on his finger, clearly under the impression that he owed her for not letting using him as bait for the previous Akuma.

And once that Akuma was done and dusted- the same thing happened. Ring off, Ladybug went away- two hours pass and whoops! There’s another Akuma and Ladybug demands Adrien go play punchingbag for the next Magical Malcontent.

And again.

And *again*.

And every day for a full week, Adrien’s life was consumed by a part-time volunteer position under Ladybug. Shadowmoth had obviously noticed Nekomata’s absence and was trying to take advantage

Apparently after Nekomata, Cat Walker *was* Ladybug’s best cat. But Adrien wasn’t entirely certain she wasn’t just leaving him to risk death and dismemberment for her own petty amusement. Because surely Ladybug’s team had more strategies to occupying the Akuma than ‘leave the cat hero to play for time’; but if they did they weren’t letting him on them.

And for all that Adrien chafed at the role, the remembrance of how Ladybug had very nearly used him as live bait quietened his complaints. He’d been critical of Ladybug’s approach long before he used the ring but he’d known that the crowds at school, the whole of Paris even, unconditionally supported the hero and her team. So he’d long since learned to keep his tongue to himself, even when she ruthlessly engaged in collateral damage that surely had to have involved casualties (even if they were later restored).

But there was a different side to Ladybug, at least for him. Because even if she had a use for him, a *need* for him with Nekomata absent; Ladybug *hated* him for some reason.

Not just in some abstract way like his haters on the internet hated the model boy from the magazines, but something deep and personal. He could feel it when she looked at him, how she talked at him. And he was certain that she wasn’t bluffing when she’d offered to throw him to the Akuma and whatever it might do to him.

So upsetting her by turning down the ring when she wanted to use him was a danger that he knew better than to entertain. So Cat Walker accepted his role as it came, and devoted himself to it with all the professional focus of a man who wanted his job to be done as quickly and efficiently as possible.

And it wasn’t all bad, there was a certain satisfaction in a job well done. In keeping Paris safe and successfully defeating one opponent after another. In the end it wasn’t that different from his martial arts, sports and lessons; there were rules to fighting the varied and strange Akuma, patterns to follow and his body seemed to know by instinct what moves to make. The ring was surely helping him, but there was still that thrill of mastering a new, difficult skill or technique that he usually got from reaching a new level with his other studies.

But the novelty of achieving acrobatics and combinations that no human body (even his that was somehow durable enough to take a fall from his room ceiling with little more than a winding) wasn’t quite enough to offset the drawbacks of being Ladybug’s temporary cat;

—

Ladybug’s plans were *insane*. Just utterly insane.

Somehow they always worked, Adrien couldn’t deny that. But more often than not they worked in *spite* of all logic and reason. And that wasn’t just a gripe of a put-upon minion;

There had to be magic at work, because even outside of the charms themselves, there were times when they used mundane objects as part of said plans and they started acting against conventional physics.

One plan had them fight a massive, Ape-like Akuma by restraining them with a fire-hose Lucky Charm. But they’d fastened the rope around a few matching steel poles;

—

“Ladybug!” Cat Walker sharply warned through the earpiece as he dodged yet another strike from the Akuma, letting a pair of medium-sized mice heroines swiftly encircle the wrist of said Akuma with the long hose. “Those poles won’t hold them!”

“Just do your job Cat.” Ladybug retorted through the earpiece.

“I-”

There was a beep as Ladybug cut him off from the main comms.

All he could do was exactly that, draw the Ape-Akuma’s attention while the rest of the team slowly but surely entangle the Ape’s limbs with the hose. The problem was that in while the Lucky Charm seemed to have some magical property that made it unbreakable even with the Akuma’s strength, the flagpoles they were anchoring the hose to were surely going to be torn out the second the rope went taut.

After all, the strength to break stone slabs with ease wasn’t just going to be held back with whatever cheap steel went into making a flagpole.

And yet…

When the time came and Ladybug called out; “PULL!”

The Ape was entrapped in a tight trap, and the flagpoles didn’t so much as *bend* despite the combined tension from multiple heroes and the Ape’s own strength against them. The Wasp hero- Vesperia- dropped in a second later and the battle was over.

(Why hadn’t they just used Vesperia from the start?)

—

A day later, and there was another plan, this time more risky than irrational.

This time it was some kind of bug person who was invulnerable from any point but the top of their head. Again, Cat Walker was on distraction duty while Ladybug pulled together another plan.

This time the Lucky Charm was a drone. A fully functioning drone that Ladybug insisted on flying up on over the Akuma so she could drop down from it while someone else he couldn’t see operated it.

Considering how fast the humanoid bug-thing was, it didn’t seem like a good idea.

Again it seemed like an obvious solution to just have Vesperia paralyze the Akuma, or maybe he could have made a pit to trap the Akuma with the Cataclysm power.

But again, through pure Luck and a well timed verbal barb to get the thing’s attention: it somehow worked out.

—

Finally there was the quiz Akuma, the with the game-based powers that Ladybug decided they would play against.

The victim was a teacher from Dupont, apparently one who was very, *very* done with her students cheating on their tests. She’d turned one of the classes into some facsimile of a gameshow with her students becoming a literal captive audience and was broadcasting it to the whole of Paris.

The Akumatized object was one of the prizes and they have to put up their own Miraculous as collateral to play. Cat Walker didn’t care for game shows in the first place and suggested a direct approach;

“The Akuma appears to have no real combat ability,” Cat Walker observed, “if Vesperia-”

“We’ve gone over this, Vesperia has *one* shot with her power- just like everyone else so we need to make it count!” Ladybug snapped back, “and Akumas like this usually have some trick to stop us from just marching and taking their object!”

Cat Walker stepped back to avoid agitating the clearly irritated heroine. He couldn’t say Ladybug was *wrong*; at this point he was well aware Vesperia’s sting was only effective if the Akuma was too distracted or occupied to dodge her obvious lunges (though really if he were ever asked he’d have to say that it was a *problem* that Vesperia needed so much significant setup from the rest of the team to use her power at all- maybe her Miraculous would have been better suited to someone with better agility and hand-to-hand combat prowess). And he was a novice at Akuma battles so he couldn’t dispute her instincts about the more abstract Akumas.

However…

“I understand Ladybug,” he assured her. “But what is stopping the Akuma from rigging their own game? Is there some rule that the Akuma’s power have to be *fair*?”

“Heh, no.” Ladybug actually laughed at that, then turned to him with a smirk; “but who says *we* have to play fair either?”

Cat Walker raised an eyebrow, “Ladybug?”

“Just put your earpiece in and listen to Viperion,” Ladybug stepped back and pushed Cat Walker towards the classroom.

Viperion as it turned out, was a snake hero and he was with someone who went by ‘Pegasus’ (no prizes to guess his animal theme) who was himself using a laptop. And they were going to help Cat Walker *cheat*.

“Ahh, our first contestant!” The Akuma smiled in her gaudy pinstriped suit. “The Black Cat du jour, such a shame for such a stunning career to be cut so short, but it would be a crime not to see that handsome face on TV!

Just remember, no backing out and no tricks or it’s game over~~” The Presenter turned to her audience, “but don’t worry, you’ll have one of the best seats in town!”

A spotlight magically appeared over an unoccupied seat, in the middle of a sea of very occupied seats holding visibly disturbed and helpless teenagers.

Well, at least Adrien would have company if Ladybug’s plan fell though.

—

The game had four rounds for increasingly more valuable prizes, and by increasingly valuable that meant wonderful things like hall passes, study guides, an honor roll and the actual Akumatized object (an answer sheet). Of course to play, Cat Walker had to be willing to wager his Miraculous every time, and while he didn’t have to take it off he was quite certain that the Akuma’s own magic would claim it if he failed anyway.

Fortunately, the format was easy. Just answer a question correctly, and Cat Walker would advance to the next round. Fail, and Cat Walker instantly lost, no surprises there.

Still, even though the first two questions were easy enough (just obscure trivia tangentially related to Dupont’ curriculum) before Viperion and Pegasus gave him the answers.

Round three is when things became difficult;

“Stop, Cat Walker!” Viperion’s voice was suddenly sharp in his ear- a distinct shift from his easy-going tone a moment ago; “Presenter is going to check you for cheating in a few seconds, you need to get rid of the earpiece!”

Cat Walker’s eyes widened, but recovered as Viperion continued; “I just turned back time, she’ll confiscate your Miraculous in front of Paris!”

“Turn back ti-” Cat Walker caught himself as his gasp caught The Presenter’s attention.

“Turn back *what* Mr Walker?” The Presenter’s eyes focused on him like hawk, “is there something you want to share with the rest of us?”

The Akuma was rapidly approaching, and Cat Walker had no good options-

If the Akuma could take the ring from cheating then fighting would surely count, dropping the earpiece would be too noticeable, he needed a distraction- no, he had to *make* a distraction!

“Oh don’t mind me,” he chuckled, “I was just thinking that I should have turned back home for an umbrella, the weather’s about to make a downpour, it’s a good thing that…”

He pulled his baton from his back and the Akuma’s eyes locked on it, he a pressed a button and…

The tip extended about half a metre into the air to their side.

“Oh…” Cat Walker mumbled.

“Was that supposed to do something?” The Presenter seemed amused.

“I was hoping it would turn into an umbrella,” Cat Walker sighed, and brushed his hand over his ear like he was pushing back a stray hair. “I heard it could do that kind of thing.”

He pressed the same button, and the baton briefly extended again. “Ah, excuse me for a moment,” he brought both hands to the controls and seemed to struggle to compact his own weapon.

“Well it would be bad luck anyway!” The Presented rolled her eyes at his obvious ineptitude. With her attention diverted, Cat Walker nimbly slid the earpiece into baton’s compartment and snapped it closed before replacing it to his back.

Needless to say, The Presenter’s cheat-check a moment later failed to disqualify him.

Round Three was fortunately easy again, at least for him. Just English, and that was one of Adrien’s first languages (at least according to Gabriel Agreste).

Round Four was when things very nearly went awry.

“Alright Mr Walker, you’re clearly a very smart boy,” the Akuma purred and her eyes brightened; “so why don’t you come up and show us how it’s done!”

She stepped aside and whiteboard appeared where she’d been a moment ago, she held out a marker with clear glee.

The Whiteboard showed a deceptively simple equation:

xn+yn=zn

Cat Walker sighed to himself. He’d been correct, the Akuma had no intention of playing fair.

“What’s the matter Mr Walker?” The Present chortled. “It’s just *maths*!”

“I would hardly call Fermat’s Last Theorem ‘just maths’ dear lady.” Cat Walker approached.

“Oh, you *know* what this is?” The Presenter’s eyes gleamed as she held out the marker, “don’t worry I’m *sure* you can solve…”

Her words trailed off as Cat Walker gently took the marker from her hand, and too her absolute shock he started writing letters on the board;

“What are you…?” Her eyes followed the diagram as he drew out a diagram.

“Apologies, but unless you have a larger whiteboard you’ll have to accept this” Cat Walker had no intention of simply giving up, but he’d couldn’t exactly recall a hundred page document of advanced mathematics from memory. “Wiles and Taylor’s proof is a bit wordy.”

It was all presentation. The proof had been but one of Adrien Agreste’s electric collection of interesting documents that his amnesiac self had found (apparently he’d liked obscure trivia), but even with his more than decent mathematical skills he wouldn’t be able crack such a proof without a lifetime of prep. But what he was, was in close range of the Akuma and her prize, and lacking any better options he was certain he could at least try to Cataclysm the gleaming cage just behind her and destroy the answer sheet before she claimed the ring.

But that wasn’t necessary, as the Akuma’s eyes widened; “it… it’s been solved?”

Her voice was weak.

“Yes, quite famously so.” Cat Walker assured her. “You can check me if you like.”

The Presenter closed her eyes, and Cat Walker prepared to pounce, but he was startled as the answer sheet vanished with a glow and appeared in his hands.

“Well, that’s game and match then,” The Presenter chuckled and a wave of dark bubbles washed over her as a butterfly escaped from the sheet.

—

Ladybug’s plans worked.

Somehow.

Somehow they *always* worked. Even when they were needlessly risky, implausible, or just impractical.

Even when they *shouldn’t.*

Just how much of Paris’ safety was dependent on Ladybug’s good luck carrying them?

What would happen if that luck ran out?

[sourle]

*crawls out of the pipes* hi hi erm hello hello hi is it ok if you do romantic boombox something anything thank you *crawls back into pipes*

BOOMBOX OUR BBG ehem- surely!

Tw: alcohol!

Genre: One-shot

The faded sound of the music inside the house makes your head feel dizzy, top it with all the flashing colors. Makes your head spin.

The glass in your hands filled with tequila reflects the neon lights. With a deep sigh, followed by a sip of the tequila that freshen your head a bit.

A soft step came from behind and before you can turn, an arm wrapped around your neck. "[Name]! Glad you could make it!"

The green horned demon cheered, giving you a cheeky smile. "... Wouldn't miss a single party when it's thrown by you." Your voice was a bit slurred, yet it's clear enough to understand.

"Heh, yeah.. so do.. you have any plans after the party?" You raised a brow at Boombox question. Usually he's not one to ask about things people do.

"No.. why'd you ask?" A small sip from the tequila makes your head a bit more dizzy. To top it off with the loud, but not too much, music playing in the background.

"Wanna hang out afterwards? Y'know.. like old time.." Boombox offered, his hands making some gestures as he explains before putting them both on the bar table.

You hums, considering the offer. You do have an assignment to finish until the end of the week. Though it would also be nice to hang out once more with your old friend.

"Yeah.. I guess we can hang like ol' time."

Boombox smiles in joy as he moves his chair to get closer to you. You hums in confusion as he pulls in for a hug.

You were surprised at the sudden gesture but returned it none the less. You both continue to banter about life with Boombox leaving once a while to get back on stage and show off his DJ skills.

Whilst you just admired the man from afar. You were a bit tipsy and accidentally dropped the uncountable shot of tequila which Boombox decided to firmly prevent you from getting another shot.

As the party was over Boombox left to gather his equipment before you both escorted out the building. The smell of fresh air gives you a bit of dizziness after leaving the alcohol drench smell from the place but soon you adjusted.

With little time left before midnight you both went to the still open diner and grabbed some serving.

"So i was like- 'You're kidding me right?' and he's actually not joking and threw my birthday cake off the cliff." You mumbles out between bites. You swallowed before letting out a chuckle at Boombox disbelief expression.

"Wow.. that guy sounds like a jerk."

"He is! Though he has a good heart.. just not during my previous birthday."

You swallowed the last bits of roasted meat in your mouth before drinking your whole cup of water. You were sober enough to start cleaning your mouth with the nearby tissue, though not sober enough to notice a small spot that you missed.

Boombox smiles, grabbing another tissue and leaning forward to clean that one spot. You froze at the gesture, feeling your face heated up a bit.

"Gee, you could've told me I could clean it myself." You shyly rub the spot. You cheeks got more warm as the other demon chuckled.

"Didn't wanna embarrassed you, besides, kinda romantic eh?" Boombox sends you a wink. You just rolled your eyes.

Both you and Boombox debate who should pay for the later night meal. Which you lost to and lets Boombox pay it. Boombox walks you home afterwards.

As you both bid farewell you can't help but ponder if you should asked him out to hang again one day.

Maybe.. you should.

[tj-crochets]

Hey y'all! Weird question time. This one requires a bit of explanation: So the house I live in is two stories, and in case of a tornado there's only really one room to go shelter in*, a closet on the ground floor. My bedroom is not on the ground floor, so I have to go down a flight of stairs to get there. The problem: storms that could cause tornadoes seem to also come with a lot of lightning, and I can't handle flashing lights. I currently have no diagnosis for what, exactly, my flashing light issue is, but they make me nauseous, dizzy, and very disoriented, and the sheer amount of lightning we had last night (thankfully after the tornado warning was over) would have made it extremely difficult for me to get down the stairs safely. Do you have any recommendations for what I could do to safely get downstairs in the middle of the night in a thunderstorm if I need to go shelter in the closet because of a tornado warning? To be able to sleep during a thunderstorm, I have to wrap a quilt around the top of my head, but idk if trying to go down the stairs blindfolded is a better idea???

*in the "no windows, no exterior walls" category

[swordsandholly]

Double Date - Double Down

NSFW | MDNI

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!plus size!reader

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: When you get a call in the middle of the afternoon from your friend begging you to fill an empty spot on a double date your initial instinct is a hard no. After all, no one wants to go on a blind double date and be surprised by the fat friend. It doesn’t help that this Simon guy is stupid fucking hot and obviously doesn’t like you - if his lack of talking is anything to go by.

A/N: Just a fun little oneshot I used as a warmup between working on chapters of future multi chapter projects.

“I said *no*.” You snap, angrily folding the washcloth in your hands.

Your friend splutters from the other side of the phone, the desperation in her voice only growing now that she’s on her fourth ask. “*Pleeeaase*! Steph backed out last minute and no one else is free-“

“How do you know I’m free?”

“You just said you were!”

You huff. She’s got you there. When she first called, you admitted you didn’t have anything going on but that was *before* she told you the plan for the night. Before she mentioned that her very, very conventionally hot military boyfriend wanted to do a little double date with his friend and one of hers. Plus, you take a least a little offense to being second choice. Really, last choice, it seems.

“Cass, you can’t just set up a blind date and take your fat friend. That’s not-“

“You’re not fat, love. You’re beautiful.” Her words drip with turned honey. You make a gagging face to yourself in the mirror. “You just need more confidence!”

You sigh loudly, pinching the bridge of your nose. You could try, for the millionth time, to explain to her the nuanced ins and outs of dating as a fat woman. The rules and stats that could rival even the most complex rpg… or you could be petty. It takes less time to be petty. “If I go, you’re paying for my drinks.”

“Johnny’s friend will probably-“

“Yeah, and when he leaves you’re paying for my tab.”

“He won’t-“

“We got a deal?”

She clicks her tongue. “*Fiiiine*.”

At least you can get wasted for free either way. A small consolation. She texts you the time and location, barely leaving you with enough time to shower and turn yourself into something presentable. Not that you really care. It’s going to be shit either way, most likely. Staring yourself down in the mirror, you suppose you could at least try to look somewhat attractive. If you’re about to get rejected (or possibly shouted at, you’ll never forget *that* horrendous interaction) you might as well feel your best.

The pub is small as you push through the front door. Casual. A couple pool tables, some darts, a large bar and few booths with stools on the outer side. You scan the room, searching for Cass’s familiar face.

“Over here!” Cass waves with a wide arc at you, a grin plastered from ear to ear. At least she’s having fun.

You take a long breath, bracing yourself for whatever is about to happen. Cass introduces you to her boyfriend - who is somehow even hotter in person. You can see why she’s so smitten with him. Johnny looks you up and down as he shakes your hand. He doesn’t comment, or make a face, or really react in any particular way, but you can feel a shift. Something in his eyes…

Maybe it’s just your imagination. You’ve always been a little over sensitive.

“Si will be back in a sec. Stepped over tae get a drink.” He flashes a grin.

You hum, quietly folding your hand as Cass pushes a cocktail for you that she preemptively ordered. Criticize her as much as you like, she knows her mixes.

“There he is.” Johnny grins, turning slightly.

You follow his gaze, heart sinking as your eyes settle on the man approaching your table. He’s massive. Tall and wide. Total brick shithouse. His face is mostly covered by a black surgical mask. A few years ago you might have questioned it but at this point you couldn’t care less, especially when his dark eyes meet yours, small flecks of gold honey catching the low bar lights. Barely styled tufts of blonde hair stick up from his head. They look like they might curl if he let it grow a little longer.

All in all, wayyyy out of your league.

He settles into his seat with all the confidence of any military man - back ramrod straight. He extends a large hand. “Simon Riley.”

You murmur your name, somewhat enthralled by the half lidded, almost bored look in his eyes. Now that he’s closer you notice a large scar splitting his left eyebrow and light, newly forming crows feet in the corners of his eyes.

“S-so you’re military, too?” You stutter, eyes trained on his the massive hand holding his glass. It’s nicely vascular, his nails are well groomed but it also looks like he could snap you in half with it.

Not that that’s entirely a bad thing - whatever that may or may not say about you.

He nods. “I’m a Lieutenant.”

“Oh! Officer position. So you’re smart, then?” You try to be charming, to give him a sweet smile and keep your body language open.

“Enough.” He deadpans. It takes a few beats for you to realize he’s not going to say anything else.

“Uh…” You squirm awkwardly under his gaze. It’s intense - his dark eyes nearly black in the low light of the bar. “I do hair.”

Conversation is slow, to say the least. The longest answer he gives you is maybe five words. He only flips up the mask long enough to take a sip of his drink every so often. You start to talk less, opting toward a group conversation in which Johnny takes the lead, which he is obviously very good at. He regales you and Cass with a few stories of his and Simon’s adventures. Some funny, some brave, some worrying. He’s setting the man up to be a god, nearly, but Simon himself just shakes his head and insists Johnny is exaggerating.

You wonder what he sees in Simon. Alternatively, you wonder what *you’re* supposed to see in Simon. Besides his good looks, of course. He’s… bland. Obviously bored if his constant glances toward the exits and rhythmic, occasional tapping on the corner of the table are anything to go by.

“Want tae go dance, lovie?” You overhear Johnny as he leans in toward Cass.

She glances at you, then Simon, then back to you before nodding enthusiastically. “We’ll give you two some time *alone*.”

In any other situation, you’d probably beg her to stay in desperation for a conversation buffer. Here and now, though, you’re grateful. You can finally let this poor guy off the hook. You wait until they’re gone; fully out of earshot before turning to the man in front of you.

“I…uh… look…” You chew your lip, glancing between him and your folded hands on the table. “Sorry… I know I’m probably not what, uh, what you expected… I get it if you want to leave. It’s - you don’t have to stay, or whatever. Don’t have to be polite…”

He cocks an eyebrow, eyes boring through your skull. “Why would I want to leave?”

“I know what I look like. You don’t have to be nice.”

His raised brow turns into a slight frown. “I think you’re quite pretty.”

You scoff - blushing despite yourself. “Again, you don’t have to be nice.”

“Do I seem like the type to just be nice?”

You continue to gnaw at your lip. He’s got you there. Simon definietly doesn’t come off as the type to bow to polite society. “You’ve barely talked to me.”

He stares for a moment. It’s his turn to avert his eyes, swirling around the whiskey in his glass awkwardly. Almost bashfully. “It’s not you. I’m… not great in public… especially in crowds…”

Oh.

*Oh*.

You’ve completely misjudged him, haven’t you? Shit. He’s just a big awkward lug isn’t he?You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Oh God, *I’m* the asshole, aren’t I?”

He chuckles, “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I’m sorry it’s just…” you scrub a hand over your face. “Most men don’t really want to be surprised with a fat girl on a blind date. Guess I assumed the worst.”

Simon hums. A low vibration that settles into your bones. He gets up, sliding into the booth side of the table beside you - his massive frame pushing into your space. He smells like spices. Cinnamon and pepper. A little hint of leather and tobacco underneath. It’s heady, and some primal part of your mind wishes you could roll around in it like a dog.

“Some men might like a waifish little thing, that’s their business, but personally…” He leans in, a large hand resting on your wide thigh. “Yeah. I like somethin’ I can get a proper handful of.”

“*Oh*.” You squeak, back stiff. Was that what you saw in Johnny’s face before? Approval?

“‘Ere’s a thought - we go back to mine. S’quiet. Can talk more freely. See where the night goes, hm?”

You smile hesitantly, finally looking up to meet his gaze. It’s honest. Kind. Dark pools of sincerity. It’s against your better judgement. Impractical. Out of character. Even so, you allow yourself to surrender with a warmth in your cheeks and a small nod.

“I’ll get an Uber.” He pulls out his phone, tapping away. “Five minutes out.”

“Want to wait outside?” You offer, nodding toward the front entrance. Simon just nods, following you out close behind. Neither of you say much of anything while you wait, but you watch him out of the corner of your eye. He taps on his leg a few times in much the same way as he did on the table.

He dutifully opens the car door for you, letting you slide in before climbing in beside you, long legs slightly cramped in the small sedan.

“You don’t live on base?” You ask as the Uber drives away from the infamous military housing. You’d been there once or twice - a while ago when you were younger and messier.

“S’too loud.” He shrugs. “Too crowded.”

“Well, at least you’re consistent.” You smile.

Simon hums, resting his hand on your thigh once again. It’s casual, not too high up or too much pressure. Not presumptuous.

“How’d Johnny get you out there in the first place? If you’re so *averse*.” You tilt your head.

He shrugs, “Was supposed to be another Sergeant we work with but I guess he cancelled. No one else was free.”

“Ah, so we’re both last choices, then.”

“Yeah?”

“Made Cass promise me free drinks if I came.”

“Smart girl.” He chuckles, holding out a hand to help you up out of the car upon your arrival. His hand is warm when you take it, and a small part of you feels disappointed when he lets go.

The building is small. Old. All red brick with a thirty year old intercom and an elevator that you’re pretty sure hasn’t been inspected since the place was built. About halfway down the hall, you start to second guess yourself. You don’t know a thing about this guy - you don’t know what’s going to happen as soon as you get on the other side of his door. His weird, bright red door. Wait - why is this whole floor covered in red doors?

“Alright?” He grunts, back turned to you as he wrestles with the lock.

“Uh - why is your floor color themed?”

Simon laughs, wide shoulders shaking with the movement. It’s a low sound, something that vibrates in his chest. Makes you want to press your ear to it, see how it feels. If it will reverberate into your bones as well. “The old lady that owns the building is a bit… unique. Likes to talk about colors and karma and destiny stuff.”

“Ah.” You nod, as if that makes any sense at all. “So you’re red?”

“Apparently.”

His apartment is actually quite homey, as you step into it. From a stiff military man like him you expected something akin to an ikea floor model. Instead it’s furnished with a well worn, green couch. A large TV with an extremely up-to date surround sound system and an entertainment center filled to the brim with CDs sits against the wall. A few movie posters fill the walls. All horror classics - you count three of the scream movies. The first two final destination. There are condensation rings on the coffee table.

Behind you, you hear the door lock and unlock three times, but you don’t pay it much mind.

“Want a drink?” Simon asks, already popping open a decanter full of something gold on a small drink cart beside the kitchen island.

“Sure.” The agreement is automatic - blurted out before you can second guess taking a drink from a total stranger.

You watch a little too closely as he takes off his light jacket, exposing his strong arms and a half sleeve tattoo. It’s a bit tacky, all skulls and military symbols. The black ink has been sun worn over time. The motif of a young getting his first tattoo after enlisting. He settles down on the couch with the decanter and two glasses, patting the spot beside him. You plop down. It’s pretty comfortable, honestly.

His fingers loop into the mask’s straps. You find yourself watching with wide eyes and bated breath as he removes it. His nose is crooked - broken more than a couple times, you think. There’s a scar running from his nose to upper lip that could only come from a cleft palette. It’s charming, in a way. When he turns toward you, you notice a patch on the side of his face that looks like a rather large burn all the way down to his sharp jaw. The roughness of him works, somehow. The scars and tattoos and choppy hair all coming together to create the visage of a life hard lived.

“You’re really pretty…” the words slip from your tongue before you can stop them.

Simon splutters out a laugh, the slightest hint of color appearing across his cheeks. “Didn’t take you for a flatterer.”

“I’m not.” You huff before nodding toward the posters. “Horror fan?”

He hums, passing you a glass. “Are you a fan? Of horror, I mean.”

“Found footage!” You grin a little too excited. “It’s the best genre.”

“Terrible taste.” He scoffs.

“Wrong! Found footage can be anything you want it to be - slasher, thriller, mystery, mocumentary. Anything.”

“Which makes them messy.” He argues. “Anyone can make one.”

“Yeah! Theres so many hidden gems out there.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Oh, I’ll put you on them. We just need to get you a good one.”

“Askin’ me on a second date already, love?”

“Oh, fuck off.” You shove at his shoulder. He was right, it is so much easier to talk freely out of the bar. Away from everyone and everything. His posture is far more relaxed, laid back into the couch with his hips canted forward rather than stiff as a board.

“We could watch one now?” He offers. If you were more sober, you might have heard the twinge of pleading in his voice. As it stands you’ve already drained the glass he gave you and are perfectly buzzed enough to be ignorant to the subtler parts of communication.

How convenient.

“Okay.” You whisper.

After a bit of debating back and forth you settle on Hell House. After all, it’s been your tried and true method for getting anyone and everyone into the genre. You don’t notice it, at first, but you slowly begin to scoot closer to him as you fold your knees up on the couch. Eventually, tucking yourself under his arm sling across the back cushions. Between him and the drinks - which you’re pretty sure is a rather fancy bourbon - you feel what could only be described as snuggly. Limbs loose and pliant, smile easy and words flowing as you cheer and jeer at the characters together.

At some point, Simon’s dark eyes meet between yours. You lean in, so does he. Inch by inch until your lips meet. It’s tentative, at first. Testing the waters. His lips are soft and move expertly against yours. You part for him has his tongue darts across your lower lip.

It’s easier than it usually is for you. Easy to let him pull you over his lap. To rest your hands on his broad shoulders as you take each other in. Normally, you’re not a person for one night stands. A commitment kind of gal. You can’t exactly say no, though, when you have a beautiful man’s hands traveling over your body like it’s the only thing in the world worth paying attention to right now.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to grunt, “Bedroom?”

“*Yes*.” You gasp between kisses.

Suddenly those large hands grasp under your ass as you’re hauled up. You grapple to hold onto the back of his neck, keeping your weight forward.

“Simon!”

“Yes, love?” He asks as if he didn’t just life you like a sack of potatoes.

“A-aren't I heavy?” You question as he makes his way through the apartment, peppering kisses over your neck and jaw.

“No.” He replies bluntly. Like what you asked was stupid.

You’re placed on a bed with all the gentleness of a rare china plate- one hand cradling your upper back and the other tucked under your thighs. There isn’t any time to take in the room before Simon is kissing you again but you do count approximately five pillows and zero navy sheets.

That shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

Simon leans in close, nose ever so slightly bumping yours. “Before we keep going, I want to establish a rule. Red light means stop. At any time, for any reason.”

You can’t help but smile. “Okay.”

“Say it back, doll.”

“Red light means stop.” You reach up and cup his face. So handsome. So warm.

“Good girl.” He murmurs. “Let’s get these off, hm?” Simon pulls your clothes off deftly - dragging those rough palms over your skin as he moves and kneading at the plushness of your hips appreciatively.

You reach up to tug at his shirt. “S’not fair if I’m the only one naked.”

Simon chuckles and hastily sits back to yank the shirt over his head, giving a lovely show in the process. You think this what people mean when they talk about an Adonis. There’s a comfortable soft layer of his strong abdomen. Something you want to sink your teeth into. Your fingers trace each dip and curve of his muscles, the lovely shape of his pectorals, the raised scars littering his body. Floral shapes from bullets along with slashes and smaller jabs. A particularly nasty one runs down his side, coving his ribs. A burn, you think.

“You’re beautiful.” You murmur. Definitely out of your fucking league. You move to sit up, reaching for his waistband.

His hand pushes your shoulder back on the bed. “Let me take care of you tonight, bird.”

Your face warms. Simon kisses your cheek, continuing down to your chest and taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Gently sucking and nipping at it while flicking the other with his hand. A shameful whimper escapes your throat.

Simon leans up to murmur in your ear, “What do you want, sweet girl?”

“Want you to fuck me…” You murmur, embarrassment making you want to close your legs. His solid hips block you.

“Oh, I will, but first I want those beautiful thighs wrapped around my head.” Simon continues to place kisses down your body, over your stomach, stopping right at your panty line and tracing along it with rough fingers. His arms circle your thighs and in one swift motion your hips teeter on the edge of the bed, Simon kneeling between them. His fingers hook in the waistband of your underwear.

“W-wait…” You sit up on your elbows.

He freezes, looking up at you.

“I, uh, I haven’t exactly *landscaped* in a while… wasn’t really planning-“

Simon huffs out a laugh. “I’m a grown man, love. You think a little bush is gonna scare me off?”

All thoughts related to anything within the proximity of embarrassment come to an instant halt as Simon’s lips wrap around your clit- sucking and nipping and lapping like a man starved. Like he’d die without it. A low groan rumbles through his throat.

“F-fuck!” You gasp, whimpers and moans interrupting any chance you may have at putting words together.

“Taste so fucking good, princess.” He mumbles against you. A shaky moan rattles through you as he pushes a thick finger in, working it gently. His other than grips your hip tightly, pinning you in place. The pet-name sends a shiver down your spine - leaving you rolling your hips and clenching on the finger inside you.

“Fuck, Si…” You gasp, tangling your fingers in his hair.

“I can tell your close, baby.” Simon groans. “Cum for me. Come on, be a good girl and cum all over my fucking tongue.”

The bastard knows the power he has in that voice. He *has* to. That baritone gravel sinks in your veins and all you can do is whimper. Panting pathetically the closer you get. His fingers curl up and your back arches harshly as your climax washes over you. Your legs tremble as he works you through it; stopping just shy of pushing you too far.

“Hey!” You gasp indignantly as a jolt shoots up your spine as he settles a final, harsh suck on your clit.

Simon taps your hip, climbing back over you as you scoot up on the bed. He carelessly kicks off his pants as he goes, toeing them off before settling between your legs. Those dark eyes rake over you leisurely - taking in every inch. Every curve and dip and flaw categorically. He sucks in a breath and sighs. “Bloody ‘ell, look at you… so fuckin’ pretty.”

Your face heats and you look away. “Who’s the flatterer now?”

“Not me. Just bein’ honest.” He places a quick kiss to your soft jawline before reaching over to dig through his nightstand drawer. You don’t miss the gold foil of the condom wrapper.

You can’t stop yourself from licking your lips as he pulls off his boxer briefs. Simon is uncut, already ruddy and leaking and just begging for your mouth. Maybe next time, though. He’s already slipped on the condom, carefully hooking one of your legs over his shoulder and the other around his hip. The man has a laser-focus to him, you’ll give him that.

“Still want t’ keep goin’?” He mumbles, eyes locked on his cock as is drags between your folds.

“*Please*.” You whine pathetically. Simon’s chuckle turns into a gasp as he presses in. It’s achingly slow and you roll your hips in demand for more.

Simon lets out a low groan as his hips meet yours. The stretch is perfect - just enough to feel completely full without pushing you too far. As though your bodies were made to slot together just so. Your head falls back, chest heaving as you beg him to move, to fuck you, just *please* for the love of god-

“Needy little thing.” He gives you a sloppy smile before setting a brutal pace. You find yourself clawing at his back, clinging to him as your back arches and the most obscene sounds are systematically torn from your throat. The angle he has your hips placed causes his cock to bully that sensitive spot inside you - dragging over it with every thrust.

Simon leans toward, bracing himself on his forearms and pinning you under him as he fucks into you. “So fuckin’ good f’me. Knew you would be. So soft and sweet and goddamn *pretty*.”

“*Fuck, Simon*.” You gasp, nose bumping against his as your lips intertwine. Breaths and moans intermingle as you both chase that edge. There’s nothing else, in this moment, just you and Simon and the sounds only he has ever managed to pull from you.

Your orgasm hits you like a train. Out of nowhere and all at once, tensing every muscle into a trembling mess as you clamp down around his cock. Simon sinks his teeth into your neck as his own climax takes him, cradling you close and moaning out your name so muddled you almost miss it.

For a few moments, you stay frozen in place trying to catch your breath as you come down. Your limbs feel like jelly when you finally try to move, body limp and pliable. It almost feels like a loss as he pushes off of you, leaving you open and vulnerable to the cool night air while he ties off the condom.

“Be right back.” He murmurs, slowly climbing off you and heading for an attached bathroom off to the left.

You let your eyes slipped closed only to jump and shoot back open as a dap rag drags between your thighs. A little yelp escapes you as the rough material drags across your oversensitive clit. Simon chuckles at you, tossing the rag back somewhere in the bathroom before crawling into the bed beside you. It’s so easy to curl into his chest and let those strong arms encircle you.

“Have fun, love?” Simon murmurs into your hair.

You just hum happily, smiling against his hard chest.

“Good.”

It’s just as easy as the rest of it to fall asleep like that. To seek out the warmth of his body in your satiated haze and press into him, allowing the night and rhythmic beating of his heart to overtake you. You feel four small taps between your shoulder blades just before tipping over the edge into comfortable nothing.

You wake slowly to an empty bed. The light from the window above you streams in - bathing the room in a light golden tone. It’s cozy. The blankets seem to pull you in, keeping you snugly in place. Distantly, you hear the sound of pots and pans clinking.

Shockingly, you’re not hungover. Well, not much at least. There’s a slight twinge in your head and a not unpleasant soreness in your hips. You dig around, finding your clothes strewn across the room haphazardly. Your underwear are nowhere to be found and you eventually give up with a shrug. They weren’t one of your best pairs anyway.

When you come out of the bedroom, you pause. Simon stands in the kitchen, working on something over the stove wearing only a pair of sweatpants. They hang loosely around his hips, showing off the rises and dips of his strong muscles and well defined waist. This scene somehow feels too intimate despite your activities the night before.

“Perfect timing.” Simon turns, placing a plate down on the kitchen island. The omelette before you looks immaculate, all the way down to a light garnish on top.

Your eyes turn to saucers. “You…you made me breakfast?”

“Course.” He nods sharply as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. As if *not* doing so would be some sort of affront. Either you’re still asleep and this is all a dream or you stumbled upon the perfect man through pure happenstance.

He turns the stove off and on and off twice before standing at the counter across from you while you sit on one of the stools at the island. It’s a comfortable silence as you both eat. Simon keeps glancing up at you as if waiting for your disapproval. Boyish, somehow, despite the size and breadth of him.

It’s perfect. The eggs practically melt in your mouth and the goat cheese and vegetables taste fresh. You can’t help but him happily as you eat.

By the time you’re done, you think you might be a little in love.

Maybe you should text Cass and thank her or something. Maybe a gift basket. “Oh. My phone’s dead.”

“Didn’t charge it before y’left last night?” Simon cocks an eyebrow, chewing on his last bite.

You snort. “It was last minute, remember?”

“What if I’d been some sort of psycho? What was your plan?” He grins as he takes your empty plate. If you were a more impulsive woman you may have gone so far as to lick the damn thing.

“Are you a psycho?”

“Not generally, no.”

“Well then, nothing to worry about.” You grin, watching a little too happily as he rinses down the dishes and loads the dishwasher.

Simon just scoffs at you.

You glance at the time above the stove, disappointment settling deep in your chest. “Shit. I should get going.”

“I’ll get you a cab.” Simon offers automatically, reaching for his phone.

You shift side to side, twiddling your thumbs. “Y’know… we never finished the movie…”

Simon cocks and eyebrow. From the pleased smirk on his face you can tell he knows what you’re implying. He still patiently waits for you to say it out loud.

“Would, uh, would you want to exchange numbers? Maybe… meet up… again…?” Your voice is more timid than you’d like. This fear of rejection is new. Being rejected is nothing new for you, so why does it suddenly feel so high stakes with this one guy you barely know?

You don’t miss the way his eyes light up ever so slightly at the question. “I’d love to.”

[stardust-thief]

look after you

an: this my first x reader fic LMAOO, i needed to write smth and this spencer was on my brain :// i am in the middle of a rly long donna fic but i cba this was much easier. also i absolutley have not proof read this sorry

synopsis: you get hurt while hunting down an unsub, after some reluctance (and kind words from papa rossi) you let spencer take care of you, 1.7k words

cw: descriptions of violence, panic attack, spencer swears and can drive (the most un-canon thing abt him) umm italians..., the rest is just fluffy, hurt/comfort, x reader but no y/n

masterlist

The unsub had his gun pointed at you, the cold press of the barrel against flesh. He was ranting and raving about needing to be seen and understood, having spent his childhood in emotional neglect. Teachers and parents failed him at every turn, it’s not his fault that this happened but he can fix it if he just drops the gun. Rossi tried to tell him this over and over, but he only got more angry, pushing the gun in harder and harder. 

If you were to open your eyes, you would’ve seen JJ and Luke there too, guns trained on the unsub. Their eyes glancing between you, the unsub, and the gun. But you didn’t. Not until the bang went off and you could breathe again. 

The flashing lights of the ambulance do nothing to dissuade the pressing headache you feel coming on, the movement of people helps even less. You watch as the EMT’s cart the unsub away on a gurney, sheet covering him. 

“You okay, kid?” Rossi asks from beside you, he had been hovering ever since the ambulance arrived. 

“I’m fine, just need a good night's rest. I’ll be good as new.” You hummed half-heartedly. 

David Rossi always knew when someone was lying to him, part of that talent comes from his job as a profiler, but it’s mostly because of some ancient Italian magic. “I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that to me. Look, Hotch is on his way with Reid and Emily. They’re gonna be taking some witness statements, but I imagine Boy Wonder will be a little distracted. I want you to let him take care of you, ok? You’ve been through hell tonight kid, let him worry.”

Italians never lie, although you wish they did. Spencer had very obviously caught feelings for you, everyone on the team could see it. Unfortunately, so could you. Spencer Reid was one of the kindest, most genuine people you had ever met, always putting other people's needs before his own. A voice in your head kept telling you that there is nothing you have done to deserve someone like him doting all over you? You had only brought trouble to the people who loved you. Eventually you learned that it was better to just keep everyone at a distance; if you don’t let them in, they can’t get hurt. Which worked well, up until Spencer.

He had such a wormy way of getting into your brain at the worst times; whether it was when you were alone in your kitchen, or at slightly dangerous, very inappropriate times on a case. You couldn’t stop thinking about him and his stupidly cute (and sometimes ill-timed) facts. Some part of you wanted to let him in, in the end the stubborn side always took over. 

Before long, you heard the worried cries of Spencer trying to find you in the chaos. Rossi called his name and gave you a pat on the shoulder, “Remember, you deserve to be looked after too.” and left to find Hotch.

“Oh my god, are you okay? We tried to get here as soon as we could, but they managed to take down the unsub right? What happened, did he hurt you? How did you get so close? Talk to me are-” Oh, how he rambles. 

“Spencer, I’m fine. I just need to… rest, you know. He didn’t hurt me that bad, just a sprained wrist, couple bruises. Could’ve been worse.”

He spluttered, “Could’ve- you know, that doesn’t make this any better, I was so worried about you. He had a fucking gun to your head, I was going insane thinking about what could’ve happened. What did the EMT say about your wrist?”

“Just to rest it, and use an ice pack if it starts to swell or hurt.” You couldn’t look him in the eye, he was so worried about you. It made butterflies dance in your belly, but there was a twinge of guilt there too. He was so busy, he worked so hard and then went home to look after his mom. He had too much on his plate, how could you add more to it? “Spence, I’m really sorry about worrying you. I should be fine to leave now, so I’ll just head home and sleep it off. Have a good night.” You pushed yourself off the ambulance, eyes focused downwards, restless fingers fidgeting with the already frayed bandage.

“No- wait what are you talking about? You’re gonna drive yourself home in this condition? I can’t let you do that, even thinking about it makes me feel sick.” He lowered his head to yours and spoke softer this time, “Please let me take you home. I don’t have to stay, I just want to make sure you’re ok, ok?”

Fuck that voice did things to you. Leaning from side to side, you thought about what Rossi had said earlier. Maybe, it was ok to let someone in? It would be cruel to let him suffer more, not knowing if you were ok or somehow got in a car crash with 5 other vehicles on your way home. Just this once, you think.

Looking up into his soft eyes, you give a small nod. His lips immediately turned up into a smile, his hand comes up to cup your head, fingers stroking your cheek. It felt… nice. His thumb was calloused but he still moisturised enough for it to feel smooth, and he smelled like lemongrass and ginger. His hand fell to the small of your back as he guided you to his car. Ever the gentlemen, he opened your door and softly placed his hand over your head as you got in. Manoeuvring himself into the driver's side, he pulled out his phone and typed something, then quickly stuffed it away into a pocket and turned on the engine.

The sky was dark when you woke up. The unsub had a gun to your head at dusk, and Spencer was walking into your apartment when the moon was out. He took off his shoes and the door, and walked into your living room.

“I’ve never been here before,” he mused. “I like it.”

He looked at ease wandering around your apartment, his shoulders had relaxed and he let out soft musings as he perused your photo collections.

“Oh Spencer, not that one, it’s embarrassing!” You tried (with not a lot of effort) to pull him away from the frame.

“No this is cute, was this when you were at University?” He asked, wrapping an arm around you.

Oh my god. “Yeah, um- those were some of my friends at the time. I try and keep in touch but, you know.”

He hummed, pulling you closer into him. Finally content, he looked down at you. “How’s your wrist?”

“It’s ok,” you shrugged, “just a little tender now.”

“Where’s your kitchen, I can get some ice.”

“Spence-” you wanted to tell him no, to go home and look after himself. But his body was so warm, having him so close to you melted your brain, leaving you unable to think of any good reason as to why he should leave. “It’s the first door on the right.”

His grip tightened for a moment before he swiftly navigated you to the sofa, and turned to leave for the kitchen. The cold of the apartment rushed to get you as soon as he unraveled his arms. You hadn’t been alone all day since the unsubs attack, it somehow felt more claustrophobic. His hand on your throat, squeezing the air from your lungs. The way he grabbed your arm, contorting it so he could throw you to the ground. The gun, pressed into your forehead. The knowledge that the only thing between you being alive, and you being in a ditch, was a madman's finger on the trigger. Reality faded as each memory pressed further and further into your mind. You weren’t in your apartment anymore, you could feel the cold concrete beneath your hands. The thick air in your lungs, Rossi and the unsub shouting.

A hand on your knee, a soft voice bringing you back. There was no unsub, no gun to your head. You were alive. You were alive and Spencer was in your apartment, wiping the tears that had fallen down your face.

“You with me?” His voice was so soft, you couldn’t recall ever hearing Spencer raise his voice in anger. He was so gentle when he touched you. 

The floodgates burst, choked sobs made their way past your lips. Your shoulder shook as you cried, pressing yourself into Spencer’s arms. “Oh honey,” He murmured, pressing his lips into your head, softly rocking you back and forth as you sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. It was too much. You could have died today. Very nearly did. You weren’t ready to die, not yet at least.

As your cries softened into hiccups, you pushed yourself back from Spencer. “I’m sorry, that was so disgusting. It just all- I don’t know.”

 “Hey, you don’t ever have to apologise to me ok? What you went through was really scary, I’d honestly be more shocked if you didn’t cry.” His hand moved to draw soothing shapes along your back as you leaned back into him. “You want to watch something to calm down? I brought you some water and an ice pack for your wrist.”

He would be the death of you. You nod and push yourself back into the sofa, moving your wrist to rest in your lap. Spencer gently places the ice pack across your wrist and grips the tips of your fingers. He leans forward to push your cup of water towards you and grabs the TV remote, then turns and leans back so your side is pressed into his front. Truthfully, Spencer didn’t seem like the type to watch cable TV but he navigated the menu with somewhat ease. 

“Look at what’s on! It’s your favourite isn’t it, you want me to put it on.” He said as he nudged your shoulder.

He remembered your favourite film, of course he would remember it he has an eidetic memory. You hummed a yes as you relaxed your body further into his, finally content. Maybe Rossi was right, having Spencer close really wasn’t so bad after all.

[luveline]

Can I please get the aftermath of a fight with Hotch? Maybe they’re both stressed after a particular case and things got a little heated?

ty for requesting !! fem, 1k

You hate when Hotch shouts. 

Morose, you lay in a slouch on the couch with your hand between your face and the armrest, knuckles aching from the pressure. You’re attempting to self soothe, but your misery is worsened by your own ministrations, your thumb a useless thing on your cheek. You can’t do it like Hotch can. There’s no second meaning. 

You assume him to be in the kitchen where you left him. 

Nobody likes to fight, but you think you might be the most unwilling participant for any argument with him. He’s patient, and mellow-headed the majority of the time, so when he does get heated you can’t help thinking you’ve done something really awful.

You get the worst of worries sitting there. That you’re too much effort for him, that you don’t fit. That he’s going to realise these things and cut you loose. 

Your tears are lazy. Your shoulders shudder with your breathing, but there isn't a sound to them, just heat where they well at the corner of your eye and drip over your nose. You sniffle, pressing the back of your hand to your top lip. 

It’s cold in the living room. Immediately hotter when Hotch sits down beside you. You lift your head on instinct, surprised at his sudden presence, tears jolting down your cheeks like flash floods. When you realise it’s him and what you’re doing, you turn your face back to the armrest with held breath. 

He hesitates for a moment.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” you mumble. 

He drapes himself over your contorted frame. Arm weaving under your stomach, face pressing firmly to the nape of your neck, his right hand on your shoulder. “Don’t cry,” he says, hand working into your tense shoulder blade lovingly, his thumb drawing lines. “Don’t cry.” 

“Are you still angry?” 

“No,” he says, his voice ladened with a light sincerity, “I’m not angry.” 

You feel like he’s holding back. Upset again, you attempt to find his hand where it’s cupping the space just below your chest and hold it weakly, smaller fingers on his, looking for a better forgiveness. It doesn’t come. You cry so much it starts to make you feel sick, and concern your weary partner, his frown getting deeper where it’s pressed to your neck. 

“I’m not mad,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry for yelling, honey, is that what’s upset you?” 

You just hate the idea that he could feel against you. It’s like a mixture of regret, anger, and now frustration, because you hadn’t wanted to cry at all, much less be comforted. Although, admittedly, the comforting is holding you together. 

“Come on,” he says, kissing your cheek between words, “let’s sit up before you hurt your back.” 

He sits back and pulls at your arm until you're sitting upright on the sofa. Your gaze falls to your legs, your hand curled uselessly on your thigh, your tears slowly pooling and falling in succession. You scrunch your face up as another wave of misery hits you. 

“I’m s-sorry,” you say. 

“For what?” he asks, far less emotional than you, and yet not completely stony, either. 

“I didn’t mean to cry.” You bring your hand to your face to wipe at your tears and runny nose, irked, not wanting him to see you. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs.

Hotch leans down to kiss your shoulder, which works to calm you down. Another kiss to your neck and your horrible cloud of emotion starts to clear. 

He can’t hate you if he’s kissing you. 

“I’m sorry I made it a fight,” Hotch says, “I never would have if I thought you’d get this upset.” 

“We can’t not fight just because I might cry.” 

“That’s exactly why we shouldn’t. I never want to make you cry.” 

“I hate when you–” You cut yourself off, the confession sure to make you look small. 

“What?” he prompts gently.

“I hate when you yell because– because you never do.” 

He’d only raised his voice for a few words, and it hadn’t been to your discredit, he’d been telling you to leave it alone. Perhaps if he’d been insulting you it would make sense for you to cry this much, but yelling is part of any argument. You can’t work out why it’s affected you. 

“I feel so stupid,” you confess. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” he says, wrapping his arm behind your back to pull you flush to his side, “I don’t know how it got so out of hand. You’re never stupid, I’m just stubborn. I shouldn’t shout.” 

You twist to be facing him. He frowns at your wet cheeks. 

“Do you want to kiss and make up?” you ask tentatively. 

Hotch doesn’t roll his eyes or laugh at your question —he can tell you’re being serious. “Can we?” he asks, cupping your cheek in his hand. 

He rubs a loving line into the side of your face, and every tight string in you is cut. You kiss him quickly, worried it’ll be a bad one, but find yourself encouraged for a longer one by his hand, your eyes squeezed closed in stress relaxing the longer it goes on. He’s gentle with you, his lips parting atop yours. 

He pulls away. You hide your face in the curve of his neck. 

“Can you forgive me for being cruel?” he asks quietly. 

“You’re not cruel, Aaron. I hate being on a different side from you, that’s all.” 

His first name makes all the difference to him. He sneaks a couple of kisses into your temple and begins to relax as you have, two sad lumps on the couch who only want the comfort of the other. 

You rub loving lines up and down his side, finally feeling better as he breathes his own sigh of relief. 

[reignpage]

Piercer!Geto

Kawasaki W800: flashing lights

Contents: 18+ mdni, huge foreplay, teasing, mostly fluffy, also wrote this high so again dunno how much sense this makes lol, not proofread

“No way.”

You’re staring at a motorcycle. It’s black and sleek and looks like a beast. The seat is low, none of the motorcycles you’ve seen look like that, but the handles are like horns, devilish and intimidating. Exuding danger, you note that every part, every piece of metal, looks heavy, expensive and merciless. If you were to touch the wrong thing, it’ll scar you. 

It’s a death trap. 

And your boss is leaning against it, smiling at you. 

“Come on, let’s go for a ride, pretty.”

You shake your head really fast, like a cartoon character. There’s no freaking way you’ll get on that thing; there’s no doors or seatbelts, and you’re not built to crash. You don’t even ride a bicycle, how could you possible be expected to board its rowdier, more reckless and wild cousin?

Suguru’s pressing his lips together to stifle a laugh. You’re backing away, lips slightly parted and brows furrowed. It’s a look of pure fear and you’ve never looked more endearing, he thinks. 

Pushing off, he stalks over to you, grabbing your scarf, which is really his but it looks better on you, and keeping you in place. You both have to bend your necks to meet each other’s eyes, and it reminds you of that time in his office. A moment that keeps you up at night, leaves your gasping and dreaming of more. 

He peels the scarf, the soft material grazing your chin, and he pushes it down with two fingers, revealing the smooth expanse of your neck. It’s bruised. When those very fingers brush over that tender flesh, you tense, breath lodged in your throat. 

“It doesn’t hurt, does it?” His voice is low, just above a whisper, a sweet cradle as he scrutinises your face for any signs he had gone too far. He finds none. If anything, you wished he had gone farther.

You shake your head. “No, I’m okay. It was nice.”

Huffing a laugh, he wraps you back up, untucking your hair from the back and pulling your jacket close. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

Your heart drops. He distracted you from the torture you’re about to face. Curse that handsome face. And when you try to pull away, his soft hands turn firm. 

Tutting, he gives you a warning look. 

“But Suguru, it looks so scary!”

Brushing an errant hair from your face, he gives you that soothing smile, the one that makes you feel like all is well and nothing could ever hurt you. But then you glance back at that monstrous creation and you don’t believe him anymore. 

Grasping your shoulders, he brings you closer, somehow managing to pull you as you dig your heels. The thing looks like it bites. 

Waving a hand at the bike, he says, “Tamamo, meet my pretty girl. Pretty, meet Tamamo.”

Whether from pure fear or sheer stupidity, you wave at the bike. He’s named it. Your boss gave his bike a name. Maybe you’re all insane. You don’t want to admit it, however, but the longer you stare at the bike, the less frightening it looks. The seat actually looks pretty comfy. 

Hanging off a handle is a helmet, you let him place it on your head and you’re sure you look stupid: big puffer jacket, face covered by a scarf that smells like burnt oak, and a matte black helmet with colourful stickers of rock bands and random cartoons and landmarks. 

Suguru, on the other hand, has his hair up in a bun, one loose lock falling over his forehead, and he’s wearing a leather jacket. The material stretches over his broad shoulders, hugging him so deliciously you can’t help but reach out to feel it. He’s fastening the strap under your chin and you’re skimming your hand on his chest. 

He smiles at you and then grips your wrist, thumb brushing the skin before he tightens his hold. 

“Good girls ask before touching, yes?”

You nod. 

It’s like he’s hypnotised you; you’re cursed to find whatever he says beautiful because he’s beautiful. And that giddy feeling he’s invoked in your chest makes you grin. “Can I touch you, Suguru?”

“Quickly,” is all he says, but you don’t miss the look of pride that flashes in his eyes. 

You push the opening of his jacket wider, placing your cold hands on his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin seep through. That should be enough, that’s much further than you should go with your boss, but it feels too goo, too right. Your hands falls and they creeping up his shirt. Skin on skin, you breathe out, mesmerised by the flex of his abs. 

“Fuck!” He hisses. “Your hands are cold, angel.”

You mutter an apology, but you don’t move. You’re enjoying the hard ridges of his body too much to do so. A beat or two passes and you know your time is up, but just before he says somethings, one hand flies up to brush against a particular part of his body you’ve been curious about since the day in his office when his chest was pressed to your back. 

Metal.

“You could have just asked,” he teases. There’s not a hint of surprise on his face, but there is a red tint on the tips of his ears. “Alright, you’ve been pampered enough, shall we?”

Well, you did just grope the man, the least you could is ride him. His bike, you mean. His bike. There would be no riding of men, especially not when you established your boundary and insisted on taking it slow. 

He climbs on first, revving the engine, and the roar makes you flinch. It’s so loud, it’s the only sound in the otherwise quiet street. This is your chance to escape, to make a run for it whilst he’s not looking, but the way his legs are spread, the tight jeans are hugging his thick thighs, you want to see where this goes. 

So, you grasp his shoulder and saddle the motorcycle, body pressed tight against his. Your hands are clutching his jacket, thighs against his, and he reaches his arms back to pull you even closer. Arms wrapped around his waits now, you cling on for dear life, his torso your only anchor. 

“Ready, pretty?”

When you nod against his back, he zooms off. 

Wind rushes against your face, nipping at your skin, sharp and chilling. But his warmth washes away the freezing sensation, the vibrations warming your thighs too as the engine is pushed to its limits. The world is a blur around you, hard to even tell where you are and what street you’re going down, but you trust Suguru.

Heart pumping faster than it ever has been, your hands clutch at him tighter, creasing the material of his shirt. Every lean, every turn, every acceleration, every roar of the engine sends a thrill through you, adrenaline shooting through your veins. It’s all so reckless and carefree, but as you watch his careful twists and turns, you know he could go even faster, could amp it up to make himself feel the thrill, but he doesn’t. 

Somehow he knew just how much to give you until you’re lightheaded and a breathless laugh is escaping you from the pure exhilaration. 

Your boss always knows. 

There’s a fluidity in his movements, as if he knows these roads like the back of his hands, it reminds you of his artistry as a tattoo artist — the way his wrists flick in controlled and precise movements, needles angled just right to get crisp, thin lines, casting shadows and light where his eyes sees them. 

He’s bringing the streets to light. 

And you’re his accomplice. 

You’ve never been more elated. As you watch the city pass by, you realise your cheeks are hurting; you’ve been grinning nonstop, eyes wide and trying to take it all in: the flashing lights, the streaks and blurs of pedestrians, cars rolling to a stop or waiting in traffic, that smell of smoke and gasoline filling your nostrils. 

If your sister could see you, she’d collapse, though not before she snitches to your parents, that’s for sure. 

Somehow, none of that matters, not when his body is keeping you tethered, reminding you this is real, that you’re not flying off into space or disappearing into dreamland. You’re here, with him, and there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. 

A red light. 

You stand in traffic, the engine quieter now, but purring beneath you. Suguru’s fingers taps the back of your hand and you know, without the need for words, that he’s asking if you’re okay. You squeeze tighter in an affirmative. And then, almost like you can’t help yourself, you bite his back. It’s a light nibble, really, and you don’t know why you do it. His back is just so wide and firm. It’s unlikely he even felt anything but a light pressure through the layers. 

Suguru grips your thigh, pinching in warning. You tighten your thigh’s grip around him, too. And as you both wait for the lights to change, you lean against his back, enjoying his warmth and his comforting scent, as he continues to knead the fat of your thighs. 

Yellow and then green. 

And you’re off again. 

Eventually, he pulls up to your apartment, and you don’t want to let go. Your heart is still beating a hundred miles per hour and you’re so warm and so comfortable, you don’t want to get off. 

He doesn’t say anything. Just drums his fingers against your hand and brushes a thumb against your knee. It’s intimate, and you know how it looks. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you’re aware you should say goodbye, should place distance between yourself and your boss, but it feels wrong to do so. Holding him is what feels right and you know there’s nothing you’d rather do, even when you’ve got a bunch of homework to do. 

“Enjoy the ride, angel?”

You nod. 

“Let’s use our words, please.”

“It was fun.” Your voice is shaky, the after-effects of the adrenaline creating a tremble that makes him clutch your knee tighter, in a quick pulse. “Thanks for picking me up, Suguru.”

He pats your thigh and promises, “I’ll pick you up whenever you want.”

And you have to know he means it. 

So you raise one hand higher again, this time over his shirt, slip it under his jacket and press it against his chest, right where his heart is. It’s beating fast. Just as fast as yours is. That makes you smile. 

“Are you guys gonna fuck in the streets? Cause if you are, then I’ll throw down a condom.”

You wince. How could you forget your sister’s at home tonight?

You didn’t even check to see if the lights on the 3rd floor were on when you two pulled up, and now she’s leaning over the balcony railing in her oversized shirt and panties, barefoot, hair in curlers, and a green face mask. 

“Well, aren’t you a polite little thing?” Sugar fires back, no real heat in his words, but he is smiling at her with the same smile he gives to mean clients. The one that screams ‘you’re getting in my way’. 

“Polite is reserved for gentlemen. And you, my good sir, are no gentleman. I mean, how dare you!” She’s wagging a finger at him from all the way up there, waking the neighbours, no doubt, as she gives him a proper scolding. “What time is this? This is way too late for my baby sister and you’ve brought her on your stupid motorbike? Which one is this? Daruma?”

You swing your leg and climb down, annoyed by your meddling sister whose voice is shrill and uncaring. She ruined a perfectly beautiful moment and you’re going to steal her pink heels just for that. 

Suguru follows suit, unfastening your helmet as he shouts back, “No, Tamamo.”

“Ah, is that the one Gojo doesn’t like?”

“Yeah, it almost crushed him.”

Free from the helmet, you blush at the realisation that your hair must be a mess. But your boss doesn’t seem to think so as he roves over your features, a small smile, a genuine one, playing on his lips. He fixes your hair, brushing it down and fluffs up your, or rather his, scarf. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

You nod. “Thanks again, Suguru.”

“It was my pleasure, pretty. Go in and get some sleep, you’ve worked hard today.”

You’re about to walk away, body turning, when an urge overwhelms you. Using his jacket as leverage, you tiptoe and press your lips to his. It’s a peck. Not quite as heated as you would have liked, but it’s still nice. It’s sweet and soft and it makes your lips tingle. 

He blinks, then he’s cradling your face in his hands and pressing his lips harder against yours. Fire burns through you, goosebumps rise along your skin, eyes fluttering close. It’s a real kiss. It’s still soft, but as it deepens, there’s sparks intensifying, urging your closer and closer, until there’s not a single atom that isn’t touching his. His hands are firm, keeping your face steady, and he slips one to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair.

You shiver when he sucks on your bottom lip, his tongue slipping in when you gasp. Each graze is fluid, a careful balance of forward and backwards, of giving and taking, as your tongues dance to a tender music. 

Running out of air, you break the connection, breathing hard and fast as you stare at him. Your lips feel tingly and swollen and you want to go back for more. But he presses a kiss to your forehead instead, brushing your lips with a thumb and then he’s pulling away, almost just as out of breath as you are. 

His hands clench and unclench beside him. 

And with even shakier breath, you whisper, “Goodnight, Suguru.”

“Goodnight, pretty girl.”

“Goodnight, Geto,” your sister mocks from the balcony, voice extra exaggerated as she stands with her back to you both, arms wrapped around her as she mimics your kiss. 

You clench your teeth. 

She’ll never see those pink heels again. 

[chheolie]

dad seokmin forgot to keep his promise

seokmin was having one of those days where he planned to spend the entire afternoon entertaining his son with the most outlandish games he could think of. full of enthusiasm, he turned on the toy fire truck, which started zooming across the floor with its lights flashing and siren echoing throughout the room.

"look at this, buddy!" he exclaimed, excitedly, calling his little one over to watch the toy in action.

but to his surprise, his son, sitting on the floor with a surprisingly firm look, just crossed his arms and put on an expression that looked way too serious for a three-year-old. his little lips pushed out into a dramatic pout, as if he was experiencing the worst day of his life.

seokmin raised an eyebrow, confused, trying to decipher the unexpected reaction.

“is he mad about something? or maybe he just doesn’t like fire trucks anymore?” he thought, watching his son curiously.

determined to keep trying, he brought the truck closer and attempted to get him excited again.

"let’s put out the fire, son!" he said in an upbeat tone, waving the toy from side to side, trying to make it as fun as possible.

to his complete shock, the little boy, still with his pout intact, kicked the truck with his chubby foot, sending it sliding across the rug until it bumped against the couch leg. the kid’s angry face only grew, and the pout? somehow, it looked even bigger.

seokmin had to try really hard not to laugh. he felt his lips tremble with the urge to let out a chuckle, but he held it back. he didn’t want to make his little one any more upset.

"okay, my love… you don’t want to play with the fire truck," seokmin said in a softer, more paternal tone. "how about we go for a walk outside?" he suggested, smiling as if it was the most amazing idea ever.

the boy looked at his dad with a mix of disapproval and stubbornness, then turned his face away, crossing his arms even tighter.

seokmin sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling clueless. he tried everything he could think of – he even offered to go outside and watch the “big trucks” his son usually loved to see, but nothing worked. feeling at a loss and a little desperate, he finally picked up his phone to call for help from the real expert: his wife.

with quick fingers, he typed a message, and soon his phone buzzed with a reply.

seokmin: babe, help.

he saw the typing bubbles pop up and then the message appeared.

seokmin: i think i just became our son’s number one enemy. 😩😩

y/n: 🤨 really? why?

seokmin: he won’t talk to me. won’t play with his favorite fire truck, doesn’t even want to go outside…

y/n: did you ask him why? maybe it’s something important

seokmin: babe… he’s only three. how’s he supposed to know how to explain what he’s feeling? 🥺

y/n: 🙄 ASK HIM, seokmin.

seokmin was ready to finally fix the situation, but he couldn’t resist asking his son one more time, now that the little boy seemed a bit less upset.

"son, did daddy do something wrong? why are you so upset?" he gently held his son’s tiny shoulders. "is there anything daddy can do to make you not be mad anymore?"

the little boy looked at him, still pouting, and said in a slightly teary voice, "you… you pwomised… stwawbewwy ice cweam… and you fowgot!"

seokmin had to cover his mouth to hide his laughter. of course, it was about food! and he vaguely remembered mentioning something about ice cream the night before, but with all the excitement and games, he’d completely forgotten.

"oh, son… i’m really sorry! daddy forgot about the ice cream!"

seokmin quickly grabbed his phone and texted his wife, almost as if he needed her to witness what he’d just discovered.

seokmin: babe, he said it

seokmin: i promised him strawberry ice cream after lunch, can you believe it? 😩😩

almost immediately, her reply came in.

y/n: really? i’m a witness.

seokmin: i forgot i’d promised that 😳

seokmin: but… how could he remember that? he’s just a baby!

y/n: he’s your son, seokmin. your legacy: selective memory for sweets and pizza.

seokmin: 😅😅😅😅😅

y/n: give him his ice cream before he packs his bag to run away from home.

laughing at the thought of his son packing a bag and searching for a new home that took ice cream promises seriously, seokmin headed to the kitchen to prepare the long-awaited treat. he grabbed a small bowl, added a few scoops of strawberry ice cream, and went all out: strawberry syrup, colorful sprinkles, and of course, a cherry on top. he carried the bowl back to the living room like it was a trophy, still imagining which uncle his son might ask for refuge with. maybe vernon? surely he wouldn’t forget a promise.

"here it is, buddy! your strawberry ice cream, with everything you deserve!"

the little boy, now with bright eyes, immediately dropped his pout and grabbed the bowl with both tiny hands, amazed by what he saw.

"yummy!" he said, fully focused on the ice cream and visibly happy.

seokmin crouched down beside him and asked hopefully, "so… do you forgive me for forgetting?"

the child nodded, but he was so engrossed in the ice cream that seokmin wasn’t sure if the forgiveness was genuine or just temporary. the ice cream was clearly priority number one.

he quickly sent another message to y/n.

seokmin: he forgave me…

seokmin: but i’m not sure we’re totally okay yet… i think his heart’s still divided between the ice cream and the grudge.

y/n: hahaha, i’m glad for you, babe.

seokmin watched as his son enjoyed the ice cream, and with each spoonful, the little boy let out a happy “mmm!” while seokmin watched, relieved to have made things right.

when his little one finished, he held up the empty bowl and grinned.

"was it good?" seokmin asked, smiling back at him.

"good, good!" he replied with his sweet little voice and eyes shining with joy.

suddenly, the boy got up, handed the bowl back to seokmin without much ceremony, and ran over to the fire truck still sitting on the floor.

"wooo woo woo woo!" he started imitating the fire truck siren with excitement, waving his dad over to join the game.

seokmin wasted no time. he ran to the kitchen to put the bowl down and, in seconds, was back in the living room, ready for the new mission to save the world. he pretended to put on an invisible firefighter helmet and gave his son a salute.

"firefighter seokmin reporting for duty!" he announced with a determined, goofy expression. "what’s the emergency, chief?"

his son held onto the toy truck, looking at him with serious little eyes.

"fire! big fire! daddy, come!" he shouted, running around the room with the truck while seokmin followed, pretending to turn on a siren.

the house transformed into a "fire station," and the two of them spent the next several minutes saving stuffed animals from the imaginary blaze.

seokmin: babe, we’re friends again

seokmin: we’re playing firefighters

y/n: alright, mr. firefighter, don’t make promises you won’t remember to keep

seokmin: 🫡🫡🫡

[moonlitstoriess]

The Cost of Deception- Azriel x fem!reader (2/3)

Summary: After years of silence, Y/N and Azriel unknowingly track the same target, only to find themselves face-to-face once more. Betrayal runs deep, and neither is willing to forgive, but the mission must come first—if they don’t destroy each other first.

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Part 1 Part 3

Warnings: not proofread, SMUT MINORS DNI (i will mention when it starts and ends), mentions of trauma, fighting, angst, mentions of SA, still kinda toxic Azriel, injuries

Azriel had been up for hours. Sleep had evaded him, the tangled sheets of the too-small bed serving as a bitter reminder of his lack of control. He hated himself for what had happened the night before—for how easily he had given in to her. She had been a firestorm in his arms, all heat and anger, a perfect storm of fury and passion. And he’d matched her, moment for moment, letting the simmering tension they’d carried for years erupt into something raw and primal.

But it was a mistake. He knew that.

His shadows slithered around him, restless as his thoughts. The morning air was cool, biting against his skin as he packed their meager supplies with deliberate precision. Every movement was an effort to drown out the memory of her body, the feel of her beneath him, the taste of her curses and her lips all at once.

The soft rustle of sheets behind him told him she was waking. He didn’t turn. He couldn’t. Not yet.

“Already up?” her voice broke the quiet, low and husky from sleep.

Azriel didn’t pause, his tone colder than the air. “We leave in ten minutes.”

He heard her shift, the sound of her feet hitting the floor. She didn’t say anything for a moment, and in the silence, he allowed himself a glance.

She looked… different in the soft morning light. No less fierce, but there was something raw about her, a vulnerability he didn’t want to acknowledge. Her hair was tousled, her expression guarded, but her eyes—gods, those eyes. They betrayed her for a heartbeat, flashing with hurt before they iced over.

“Right,” she said flatly, turning away to gather her things. “Wouldn’t want to waste time.”

The words were casual, but he could feel the edge in them, sharp enough to cut. He deserved it. He’d known that last night would hurt her, and he’d done it anyway.

His jaw tightened as he turned back to his task, pretending not to notice the quickness with which she dressed, the stiffness in her movements. Pretending not to feel the weight of the silence between them.

Azriel’s thoughts churned, a chaotic mess he couldn’t untangle. He’d spent years keeping his distance, convincing himself it was better that way. Safer. For her. For him.

But he hadn’t truly stayed away. He’d watched from the shadows, making sure she didn’t stumble into trouble she couldn’t handle. It was obsession, maybe. Or guilt. Or something he couldn’t name.

And last night had only made it worse.

He shouldn’t have touched her. Shouldn’t have let her pull him under. But the moment her lips had met his, all his carefully constructed walls had crumbled. And now, standing here in the cold light of morning, he couldn’t escape the truth of it: he wanted her still.

Not just her body, though that was seared into his mind like a brand. He wanted her fire, her defiance, the way she challenged him like no one else dared.

And gods help him, he hated her for it.

Because she had ruined him, too.

The memory of her betrayal—her lies—burned like a fresh wound. Her false information had led to disaster, and he’d paid the price. They both had. He could still see the fallout, the chaos it had caused, the look on her face when the consequences had come crashing down.

He shoved the thought aside, his jaw clenched as he swung his pack over his shoulder.

“We’re late,” he said curtly, breaking the silence.

She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “I’m ready.”

They left the room without another word, the door clicking shut behind them.

As they walked through the quiet streets, the tension between them was palpable. His shadows twitched, brushing against her arm as if they had a mind of their own. He saw her stiffen at the contact, her gaze snapping to his in annoyance.

“Can you control those things for once?” she muttered.

“Can you stop giving orders for once?” he shot back, his voice colder than he intended.

Her lips thinned, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she quickened her pace, as if putting distance between them would lessen the weight of the silence.

Azriel watched her, his thoughts a tangled mess of guilt, anger, and something he refused to name. She was infuriating. Stubborn. Beautiful.

And gods help him, he didn’t know how to let her go.

The trail they followed wound through dense woods, the kind that swallowed sound and sight in equal measure. Every step was accompanied by the crunch of leaves underfoot, though Y/N couldn’t bring herself to care about stealth. Her frustration at the male stalking behind her simmered too hotly for that. If Azriel wanted her to be quiet, he could damn well walk faster and take the lead. But no—he kept his distance, keeping to his shadows as if they were the only things he trusted.

And maybe they were.

Y/N’s grip on her weapon tightened as she stomped down the uneven path, the tension between them suffocating. She didn’t dare look back, not when the memory of last night still clung to her like a second skin. She’d woken up to find him already dressed and preparing, his expression shuttered, his voice clipped.

A mistake.

That word had cut deeper than any blade. She hated herself for the flash of hurt he must’ve seen in her eyes before she managed to lock it away. Hated him even more for the way he seemed so unbothered, as if it hadn’t meant anything to him.

She gritted her teeth, her mind replaying his cold tone as she finally muttered, “You know, if I’m such a liability, why don’t you just leave me behind?”

Azriel didn’t answer immediately, though she knew he’d heard her. His shadows slithered across the ground toward her, curling near her boots as if they, too, wanted to silence her.

His voice, when it came, was clipped and devoid of emotion. “We’ve been over this. I need you. You need me. We both have the same goal. Malrik’s loyalists won’t hand themselves over for interrogation.”

The mention of Malrik set her blood boiling, though she wasn’t sure if it was because of the danger he posed or the fact that Azriel’s words had come with such detachment—I need you, not I want you. Not I care about you.

“Right,” she muttered, rolling her eyes even though she knew he couldn’t see her face. “Because that worked so well last time.”

Her words hung in the air like a challenge, but Azriel didn’t take the bait. Of course he didn’t. He never rose to her provocations unless it served some purpose, and right now, his silence only made her anger burn hotter.

The tension between them had her so distracted that she nearly missed the sound. Nearly.

A twig snapped, sharp and sudden, slicing through the oppressive quiet of the forest.

Y/N froze instantly, her instincts kicking in as she gripped her weapon. Her heart raced, but her body stayed perfectly still. She didn’t need to look back to know Azriel had stopped, too. His shadows darted out like vipers, curling through the trees in search of the source.

“Move,” Azriel hissed, his voice low but urgent.

Before she could process his command, he shoved her behind a tree. The force of it knocked the air from her lungs, and she barely had time to steady herself before an arrow flew past, embedding itself in the bark where she’d been standing a second ago.

Her heart slammed against her ribs as she peered out from behind the tree. Figures emerged from the shadows—six of them, maybe more. Their movements were too calculated, too precise for common bandits. These were professionals.

“Well, well,” one of the mercenaries drawled, his scarred face splitting into a grin. “Looks like we caught ourselves a pretty bird and her handler.”

Y/N’s grip on her weapon tightened, her pulse thundering in her ears. She could feel Azriel’s presence behind her, could feel the shift in the air as his shadows slithered around them. The tension between them was nothing compared to the danger standing before them now.

Azriel stepped out from behind the tree, his wings partially spread, his blade gleaming in the dim light filtering through the canopy. He looked every bit the terrifying Illyrian warrior the stories warned of, his shadows curling around his feet like living smoke.

“Leave now,” he said, his voice cold and sharp as steel. “And you’ll live.”

The mercenary laughed, the sound rough and mocking. “Oh, I don’t think so, shadow boy. Malrik wants your heads, and he’s paying well for them.”

Y/N stepped out then, her own blade at the ready. Her pulse steadied as adrenaline took over, her focus sharpening. “If you think Malrik’s gold is worth your lives, be my guest.”

The mercenary’s grin widened. “Feisty. I like her.” He raised his hand, and the rest of the group moved as one, fanning out to surround them.

Azriel shot her a warning look. “Stay close,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

She bristled at the command but didn’t argue. They could hash out their differences later—if they survived this.

The first mercenary lunged, his blade aimed at Azriel’s throat. Azriel moved like a shadow, his dagger flashing as he parried the attack and countered with brutal efficiency.

Y/N barely had time to take it in before another mercenary was on her, his blade slashing toward her midsection. She sidestepped, bringing her own weapon up in a fluid arc that caught him across the shoulder. He staggered but didn’t fall, and she had to duck as another mercenary came at her from the side.

The fight descended into chaos, the sounds of steel meeting steel echoing through the forest. Y/N moved with precision, her strikes landing with deadly accuracy. But the mercenaries were relentless, their coordination suggesting they’d fought together before.

At one point, she felt a presence at her back and whirled, only to see Azriel there, his blade slicing through the throat of a mercenary who’d gotten too close. His shadows curled protectively around her for a moment before he moved away, his attention snapping back to the fight.

Her breath hitched, but there was no time to dwell on it.

Another mercenary lunged at her, his strike aimed at her head. She ducked and retaliated, driving her blade into his side. He went down with a grunt, but she barely had time to catch her breath before another took his place.

The fight was brutal, and for a moment, it seemed like they might be overwhelmed. But then Azriel’s shadows surged, wrapping around two of the mercenaries and dragging them to the ground. He moved with lethal grace, his blade flashing as he finished them off.

The remaining mercenaries hesitated, their confidence wavering as they realized they were outmatched.

“Leave,” Azriel snarled, his voice low and deadly.

This time, they listened. The survivors turned and fled, disappearing into the trees.

Y/N lowered her blade, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her body ached, her muscles screaming in protest, but she forced herself to stand tall.

Azriel turned to her, his expression unreadable. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned away, cleaning his blade with practiced efficiency.

The tension between them hadn’t lessened. If anything, it had grown worse. But for now, there was silence, broken only by the distant sound of the mercenaries retreating.

Y/N stared after them, her thoughts a chaotic mess. She’d survived worse fights, but something about this one felt different—something about the way Azriel had looked at her, the way his shadows had curled around her like a shield.

She didn’t know what to make of it, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to.

After a couple of hours, the forest gave way to a clearing bathed in the glow of an early sunrise, the light slicing through the lingering mist. Y/N pushed past a dense tangle of branches, Azriel a step behind her, his shadows still coiling warily as if the mercenaries from earlier might reappear. Her muscles ached from the fight, and her patience was worn thin.

They had only just stepped into the clearing when Y/N froze.

Figures—at least five of them—stood gathered near the center, a flickering fire between them. They were armed and armored, their postures relaxed but alert. The glint of steel and polished leather caught the light, and though they looked at ease, the tension in the air was unmistakable.

“More of Malrik’s men?” Y/N muttered, her hand instinctively tightening around her blade.

Azriel’s shadows slithered forward, testing the air around the strangers. “No,” he said quietly. “Not mercenaries. But not friends, either.”

The figures turned as one, their conversation cutting off as they noticed the new arrivals. Y/N’s stomach twisted. They hadn’t been expecting anyone here, and whoever these people were, they looked like they could hold their own in a fight.

The leader of the group—a tall female with auburn hair braided down her back—stepped forward. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, flicked between Y/N and Azriel. “Well, isn’t this a surprise?” she said, her voice smooth but carrying an edge. “And here I thought this little corner of the forest was supposed to be quiet.”

Azriel stepped in front of Y/N, his shadows curling around his shoulders like a cloak. “We don’t want trouble,” he said evenly.

The female arched a brow. “Funny, considering you look like trouble incarnate.” Her gaze drifted to Y/N, lingering for a moment before returning to Azriel. “You don’t look like you’re from around here. What brings you to our woods?”

Before Azriel could respond, another figure stepped forward—a male. He was taller than the others, his dark hair curling slightly at the ends, a sword strapped to his back and a dagger at his hip. His eyes were a startling shade of green, sharp and unreadable, but there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips, as if he found the entire situation amusing.

“Raya,” the male drawled, addressing the woman. “Let’s not scare our guests off just yet. They’ve already had a rough night, judging by the state of them.” His gaze flicked over Y/N, lingering on the dried blood streaked across her cheek and the dirt smudged on her gear.

Y/N bristled under his scrutiny, raising her chin. “We didn’t realize we were trespassing,” she said coolly.

“Of course you didn’t,” the man said, his smirk widening. “That’s what makes it so much fun to catch fae like you off guard.”

“Enough, Cade,” Raya said sharply, shooting the man a warning look. He raised his hands in mock surrender, but the grin never left his face.

Raya turned her attention back to Y/N and Azriel. “These woods are dangerous, in case you hadn’t noticed. Fae like you don’t usually wander in without a reason.”

Y/N hesitated, weighing her options. She didn’t trust these people, but the group was clearly organized, well-armed, and familiar with the terrain. If they were looking for Malrik’s loyalists, these strangers might know something useful.

“We’re looking for someone,” she said finally, ignoring Azriel’s sharp look.

The group exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. It was Cade who broke the silence, his smirk replaced by a more serious expression. “And who, exactly, are you looking for?”

“Malrik’s men,” Azriel said, his voice hard. “We’re tracking them.”

That got their attention. The tension in the clearing shifted, the casual postures of the group becoming more guarded.

“You’re hunting Malrik’s men?” Raya said, her tone skeptical. “Why?”

“Because they’re a threat,” Y/N said simply.

Cade laughed, the sound low and rough. “A threat? That’s putting it lightly. They’re practically crawling all over these woods. You’ll need more than the two of you to take them on.”

“Maybe we’re not the only ones who want them gone,” Y/N said, her tone sharp.

Raya tilted her head, studying her. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting that if you know something, you share it,” Y/N said, stepping closer. “We’re after the same thing. Help us, or stay out of our way.”

The group went silent, their eyes darting between Raya and Cade. For a moment, it seemed like they might refuse. But then Cade stepped forward, his green eyes locking on Y/N’s.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said, his voice dropping into a low drawl. “We’ve got a camp not far from here. Come with us, and we’ll talk.”

Y/N hesitated, glancing at Azriel. His expression was unreadable, but his shadows were curling tighter around him, a sign of his unease.

“We’ll follow,” Azriel said at last, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Cade’s smirk returned. “Good. Try to keep up, shadow boy.”

As the group began to move, Y/N fell into step beside Azriel, her thoughts racing. She didn’t trust these people—especially not Cade, with his infuriating smirk and sharp eyes. But if they knew anything about Malrik’s men, they couldn’t afford to walk away.

Still, as they followed the group deeper into the woods, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that they’d just stepped into something much bigger than a simple hunt for mercenaries.

The trek toward the camp stretched on, the forest around them dense and humming with the subtle sounds of life. Cade led the way, his steps light and confident, while the others moved in a loose formation, clearly comfortable navigating the terrain. Y/N kept her eyes sharp, scanning for any sign of danger, though the group’s relaxed demeanor suggested they weren’t worried about threats.

She felt Azriel's presence like a shadow at her back—silent, watchful, and brooding. It was a constant reminder of their earlier argument, and the weight of his frustration pressed against her like a physical thing.

“So,” Cade said, his voice cutting through the quiet. He glanced over his shoulder at her, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. “What’s a girl like you doing running around with shadow boy over there?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by his sudden question. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t exactly scream ‘spymaster lackey,’” Cade continued, ignoring Azriel entirely. “No offense, shadow boy.”

Azriel didn’t respond, but Y/N could feel the temperature drop as his shadows tightened, curling around him like restless smoke.

“I’m not his lackey,” she said coolly, stepping over a fallen branch.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Cade grinned, his green eyes glinting with amusement. “You’re a little too... fiery to be running around on a leash.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Fiery?”

“It’s a compliment,” he said with a wink. “Though, if we’re being honest, I’d peg you as more of a wildfire. Unpredictable. Dangerous. The kind that burns a man alive if he’s not careful.”

Despite herself, Y/N felt a flicker of amusement. “That’s a lot of assumptions for someone who doesn’t even know my name.”

“Oh, I don’t need your name to know you’re trouble,” Cade replied, his grin widening. “It’s written all over you.”

She shook her head, biting back a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re deflecting.” Cade’s tone turned teasing, his gaze flicking over her with open curiosity. “So, what’s your story, wildfire? How’d you end up chasing mercenaries with a shadow-slinging brooder?”

Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but a low, dangerous growl from behind her cut through the air. She glanced over her shoulder to find Azriel glaring at Cade, his shadows curling tighter, darker.

“Shouldn’t you be watching the path?” Azriel said, his voice cold and quiet, the kind that sent shivers down her spine.

Cade, to her surprise, didn’t so much as flinch. Instead, he shrugged, completely unfazed. “The path’s not going anywhere. Besides, I’d hate to miss the chance to get to know your lovely companion here.”

Azriel’s steps quickened, and suddenly he was at her side, his towering presence making it clear that Cade’s banter had crossed a line. Y/N felt the air between them shift, the tension so thick it was suffocating.

“Maybe focus on getting us to the camp,” Azriel said, his voice like steel.

Cade just smirked, his confidence unshaken. “Relax, shadow boy. No harm in a little conversation. Or are you afraid she might like me better?”

Y/N couldn’t help the startled laugh that escaped her, though she quickly masked it with a cough. Azriel shot her a sharp look, his jaw tightening.

Raya, walking a few steps ahead, sighed audibly. “Cade, shut up before I gag you. You’re giving me a headache.”

“Aw, Raya, don’t be jealous,” Cade said with a mock pout. “There’s plenty of me to go around.”

“Gods, you’re insufferable,” Raya muttered, shaking her head. Then, turning to Y/N, she added, “Don’t let him fool you. He talks a lot, but it’s mostly nonsense.”

“I’m starting to get that,” Y/N replied dryly, though her lips twitched.

Azriel said nothing, his sharp gaze fixed on Cade like a hawk watching its prey. Y/N could practically feel the restraint it was taking for him not to lash out. She nudged him with her elbow, whispering, “Relax. He’s harmless.”

Azriel didn’t look at her, but his voice was low and taut. “I don’t like him.”

“Shocking,” Y/N muttered under her breath, earning her a sidelong glare.

Finally, the trees parted, revealing a sprawling camp nestled in a natural hollow. Tents of various sizes dotted the area, their canvas sides fluttering in the breeze. A large fire burned in the center, and several figures moved about, their movements purposeful and efficient. Despite its rough appearance, the camp was well-organized, and Y/N couldn’t help but be impressed.

“Welcome to our humble abode,” Cade said with a dramatic flourish. “It’s not much, but it keeps us alive.”

“Barely,” Raya muttered, striding past him.

Cade ignored her, his attention once again fixed on Y/N. “Come on, wildfire. Let me give you the grand tour.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Grand tour of tents and dirt? Tempting.”

“You’d be surprised what secrets this place holds,” Cade said with a wink. “Stick with me, and I’ll show you all the best spots.”

Before Y/N could respond, Azriel stepped forward. “We’re not splitting up.”

Raya turned to him, her expression hardening. “You are. The elder wants to speak with you, shadow boy.”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. “I don’t answer to your elder.”

“You do if you want our help,” Raya shot back, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Y/N placed a hand on Azriel’s arm, meeting his icy stare. “It’s fine. Go with her. I’ll be fine with Cade.”

Azriel’s gaze darkened, his voice a low growl. “No.”

Y/N sighed, exhaustion creeping into her voice. “Some distance from you would be good, Azriel. I’m tired of seeing your face.”

From somewhere behind her, Cade’s amused voice whispered, “Ugly one at that.”

Azriel moved so fast she barely had time to react, but Raya was quicker. She stepped between him and Cade, her voice sharp and commanding. “Enough. You’re going with me, whether you like it or not.”

Azriel’s glare could have melted steel, but Raya didn’t flinch. With a frustrated growl, he finally turned away, his shadows writhing around him.

Cade grinned, holding out a hand toward Y/N. “Shall we?”

Y/N hesitated, glancing at Azriel’s retreating form. He didn’t look back, but she could feel the tension radiating off him like a storm.

Taking a steadying breath, she turned back to Cade. “Lead the way.”

Azriel followed Raya through the winding paths of the camp, his strides measured but laced with a tension he couldn’t shake. His shadows rippled restlessly around him, curling and unfurling like they too sensed the storm brewing inside him.

Cade’s smirking face lingered in his mind, every smug word replaying over and over like a taunt. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the urge to turn back and rip the grin off that idiot’s face almost overwhelming. But it wasn’t Cade that truly haunted him—it was the way Y/N had looked at him.

Her faint amusement. The way she’d allowed Cade’s attention, even if she didn’t encourage it.

Why did that bother him so much?

Azriel ground his teeth, the questions cutting deep as he walked. Why did it matter if she found Cade’s banter entertaining? Or if she thought Cade was charming? Hell, she probably did. Cade was... Cade. Confident, carefree, and the type of male who wore his charm like a damn badge of honor.

Azriel’s steps faltered.

Maybe she’d be happier with someone like that. Someone who could smile easily and joke without shadows clouding every word. Someone who wasn’t... him.

No.

The thought sliced through his mind like a whip, swift and brutal. The idea of her with anyone else made his chest tighten painfully, his shadows darken dangerously. Cade. Any male. It didn’t matter. None of them deserved her.

She could only ever be—

Azriel froze mid-thought, his breath catching as the realization clawed at him. With me.

His mind reeled, the emotions swirling in a storm of jealousy, fury, and something he refused to name. How had it come to this? How had she embedded herself so deeply into him that even the thought of her entertaining another male made him want to burn the world to ash?

It wasn’t fair. He wasn’t supposed to feel like this—not again.

Azriel’s jaw tightened, guilt twisting in his gut. He didn’t deserve this—her. She deserved better. Someone who could offer her light and laughter, not shadows and scars. Not pain and betrayal.

And yet, despite knowing all of that, the selfish part of him—the foolish part of him—wanted her anyway.

“Trouble in paradise?” Raya’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts, dry and laced with amusement.

Azriel blinked, his head snapping toward her. He hadn’t realized she’d been watching him.

“Not in the mood,” he muttered, his tone sharper than intended.

Raya snorted. “You’re walking around like someone stole your favorite dagger. Let me guess: it’s about your lovely companion and Cade’s endless charm.”

Azriel’s shadows flared before he could stop them, and Raya laughed, shaking her head.

“Thought so,” she said. “Don’t worry, shadow boy. Cade’s an idiot, but he’s harmless. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” Azriel asked, his voice low, his shadows darkening further.

Raya waved a hand dismissively. “He talks a lot, but he’s not stupid. He knows when to back off... usually.” She glanced at him, her tone turning serious. “You should trust her. She doesn’t seem like the type to be easily swayed.”

Azriel said nothing, his jaw tightening as they continued walking. Trust her? He did. But that didn’t mean he trusted Cade—or any male, for that matter.

They reached a small hut near the center of the camp, its wooden structure weathered but sturdy. Smoke curled lazily from a small chimney, and the faint scent of herbs and earth lingered in the air.

Raya pushed open the door without hesitation, motioning for Azriel to follow.

Inside, the space was warm and dimly lit, the walls lined with shelves overflowing with jars, trinkets, and scrolls. A low table sat in the center, surrounded by cushions, and an elderly figure hunched over it, her hands moving deftly as she sorted through a collection of dried leaves.

The elder looked up as they entered, her eyes sharp and knowing despite the deep lines that etched her face. Her hair was a striking silver, braided down her back, and her presence filled the room like a force of nature.

Raya spoke first, her words flowing in a language Azriel didn’t recognize. The elder responded in kind, her voice steady and measured, though her eyes never left Azriel.

Finally, Raya turned to him. “The elder will speak with you now. Try to be polite.”

With that, she left, closing the door behind her.

Azriel inclined his head slightly, stepping further into the room.

“You are not what I expected,” the elder said, her voice soft but carrying an unmistakable weight.

Azriel raised a brow. “And what did you expect?”

The elder smiled faintly, gesturing for him to sit. “A male less... shrouded.”

He didn’t move. “We won’t be staying long. I only need information on Malrik.”

The elder chuckled, a low, knowing sound. “Always so impatient, your kind. Sit, shadow boy. I am older than your parents combined, and I don’t have time for your posturing.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, but he sat, his shadows shifting uneasily. “Why are you helping us?”

The elder leaned back, studying him with an intensity that made his skin prickle. “Because Malrik is dangerous, and you would not be here unless you had reason to stop him.”

Azriel hesitated, weighing his words carefully. Finally, he said, “He’s gathering forces, planning something larger.”

The elder nodded slowly. “You are right to be wary. Malrik has aligned himself with dark forces—forces that crave power and destruction. He is not a simple mercenary. He is a predator, and his sights are set on far more than this forest.”

“Where is he?” Azriel asked, his voice taut.

The elder’s expression darkened. “North of here, beyond the river. He has a stronghold hidden in the cliffs. But be warned—his forces are not easily overcome.”

Azriel nodded, his mind already calculating their next move. “Thank you for the information.”

The elder’s gaze softened slightly. “Be careful, shadow boy. The path you walk is treacherous, and the stakes are higher than you realize.”

Azriel didn’t respond, rising to his feet.

“You and your companion may stay here for the night,” the elder added. “But do not linger. The longer you stay, the more dangerous it becomes.”

With a curt nod, Azriel left the hut, his mind a whirlwind of plans and unresolved emotions.

He had left Y/N alone with Cade for far too long.

Y/n’s laughter had been constant throughout the tour, a sound she hadn’t realized she’d missed so much. Cade’s charisma was infectious, his humor weaving through the air like a gentle breeze, pushing aside the heavy thoughts that always loomed in her mind. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no Azriel, no Malrik, no looming threats. There was just Cade, a bright presence, bringing lightness to her soul that she hadn’t known she needed.

Every joke Cade made felt like a small reprieve, each laugh an escape from the oppressive heaviness of her reality. His voice was like a soothing melody, lifting her spirits with every word he spoke, each playful comment distracting her from the constant weight of responsibility and turmoil. She had almost forgotten what it was like to simply be, to not be at war with herself or the world around her.

As the tour wound to its end, Cade finally turned to her with a grin, his hands brushing against his jacket as if closing a book.

"And that, my lady, is the grand tour," he declared, bowing dramatically. "Voila, your room, your kingdom."

Y/n’s laughter bubbled up again, and she felt a little lighter, a little freer. She didn’t even realize how deeply his presence had begun to impact her until this moment—until the joy had settled over her like a warm, comforting blanket.

But then, something shifted. Cade’s hand, warm and playful, slid around her waist. The movement was casual, natural, as if they had known each other for ages. Y/n stiffened for a brief moment—until the sharp chill of a shadow cut through the air.

Before she could even process the change, a blast of dark power pierced the moment, and Cade was forced to recoil. The sudden pain contorted his face as he jerked his hand back, clutching at it. Y/n's breath caught in her throat, her eyes flashing to the source.

Azriel.

He moved toward them with a deadly quiet, his presence like an icy storm sweeping over the area. His eyes locked onto Cade, and the space between them froze in an instant. Y/n felt the pulse of tension in the air as Azriel’s gaze bore through Cade, his jaw clenched, the coldness radiating from him sending a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

"Cade, are you alright?" Y/n found herself asking instinctively, her hand reaching for him, wanting to help.

Cade, ever the charmer, brushed off his injury with a smile, despite the clear wince of pain. "I’m fine. No need to worry, my lady. See? Hardly a scratch."

But Y/n was already turning, irritation bubbling under her skin as she faced Azriel. His expression was unreadable, his icy demeanor masking something far darker lurking underneath.

"Azriel," she began, her voice sharp with an edge of frustration, "why the hell would you—?"

Before she could finish, Azriel was already cutting her off, his voice low and controlled. "They gave us a room. Let’s go."

Y/n’s heart skipped a beat at his commanding tone. The words were like a cold slap to her face, a harsh reminder of who Azriel was—what he was capable of.

"No," she shot back, standing firm. "I’m staying here with Cade. He showed me to my room."

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his voice slipping into a low growl. "You’ll be coming with me." His gaze flickered to Cade, a clear challenge in his eyes, and it wasn’t long before Cade, seemingly unaffected, fired back.

"A room close to mine," he stated, his grin mischievous, as though taunting Azriel to escalate the situation.

Y/n’s heart twisted. She could feel the storm brewing between them, the undeniable pull of their conflict—a storm that had been building for far too long. And then, just like that, the tension snapped. Azriel didn’t wait. He lunged forward, a blur of motion, and before anyone could react, he had Cade pinned against the wall. The air crackled with the promise of violence, and Y/n’s pulse raced as she realized just how far things had already gone.

"Cade!" Y/n shouted, rushing forward, but it was Raya who managed to break them apart, her voice commanding as she barked orders.

"Get back, Y/n! Now!" Raya’s voice was like a whip, cutting through the chaos.

Y/n hesitated only for a moment before she grabbed Azriel’s arm, pulling him away with surprising strength as Raya moved to separate Cade from the mess. The citizens had gathered, whispering, eyes wide, watching the spectacle unfold, and Y/n could feel their stares on her as if she were the cause of all this madness.

"Get him away," Raya demanded, her voice cold and stern. Y/n’s own anger flared as she guided Azriel, pushing him towards the room that had been assigned to them.

When they finally reached the door, Y/n slammed it shut behind them, her breath heavy with a mix of anger and frustration. Azriel, ever the master of control, seemed unfazed on the surface, but she could see the simmering fury beneath his calm mask. He was coiled tight, ready to strike—at her, at anyone who dared to challenge him.

Y/n was silent for a moment, her back pressed against the door as she tried to steady herself. When she turned to face him, she saw the tension in his jaw, the tightening of his fists.

"Azriel," she started, her voice quieter than before, though the fury still laced her words. "You can’t just... you can’t keep doing this."

He met her gaze with the cold, deadly calm that he always wore, but she could see it in his eyes—the hunger, the need for control, the need to make her bend to him.

And it disgusted her.

"Sit down," she demanded, her tone sharp as she moved past him to find medical supplies. "You’re hurt."

Azriel didn’t argue, though there was a flicker of something dangerous in his eyes. He sat on the chair, his body tense, the only sign of his earlier aggression still visible in the way he held himself.

Y/n moved toward him, her hands working to gather the supplies. The silence between them stretched, heavy and thick with unspoken words. As she gently touched his wounds, applying the ointment with careful precision, the moment stretched out into something… more.

"You’re still the same," she whispered, barely audible, her hands hesitating as she met his gaze. "Nothing has changed."

Azriel's voice was low and edged with a dangerous kind of amusement. "What do you mean by that?"

Y/n leaned down to tend to the injury on his shoulder, her breath warm against his skin. As she reached to dab at the wound, her hand brushed across his lips. The world seemed to still, the air thick with tension. Azriel’s gaze locked on her, heat swirling in his dark eyes. He leaned forward, his lips brushing against her finger, and before she could react, his tongue darted out, catching the tip of her finger.

She gasped, her body freezing as the sensation of his touch ignited something inside her that she had thought long buried. Her thoughts scattered, and for a moment, she forgot herself.

"Divine," Azriel murmured, his voice thick, the word leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

Her breath caught in her throat. No. She would not fall for this again. Not after everything.

Y/n jerked back, pulling her hand away from him, her heart hammering in her chest. "Let me go," she whispered, her voice shaky with a mixture of rage and something darker.

Azriel reached for her again, but this time, she was quicker. "You’re not getting away from me that easily," he muttered, though the dark hunger in his eyes made her heart twist.

But she wouldn’t let him. She wouldn’t fall for it. She wouldn’t let herself believe that she could forgive him, not again, not after everything he had done.

"Why?" she spat suddenly, her voice low but raw. "Why did you care, Azriel? Why does it matter to you now?"

Azriel’s expression froze, his eyes narrowing. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Y/n's words spilled out, as if they had been building for years, for lifetimes, ready to erupt.

"Because of you," she hissed, the words cutting through the silence like a blade. "Because you banished me. You took everything from me, Azriel. It was because of you that I ended up in Malrik’s path. He raped me. Is that what you wanted to hear? You wanted to hear the truth, Azriel? There it is."

The room fell silent. Azriel’s body froze, his eyes wide with shock and something else—something almost darker than fury.

"Wh—what?" Azriel’s voice was cold, barely a whisper, and she could hear the tremble in it.

Y/n’s gaze hardened. She would not give him the satisfaction of her pain. Not again.

"You heard me," she said, her voice breaking only slightly. "Forget it, Azriel. I don’t need your pity. I never wanted it from you."

Azriel’s eyes burned, but she wasn’t looking for the comfort of his gaze. She was too far gone. Too broken.

"Do you care now, Azriel?" she mocked, laughing bitterly. "After everything? After you helped ruin my life?"

Azriel took a step toward her, his expression a mixture of confusion and anger.

"Don’t test me," he warned, his voice dangerously low. "What did you just say?"

Y/n didn’t answer. She didn’t need to. The damage was already done.

With one final, cold laugh, she turned on her heel, heading for the door. "You don’t deserve to know."

And with that, she left him standing in the silence of the room—his world slowly crumbling around him.

Azriel’s fists were clenched so tightly that his nails were digging into his palms, the pain a welcome distraction from the fury that churned through him. His mind raced, every thought tangled in a mess of rage, guilt, and self-loathing, each one more suffocating than the last. Malrik’s name burned through his veins like acid, every breath he took a reminder of the horror that had unfolded—the horror he had failed to stop. He could feel his body trembling with barely contained violence, a force ready to break free at the first opportunity. But it was not just Malrik’s face he saw when his mind closed in. It was hers.

Y/n.

He couldn’t escape the memory of her—her eyes wide, brimming with raw pain as she recounted the depths of what had happened to her. It was the sound of her voice, trembling, the way her hands had jerked away from him as though his touch had poisoned her. It was the coldness that had filled the space between them. It was the utter betrayal he had felt in her eyes, as though every part of her had been shattered by him. By him.

The realization gnawed at his insides like a feral beast. He had been so blind, so consumed by his own guilt and his obsession with keeping control, that he had failed her when she needed him the most. When she had needed him most.

And then, the worst part—the piece of his own tortured soul that he couldn't escape from. That night, when everything had gone wrong, when Y/n had needed someone to chase after her, someone to protect her, someone to care, he had stood there, frozen. Frozen.

His mind had screamed at him to go after her, to chase her down and hold her in his arms, to assure her that he would never let anyone hurt her again. But he hadn’t. He had stayed behind in that wretched room, wallowing in his guilt, knowing that he didn’t deserve to comfort her. He didn’t deserve her.

The thought was like a jagged knife in his heart. How could he, when he had failed her so utterly, so completely? He was the one who had let her down. He was the one who had failed to protect her, who had let the world hurt her.

His rage reached new heights as he thought of Malrik’s name again. The bastard. The monster. Malrik had taken something so precious from her, and Azriel had been too weak, too much of a coward to stop it.

Not again.

Azriel’s chest heaved as the thought surged forward, becoming his singular focus. He would make Malrik pay. He would make him suffer in ways that no man—no monster—could endure. The bastard would feel every single second of pain that Y/n had felt. And more. The thought of what Malrik had done to her filled him with a fury so overwhelming that it threatened to break the walls of control Azriel had built around himself.

Azriel didn’t sleep that night. His mind wouldn’t allow him to. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face again—the raw emotion in her eyes, the betrayal, the pain. The tears that had gathered there but never fell.

Instead, he planned. He planned every agonizing moment of Malrik’s downfall. Every strike, every word he would say to break him. He would make sure Malrik understood what it felt like to be stripped of everything, to have everything he had ever known taken from him in the most brutal of ways.

But even as he planned, even as he dreamed of tearing Malrik apart, a part of him knew—knew—he wasn’t doing it for vengeance. He wasn’t doing it to make the world right again. No. He was doing it for Y/n. He was doing it because she needed him, even if she couldn’t see that right now. Because she would need him again, whether she admitted it or not. He would be there, in the shadows, ready to protect her when she was ready to accept him.

That thought—her needing him again—kept him from completely losing himself. He would keep her safe, even from himself. Even if she never looked at him the same way again, even if she never forgave him, he would keep her safe. That was the only promise he could make.

Morning came slowly. The dim light of dawn crept through the window, casting long, slanted shadows across the room. Azriel felt the weight of the night’s torment lift, but only slightly. His chest still ached with the burden of guilt, but he knew there was work to be done. There was always work to be done.

He stood, stretching his arms above his head, the tension still lingering in his body as he gathered himself. His heart thundered in his chest as his eyes fell upon the door.

He had promised to keep her safe. He had failed her once, but not again.

With one last glance around the room, Azriel stepped otside, his footsteps silent as he moved down the road. The cool air of the early morning settled on his skin, the silence broken only by the distant sounds of the camp stirring to life.

He knew she would be out there. He could feel her. He could sense her presence in the air like a faint pull at his soul, the connection between them still there, even after everything. He would find her.

And as he rounded a big tree, he saw her.

Y/n.

Her back was to him, her posture stiff, her shoulders hunched in a way that made his stomach twist. She sat on a log near the fire pit, Raya beside her. Neither of them looked particularly happy. Azriel could see it—the tension in her shoulders, the way she barely seemed to move, the way her eyes flicked to the ground as if avoiding something. It was clear she wasn’t okay.

Raya spoke, her voice too soft to be heard from where Azriel stood, but Y/n didn’t answer. Not with words. She barely moved. Azriel’s heart clenched at the sight. She looked so fragile, so broken, and it was all his fault.

His anger flared again, but this time, it was directed inward. At himself.

He wasn’t enough for her. He had never been enough. He had always tried to push away his feelings, tried to convince himself that his duty to his people, his loyalty to the shadows, was enough to make up for the coldness he hid behind. But it hadn’t been. It had never been.

And now, here she was, sitting there, broken and lost, because of him.

But he couldn’t let this continue. He couldn’t let her be alone in this. No matter what she thought of him, no matter how much she hated him, he would not leave her like this.

She would never be alone again.

Stepping forward, he moved with the silence of the shadows that had always been his ally, coming up behind her.

Y/n didn’t notice him approach, and for a moment, he simply stood there, watching her. His heart twisted in his chest, but his gaze hardened. There would be no more hesitation. No more hiding behind his guilt.

"Y/n," he said, his voice low, barely a whisper.

Her shoulders stiffened, and she turned slowly to look at him. Her eyes, dull and filled with something he couldn’t place, met his, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop.

She said nothing, and yet everything in her screamed at him.

But Azriel didn’t look away. Not this time. Not when she needed him most.

"I swear to you," he said, his voice low and laced with a promise, "Malrik will pay. And no matter what you think of me, no matter how much you despise me, I will keep you safe."

She didn’t answer, but the faintest flicker in her eyes told him that she had heard him. It was a small step, but it was a step.

And it was enough.

Azriel stood there, resolute. He would make Malrik pay. He would make the bastard regret ever laying a finger on her.

And as the first rays of sunlight crept across the horizon, he knew—he would always fight for her.

No matter what.

Y/n’s steps were slow, measured, her body almost dragging behind the others. The forest around her seemed distant, even though it was right in front of her. The towering trees, the chirping birds, the rustle of leaves—they were just noises in the background, blending into the dullness of everything else. There was a weight in her chest, one that felt like it was pressing down on her lungs, suffocating her.

It was an unfamiliar kind of silence. The quiet between her and Azriel was thicker than it had ever been, and for once, she didn’t even have the energy to make some biting remark, to lash out. The fire that usually burned inside her, the defiance, the sharpness—it was gone.

Everything felt numb. Everything.

Azriel had been silent too, his usual stoic expression betraying a deep strain that had only grown worse over the hours. She could feel his gaze on her, though she didn’t dare look back at him. She couldn’t. The thought of meeting his eyes—of seeing that guilt, that sorrow written across his face—was almost too much.

She hadn’t said a word since they’d left camp. Neither of them had. The only sounds between them were their footsteps on the forest floor, the soft crackling of twigs underfoot. She was surprised she hadn’t heard Azriel speak, to ask her something, to break the silence. But he hadn’t. Instead, his presence lingered behind her like an invisible weight, an oppressive force that made every breath she took feel shallow.

Eventually, they reached a clearing. The sunlight filtered through the canopy above, casting dappled light over the soft grass. A small lake stretched out before them, its surface as still as the air around it. It was almost eerie, the quietness of it all, and Y/n found herself standing there for a moment longer than she intended, as if waiting for something—anything—to change.

Azriel, however, came to an abrupt stop, causing Y/n to halt as well. He turned to face her, his eyes flicking to the water briefly before meeting her gaze. His jaw tightened, the lines of his face hardening in that way they always did when he was deep in thought.

"We stop here," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Malrik’s place is close. We need to make the final plan."

Y/n just nodded. She didn’t care. She didn’t feel anything. The words fell flat in her mind, the weight of the situation not even penetrating her numbness. Azriel’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, his brow furrowed, like he was waiting for something. But she didn’t offer anything. Not a word. Not a glance. Nothing.

Azriel sighed deeply. It was a sound full of weariness and frustration, and when she finally looked up at him, she saw something she hadn’t expected—guilt. A deep, gnawing kind of guilt that twisted at the corners of his eyes.

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, running a hand through his dark hair in frustration. His eyes dropped to the ground, then flicked back to hers.

"Y/n," he began, his voice low, almost too quiet, "I know what I did… I can’t fix it, but I need you to understand." He paused, visibly gathering his thoughts, as though the weight of his words was more than he could bear.

She stood still, her arms crossed over her chest, her gaze fixed firmly on him. She was cold, distant—detached. It wasn’t that she wanted to ignore him. It was just… easier this way. It hurt too much to feel anything else.

"I made the choice to protect the rest of the team," Azriel continued, his voice hoarse with regret. "I didn’t believe you, but I did it to protect the network, the people we worked with. I… I spread the lie that you were a traitor to keep suspicion off of everyone else. To keep the integrity of the mission intact."

His words hung in the air between them, each one a sharp reminder of the betrayal. But Y/n wasn’t surprised. She didn’t even feel the sting anymore. She had lived with it for so long, she had become numb to the pain of it all.

Azriel’s voice faltered when he saw her reaction—or lack of one. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t react the way he had hoped. Instead, her eyes were flat, distant, as if the words didn’t matter anymore.

"That day…" Azriel’s breath caught in his throat. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for not believing you. I thought—"

Y/n’s eyes flicked to him, the coldness in her gaze sharper than any dagger. She cut him off before he could finish.

"Really?" she asked, her voice flat, a dull edge to the words that cut deeper than any shout. "That’s all you have to say? That’s how little you believed in me, after everything I did for you? After everything I gave you?"

Her words were like ice, and each syllable seemed to strike Azriel like a hammer against his chest. He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out at first. The guilt was so thick in his throat he couldn’t find the words. He had hurt her so deeply, and now, there was nothing he could do to make it right.

"You branded me a traitor," Y/n continued, her voice cold and cutting. "I was forced to flee, branded and cast out, with no home, no life to go back to. And do you know what happened then? Do you know what happened when you turned your back on me?" She paused, her eyes now dark and distant as if she were reliving the memories in that very moment.

Azriel’s chest tightened. He could see the pain there, in her eyes, even though her face remained an emotionless mask.

"Malrik," she said, her voice almost a whisper, the name like venom on her tongue. "He found me, in my weakest state, when I had nothing left. He took advantage of me, twisted me into something I wasn’t. And all of it—everything that happened—was because you couldn’t believe in me."

Azriel winced, his entire body recoiling from the harshness of her words, the weight of her truth. He had never wanted to see her like this, to hear her speak of everything he had done to her. He had thought, all this time, that his actions were justified. That they were for the greater good. But now, standing in front of her, all he saw was the destruction he had wrought.

"I didn’t mean for any of it to happen," Azriel whispered, his voice breaking. "I never wanted you to go through that. I was wrong. I failed you, Y/n, and I can’t—I can’t fix it. I just want you to know… I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

Y/n stared at him for a long moment, her eyes cold, unyielding. Her lips pressed into a thin line. She said nothing for a moment, letting the silence hang heavy in the air.

And then, in a voice that was quiet, but somehow colder than anything Azriel had ever heard, she spoke again.

"Sorry doesn’t change anything, Azriel," she said, her words cutting through the silence. "Sorry doesn’t fix what you did. Sorry doesn’t give me back the life you took from me."

Her gaze flicked to the ground, and Azriel’s heart shattered at the hollow emptiness in her voice.

"I don’t need your apologies," she whispered, more to herself than to him. "I needed you to believe in me. I needed you to trust me. But you didn’t."

And with that, she turned away, walking toward the edge of the lake, her steps distant, her posture rigid with that coldness that now seemed to define her.

Azriel stood there, motionless, the weight of her words sinking into him like a thousand blades. He had never felt such crushing guilt in his life. He had never felt so utterly lost.

But Y/n didn’t look back. Not even once.

(SMUT STARTS HERE)

Suddenly, she sighed before saying, "I hate you but I also need you."

And the next thing she knew, she was taking her clothes off, feeling his gaze behind her as she lazily entered the water. She hated how even after all of this, she wanted his gaze on her and only her.

She was still not looking at him, turned away so her back was facing him in the water as she stared into the other side of the lake. "Let's make the mistake of last night once more. After all, we won't be seeing each other once this mission's done. I don't need your useless pity. All I need is to use you now, just like you used me then."

It meant nothing, it would cut him deep and she didn't care.

Suddenly, she felt his naked chest pressing against her as he lened in to whisper in her ear, "Use me then."

Y/n's breath hitched, a tinge of surprise fluttering inside her despite the cold, calculated mask she had been wearing. She hadn’t expected him to move, to be this close again. But Azriel, ever the shadow, was right there—his presence like a storm against the stillness of the lake. His voice, a low rasp, sent a shiver down her spine. She didn't want to acknowledge it, but she couldn't ignore the way her body reacted to his proximity. She hated it. She hated that even in this mess, even in the aftermath of betrayal, her mind still wanted him, still needed him.

"Use me then," Azriel repeated, his words a dark promise that neither comforted nor threatened. It was like he was daring her, pushing her to go further, to test the boundaries of the agony between them. He knew this was all she had left—the anger, the coldness. The way she lashed out, using her words like blades, trying to push him further away.

Her pulse quickened, but Y/n kept her face impassive, her gaze hard as she stared across the lake. The water rippled lazily around her, reflecting the overcast sky, the light barely reaching through the trees. It was all so calm—so still. And yet, inside her chest, the storm raged.

He moved then, his hand sliding around her waist, pulling her against him with a gentleness that contrasted the tension in his body. His lips brushed the back of her neck, a fleeting, tender touch that nearly broke her. But Y/n stayed still, her pulse pounding in her ears.

"I’m not leaving you," Azriel murmured, his voice soft but fierce. "Not like before. Not this time."

The words hit her harder than she’d expected, and for the briefest moment, the coldness in her heart cracked open.

But she wouldn’t let it. Not now. Not ever.

"Let’s make that mistake," she said again, her voice flat, unfeeling. "But don’t think it’ll change anything."

Azriel’s arms tightened around her, his lips brushing against her ear one last time. "I never thought it would."

And before she knew it, his hand went lower, reaching her core, causing a small gasp to leave her lips as her hand came over his arm, gripping it.

He lazily massaged her clit and she suddenly felt aware of his largee cock teasing her from behind too. And as if on cue, he entered her from the back at the same time as his finger entered her from the front.

Y/n couldn't hold the moan that escaped her lips after that, her grip tightening on his arm as azriel began thrusting into her from behind while his mouth started sucking and kissing on her neck.

Then, she felt a second finger dip into her as he began fucking her faster, his pace quickening as her moans grew louder.

"Fuck, just like that, keep moaning," Azriel said through his own growls as she leaned her head back on him for support and thats when he took the chance to capture and mark her lips.

The kiss was brutal, it was as if he wanted nothing more than to eat her alive, to forever be joined with her, to imprint himself on her. The water was rippling wildly with their movements and when he felt her clenching around his cock and fingers, he knew she was close.

But then-- then she did the unthinkable.

Azriel suddenly felt his mind go blank when Y/N reached her hand out and touched that part of his wings. Just the right area of his nerves to make him weak in the knees. With a loud groan he couldn't stop himself and released inside her, Y/N following right after him.

Their ragged breaths were all that could be heard as Y/N fell back on to his strong hold for support.

(SMUT ENDS HERE)

An hour later, the silence between them felt heavier than ever after what had transpired. The air was thick with unspoken words, emotions both raw and tumultuous swirling around them.

Y/N lay back on the soft earth beside the water’s edge, her breath still shallow from the intensity. She stared up at the sky, the clouds slowly floating away. But it wasn’t the sky that had her attention—her mind was clouded with thoughts of what had just happened. The distance between them, once so palpable, had blurred. And now, in the aftermath, she felt more lost than ever.

Azriel sat beside her, his posture tense, but there was something else—something softer in the way he looked at her, though he remained silent. He didn’t touch her, didn’t speak. But she could feel him there, present, his very presence suffocating her thoughts.

She wanted to speak. To scream, to confront him, to demand answers. But the words wouldn't come. The anger and frustration she’d been holding inside for so long—since before everything had spiraled—felt heavier now. But it wasn’t just the anger. It was confusion. Confusion about herself, about him. About what they had just shared.

He finally broke the silence, his voice low and rough. "Y/N…" he whispered her name, and she flinched slightly, though she didn’t look at him. "I—"

"Don’t," she interrupted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t want your apology. I don’t want your explanations."

There was a long pause, the kind that felt like an eternity. Her words hung in the air between them, but she didn’t regret them. She couldn’t. Not after everything.

He remained silent, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. She could feel the weight of his stare, but she refused to meet it. She didn’t trust herself to look at him without feeling something she wasn’t ready to face.

After what felt like hours, he spoke again. "You can hate me all you want," he said quietly, his voice strained. "But I’ll never stop trying to protect you. Even if you don’t want it."

Y/N sat up, her gaze flickering over to him, though her heart twisted at the sincerity in his tone. "Why?" she asked softly, her voice trembling slightly despite herself. "Why now? After everything?"

He turned to her, his expression unreadable, though the shadows in his eyes seemed to deepen. "I don’t know. I don’t have all the answers. But I do know that I can’t walk away. Not from you."

Her heart pounded in her chest, and for a moment, she thought she might fall apart. Instead, she swallowed, her walls—barely held up to begin with—beginning to crack.

"You think that changes anything?" she said, her voice strong, though her chest felt tight with emotion. "It doesn’t. We can’t undo what’s been done."

Azriel’s eyes flickered, his jaw tightening. "I never expected you to forgive me," he said, voice low. "But I’ll make sure you’re never alone again. Even if that means staying out of your way."

Y/N turned away, her emotions swirling. She wasn’t ready for this conversation. Not yet. Not when everything still felt so fresh, so painful.

But in that moment, something shifted—something she couldn't name or understand. A part of her knew that this... whatever this was between them... would never be simple. But for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t sure she wanted it to be.

"Let’s finish this mission," she said quietly, her voice shaking slightly. "And then... we'll figure out where we stand."

Azriel nodded, but she could feel the weight of his gaze on her, even as she stood up, brushing the dirt from her clothes. The mission. The chaos. It all still loomed ahead of them, and neither of them was ready to face it just yet.

But as they walked away from the lake, side by side, something unspoken had changed. They hadn’t fixed everything. Far from it. But they’d come closer to understanding each other, to acknowledging that whatever had happened between them—it wasn’t over.

Not yet.

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Taglist: @darkbloodsly @moonfawnx @clementine111002 @galaxystern08

[luv4freddie]

Polaroid Love - F.W

Fred goes to work with his father and comes home with a muggle Polaroid camera, deciding the best use of it would be to take horrendous pictures of his girlfriend.

Fred x fem!Muggleborn reader, established relationship, reader gets red, house and age not specific, tooth rotting fluff bc I love lovesick Fred, 1.2 k words

Being a muggleborn at the Weasley household was an experience, to say the least.

In the last week since you’ve been at the Burrow, you’ve explained what rubber ducks are for, how to operate a microwave, and Pythagorean theorem.

Today Aurthur took the boys to work with him, so you were currently helping Molly cook dinner.

You had yet to understand the witchy way of cooking, so you were stuck mixing a bowl by hand while Molly sent knives, pots, and pasta flying all across the room.

You ducked a flying cutting board right as the group of rowdy boys entered the front door, your boyfriends voice in particular carrying over the noise of clattering dish ware.

“Honey, we’re home.” Aurthur calls, and Molly meets them all at the door, asking you to ‘keep an eye on’ the multitude of activity in the kitchen.

You look around with wide eyes, imagining all the magical pots dropping to the floor and spoons stopping their stirring, Molly walking in and wondering how you were so incompetent that you would never be able to cook and therefore would be a horrible wife to her son.

You’re only snapped out of your reverie by a flash of light in your eyes, and you tumble back to your current environment— all the dishes are still floating, the spoons were still moving, and Fred was staring at you with a giant grin on his face.

“Hi Freddie!” You light up at the sight of your boyfriend, but don’t allow his attempt at hugging you, too focused on not disappointing your (hopefully) future mother-in-law.

“They’re not gonna stop working unless mom makes them, these things are always going.”

But you refuse to budge, and Molly walks in to see you holding your boyfriend away with one hand on his chest while you continue trying to stir with the other.

She lets out a laugh, telling Fred to leave you alone and go wash up before dinner.

“One kiss? Pleaseeee?” He gives you puppy eyes, and your face goes bright red.

“Not in front of your parents!” You hiss, but he steals a one anyway before running up the stairs and out of the way of the punch you tried to throw at him.

Molly pretends not to have seen, and you let your face cool down before asking what she wants you to do next.

Fifteen minutes later you’re sat at the large table, sandwiched between the twins while Ron talks to you from across the table.

“It was pretty fun, and we all got muggle souvenirs afterward, can you explain to me what this is?” He asks, holding up a PEZ dispenser with a cartoon character head on top.

You laugh, explaining how to get the candy out and watching as a few of the Weasley’s around the table stop to watch, Aurthur positively beaming at the discovery.

“Take a bite before dad can ask you something,” Fred whispers urgently in your ear, and you go to say something back but see Aurthur open his mouth on the other side of the table and you quickly scoop as much pasta into your mouth as you can fit.

You hear Fred laugh at you, and you turn to give him a glare; although it’s less scary due to the copious amounts of noodle hanging out of your mouth.

A flash once again momentarily blinds you, and you finally realize what it is when you see the small Polaroid camera in your boyfriend’s hand.

You go to yell at him, but still have pasta in your mouth so you settle for an angry groan and another smack to his arm.

You watch in horror as a piece of film comes out of the camera, which your boyfriend takes gingerly and looks at expectantly as it develops.

You finally manage to swallow your large bite, and you snatch the photo from his grasp, immediately being greeted by your own face, round with food in your cheeks and wide eyes while strands of pasta hang down your chin and sauce sits on the corners of your mouth.

“Freddie,” you groan in annoyance, but he just takes the photo back from your hands and looks at it proudly.

“It’s a lovely representation of you, darling.”

“It is not!!”

George is laughing too, and you turn back to your plate, trying not to think about the fact that your boyfriend now has two horrible pictures of you for keepsakes.

You try to help clean up after dinner, but Molly insists that someone else does it since you helped cook, so you head upstairs to your boyfriend’s room while Ron and Ginny grumble.

“Evening, love,” Fred greets as you enter the twins’ room.

“Y/n,” George greets as well, tipping his nonexistent hat to you before turning his back to you so he can start a letter to Angelina.

Your boyfriend uses the opportunity to wrap his arms around you, trapping you in his embrace and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I missed you today.” He mumbles into your hair.

“It wasn’t even a full day,” you laugh, the sound muffled by his chest.

He scoffs, sitting down on his bed and pulling you onto his lap.

“So what, I’m not allowed to miss my girl?”

You feel your cheeks warming at the claim of being his, and you give him a teasing smile, “well when you say it like that..”

Before you can even move there’s another flash and you immediately groan, burying your head into the crook of your boyfriend’s neck.

“I’m really starting to resent your dad for getting you that.”

You feel his shoulders shake with laughter, but all he says is “I think it’s my second favorite possession.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, pulling back so he can see it.

“Second favorite?”

“Yep. After these pictures.” He grins, now holding up all three photos he’s taken of you since being home.

“Why can’t you just take pictures like a normal person?” You ask, looking at the two new photos, the one from earlier of you with a wooden spoon in your hand and eyes looking around while bowls float around your head, and the newest one of you sat on Fred’s legs with pink cheeks and a grin on your face.

“Normal people don’t get to keep your happy face in their pockets though, now do they?”

You watch as he puts the photos back, and you melt at the thought of your boyfriend wanting to document your joy to keep as his own.

“I’m always wearing my happy face when I’m around you, Freddie.”

He grins (ignoring George’s gagging) and pulls you down onto his bed, smothering you in kisses until he can no longer keep himself up and your face is brighter than his hair.

“Guess I’ll have to get more film then.”

And he does.

In fact, by the time you get back to Hogwarts from the holidays he’s got a whole wall of polaroids .

You in his Christmas sweater with a proud smile on your face and an F across your chest, you being squeezed by his mother in the worlds tightest hug, you on a broom in his backyard and a quaffle in your arms, you asleep on his bed, even one of you puckering up as if to give the camera a kiss.

And no matter how many times he looks at them, Fred still stares at the photos with a lovesick smile on his face, absolutely in awe at the ability to capture pictures that are so you, so full of light and love that he feels like the luckiest man on Earth to get to be yours.

[rootedinrevisions]

Off the Red Carpet

SUMMARY: You accompany Glen to a red carpet event, and you get to watch him be in his element- the chaos of flashing cameras and the glitz of the red carpet- firsthand. As Glen navigates the spotlight, you remain behind the scenes, quietly proud of the star he's become, all while cherishing the connection between you that exists when the cameras aren't on.

A/N: This idea was originally from @hunterthecharmer thank you for the idea and for giving me the okay to try my hand at writing this! Hope you enjoy it!

WARNINGS: None. This one is pretty fluffy.

WORD COUNT: 3.2k

The hotel suite hummed with quiet activity, a mix of soft music playing, and the occasional murmur of conversation from the main room.

The golden hues of sunset filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting warm light across the space. You stood in front of the full-length mirror, smoothing the gown over your hips. The fabric felt luxurious under your fingers, flowing softly into a gentle train. The way it hugged your figure made you feel like you belonged on the arm of someone like Glen, even if the thought of stepping into the spotlight still set your nerves on edge.

You took a deep breath, adjusting one of the delicate straps before reaching behind you to zip up the dress. Your fingers fumbled, unable to grasp the tiny pull. Frustration mixed with your growing nervousness, and you let out a soft sigh, glancing toward the closed door.

As if on cue, there was a knock.

“Babe? You almost ready?” Glen’s voice carried through the door, warm and familiar, a grounding force amidst your swirling thoughts.

“Almost,” you called back, your voice a little breathless. “But…I might need some help.”

The door creaked open, and Glen stepped inside, his eyes immediately finding you. The room seemed to still for a moment as his gaze swept over you, his usual easy smile softening into something more profound.

“Wow,” he said quietly, the word barely more than a breath.

You felt your cheeks warm under his stare. “Think you can help me with this?” you asked, turning slightly to show him the unzipped back of your dress.

He stepped closer, his movements unhurried, and gently brushed your hair to one side. “Of course,” he murmured, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin as he took hold of the zipper.

The soft tug of the fabric and the warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine. When he finished, his hands lingered for a moment, resting gently at your waist before he turned you to face him. His eyes roamed over you, and the quiet awe in his expression made your heart skip a beat.

“What do you think?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He took a step back, as if needing to take all of you in, and shook his head slightly, almost in disbelief. “I think,” he said, his voice low and sincere, “you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Your lips parted, but before you could respond, he reached up, his thumb brushing tenderly along your cheek. “Seriously,” he added, his tone soft but earnest. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

The emotion in his words made your chest tighten, and when he leaned in to kiss you, it wasn’t just an affectionate peck. It was slow and deliberate, his lips lingering on yours like he wanted to make sure you felt every ounce of what he couldn’t put into words.

“Glen,” his manager called from the other side. “We need to get going.”

Glen pulled back, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “Guess that’s our cue.” He smiled down at you, taking your hand in his. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you said, though your voice carried a hint of uncertainty.

The soft click of the hotel room door echoed as you and Glen stepped into the hallway. The plush carpet muffled the sound of your heels, but walking in them while managing the delicate train of your gown was proving to be a challenge. You tried to discreetly gather the fabric in one hand, balancing it while taking careful steps, but the effort was less than graceful.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Glen glance down, his expression shifting to one of quiet amusement. Without a word, he slowed his pace, gently reaching for the trailing fabric of your gown.

“Here,” he said softly, gathering the train in one hand with practiced ease. “Let me take care of that.”

You blinked, surprised by the gesture. “Glen, you don’t have to—”

He cut you off with a small shake of his head, his lips curving into a warm smile. “I know I don’t have to,” he said, his tone light yet sincere. “But I want to. Can’t have you tripping before we even make it to the car.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly at that, the sound easing some of the lingering nerves in your chest. As you resumed walking, you felt the gentle pressure of his other hand resting lightly at the small of your back, guiding you with an ease that felt so natural, so him.

When you reached the elevator, Glen shifted slightly, keeping hold of your gown as he pressed the call button with his free hand. The doors slid open with a quiet chime, and he gestured for you to step inside first, his hand never leaving its spot at your waist as you did.

Inside the elevator, you turned to look at him, your eyes meeting his. The golden lighting highlighted the soft yet focused expression on his face. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice filled with genuine gratitude.

He tilted his head slightly, his smile deepening. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said simply. “That’s what I’m here for.”

The sincerity in his words made your heart flutter, and you found yourself leaning into his touch ever so slightly as the elevator began its descent.

Glen caught the movement, his thumb brushing lightly against your back in response. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and just for you.

You nodded, feeling the corners of your lips tug upward. “Yeah,” you replied softly. “I just…I feel lucky.”

His smile widened, and he leaned down, pressing a quick, reassuring kiss to your temple. “Funny,” he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of playful charm. “Because I was just thinking the same thing.”

The elevator chimed again, signaling your arrival at the lobby. Glen stepped aside to let you exit first, but not before giving your waist one last gentle squeeze.

The lobby was alive with a low hum of activity, hotel staff bustling about and the faint chatter of guests mingling in the background. As you and Glen approached the doors, the distant sound of cameras clicking and voices calling out his name grew louder. Paparazzi were stationed just beyond the entrance, their flashes already bouncing off the glass.

Glen’s security team, always a step ahead, intercepted you both before you reached the main doors. One of them leaned in to speak quietly. “The parking garage is clear. We’ll take you through there to avoid the crowd.”

Glen nodded, his hand still resting lightly at the small of your back as the team led you toward a side corridor. The bright, polished floors of the lobby gave way to the dimmer, utilitarian lighting of the garage. The quiet hum of fluorescent lights above and the occasional echo of footsteps replaced the buzz of the crowd outside.

As you stepped into the cool expanse of the garage, your heels clicked softly against the concrete. You walked side by side with Glen, his presence steady and reassuring, until you came upon a patch of water glistening under the overhead lights. It stretched across the pathway, and your gaze dropped to the delicate hem of your gown, worry flickering across your face.

Before you could even voice your concern or attempt to maneuver around it, Glen reacted instinctively. “Hold on,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

Without hesitation, he bent slightly and swept you up into his arms as though you weighed nothing. A surprised laugh escaped your lips, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he carried you effortlessly around the puddle.

“Glen!” you exclaimed, though your tone was more amused than admonishing. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

He glanced down at you, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I let your dress get ruined before you even make it to the event?” he teased, his eyes sparkling with warmth.

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. “Still, I could’ve managed.”

“Maybe,” he said with a smirk as he set you gently back on your feet, his hands lingering at your waist to steady you. “But why make you do it when I’m right here?”

You shook your head, still smiling, as you adjusted your gown. Just then, his security team opened the back door of a black SUV with tinted windows. 

“Milady,” Glen said with a playful smile, gesturing for you to step in.

“Thank you,” you replied, matching his tone as you carefully slid into the plush leather seat, mindful of your dress.

Glen followed suit, settling in beside you and closing the door behind him. The faint hum of the engine provided a soothing background noise as the driver pulled out of the garage and onto the city streets.

For a moment, you were quiet, staring out the window at the lights of the bustling city. Glen shifted beside you, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned closer.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft but tinged with concern.

You glanced at him, offering a small nod. “Just…nervous, I guess. It’s a big night for you, and I don’t want to—”

“Be ridiculous,” Glen interrupted gently, flashing his trademark grin. “You’re not going to ruin anything. Trust me.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly.

“There she is,” he said, nudging you playfully. “See? You’re going to be fine. You’re not even walking the red carpet, anyway. You get to stay behind the cameras and sip champagne while I do all the work.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call posing for photos and answering questions work,” you teased, arching a brow.

“Oh, it’s brutal,” he said, feigning seriousness. “All those flashing lights, having to keep this face from looking too shiny…”

You shook your head, smiling, but the fluttering in your stomach didn’t entirely subside. Glen seemed to notice.

His hand found yours, his fingers threading through yours with ease. His thumb began to graze over your knuckles in a soothing rhythm.

“Hey,” he said, his tone softer now, his teasing dropped. “You don’t have to be nervous. I’m really happy you’re here with me tonight. It means a lot.”

You looked at him, his expression earnest and filled with something deeper than you could put into words.

“Thanks,” you said quietly, squeezing his hand. “I’m happy to be here with you, too. I’m proud of you, you know.”

Glen’s lips quirked into a small smile, his thumb continuing its comforting motion. “Well, don’t make me cry before we even get there.”

As the car slowed to a stop outside the venue, the energy in the air shifted, electrified by the flash of cameras and the distant sound of fans calling out names. You could feel the thrum of excitement radiating through the air, reverberating in your chest.

Glen adjusted his bow tie, his jawline sharp under the streetlights. He turned to you, a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. “Ready for the madness?”

You nodded, even though your nerves had returned. The line of cars ahead crawled forward, one by one releasing a parade of celebrities who were met with the cheers of the crowd and the blinding strobe of camera flashes.

When it was finally your turn, Glen stepped out first, his polished shoes meeting the pavement. The crowd erupted, calling his name as the flashes intensified. He turned to wave, flashing that Hollywood smile that had charmed audiences all over the world.

Then, as if the chaos around him didn’t exist, Glen turned back to you. He leaned down, extending a hand through the open door. “C’mon,” he said softly, his voice cutting through the noise.

You took his hand, the warmth of his palm grounding you as you stepped out. For a brief moment, the two of you stood together, a quiet connection amidst the frenzy. Glen gave your hand one last squeeze, his thumb brushing your skin in a silent promise before he stepped toward the red carpet.

“See you inside,” he said, and then he was gone, the lights and cameras swallowing him whole.

His manager appeared at your side, her touch gentle as she guided you away from the chaos and toward the media’s edge. Here, you were safely tucked behind the lines of reporters, photographers, and onlookers, shielded from the prying lenses but still close enough to see everything.

From your vantage point, you watched Glen stride onto the red carpet like he owned it. His confidence radiated with every step, and the cameras adored him. He paused in front of the wall of flashing bulbs, effortlessly shifting his stance to give them what they wanted—his signature smile. He turned slightly to the left, then to the right, his jawline sharp under the bright lights. The tailored suit he wore fit him perfectly, exuding the kind of polished charm that only he could pull off.

He looked every bit the Hollywood Leading Man, and for a moment, you found yourself caught between awe and adoration. Glen was always himself with you—gentle, playful, sincere—but here, he embodied the star the world had come to know. And yet, there was a thrill in knowing that beneath the flawless exterior was the man you knew better than anyone.

Your attention lingered as he moved seamlessly into an interview. He leaned in slightly, his posture relaxed but engaged, as the interviewer asked their question. You couldn’t hear the words over the buzz of the crowd, but you could tell by the way his brow lifted and a small smile tugged at his lips that it was something lighthearted. And then it came—the laugh. His shoulders shook just slightly, and his expression softened in a way that made your heart swell.

As he finished his response, Glen straightened and glanced around, his eyes scanning the crowd. When they landed on you, a grin spread across his face. He gave you a quick wink, just enough to send your stomach fluttering before he turned back to shake the interviewer’s hand and move on.

Your smile grew as you watched him continue down the carpet, stopping now and then to interact with fans pressed against the barriers. He greeted each one with genuine warmth, signing photos and posters, crouching down for selfies, and even exchanging a few words with those lucky enough to catch his attention.

One young fan, no more than ten years old, handed Glen a scrapbook of drawings they’d made of him. He thumbed through the pages, his expression shifting to one of quiet amazement. You could see his lips move as he said something to the child, who nodded enthusiastically while clutching a pen Glen had just handed back.

“Thank you so much,” you heard him say clearly to another fan as they gushed about his latest role.

This was a side of him that always took your breath away—the way he gave so much of himself to those who supported him. He didn’t just exist in their world; he connected with it, leaving pieces of himself behind for everyone to cherish.

And then, as if drawn by some invisible thread, his gaze found yours once more. This time, it lingered, a soft yet electric connection that sent a wave of warmth through you. His lips curved into a smile, not the polished one for the cameras or the fans, but one meant just for you.

You raised a hand in a small wave, your heart beating a little faster as he gave you a subtle nod before turning back to the next group of fans.

“Crazy, isn’t it?” his manager said, leaning toward you with a knowing smile.

You nodded, your gaze fixed on Glen as he moved gracefully through the crowd. “It’s surreal. But he… he makes it look easy.”

“That’s Glen for you,” she said with a chuckle. “Always knows how to work a room—or a red carpet.”

You laughed softly, but your attention never strayed far from him. He was magnetic, every movement deliberate yet natural, as if he’d been born for this.

This was his moment. After the whirlwind year he’d had—the long days on set, the relentless press tours, and the skyrocketing success—he deserved every bit of the recognition coming his way.

And while you were more than content to stay in the background, watching from the edges of his world, you couldn’t deny the pride and love that surged through you as you saw him shine.

The buzz of the red carpet faded the moment you stepped into the building. The quieter hum of conversation and the elegant glow of the interior lights replaced the chaos outside, offering a reprieve from the cameras and shouting fans.

Glen’s manager stayed close by, her heels clicking against the polished floor as she led you through the foyer. “He should be coming in right behind us,” she said, glancing back at you with a reassuring smile.

You nodded, your fingers fiddling with the delicate strap of your clutch as your nerves began to settle. But before you could think too much about the evening ahead, you felt it—a warm hand sliding around your waist.

“Miss me already?” he teased, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

Your lips curved into a smile as you looked up at him. “Always.”

There was a brief pause, and then Glen offered you his arm, his tone light. “Shall we?”

You accepted without hesitation, slipping your arm through his as he led you further into the building. The buzz of the outside world felt like a distant memory now, replaced by the quiet elegance of the venue's interior. The soft lighting and low hum of conversation seemed to make everything feel more intimate, even amidst the crowd.

“So, how did I do?” Glen asked with a teasing edge, clearly eager for your opinion.

“You were perfect,” you said honestly, giving his arm a small squeeze. “I’ve never seen you look more confident. Like you belonged there.”

He chuckled, his voice warm as he turned to face you. “Well, it’s a bit easier when I’ve got someone like you cheering me on.”

You couldn’t help the flush that crept up your neck, but you gave him a smile in return, silently grateful for how grounded he made you feel in the midst of the chaos.

“Seriously, though,” he added as you made your way through the foyer. “I’m glad you’re here. I wouldn’t want to do this without you by my side.”

As the two of you continued through the space, the evening ahead felt less intimidating, more like an opportunity to savor the quieter moments together. While the world outside might never fully understand the dynamic between you, it was moments like this—away from the cameras, just the two of you—that made it all worth it.

The night ahead would be full of attention and flash, but the most important thing was that, despite the world around you, you were right where you needed to be—by his side, without needing to make a spectacle of it.

[cherbii]

FRIENDS | modern!dealer! Ryomen Sukuna

summary ➜ your plug has been a lot nicer to you, and by a lot, he has you bent over sideways in his car, but you swear you two are strictly friends.

warnings ➜ language, weed use, smut! p in v, unprotected sex, high sex, car sex, choking, titty slapping (sue me), gagging, riding, spanking. mdni

You had bought weed from Sukuna a few times, and each he’d charge you less and less until you didn't have to pay anymore, something Sukuna never does.

You'd taken this as a sign that your presence was somewhat welcomed around his, so at a frat house dorm party, you see him in the corner, a bored look in his eye and a blunt dangling from his lips while he's surround by his friends, Geto, Gojo and Choso, all four looking like guard dogs, but really, they're waiting for customers.

You told your best friend, Shoko, that you're off to the bathroom when really, you just wanted to see your favourite (only) drug dealer. So with the swing of the hips, you strut towards him.

His dark, crimson gaze catches your movement and trails your body as you sway towards his group of boys, his eyes lingering on your hips for a brief moment before his eyes flick back to your own, his lips twitching up into a slight smirk as he watched you approach.

The three other boys turn to look at you too, clearly curious as to what you were going to do. "What do you want?" Sukuna asks, his voice gruff and deep as he takes the blunt from between his lips, his eyes roaming your body for a moment longer before he looks up to fix his gaze on yours once more. His friends stay silent, watching the interaction between yourself and Sukuna with curious gazes.

"Can't a friend say ‘hi', 'Kuna?" You tilt your head to the side while your fingers reach out to his chest, manicured nails tracing along his hard chest under the thin cotton of his shirt until they reached the blunt, before you plucked it out from his lips.

He gives you a slight look of faux annoyance, but can't help the smirk that appears on his face at your forwardness.

Sukuna’s friends all smirk, Gojo leaning in to whisper something in Choso's ear before looking back at you and Sukuna. Geto just looks bored, his eyes lazily scanning over the two of you.

You take a long inhale of the blunt before shifting your weight to the other foot. "You never introduced me to your friends, asshole."

His smirk deepens slightly, and he gives a small sigh. "They're a bunch of pussies. You don't 'need' to know them." He says, his voice low as he leans in a little closer, his breath tickling the skin of your exposed neck.

His friends give a small gasp, and Gojo rolls his eyes. "Rude much?" He says, his hands on his hips.

"Yeah, why don't you introduce us to your girlfriend?" A corner of Geto's lips tugged up, even under the vibrant pink and red flashing lights, you could see the piercing violet of his eyes.

A muscle twitches in Sukuna's jaw, and he turns his dark gaze to Geto. "She's not my girlfriend.” He says, his voice icy as his gaze fixes back to you, his eyes trailing down your body lazily.

The three other boys all smirk at his comment, and Gojo leans in a little closer. "You sure about that?" He asks, a hint of mockery in his tone.

You roll your eyes. "We aren't dating."

"See?" Sukuna quips, his lips curling into a smirk. "I told you."

"We are just friends. It's been nothing more and won't be anything less." You shot back, all while leaning more into Sukuna, and bringing the blunt back to your lips.

You said this, yet your mind couldn't help but go to the situation you were in just the other day, pressed up against Sukuna, on his lap in the backseat of his car while you two shared a blunt.

As the music in the car began to fill the air, he leant back comfortably in his seat. He could feel the warmth of your body against his, your scent filling his senses and making his head feel fuzzy for a moment.

He reached over and takes a long drag from the blunt, the smoke filling the car and making the air around your both hazy. His free hand found its way to your thigh, his thumb tracing mindless circles against the material of your skirt.

A shiver ran down your spine when you felt his touch, while you take the blunt from his lips and taking a hit yourself, eyes staring back at his slender, vermillion ones. The car fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, save for the soft music playing quietly through the radio.

Sukuna’s hand on your thigh started to inch further up under your skirt, fingers tracing the soft flesh of your inner thigh with the lightest touch possible, almost teasingly.

He's completely focused on the sight of you in his car, your body pressed up against his, and the way your skirt has ridden up just enough that he can feel your soft skin beneath his hand.

He leant in closer, his breath hot on your skin as he lets out a breath. "This skirt of yours is too short, doll.” He murmured, his voice low and thick with desire as his hand slowly moved up your thigh further.

You grin, it's lazy and loopy. "No, I don't think it's short enough, 'Kuna."

A smirk quirks at the corner of his lips, and he let out a low rumble of amusement at your words. His hand moves higher and higher up your thigh, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

"Oh really?" His breath hot against your skin as he speaks, sending a shiver of desire down your spine.

You nod. "Yeah, I think it should be this short." You tell him, while grabbing the fabric of your skirt and raising it until it's bunched at your waist, exposing your thin panties that's formed a neat wet patch between your legs.

His eyes darkened, his breath leaving him in a gasp as a possessive, feral look flashed in his vermilion irises. His hand that was on your thigh grips your hip, his fingers digging into the flesh there as he pulls you even closer to him.

He lets out a low growl, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks, "You know damn well what you're doing, don't you?"

"No? Show me?"

A dark smirk creeps across his lips at your reply. With a quick and smooth movement, his hand slides from your hip to your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

His grip on your waist tightens, holding you in place as he leans in, his lips hovering a mere breath away from yours. "You want me to show you what you do to me?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble as his eyes rake over your exposed skin.

"Show me, and don't hold back." A low, feral growl rumbles in his chest, and he leans in to press a hot, possessive kiss to your neck. He kisses and nips at the skin there before he starts to trail down, his tongue laving along your pulse point as he murmurs,

"You don't have to tell me twice." His hand on your chin moves to the strap of your bra, his touch light and teasing as he begins to unhook it with practiced ease.

You groan, before plopping the blunt back between your lips, now with both hands free, you sink them into his cotton candy coloured hair. A low, appreciative hum rumbles in his chest as you thread your fingers through his hair, your touches and soft sounds of pleasure only serve to push his possessive nature further.

He pushed your bra strap down as his lips travel lower, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your exposed skin. His tongue darted out, tracing lazy patterns along the exposed flesh, his breath hot against your skin.

His tongue teased and probed until he's found the sweet spot where your neck and collarbone meets. He nips and sucks at the sensitive skin, his teeth just harsh enough to make your body shudder.

Sukuna’s hand, which had been on your chin, moves down, his fingers tracing along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, his touch light and taunting.

His lips make their way down your chest, leaving a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses in their wake.

His free hand, which had been unbuttoning your shirt, pushes the material of the garment down your shoulders, exposing more of your skin to his hungry gaze. He pulls back for a moment, his eyes dark and darkened as he drinks in the sight of your body almost fully exposed to him.

“'Kuna, I wanna touch you too." You groan, handing him back the blunt.

A small, smug smile plays at the corners of his lips as he takes the blunt from you once more, his gaze slowly raking over your body as you speak.

"I have no objections to that," he says, his voice low and husky with desire. His eyes darkened as he looks over your near-nude state, and he takes another long drag of the joint as he murmurs, "But only if you ask nice."

A soft, needy sigh escapes your lips before you rock your hips forward, enough to have you balanced on your knees and your hands go to his shoulders. "Please can I touch you, 'Kuna? I wanna feel you."

A low growl rips from his chest as he looks down at you, his gaze dark and filled with desire. He brings his hand up to your jaw, tilting your head up as his thumb brushes against your bottom lip.

"You look so needy right now," he murmurs, his voice smooth and full of barely restrained restraint. "You want to touch me that badly, do you?"

You hurriedly nod. His smirk widened at your eagerness, and he let out a low hum of satisfaction as he lets his fingers trail down from your jaw, tracing along the column of your neck.

"Then come and touch me," he said, his voice low and rough as he leant back against the seat of the car, the blunt still in one hand as he looks at you with a heated gaze. "Show me how much you wanna touch me."

With quick, agile movements, your hand drops from his shoulders to his sweats, eagerly tugging down the waistband.

Sukuna’s breath hitched slightly in his throat at your sudden boldness, his eyes darkening as they rake over you. A low, possessive rumble rumbles in his chest, and he looks at you with a mixture of admiration and lust.

"Eager, aren't you?" He says, his voice husky and rough with want. He leans back against the car seat, the back of his head resting against the soft material, and he lets his hand rest on your shoulder, a silent invitation for you to continue.

"Shut up, don't act like you don't enjoy this." You mumbled, moving onto his boxers next before working to get those off.

A dark, almost predatory smile curled at the corner of his lips, his eyes never leaving yours as he watches you work.

"I do.” He said simply, his voice a low, rough rumble. He leaned back, his head resting against the seat as he allows you to take charge, his eyes dark and full of possessive desire as he watches you.

His hand that was on your shoulder moves to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair, a silent command not to move too fast.

Your eyes would not and could not be pried off his aching cock that sprung free, the same pattern of tattoos that ran down his cheeks, chest and back also ran down the thick, veiny shaft, a aching, pink tip that weeped arousal.

Sukuna’s breath hitched slightly as you examine him, and a low, quiet noise rumbles in his chest as he lets you look.

You could almost feel the heat radiating from him in waves, his eyes dark and filled with desire. Tenderly, eagerly, lovingly, hastily, you crane your neck down and let your saliva dribble past your lips and onto his fat tip.

"Yeah, just like that." Sukuna groaned as you wrapped your hand around him and pumped in languid strokes. He watched you with eyes dropping shut as he brought the blunt to his lips, taking a large inhale before tipping his head back and letting the smoke chimney out.

You pumped and twisted your wrist, ensuring his cock was evenly lubricators before removing your hand. "Gonna ride you, 'Kuna." You told him as you leant back, about to take off your underwear when Sukuna stopped you.

"Leave them on." He told you, using his fingers to push it off to the side instead, exposing your glistening pussy, dripping out of pure want.

A whine was tugged from your lips when his thumb lifted and pushed against your pearled nub, rubbing hard circles. His painted nail got coated in your slick before he removed his hand altogether. Hastily, you say straighter and positioned yourself over his tip, letting it rub against your folds before it caught onto your hole.

Almost as eager, Sukuna thrusted his hips up, having his tip slip into you, having you groan out before allowing your weight to drop down onto him, his tattoos disappearing into your pussy, feeding you his cock. Not even waiting for the pain from the stretch subdue, you began to raise your hips, bouncing them up and down, lips falling open as your fingers dug into his shoulders.

"Yeah, like that. Show me how much you love this cock." Sukuna egged you on, greedy eyes trained on your pussy that gripped and squeezed him, ego boosting when he saw your thighs quiver from the strain it was to take him.

"I love it, makes me feel so good." You moaned, leaning back onto the backs of the front seats and swivelling your hips, switching between the circular motions and the pivot motions.

Your eyes rolled back into your skull when you felt his fingers reach out and wrap around your neck, squeezing. His other hand went around you, and squeezed at the flesh of your ass, leaving crescent shaped dents in its woke.

"I can feel you getting tired. Can't do shit properly when you're getting fucked on my dick? Stupid slut." Sukuna grinned, palm whipping your ass cheeks until his heart's content, until they were sore and tender.

"Please? Please? Please help m-me?" You managed to get out, letting Sukuna use his hand on your throat and now the other on your hip to piston you on his cock, his hips thrusting up to meet yours.

You let your one arm fall limply while the other traced around your breasts and down the expanse of your stomachs before it reached between your legs and found your aching clit, fingers swirling around to enlighten your pleasure.

"Do that, makes you squeeze around me tighter, shit," Sukuna groaned, veins popping out on his forehead as he heaved out ragged breaths. "Dumb yourself down on this dick."

Sukuna's eyes ravaged you, seeing you crumble under his touch. His cock plummeting into the funny depths of your pussy, convulsing around him, making him curse.

The blunt was discarded, now burning out on the car seat. Sukuna let his fingers unravel from your throat, and allow for them to fly in the air and land on your breasts, landing a harsh slap against your sensitive nipple. "Mm, 'Kuna. More." You blabbered, head thrown back and fingers rubbing your clit raw.

Sukuna grinned wolfishly, bringing his hand up and slapping your other breast, watching you squirm. His fingers then went to your nipple and pinched the sensitive bud, until you cried out, feeding into his primal and sadistic fantasies. He didn't give your nipple it's time to recover before he was squeezing away, groaning when you clenched down on him harder.

"Fuck! Fuck! 'Kuna 's sore!" You whined, grinding your hips onto his. You whimpered when he removed his fingers, until they were suddenly working their way past your lips, pressing against your throat and pushing your tongue down.

"Shut up, you dumb slut. Your body is just too good, it's making me want to destroy you," he bit his grin, eyes dark when he felt you squeeze him. "You like that idea? Need me to destroy you?"

You frantically nodded, breath knocked out of you when your back hit the plush seats, now having Sukuna hover over you.

His right hand gripped the seat above while the other gripping your hip, before his hips were thrusting into you, relentlessly.

The car windows steamed over with smoke and condensation. Loud moans and mewls tumbled from your babbling lips as you felt your brain become nothing short of mush, oozing out from between your legs, arousal dripping down his cock.

"W-Who knew that selling some high class princess would lead to me slutting her out in my car, h-huh?" Sukuna gloated, before a marvellous idea sprung in his mind. His fingers found the window button and pressed it, letting the glass roll down. "Gonna let everyone hear how good I'm making you feel."

His hips nearly pulled his cock all the way out of you, before it plummeted back in, leaving you to loudly moan his name.

"Yeah, tell everyone who's making you feel this good."

"You... Su...Kuna!" You moaned loudly, letting anyone and everyone hear you. "I'm—I'm gonna cum! Gonna cum! Gonna—!" A raw, loud moan ripped from the deep confines of your chest as you came, your orgasm hitting you like a brick wall.

Your nails dug into the car seat and your back arched, mouth wide open and cross eyes as Sukuna fucked you through your orgasm.

"Shit! Fuck! I'm cumming too, gonna cum deep in this pussy..." Sukuna groaned, his becoming sloppy as he spilled inside of you, filling you full of cum that began to drip out of you. "Shit, doll. Might keep you around now. Might need to make you mine."

And now you blinked up at the snowette, who peered down at you with a smirk, eyeing the hand that wrapped around your waist. "You sure? Like really sure?"

"Yep, we are strictly friends." You nodded.

"Sweet, so youre single?"

And Sukuna nearly shredded Gojo to pieces.

[alyakthedorklord]

Omg literally it would be SO cool if you wrote the rest of the playboy bruce trying to kiss the justice league without them realizing it (I know you said figure it out but the way you wrote it was so good and funn I would love it if you gave maybe a couple of scenarios)

Lmao honestly executive dysfunction is kicking my ASS rn and it was intended as a prompt. I will try tho, definitely taking inspiration from the others who responded to the post because I love them.

If you haven’t, go check out the notes on the OG Post above! @britcision, @ivywing, and @help-i-need-a-cool-username all had amazing additions and @foursixtwonineoh-pieces-of-lego wrote a fic:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48325771

As did @scrapcheck, still in progress

And Devilhorn!

Anyways LONG post under the cut

Hal Jordan

Hal is first to prove a POINT, as @britcision decided. Also because the bastard made it waaaay too easy. Remember- Hal was Joking. He genuinely thinks Batman isn’t going to try, because he’s way too straight-laced boring.

So when he’s at a bar in Coast City, and he sees this absolutely ravishing man lounging casually against the wall, bar lighting making him practically glow (he CALCULATED that) subtle makeup making his bright blue eyes pop as he looks Hal up and down… Well. Hal makes the first move.

Hal: “All on your own, handsome?”

Bruce, with “Mastermind” by Taylor Swift playing in his head, smiling sweetly at Hal: “Care to change that?”

They start talking. Hal doesn’t recognize Bruce Wayne at ALL (canonically he does not know who Bruce Wayne is, a point brought up by @help-i-need-a-cool-username) so all he knows is Bruce is a single father who works at a company he inherited from his parents, which is just (brucie voice) “so much less interesting than a test pilot!”

Bruce, grimacing internally but wrapped around Hal’s arm with the awed and interested eyes in full effect: “you have such a nice voice, tell me more about planes…”

He KNOWS what a fuselage is, thank you, Jordan. Whatever. He gets to gush about his kids, when its his turn to talk, good enough tradeoff. He can survive Hal Jordan’s bad pick up lines and pretend he’s into them. At a certain point Bruce breaks and kisses him just to shut him up. One down.

Diana Prince

I looked it up- kissing in Ancient Greece wasn’t always considered romantic, but also a greeting between two similarly-ranked people. Therefore, I think Diana would be pretty chill with kissing and honestly an easy target at a gala if Bruce plays respectful/clumsy/earnest himbo starstruck with the tall pretty woman, just a peck would make him the happiest man alive. But I wanna go a little more in depth.

Now, I’ve seen Flash and Martian Manhunter save Bruce and/or his kids and Bruce lays one on them, but honestly I think it would work well with Diana too, because she loves kids. Dick and/or Jason (whichever you want to imagine, I want them to team up screw canon) are WAY to excited for this, they’ve got a little script and everything.

WonderWoman, a kid in each arm, delivering them back to their tearful guardian: “Here we are, Mr. Wayne. Whole and healthy.”

Dick, playing into his role eagerly: “Oh my gosh, Bruce! Bruce we got saved by a princess! It’s like a fairytale! Except, you know, the princess is the hero this time, which is so freaking cool!”

Bruce, tears of gratitude rolling down his face (and he knows how to still look perfect while crying, its a skill): “I’m just glad the two of you are safe, Chum.”

Jason, big baby blues in full effect, absolutely asked Wonder Woman to be his mom earlier (to set groundwork, no other reason): “You know, usually the princess and the hero gets a kiss at the end of a fairytale, Bruce. But this princess is both. So how will she get a reward?”

Still choked up with relieved tears and now laughter, Bruce looks up at Diana and smiles: “Well, if the Princess wants a reward… then I would be a fool to refuse.”

Bruce kisses her on the lips, Dick and Jason both kiss her cheeks, Diana leaves charmed and amused by the sweet family. Such a good father, humoring his children and thier little fascination with her, so very respectful…

Two down.

J’ohn Jones

Okay, martians are telepathic. So this goes one of two ways, at some sort of charity or something-

Option 1, Batman is a realist: the charity event is a masquerade, and he wanders over to where MM is while thinking “it would be so funny, give me this.” As loudly as he can. And Martian Manhunter, who appreciates the audacity, gives him a kiss. (I don’t like this one because it technically breaks the rules of the bet, bc MM knows it’s Batman, but eh)

Option 2, Batman is a different breed: he manages to up the ante with his Himbo Persona. Creating a “slippery void” mental facade that blocks of his real thoughts and makes him read as really just that stupid. This would require functioning with two trains of thought at once, and making sure that the Martian can only read the surface level, “oh, this one is pretty” “I really wouldn’t mind kissing him” and other such decoy thoughts, instead of “target is approaching, signs of interest present despite this not being his natural form-“

Bruce also researches and copies Martian courting styles and copies them “by chance,” catching MM’s attention. (He offers him Oreos)

Martian Manhunter: “this man… he is so empty headed and yet clearly kind and willing. I would not take him for a life partner, but for some simple fun as he seems to desire…”

(Edit: Maybe, if B is confident enough, he lets through his loneliness. Missing his parents, wanting affection, an ache so strong it’s like a physical wound. J’onn feels the same ache for his lost family, and decides to try this human’s strategy to fill that void. Either way…)

Batman 3, League 0

Barry Allen

I’m strangely blank when it comes to the Flash let me just spitball and let it snowball

As I said above, people have had him save Bruce, had Bruce seduce him at his workplace while taking a tour, I even saw @help-i-need-a-cool-username have Dick set up a petition for Bruce to kiss the Flash. (An idea that I personally think would also go really well with Superman lmao.)

Anyways, I think it would be funny for Bruce to take it slow with Barry. For the irony of it all. Because Batman is doing this to prove a POINT. So he’s in central city, spots Barry coming his way, and “accidentally” slips right into his arms. Ooh, or covered in coffee, like a wealth disparity drama base script, and Barry’s like “omg i am so sorry let me pay you back.” And bruce is all “this shirt costs (stupid amount of money)”

Barry: (fear)

Bruce, rolling with it rn: “yes, it is horrendous, isn’t it? Hows this- I’m in central city for a day. You can pay me back by showing me around?”

He then proceeds to string barry along on an honest to god DATE for shits and giggles. They go clothes shopping, they go to restaurants, Bruce pays for a big meal bc this is after a fight or something and Barry got hurt, his speedster comrade needs to EAT, damnit.

After all this, he gives a cheeky smile and lightly smooches Barry. “Thanks for the fun day, Mr. Allen.”

Barry, bright red and goo brained: “hah- mmhmm. Yeah…”

Batman 4, League 0

Oliver Queen

This one… Oliver is on guard. He’s twitchy and suspicious, turning down men flirting with him, people are starting to notice. But Bruce? Bruce just walks up at a party while “tipsy” and lays one on him. Straight up. He wants to show just how EASY it is. Because Oliver doesn't even register it. He just laughs and goes: “Hey Brucie! Miss me?”

Batman 5, League 0

Dinah Lance

Of course, immediately after above, he turns and pouts at canary.

Bruce: “Dinah darling, you are a saint, I don’t know how you put up with the mess he’s got on his face. He was so much nicer to kiss when we were in (fancy private school name drop) together and didn’t have all this nonsense.”

Dinah, laughing at Ollie’s offended noises: “Oh, I don’t mind it. He’s a good kisser.”

Bruce: “Of course he is, I taught him. Care to compare?”

Dinah: “Don’t mind if I do.”

Batman 6, league 0

Clark Kent

For Clark, Bruce is originally talking to Lois before he turns his eyes on a quiet Clark and croons: “So, Miss Lane, does this lovely specimen have his own questions, or is he arm candy? And if he’s the latter, can I either tempt him off you, or secure an invitation?”

Lois, an excellent friend who will absolutely set Clark up with the hottest bachelor in Gotham: “Well, Mister Wayne, I’ve got all I need. Clark, take a page from my book and honeytrap a good quote out of him, hm?”

With an obnoxious wink, she pats a spluttering Clark on the shoulder, and leaves him with a very smug Batman.

(Bonus Superbat- Clark and Bruce’s conversation is going REALLY WELL and to the point where both of them seem on board with more than a heavy makeout when Bruce puts a hand on Clarks chest.

Bruce: “Stop.”

Clark, freezing immediately: “I’m sorry, did I go too far-?”

Bruce: “No, no. I think I might be though. See, I have all of you now, and I’ve won the bet.”

Clark: “What are you- oh. Oh- HUH?”

Cue sudden and shocked revelation, Clark’s mind going a hundred miles an hour, and then skidding to a stop on- he only did this for the bet. He’s not really interested. He stopped because I went too far-

Bruce: “You only consented to a kiss without knowing my identity. Right now, I’d like to do more, if you’d let me.”

Clark has the dial-up tone ringing in his ears, he has no idea whats going on anymore, the hot billionaire and his reclusive teammate aren’t quite slotting into place, because he wants both but rhey’re so different but they’re the same but-

“Yes.”

Lois doesn’t get Clark back that night and she is delighted.)

Anyways, final results:

Batman: 7

League: 0

Reveal:

Batman talking shit about their secret identities again, Green Lantern is scoffing about it again, says something along the lines of: “You still think you’re sooooo great, huh? Hows the bet going, spooky?” Fully expecting Batman to get huffy with him.

Instead, Batman smirks.

He leans in

And purrs: “So you didn’t notice?”

The League freezes. The implications are dangling over their head. Did he… did he really?

Green Lantern, absolutely terrified: “No. no, there’s no way…”

Batman: “Oh, there absolutely was a way. I’d say you were a good kisser, but honestly? I think it might have been the euphoria of getting you to shut up.”

He turns on the rest of the league, still smirking. “I have kissed every single person who consented at least once in the time since the bet was made. Two of you with tongue. And no one has called me out on it. Now that you know it’s happened, you should be able to figure me out, so whoever can tell me my real name first, wont get thier story used as an example in the brand new “how to avoid honeypots” seminar.”

(If bonus superbat, B shoots Superman a Look and goes “except for you, superman, because I told you my name.” Which just ends up distracting everyone else until they get THAT story)

Diana wins bc she matched up the boys to the robins. Everyone else gets their stories told in excruciating detail. Batman rates them by kissing ability and how obvious he was on his approach. Oliver gets docked points for “texture.” Dinah gets docked points because “i griped about the exact same thing in and out of costume, how did you not notice-“

(Different reveal below)

@chaos-n-kindness @she-went-that-way @geekonaleash @redh00dsbf @howabouticallyou

[hopeluna]

heyy<3 Can you do a Katsuki x female reader comfort where the reader is getting ready for a date with him but when she's doing her makeup it isn't going the way she way she wants it to, so she gets upset and Katsuki is like comforting her? It's alr if you don't want to!!

ProHero!Bakugou Katsuki x fem!reader

CW: 651 words. mentions of insecurities based on looks, i aged him up as a pro hero to better fit the narrative i hope u like it <333

You sit there for what feels like years, staring at the reflection on the mirror. You decide it's absolutely pathetic. The tears that start to sting your waterline definitely don't help.

It's date night. A rare occurrence since Katsuki's missions spiked up these past few weeks, added with your work stress. Tonight was supposed to fun and relaxing.

You're feeling anything but that. Katsuki is going to be here in less than 5 minutes, as he has texted you, and here you are- still in a old t-shirt of his and worn out shorts- not ready.

It's just one of those days. The makeup on your face isn't sitting right. You've tried to do your eyeliner for the million-th time without smudging it, all the lipsticks look just wrong on you, the foundation feels more like acid on your skin the more you keep messing it up.

You know it's irrational to think about but Katsuki always looks so handsome even without trying, it's bound to be a shame to others when they see you - in all your messed up glory - alongside him.

The fan above you hums gently into the air. There are muffled conversations from the street outside, occasional shouts from kids playing and tackling each other on the ground. The light from the bathroom door you left open serves to give you a further headache. You're so focused on the throbbing ache, you don't hear the front door opening, the sound of keys.

Katsuki is rightfully startled when he walks in the room. He felt uneasy from the moment you didn't excitedly jump on him at the front door, and now the messy room and your sad face staring into the mirror. He can feel his own lips etching into a frown at the sight.

You don't seem startled from the outside when he walks up behind you, trying to make eye contact in the mirror. He squeezes your shoulder gently before speaking, "everything okay?"

You lower your head, nonchalantly gesturing to the messy table full of makeup products. Katsuki would've found your sad pout adorable if it weren't for the tears stuck to your lashes.

He lets out a low hum in understanding. Katsuki is well aware there are some days you don't particularly like how your outfits or looks turn out - he's aware of it, though he doesn't quite understand how you can't understand that he's left awestruck every time he glances at you.

His eyes flash towards you when you shuffle in your seat a little, "can we...stay in tonight?" - you look at him sheepishly, guilty for ruining the night. Katsuki only tsks at you.

"Don't be dumb thinking whatever you're thinking. Of course, we can stay in. My cooking's better than whatever restaurant we were going to go to, anyways."

30 minutes later, you feel much better with a clean face, which Katsuki insisted he help with. You had told him cheekily katsu curry when he asked what you wanted to eat. You only got a scoff in return. You tap your fingers on the cool kitchen island, softly humming at the mouth watering scent that had begun to waft through the room. The TV is muffled in the background, dimly lighting the living room with the light from the kitchen. The air is cool in a refreshing way. You think you could stay like this forever.

You frown at the sudden poke on your temple as Katsuki walks past you to the couch, hands carrying two steaming bowls.

You wordlessly follow him, snuggling into him on the couch after snatching your bowl. You choose to dig in and ignore the groan from beside you when you turn on your favourite reality tv show- the one that Katsuki claims to hate.

You think this might just be your favourite date ever.

© hopeluna. Do not copy, translate, modify or repost any of my work in this or any other site. Do not steal or modify my ideas/concepts either.

[mononijikayu]

live updates — gojo satoru.

As the game became less of a focus and more of a background challenge, your Satoru started chatting about his week like he usually does. He grins as he starts talking.  “Man, I really miss home, baby.” he said, his usual bravado softening. “I miss our bed! You get lost in the sheets and we get lost in the sheets together!” Satoru immediately saw the flood of the comments. His face immediately turns scarlet as he scrolls.  You couldn’t help but laugh at your boyfriend’s reaction. He waved his hand, “Hey comments, that was a really sweet comment! That isn’t innuendo, keep it PG!”

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!;

WARNING/S: safe for work (sfw), fluff, slice of life, light hearted, domestic, romance, long distance relationship, pet names (baby, doll, baby doll, etc), banter, flirting, humour, happy ending, hurt/comfort, pining, weariness, depictions of long distance relationship, depiction of pining, depiction of weariness, depiction of slice of life, actor! gojo, non-celebrity! reader, this is how deep gojo would love you;

WORD COUNT: 5.9k words

NOTE: the people have chosen and people have chosen gojo as the second rank for the poll. i thought of this as a parallel to hey lover series!!! one can only wonder what sort of lover gojo would be, especially with the type of schedule he would have had as an actor. but i love to think that gojo satoru is the type to make everything work, even in long distance. also a lot of this was inspired by kim seokjin of bts playing games on weverse live and i hope yall enjoy that too. anyway, i love you all so much!!! please take care, keep safe. its getting colder!!! mwah <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip!

IT WAS HARD DATING SOMEONE WHO WAS FAMOUS. But it was your life. Gojo Satoru, your famous singer and actor boyfriend, had been booked for an extended stint abroad, and the thought of not seeing him for weeks weighed heavily on you. 

Though he’d send the occasional text or call when he could, you both knew it wasn’t enough. And especially for him — who was more clingy than you were. 

But one of those nights, during one of his brief calls, your beloved boyfriend Satoru had finally proposed a plan to you as you were laying on your bed alone.

“I know you’re worried about me being away for so long. So… how about I do a livestream every week? I’ll play some silly games, and you can see for yourself that I’m alive and well."

Your brows furrowed at him. "But Satoru, your privacy? Don't you—"

"It's okay, baby. I don't mind. Plus, I know you’ll love watching me lose miserably. And you know, everyone knows we’re dating anyway. I might as well make a declaration of my love for you like this.”

You didn't think that you could argue about what he wanted.

But you can't help but feel warmth when he kisses your check.

Gojo Satoru has never loved much of life as much as he did you.

And somehow, you fall in love with him hard, again.

The following week, true to his word, your phone pinged with a notification: GojoSatoruLIVE – Silly Games & Updates. You clicked the link, your screen filling with your boyfriend’s signature grin. That had made you smile for the first time in a while.

“Hey doll!” he greeted playfully. “Miss me? I know it’s been tough, but I thought this would make things easier. So, every week, I’ll be here, streaming just for you.”

Week 1 

THE FIRST WEEK FEELS EASY. Gojo Satoru started off confidently with a game that seemed laughably easy. One where you had to stack blocks without knocking them over. As the screen showed colorful blocks teetering precariously, he flashed a grin at the camera.

“Easy peasy, baby!” he boasted, cracking his knuckles like he was preparing for some grand feat. With the first few blocks, he was doing fine…..until, naturally, the tower began to wobble.

You could see the moment his confidence faltered, his eyes widening comically. "No, no, no—hey, hey, hey! Stay up, stay up—"

The tower collapsed in a spectacular fashion, blocks scattering across the screen with dramatic sound effects. Satoru groaned, slapping his forehead. 

“Alright, maybe not so easy…..” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as if the game had personally insulted him. “But don’t worry, I’m just warming up! Next round, guys. Trust! This will finally be a guaranteed win. Put your trust in the strongest! Baby, believe in your boyfie!”

Spoiler: He did not win the next round.

After the third round of failed block stacking, with this time with the tower collapsing before he even got halfway through, Satoru finally gave up, leaning back in his chair, folding his arms dramatically. He lets out a heavy sigh and takes a moment, moving forward on his PC.

“Okay, clearly this game is rigged, baby.” he declared, throwing a hand toward the screen. “They knew I’d be playing, so they made it impossible. But don’t worry, I’m too talented to be brought down by a bunch of blocks.”

Between his attempts to master the game, he filled you in on his week. He smiled through it, happily so. You missed how much he would yap to you. It’s alright, seeing him yap over the screen. But it was different, when he’s next to you. 

“The shoots have been exhausting. You wouldn’t believe how many times they made me retake a shot where I’m just standing still. Apparently, my natural charm is ‘too distracting,’ so they wanted me to tone it down.” 

He shot the camera a playful smirk, knowing full well that toning down anything wasn’t in his nature. Gojo Satoru’s charm was always going to hit. But you know he plays it for you more than anything. The rest of the world does not know how killer that charm is in the morning sun, while beside him.

“But the crew’s great, though!” he continued, glancing at the screen as another round of blocks came tumbling down. “They’re really professional—don’t get me wrong. But do you think it’s normal for someone to eat six plates of pasta for lunch? Because I might’ve done that.” 

He threw in a sheepish grin, as if he wasn’t fully aware of his own ridiculous appetite. “What can I say? I ordered too much food. But it was amazing! I need to take you there when I’m back.”

Every time he glanced at the camera, it felt like he was speaking directly to you, his playful tone and teasing smile making the miles between you seem insignificant.

"Oh, and don’t think I forgot, baby. You should be prepared! Next time you have to play this with me! Bet you can’t beat my high score."

Given that his “high score” was barely two blocks stacked, you couldn’t help but laugh at the challenge.

Before signing off, Satoru dramatically wiped his forehead as if the session had been physically taxing.

“Whew. Alright, I think I’ve done enough damage here. I’ll work on my block-stacking skills for next week. And by ‘work on’ I mean completely forget this game exists. But, hey, at least I look good no matter what I’m doing, right?”

He flashed one last charming grin at the camera. “See you next week, doll. And don’t worry, my beloved doll. I’m alive, full of pasta, and missing you terribly.”

And with that, the screen faded to black, leaving you with the warmth of his silliness and the comfort that, no matter how far apart you both were, your Satoru will always found a way to make you smile.

Week 2

HE MESSAGED YOU WHEN HE WAS GOING ON LIVE. And of course, you already had some delivery food and some wine ready, watching your lover start it all up. Gojo Satoru kicked off the livestream with a smirk, this time ready to tackle a racing game. He looked way too confident for someone who spent last week losing to virtual blocks. 

“Alright, this game? I’m winning first place, no question!” he said, pointing at the screen like it was already a done deal.

The race started off well for your boyfriend. Satoru’s cute character zipped off the starting line like a pro. He was looking confident about all of it. He was smirking beyond compare. He looked too handsome.

“Look at that speed! I’m practically untouchable. Ka-chow, baby! I am speeeedddd!” he boasted, dramatically leaning into each turn as if that would help his in-game car. For a moment, it seemed like he was actually doing okay.

Then he hit a banana peel.

“WHAT?!” His car spun out, and his screen lit up with the mocking sound of other players zooming past him. Satoru’s jaw dropped. “Who put that there? Who’s sabotaging me? What the hell? How am I not winning? It was so close!” 

He glanced at the camera, his dramatic flair fully on display. “Alright, alright, that’s fine. I’m just building suspense. You don’t wanna see me win too easily, right?”

But then came the red shells. One after another. His car spun out more times than you could count, and by the time he finally crossed the finish line, he was dead last. 

A giant “12th PLACE” flashed on the screen.

He stared at it for a long moment, letting the defeat sink in before dramatically flopping back in his chair. You giggled at his reaction. Satoru pursed his lips, looking at the camera, eyes furrowed with disappointment.

“Okay, maybe these games are rigged, baby!” he sighed, pouting like a kid who’d lost at hide-and-seek. “This is not a fair play game, game company!”

He threw his hands up in mock surrender, laughing at himself. “Who am I kidding? This game’s obviously cheating. No one’s that bad at driving… except maybe Kento. His driving is really really bad, guys. Girls, guys, gays, non-conforming friends! You should find a good driver if you don’t like his designated driver for the rest of your life!”

Before he could dwell on his loss any longer, you heard a crash off-camera, followed by giggles. Satoru barely had time to react before his door burst open, and barged into the room were Itadori Yuji and Kugisaki Nobara, looking like they were on a mission to cause chaos.

“Yo, yo, sensei! Gojooooooooo!” Yuji called out, grinning as he dove into your boyfriend’s bed. “Heard you were losing, so we came to help!”

“More like witnessing the disaster. This is hilarious!” Nobara added with a mischievous smirk, folding her arms as she leaned against the doorframe.

Satroru tried to maintain his composure, waving them off. “I’m not losing, I’m just… learning the course.”

Yuji peered at the screen, pointing at the humiliating “12th PLACE” graphic still displayed. “Uh-huh. Looks like you’ve learned nothing.”

Satoru groaned, dramatically dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, fine! The game might not be my strongest skill. But have you seen me act?”

He shot them both a grin, trying to distract from his gaming disaster. “Photoshoots in the morning, Jujutsu Kaisen shoots all day, meetings all night. You know, someone has to look good while you two slack off.”

“Yeah, yeah, big shot.” Nobara rolled her eyes. “But seriously, how are you this bad? It’s a racing game. Even Yuji could win this!”

Yuji, looking offended, gave her a nudge. “Hey, I’m great at racing games!”

Satoru waved his hand dismissively. “Okay, enough out of you two! I’ll do better next time, promise. But let’s be real here, kiddos! You don’t come here for the gaming skills, you come here for the charm.” 

He winked at the camera towards you, clearly trying to salvage his bruised ego. “Ain’t that right, doll?”

You giggled at his little flying kiss soon after. 

Your boyfriend’s really the cutest person.

And as he smiled, you know that his ego recovered.

Meanwhile, Yuji had already grabbed a controller, grinning like he was about to show up his mentor. “How about I show you how it’s done?”

Nobara crossed her arms and nodded at Satoru. “Yeah, maybe let the kids handle this. You stick to acting pretty and being on time to set for once.”

Satoru’s bright eyes widened dramatically. “Oh, on time? Me? Never!”

As the chaos continued with Yuji and Nobara heckling him every time he lost, Gojo Satoru somehow managed to throw in a few updates about his week to you. 

“The photoshoots are still insane, though.” he said over the sound of Yuji crashing his own car into a wall. “The pictures are going on the wall again, doll!”

“Early mornings, late-night meetings… But I’m hanging in there. Mostly because of this.” He motioned to the livestream. “You guys and you, my baby doll. You all keep me going. But well, my baby doll the most, guys. That’s my baby.”

Nobara rolled her eyes. “You’re so sappy, bro.”

“Yeah, cause that’s my baby, kid! Sorry you and Maki aren’t—”

“I’m gonna strangle you!” She glared.

Satoru only laughed and Nobara rolled her eyes, but more playful this time. Even with Yuji tackling him from the side in an attempt to “help” and Nobara giving snarky commentary on his every move, your beloved Satoru never lost that playful grin. He shot you one last wink before wrapping things up.

“Alright, I gotta deal with these two. See you next week. And trust me, I’ll win something by then. Maybe.”

But as the camera faded out, you had a feeling his streak of terrible gaming luck—and hilarious weekly chaos—was far from over. You closed your computer and heard the sound of your phone. You smiled even wider. You gotta comfort your winter bear and his pouty self.

Week 3 

YOUR BOYFRIEND WAS BACK FOR MORE. And you were of course, here once again. You smiled watching his face surface on your screen. Satoru quickly started the stream with his signature grin, announcing his latest challenge for his weekly check ins. And that tonight, ladies, gents and non–binary folks, is this new puzzle game. 

“Alright, baby, everyone else in this live, this one should be easy. I mean, c’mon, I’m a genius. I’ve got six eyes and an IQ off the charts.” he quipped, wiggling his fingers like he was casting some sort of brainy spell. 

He clicked through the game’s introduction with the confidence of someone who definitely hadn’t been last place in a racing game just the week before.

For the first few minutes, Satoru seemed to be doing fine, solving the initial puzzles like a pro. “See? Easy stuff. I could do this in my sleep!” he bragged.

But then came a more complicated challenge, involving color-coded switches and hidden doors. That’s when the trouble started.

“Wait… why won’t this thing move?” Satoru muttered, squinting at the screen. He tried a few more random clicks, then groaned. “Okay, clearly the game is intimidated by my genius.” 

He furiously tapped at his keyboard to no avail. “This is just me taking a break from being smart all the time. Gotta give the game a fighting chance, y’know?” 

He shot the camera a playful smirk, but you could see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to solve the puzzle. “Nah, actually I’d win!”

Minutes ticked by, and Satoru was still stuck on the same puzzle. His face was entirely frozen on his focus. But then his face fell and frowned.  He finally leaned back in his chair, throwing his hands up. 

“Alright, alright, I’ll figure it out… eventually.” He gave a dramatic sigh, like the weight of his own intelligence was too much to bear. “But don’t worry, I’ve got this. Probably.”

As the game became less of a focus and more of a background challenge, your Satoru started chatting about his week like he usually does. He grins as he starts talking. 

“Man, I really miss home, baby.” he said, his usual bravado softening. “I miss our bed! You get lost in the sheets and we get lost in the sheets together!”

Satoru immediately saw the flood of the comments.

His face immediately turns scarlet as he scrolls. 

You couldn’t help but laugh at your boyfriend’s reaction.

He waved his hand, “Hey comments, that was a really sweet comment! That isn’t innuendo, keep it PG!”

“The hotel’s nice, sure, but it’s not the same without you around.” He paused, glancing at the camera like he was talking directly to you. “The bed’s too big for one person, you know?”

There was a rare, genuine vulnerability in his voice, just for a moment, before he quickly shifted back to his usual playful tone. “But hey, I’m doing fine. And this, what we do here, what I do for you….this makes it easier. Talking to you like this after missing you so much, baby. This makes it all worth it. I can’t wait to be home, but yeah, I…I treasure this.”

Right on cue, there was a loud crash from somewhere behind him. Satoru jumped, whipping around in his chair. “What the—?”

The door to his hotel room flew open, and in strolled Ieiri Shoko and Geto Suguru, looking like they’d just come from causing trouble elsewhere. Shoko had a cigarette dangling from her lips, her usual cool smirk in place, while Suguru just raised a casual hand in greeting.

“Yo, Satoru!” Suguru said, settling into a nearby chair like he owned the place.

Satoru groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Ugh! Do you two ever knock?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Shoko teased, blowing out a puff of smoke. She glanced at the camera, noticing the livestream for the first time. “Oh, you’re streaming? Hey there!”

Her eyes lit up as she leaned closer to the camera, her smirk growing wider. “So, this is the famous partner, huh? I’ve heard a lot about you, darling.”

Satoru’s eyes narrowed, his smile faltering just slightly. “Shoko, don’t—”

But it was too late. Shoko winked at the camera. “You know, I’ve always thought Gojo was a bit out of his league with you. I mean, you could do better, right? Maybe someone a little more… mature?” She gave a slow, suggestive smile, clearly enjoying herself.

Satoru’s mouth fell open in horror. “Shoko, stop! Stop rizzing my pookie!” he warned, though his voice was more panicked than commanding. He glanced nervously at the chat.

But then you, ever the tease, decided to play along. You typed a comment back: "Well, Shoko, I don’t know... maybe you should take me out sometime and we’ll see."

Gojo’s reaction was immediate. He nearly fell out of his chair, his face going from cocky to full-on betrayed. “WHAT?! No! You—don’t flirt back!” 

He was waving his arms wildly, trying to contain the chaos. “Baby, don’t do this! I can’t lose you like this! I’m not gonna win over a lesbian, oh my god—”

Meanwhile, Shoko was laughing so hard she had to wipe a tear from her eye. “Ooooh, now this I like!” she said, blowing a kiss to the camera. “You’re my new favorite person.”

Suguru, watching the entire scene unfold with a bemused smile, finally chimed in. “This is more entertaining than your puzzle game, Satoru. Maybe we should join your streams more often.”

Satoru looked like he was on the verge of losing it. “I’m being attacked! Betrayed! By everyone! This is treason!” 

He pointed an accusing finger at the camera at you. He was sure you were giggling (you were). “And you—you’re flirting with Shoko?! I’m the charming boyfriend here, not her!”

Shoko gave him a pat on the head, like he was an overexcited puppy. “Don’t be so jealous, Satoru. It’s cute.”

Satoru dramatically slumped in his chair, groaning like his entire world had been turned upside down. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

With one last exasperated glance at the camera, Satoru sighed. “Alright, next week’s stream will be Shoko-free. I can’t take any more of this. I can’t be single because of Shoko stealing my lover!” he muttered, still pouting.

But before the stream ended, you could see the hint of a smile tugging at his lips. Even with all the teasing, the playful banter, and the flirting with Shoko, Your Satoru still looked like he was having the time of his life. And that, more than anything, made the distance between you feel just a little bit smaller.

Week 4

ONCE AGAIN, YOU SAT ON YOUR BED AND WAITED FOR YOUR BOYFRIEND’S FACE TO SURFACE. After a few seconds, Gojo Satoru started the stream with his usual swagger and that massive grin on his face.

You didn’t know what he had planned this time, he hadn’t told you. He kept saying that you should wait and be patient for today. So, you let him have that time to surprise you. Your boyfriend after all just knows how to make things enjoyable for you.

“So, I’ve been thinking, baby…..” he began, leaning closer to the camera with that mischievous glint in his eye. “Why keep all this awesomeness to myself when I can humiliate my friends in front of you, too?” 

He gestured off-screen, and a moment later, Geto Suguru appeared, settling into a chair beside him.

“Hey, hey!” Geto Suguru said with a casual wave. “I’m here to destroy Satoru’s fragile ego.”

Satoru laughed, tossing an arm around Geto’s shoulders. “Oh, please. I’m the one who invited you so I could have some real competition. You’re just here for moral support.” 

He booted up a multiplayer game, something fast-paced and competitive, and the two of them were off to the races—literally.

Even with Suguru beside him, Satoru couldn’t help but turn to the camera every few minutes, his grin widening each time he won a round. After each victory, he’d shoot you a wink or blow a kiss. 

“See that? Just for you, baby.” he’d say with a smug grin. “I’m winning like this. I am a champion for love, obviously. For my baby doll! Suguru is just here to make me look better, don't you think?"

Suguru snorted. “Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that.”

As the game went on, the banter between them was relentless. Whenever Suguru would take the lead, Gojo Satoru would dramatically cry out in defeat. “This is a betrayal of our friendship!” he’d declare, throwing his hands in the air. 

But then, when Satoru inevitably snatched victory back, he’d lean in toward the camera, shooting another flirty wink your way. “I win again. See? All for you, baby.”

But beneath all the fun and games, you could sense the subtle shift. Despite his usual bravado, there was a heaviness in Satoru's weary eyes that he couldn’t completely hide. 

He masked it with jokes and over-the-top celebrations, but the long hours were starting to take a toll on him. His posture slouched just a little more than usual, and there was a tiredness in his voice when he wasn’t cracking jokes.

In between rounds, Satoru gave his usual updates, trying to keep things light. “The shoots have been intense, baby.” he admitted, running a hand through his messy white hair. “Long days, early mornings—nothing I can’t handle, though.” 

He flashed his signature grin, but there was a flicker of weariness behind it. “I’ve got another shoot tomorrow, but I’m surviving. It’s just… ya know… typical world-class star stuff.”

Suguru glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not fooling anyone, Satoru. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Satoru waved him off with a laugh. “Oh, c’mon, I’m invincible. Sleep is for mortals. Besides, I’ll be home soon, I promise.” He said the last part softer, his gaze flicking toward the camera, just for a moment, and you could tell he was talking to you. “I can cuddle and sleep more like that!”

There was a beat of silence, an unspoken acknowledgment that the distance was hard on both of you. But before the mood could dip too far, Satoru jumped back into character, clapping his hands together. “Alright, enough of that! Let’s get back to the important stuff—me kicking Suguru’s butt.”

Suguru rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Keep dreaming, blue lagoon.”

They dove back into the game, the playful rivalry picking up where it left off. But through all the chaos, you could tell that your boyfriend was pushing through for you, making sure the livestream stayed fun, even if he was running on fumes.

As the stream neared its end, Satoru paused for a moment, turning to the camera with a more genuine smile. One that you know that was one that was eagerly hopeful.

Just a little more time, he'll be home. This will end soon. He'll be in your arms. He just has to be patient. He just has to be strong. Gojo Satoru will do it. He'll do it for you.

“Thanks for sticking with me through all this.” he said, his tone a little softer now. “I know I’m far away, but I’m doing my best to be here every week. And hey, just a little longer, and I’ll be home.”

Suguru, never one to miss an opportunity, gave him a nudge. “You gonna blow another kiss or what? The fans demand it. But I'm pretty sure your partner deserves it more.”

Satoru grinned, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. One more for the road.” He leaned in, blowing a dramatic kiss to the camera before signing off with a wink. “See you next week, babe. And I’ll try not to embarrass myself too much.”

But as the screen faded to black, you couldn’t help but smile, knowing that no matter how exhausted he was, Gojo  Satoru would always find a way to make you feel like you were right there with him. And you wish you could reach for him and hug him and love him.

Week 5

YOU COULD TELL THE FATIGUE IS GETTING TO HIM. Gojo Satoru appeared on the screen, looking a little rough around the edges. His normally energetic presence was dimmed, and the steam from a mug of hot tea curled lazily into the air. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes before flashing the camera a tired grin. 

“Okay, I’ll admit it—I’m running on fumes today!” he said with a chuckle. “But I couldn’t skip out on our weekly thing. You’d worry too much if I didn’t show, right?”

He pulled up a simple, relaxing game. A rare choice for your boyfriend. He doesn’t have patience sometimes for the low-stakes and slow games, clearly not aiming for any impressive wins this time around. It was a farming simulator, of all things. 

“Thought I’d try my hand at growing virtual crops since, you know, I’m such an agricultural genius, baby.” he joked, though the usual punch behind his words wasn’t quite there.

Despite his exhaustion, Satoru made an effort to keep things light. As his character in the game wandered around aimlessly through the area, he started to give you some of the small updates about his life again between sips of peppermint tea.

“The shoots have been brutal this week. Lots of action scenes, lots of stunts... and my stunt double called in sick, so guess who’s been throwing himself through walls all week?” 

He gave a halfhearted laugh, but you could tell the long days were catching up to him. “But I'm not one to give up. I’ll do my best, baby!”

Every few minutes, though, when the tiredness seemed to pull him down, Satoru would catch himself. His gaze would flick to the camera, and he’d muster up that bright, reassuring smile—the one you loved. 

“Don’t worry about me, alright?” he’d say, his voice soft but playful. “I’m tougher than I look. I’ll be home before you know it.”

There was something endearing about the way he refused to let you see just how worn out he was. He’d fumble through the game, occasionally getting distracted and letting his crops wither, but he didn’t seem to mind.

The game wasn’t the point, it never was. For him, it was just a reason to be there, to share some part of his life with you, even from miles away. He wanted nothing more than to know that he's making you smile on the other side of the world, that he's with you even when he's not beside you.

Midway through the stream, he leaned back and sighed, glancing off-camera for a moment before turning his attention back to you. “You know, these weekly streams… they’re the best part of my week right now.” 

His voice was quieter, more sincere now. “I know it’s silly, playing these dumb games just to check in, but it makes me feel like we’re not so far apart. I miss you, baby doll. Miss you so so bad.”

For a second, the cracks in his usual bravado showed. His weariness, the toll of being away for so long, all of it flickered across his face. But then, just as quickly, he covered it up with another grin. You know he did that, just for you. 

“But hey, no need to get all sappy and sad about it. I’ll be back soon, and I’ll cook you that terrible breakfast you love so much, baby doll. But don't worry, my coffee brew will make up for all of it!”

Even though the stream was shorter than usual, it felt like a lifeline—not just for you, but for him too. These weekly check-ins had become more than just updates; for you or for him.

No, they were more than that. They were a way for both of you to stay grounded, to share a piece of normalcy despite the distance. And no matter how drained he was, Gojo Satoru never failed to show up. It was his way of saying, "I'm okay. We're okay. We always will be, because this is love."

As the stream wound down, Satoru waved to the camera with a tired but genuine smile. “Alright, that’s all for tonight. Sorry it’s a short one, but I’ll make it up to you next week. Maybe I’ll find a game I’m actually good at soon enough, baby.” he teased.

Then, as always, he ended the stream with the same words, his voice softer than usual, like a promise he was determined to keep. “Soon, doll. I’ll be back soon.”

And with that, the screen faded to black, leaving you with the warmth of his voice lingering in your mind and the quiet reassurance that, no matter how far away he was, Gojo Satoru was still finding his way back to you.

Week 6

HE HASN’T LET GO OF YOU SINCE HE CAME HOME. Somehow, your beloved boyfriend had become overly attached to you after being gone for more than five weeks.

You didn’t mind, though. You missed him too much. And now that you have him all to yourself, you were just happy to make him happy, to indulge him. It was your turn to be his penicillin after a long suffering in parting. 

That was what you were doing as you joined him for his new little live. Your chair leaned closer to his as the feed started to broadcast. And of course, with all the energy in him — your beloved boyfriend starts the stream with an excited yell.

"Guess who’s finally home, yall!" Satoru practically bounced in his chair, dragging you into the frame beside him. His arm was slung over your shoulders, and his grin was so wide it was almost cartoonish. "This lucky boy, hah-hah!" 

“I’m back with my one and only, guys. Best day of my life! And the first thing I’m doing to celebrate? Playing games with my better half. How lucky am I?”

He leaned in to give you a quick kiss on the cheek, throwing a wink at the camera. You giggle as the blush became evident on your cheeks. He seems satisfied knowing he's made you blush like that in front of millions.

“Don’t be jealous, everyone. I know you’ve missed this face, but now it’s all theirs.”

The comments section immediately exploded with his castmates popping in.

YujiItadori: “Let’s gooooo! The dream team’s together again!”

NobaraK: “Bet they’re cheating, already ganging up on us before the game even starts.”

Shoko: “I didn’t tune in to watch Gojo. Move over so we can see the real star of the stream.”

Megumi: "I can't believe they love him so much, they're staying like that."

Satoru read Shoko’s comment out loud with a laugh. “Ah, Shoko, ever the comedian. You’ll have to settle for watching me kick your butt in this game, though.” 

Then he read Megumi's comment. He leaned in and then narrows his eyes. "You just hate true love Megumi!"

You smiled at him. "He's a lot, but I love him!"

"They love me, ah!" Satoru says dramatically, starting to act like he was hit by the arrow of love. He slumps on the back of his gaming chair. "I am more in love!"

"Oh, Satoru, be careful." You smiled at him, tapping his arm softly. "The game's about to start."

He turned to you as he leans forward. Satoru starts fumbling wit his own gaming controller with a smirk. “Ready to show these amateurs how it’s done?”

But before you could even pick up your own controller, you were sure that you heard the notification sound. Soon enough, you saw the new comment popped up on the screen. It was from Shoko. 

Shoko: “Actually, I just wanted to say your hair looks amazing today, babes. Oh, and by the way. I’m free tonight if you wanna hang out. I’m nearby, if you wanna go clubbing.”

You burst out laughing, quickly typing back as you talk it out loud. “Thanks, Shoko! Maybe we can grab drinks later. Satoru doesn’t mind, do you?” You shot Satoru a teasing look, eyes glinting with mischief.

Satoru froze, his playful grin faltering for just a second before he shot a mock glare at you. “Excuse me?” He leaned toward the camera dramatically, addressing Shoko directly. 

You giggle. “It would be fun! Shoko thinks I’m pretty! You have that in common, we’ll get along!”

“What is this? Flirting with my partner on my livestream? Rude.” He shook his head in exaggerated disappointment. “First, they steal my heart, and now you’re trying to steal them from me, too? At least give me a chance to enjoy being back home!”

You snickered, leaning into his shoulder. “Shoko’s just appreciating what she sees. Can you blame her?”

Shoko: “Exactly. Someone around here has to appreciate your beauty for what it is, babes. And it ain’t Gojo Satoru!”

Satoru groaned loudly, slapping a hand to his forehead. “I’ve been home for five minutes, and I’m already fighting for my life.” He glanced at the camera, eyes wide in mock horror. “Help me, chat. This is supposed to be our time, and now I’m stuck playing third wheel in my own relationship.”

The comments section erupted with laughter.

And of course, a lot of teasing for Satoru.

You grinned even wider at him.

NobaraK: “Shoko is winning the game and she’s not even playing.”

Megumi: “This is why I don’t watch these streams. It’s always chaos.”

YujiItadori: “This is amazing. Gojo Satoru who?”

Determined to regain control, Satoru pulled you closer, his cheek brushing against yours as he looked straight at the computer camera. Your boyfriend's face was certainly echoing that childish pout was all too evident on his features.

“Alright, enough of this betrayal!” he said with a grin. “Let’s focus on what’s important for all of the world’s happiness and that’s us destroying everyone in this game, together. The real dream team.” 

He lifted your hand with the controller, making you both move in sync to start the game. But even as the game started, the playful banter didn’t stop. Satoru kept glancing at the chat, where Shoko continued to drop flirty comments for you, egging you on.

You of course couldn't help but match her energy and played along. As the game continued, you were periodically sending back winks and typing responses that made Satoru groan even louder and you stopped, putting it down with a laugh. 

“Why do you enjoy tormenting me like this?” he whined, though his smile never left his face.

You just grinned. “Because it’s fun. And you’re cute when you pout.”

He paused the game for a second, dramatically clutching his chest. “Cute? I’m not supposed to be cute! I’m supposed to be hot and cool and, like, super mysterious!”

Without missing a beat, you leaned closer to the mic and said in a low voice, “Shoko, he’s not mysterious at all. He leaves his socks everywhere and talks in his sleep.”

Satoru’s bright eyes widened in mock betrayal, and the chat exploded again.

Shoko: “Noted. Definitely better off hanging out with you later.”

YujiItadori: “HIS SOCKS??? WHAT????”

“You’re supposed to be on my side, baby!” Satoru cried, laughing so hard he could barely hold his controller. “I just got back, and this is what I come home to—slander!”

But beneath all the playful chaos and teasing, there was a warmth between you both that even the camera couldn’t miss. Every time Satoru glanced at you, he couldn't help but fold easily.

There was a softness in his eyes, a kind of quiet relief that he was finally home. And even though the flirting and jokes kept flying, it was obvious that he was just happy to be here, with you, sharing this silly moment.

As the stream wrapped up, Satoru threw an arm around your shoulders again, flashing a final grin at the camera.

“Alright, guys, it’s been real. But I think it’s time for me to kick back and enjoy being home with my partner. And Homewrecker Ieiri Shoko, this is for you!” he pointed at the screen with a playful glare. “Hands off.”

He winked, pulling you closer as you both waved goodbye to the viewers. “See you next week—if Shoko doesn’t steal my thunder completely by then.”

Jujutsu Kaisen's Satoru Gojo Brodcasts For A Whole Month For His Partner — Insiders said, 'He's Hopelessly In Love' with them!

In an unexpected turn of events, actor and singer Satoru Gojo has taken the internet by storm, not for his acting chops or musical talent, but for his endearing displays of affection towards his partner during his gaming livestreams.

The mega superstar who has always been more private about his life out of work is now screaming from the rooftops. He screams for his love towards them. And he's not going to stop.

The actor in a short few weeks have become a viral sensation as fans and media outlets alike can’t get enough of how "hopelessly in love" he is.

What started as casual, late-night gaming sessions on Twitch quickly turned into a phenomenon as viewers noticed something beyond the usual gaming commentary. Gojo Satoru’s soft, love-struck behavior whenever his partner joined the chat was heartwarming to his audience.

Whether it was him gushing about his partner’s smile, dedicating his game victories to them, or just pausing the action to talk sweetly, Gojo Satoru’s streams became must-watch content.

One memorable moment that caught the attention of fans worldwide was when Gojo, in the middle of an intense match, suddenly smiled and blushed, saying, “I just got a text from my partner. Everything stops when they message me.”

This short clip has since gone viral among the netizens and especially with his global group of fans. This has been received with immense positivity and love, with fans dubbing him “the ultimate simp” in the most affectionate way possible.

It’s not just the fans who have been swept away by Gojo’s open adoration. Major media outlets have picked up on the story, with headlines like “Satoru Gojo: Hollywood’s Ultimate Romantic” and “Inside the Heart of a Superstar: Gojo Satoru is Head Over Heels.”

And one good bet, with his massive popularity, he would go beyond viral. Indeed, that's what happened! Social media is flooded with clips from his livestreams, showing him talking about his love for his beloved partner with a soft grin that could melt anyone’s heart.

"I never thought I’d be watching an action game to see a rom-com play out!" one fan commented on Twitter.

Another added. "Forget the game, I’m here for Gojo Satoru being jealous about Shoko Ieiri flirting with his partner!”

In interviews, Gojo Satoru has remained unbothered by the sudden attention. “I just love them, really.” he said, shrugging with a sheepish grin when asked about the viral clips. "They’re my everything, so yeah, I’m a little obsessed."

Fans have now turned into self-proclaimed shippers of Gojo Satoru and his partner, creating fan art, videos, and even shipping hashtags. While Gojo Satoru continues his career as a heartthrob in film and music, it’s his real-life love story that’s currently winning over the internet with a happily devoted live update.

[luveline]

Craving a postprison!Spencer x stripper!reader fic, please ma’am.

Maybe she gets a daytime job at a coffee shop or a bookstore - to “supplement her income”/ not have to dance as often (not that she’s ashamed!!) and Spencer is just so proud of her for trying and can’t quit kissing her and praising her because I know in other fics you’ve mentioned she didn’t think anyone would hire her because of her profession/self esteem, plus after prison she didn’t want to dance because she wanted to be with Spencer. 🥺

Or really just anything with a proud Spencer x stripper!reader doing anything.

Your work is fantastic and I’m in love with everything you do!! 💕 thank you and it’s totally okay if you think this request is lame or don’t wanna write it!

thank you angel! —you find a new job while making decisions about your old one after Spencer returns from prison, and Spencer would praise you for breathing, so he’s extremely proud. fem, 1.8k

Statistics differ, but estimates suggest that there are around twenty thousand strippers in Las Vegas. With a population of seven hundred thousand people (estimated up), that means that one in thirty five people living in Las Vegas dances for a living. 

It’s more than you’d think. Spencer knew of plenty of women who worked as strippers, exotic dancers, or private entertainers when he was still living at home. And while the numbers are much smaller in Washington DC where he lives now, it’s far from zero. More surprising for the average person to be one, perhaps, but not for Spencer. 

It used to make him blush like a steam train, sure, but it never did any of the things you were scared of. He’s never looked down on you for it, never been jealous (well, never acted like a jerk because of it), never positioned it as anything other than work. His only complaints are in your concern. You don’t like the club, most of the time. You feel unsafe often. The risk of femicide is yards higher for you as a sex worker than it would be otherwise, but who is Spencer to talk about danger? He still has stitches in his leg. 

Your job used to feel more urgent, a red flashing light above your head, because you’d come around with bruises or cut knees, tear stained cheeks, and you couldn’t make ends meet for all your efforts, but things have changed. You’re reluctant to depend on him, but you’ll accept the help when you need it. Nothing keeps you there if you don’t want to be there, and when you do you’re a marvel. You are beautiful, in Spencer’s eyes. Your dancing when you’re having a good night is one of the prettiest things he’s ever seen —more than pretty, sometimes. A hot coal in his stomach. 

But the fact of the matter is that Spencer’s home, and you don’t want to dance. You haven’t been to the club for weeks as far as he’s aware, and he’d consider himself well informed. You spent all your savings and started spending his instead and he couldn’t care less, what’s his is yours, whatever keeps you aloft while you make whatever decision it is you’re working toward. Not that it presented itself that way. 

I’ll have to go back.

Spencer on his back, you sitting with your head turned from the TV and toward him, your hand on his hip, just resting. Where?

To work. I have enough money for the next two weeks, and then I’m all out. 

Spencer wouldn’t do something as unkind as rolling his eyes, but the point of you moving in was to cement that he’d look after you no matter what. He’d turned his head to you on his pillow and reached for your elbow. You’re still resting. 

You’ve been home for two months, Spencer. I’ve rested enough. I… I only managed this long because you haven’t asked me for anything and that’s not fair, we both live here. 

I earn more than you, so I pay more, he’d said, confused. It’s not as though it hurt him to continue paying for an apartment he’s been living in for years. 

I won’t be your leech. 

You’re not my leech, don’t say that.

I can’t just not have money. 

Well… he’d said. He’d never discussed it with you so openly before, always stopped at the first suggestion, but there’s a first time for everything. You know you can have whatever you want from me. Anything you want, you don’t have to ask. 

Spencer… you’re my boyfriend. 

Exactly. 

No, you’re my boyfriend. You don’t have to keep me. I don’t want that. 

He understood the ‘want’ most heavily. What do you want, angel? he’d asked, dragging your hand up his naked chest to rest over his diaphragm, your arm moving up and down in time with his breathing. 

You’d seemed stricken, but not upset. Like the question surprised you in having no answer. Not sure… you’d said eventually. Mostly you. 

A week passed, two. A third and you’d asked him to borrow money, just for a little while, and with the vehement promise you’d pay him back. 

He’s not expecting it. So soon, either. But here you are standing in front of him with a beaming smile and little book in your hands, unzipping one of the book's inner pockets to count out the money you’d ’borrowed’. “Here you go, my angel, there’s everything.” 

Spencer just looks at it. “What is it?” 

“The money I owe you.” 

He presses his hands to his stomach to stop you from forcing the notes into them. “You don’t owe me anything.” 

“No, seriously, please take it.” 

He shakes his head. “Seriously. I don’t want anything from you, I love you. That money was for you to do what you wanted, or needed. It was yours as soon as I gave it to you.” 

You try regardless to put it in his hands. Your hair was done freshly a week ago, your nails manicured but unpainted, your face adorned with some new makeup he’d seen on his (your) vanity a few days ago. It honestly hadn’t crossed his mind why you’d suddenly given yourself a refresh, and he had no suspicions. You would’ve told him if you went to the club, even just via text, because it’s important he knows you’ve had access to your phone or that you’re coming home. (Plus, he’d notice you leaving at night. You’ve spent the last few evenings laying across his lap.)

“Where did you get this?” he asks, smiling softly, wondering if he’s come to the right conclusion. 

You drop the money on his thigh and take a couple of steps back. 

“I,” you say, holding your little book to your stomach, “got a job as a barista. They gave me my first paycheck today, a direct deposit. So I took out what I owe you and the rest of it is in here.” 

“You what?” he asks. 

“I’m working at the coffeehouse by the library,” you say, nodding, parts proud of yourself and parts shy. 

“For how long? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You bite your lip. “Just this week. And honestly, I didn’t want you to know if I couldn’t do it.” 

Spencer stands up but doesn’t cross the room to you. He could reach out and catch your hand. “How could you work somewhere new all week without me noticing?” 

“You weren’t here on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday morning, and they gave me Thursday off, so I just told you a very small lie this morning about going to the store. I knew you’d get distracted by your Persian poetry again.” 

He did get distracted, very much so. You’ve been and worked a whole shift without his worrying, which is a bit awful in itself (he really does love you, and he’d like to know where you are), but is also, frankly, a great thing. You should be able to work without worry. You should do anything you want to do. 

Still, a whole week at a brand new job without any support, and to stand there with your paycheck as unmistakable waves of satisfaction melt off of you unkissed is insanity. Spencer’s laughing as he ushers you into his arms, as he hugs your shoulders tightly, “Oh my god!” he says, “Wow, congratulations!” He pulls back just a touch to see your face. “Please don’t lie to me about where you’re going, that’s so dangerous. I love you!” 

He takes your face into both hands with your arms hanging loosely behind his back and begins a reckoning of kisses. The slope of your cheek, the skin between your nose and lips, Spencer couldn’t care less where the kisses land, he just wants them all over you. You laugh softly as he goes, almost stickily, a sound that comes deep from your chest. “I’m so proud of you,” he says, pressing a quick, mildly rougher kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

“I might still strip,” you say. 

“Whatever you want,” he says, squeezing your face between his palms. “What’s it like? Do you like it? Is it hard?” He kisses you again. “I wish you’d told me,” he says against your lips. 

You’re quieter than he expected, and warm. He pulls away more sternly to see what’s gone wrong. He could’ve asked the wrong questions. Maybe he’s embarrassed you. 

“I just wanted to make sure I could do it. I didn’t want to fail and… and have you know. I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be, I get it.” God knows he’s failed a hundred times for you to see it. He wishes he would have hidden a lot of that from you, spared you some heartache, but he also knows how lucky he is to have you near. “That’s what we’re supposed to do, right? We should be together when stuff goes wrong.” He beams. “But it didn’t go wrong.” 

“I think I’m pretty good at it.” 

“Yeah?” 

You hold his wrist. “And I get tips, did you know that? Not as many as before,” —you laugh to yourself loudly— “but still. It’s really cool. They pay me even if nobody wants coffee, and when people want coffee I get extra.” 

Spencer kisses the corner of your eye. He kisses up to your eyebrow and down again, all over your cheek before turning your face to the other side to kiss circles into the other. “I,” —kiss— “can’t,” —kiss— “believe it.” Kiss. “Actually, I can, but I still can’t.” 

“It’s just a part time job.” 

“That you didn’t think you could do,” he says. “But you can do anything, I knew you could. I’m amazed by you.” 

He grins and throws his arms over your shoulders. 

You squeeze him right back, the two of you swaying, almost falling over. He can feel how proud you are of yourself. You deserve to feel this way no matter what. 

“I like dancing,” you say, “I do, I just wish I could do it in a different… world? Is that stupid?” 

“No. You’re never stupid.” He smiles as your hand weaves into his hair, fingertips scratching along his scalp, his curls caught between your fingers. 

“Do you think you could come on Monday? I can make you a cup of coffee. It’s not as hard as it looks.” 

“Please, I’d love for you to make me a cup of coffee.” His smile presses to your shoulder, where he breathes you in briefly, before remembering something very important. “Hey, do you wear an apron?” 

“Of course I do.”

Oh my god, he thinks. There are more than half a million baristas in the United States, and Spencer will bet his monthly paycheck that you’re the cutest one to ever exist. You look cute right now in your jeans and your button up shirt, but put an apron on top of that? To see you standing behind a bar mixing drinks and pouring latte art? Monday can’t come quick enough.