#and the other pair that forms the other half of their team
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enigma | part 05.
sunday, monday
ꕥ part 01. | part 02. | part 03. | part 04. ꕥ pair: Spencer Reid × BAU!fem!reader ꕥ warnings/tags: canon-typical violence, mentions of butchering, mentions of dead women (obviously), swearing, somewhat oblivious Reid and reader, age gap, moderately jealous Spencer, slow-burn, mutual pining, rivals to lovers, english isn't my first language so bear with me pls, idk about other warnings ꕥ word count: ~3.5k ꕥ summary: Spencer can't quite figure you, his rival out and this annoys him more than it should [this fanfic is also available on AO3 with the same title and username]
“Jello?” was the first thing you asked when you gained consciousness a few hours later in the sterile, blindingly white hospital room. The vibrant red gelatine dessert stared back at you from the bedside table. It was almost strange, how unusually appetising it looked.
“Spence left it for you. He said this is the best part of waking up from surgery.” JJ’s answer came from your left side, where the chairs got set up for the visitors. You slowly turned towards the voice while you pulled yourself into a sitting position, causing you to let out a painful groan. Next to the beautiful, blonde agent, there was her other half, the equally breathtaking Emily Prentiss.
“Hi, guys.”
“How are you feeling?” asked the brunette. Now, that you were awake, both dragged their chairs right next to your bed.
“Like I got hit by a cement mixer which then shunted and hit me again.”
While the others chuckled at your response, you decided to reach for the sweet dessert. You smiled at Reid’s gesture. You always noticed how caring he was towards the whole team, even towards you, in his own special way. And you really appreciated this trait of him. He handled you like you handled him. With mutual respect and consideration. Maybe this is what made your rivalry manageable. You strived to be better than the other, you enjoyed the challenge and the rush that your professional disagreements gave you but never crossed that particular line.
“You know that you are extremely lucky, right?” Jennifer’s voice was filled with concern. She reached for your hand and gently squeezed it. You noticed quite early on that she and Penelope were big on physical contact as a form of showing affection. It didn’t bother you, but you never initiated it either.
“Yep, I realised it right there. How angry is the big boss? And how are the others? How did the case end?” you bombarded them with questions.
It was exactly as you said. The minute you heard the other person collapsing, you concluded that the fact that you were still alive was a literal miracle. First things first, you made a mistake. You should’ve pushed the door in from the side, shielding yourself with the wall and waiting for a reaction, but you didn’t. You were too eager and impatient. The thought of losing hundreds of people made you careless, even reckless.
As if life was playing some prank on you before any of your teammates could give you an answer, a doctor and a nurse entered the room to check up on you. You were slightly annoyed, but you tried to hide it as much as possible and hoped that it only seemed as if you were tired. You knew exactly that they were there for you and not against you, but those few, anxiously spent minutes without solace were excruciating.
“Everyone is safe. We managed to reach the trucks before they could get to the airport, and we found all the victims safe and sound. And Hotch is more worried than angry.” went over all your questions JJ after the doctor made sure you were fine and left you to rest.
“Okay, that’s good,” you let out a sigh. You didn’t even notice that you were holding back your breath up until now. “Another question. Was the guy whom I shot a rookie?”
“Oh no, he was a former marine. He was discharged dishonourably a few years ago for sexual misconduct.” Emily’s eye-roll was a habit, her irises full of judgement and condescension. It was obvious that even without knowing the man personally, she was disgusted by him.
“Interesting…” you mumbled as you stared into your sheets, slowly eating the dessert. Now you really had no idea how you may be still alive. Why weren’t you shot in the head? Or the chest? Or literally, anywhere that’s lethal?
“Maybe it was an order? To keep any intruder alive so later they could interrogate them.” as if your best friend saw the rattling train of your thoughts, she shared her idea.
“Yeah, you might be right.”
You tried not to think hard about the what-ifs. It had no use. You were alive and that’s what mattered. But if you wanted to be honest, it was scary, how you, being there in the hospital bed which was warmed up by the heat of your body, instead of at the cold and rigid mortuary was a matter of uncontrollable luck or fate.
×××
A week went by, and you were back in the bullpen of the BAU. You could’ve had another week of paid leave but by the end of the first one, you were feeling antsy and somewhat useless. Even if Penelope called you every day and made sure you were feeling okay, you couldn’t help but miss the team.
One of your favourite phenomena was those few, slow, and quiet minutes that lingered around the spacious area before every briefing. It was such a mundane thing but felt special, possibly because it didn’t really belong to your workplace, which could be described as anything but calm.
That Monday morning when you arrived early, only the soft buzzing noise of the coffee machine indicated that somebody was already there. As you quickly scanned the desks of your colleagues, you noticed the brown satchel bag belonging to the genius. On any other day, you might have become a bit annoyed but not today. You were thrilled that it was only the two of you, making what you were about to do less awkward.
After you hurriedly placed your stuff down on your office chair, you grabbed a neatly sealed peanut-coloured envelope from your bag and headed towards the breakroom, from where you could hear the monotone noise.
“Hey,” you greeted the other with a gawky wave. You couldn’t decide how close, or far you should stand from him, and on top of that, all of your pre-planned lines seemed to have flown out of the window at the very moment you saw him. He wore a black button-up shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbow and a precisely tied burgundy necktie. He was stirring the almost diabolical amount of sugar in his hot cup of coffee. As he leaned at the counter, he looked… effortlessly fine. Annoying, really.
“Y/N?” he couldn’t conceal how surprised he was to see you so soon. “What are you doing here?”
“Couldn’t bear the idea of giving you more advantage to beat me in solved cases than one week. The trafficking one is obviously mine, so you know… I gave you a few days to try catching up, but this is the best I can do.” you shrugged as your lips stretched into a sly grin. This wasn’t your original plan. But acting like this was almost like a defence mechanism for you when you didn’t know what to do or say exactly.
“How generous of you.” He wanted to hide his smile that he couldn’t suppress. In fact, he didn’t even notice it forming, the expression was like an instinct. He took a sip of the sweet drink instead while he also slid an already-made cup towards you.
“On a completely different topic…” you were awkwardly beating around the bush, not being able to look him in the eyes or look at his face at all. “Here. This is for you.”
With his signature furrowed eyebrows, he lowered his gaze to your hand. There was a small, pale brown paper container with some bumps on it. He was rendered speechless. This morning was anything but usual or ordinary. Curiosity got the better of him, so he slowly moved his right hand to reach for the item. As he took it from you, his delicate fingertips brushed against your skin for a few milliseconds, causing a slight tenseness to spread around your body.
“It’s nothing big, I just wanted to thank you for being there the other day and helping with… You know. Me, not bleeding out.” you started to ramble so you could ignore the feeling of anxiety as he was opening the gift you got for him. Also, you always did this when you felt flustered. Soon, with a cheerful clinking sound, a silver and blue keychain fell out of the thin bag, right into his huge palms. Before he could react in any way, nervousness took over you and you continued talking at the speed of light, almost as if you were stating facts regarding a case. “At first, I was thinking about giving the usual things like chocolate, wine or some gift basket, but then I remembered that Pen once told me how much you liked Doctor Who, so I thought it’d be more meaningful or have more use to give something related to what you like. I got it from the official store, it has a full battery, warranty and everything. According to the webpage, it’s a vintage release. It’s not too flashy or vibrant so it’d match your things, and it’s basically a soundboard, which seems fun.”
At this point, it almost seemed like you were debating against him, like you did when your professional opinions differentiated. Overthinking kicked in and the urge to explain yourself felt nearly overwhelming. He is a huge fan of the franchise, what if he already has this? Or what if he finds it childish? And what if he automatically finds me childish because of this? Damn, maybe I should’ve just bled out, it’d be easier now.
“If you don’t like it, feel free to throw it out or anything like that. But thank you again for keeping me company and sorry for literally bleeding all over you. And for the Jello. Thank you for that too.” You didn’t even let him say a single word or thank you properly, you just quickly sputtered a half-assed excuse and left him there. You only reached the door of the break room when you spun around your heels, hurried back to the counter, grabbed the cup of coffee he made for you and left, this time for definitively.
Astonishment. Utter and undeniable astonishment was what Spencer felt. You got him a gift, and not just any gift but something related to him. Even if your relationship wasn’t pristine, you were willing to put energy into looking for something he’d like. With his thumb, he carefully caressed the soft buttons and the cold telephone booth icon at the top of the keychain.
With uncertain words stuck in his throat, his silent gaze followed you back to your desk. It might seem like he couldn’t say anything because of your constant talking but in reality, he found himself in one of those sporadic moments when he had no idea what to say. He had no idea what you would’ve appreciated the most. Should he be serious or playful? Should he simply thank you or try lightening the mood with an unserious response? When it came to you, he had no idea what the best move would be. To quote an exceptional someone in Spencer’s life, ‘Just like that, an IQ of 187, slashed to 60’.
However, he still couldn’t deny the lingering warm, tingling feeling slowly spreading in his chest. Recently, this occurred more and more frequently and seemed to pass by less and less quickly.
A quarter hour later other members of the team started to appear. First, it was Emily, who had the look of despair splashed all over her face.
“Was your weekend this bad?” you asked while you chuckled slightly as she put her stuff down next to your table.
“Oh, even worse,” she said after a dramatic sigh. “I give a chance to date again and what do I get? A textbook alpha male obsessing over crypto and how he’s on a straight path to becoming a self-made millionaire. The only topic he was interested in was himself. It was awkward and I spent the rest of my free time with Sergio and some cheap wine.”
“I mean, the last part sounds great,” you said as a quick memory filled your brain about you, cosying up with your little furballs, wine and the series you’re currently fixated on. Those moments felt like heaven on earth. “But honestly, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry ‘bout what, babygirl?” Derek curiously inserted himself into your conversation. He moved silently, none of you have noticed that he too arrived at work. Possibly because that morning Penelope wasn’t with him. He leaned on the surface of your dirty white desk. “More importantly, what the hell are you doing here?”
You quickly spun in your office chair and looked up at him with a bright smile. It was weird, how this place was able to lift your mood so quickly. But this was a lie, wasn’t it? The place itself had nothing to do with it, it was the precious people who filled it with an indescribable warmth.
“Don’t act like you weren’t back in the office literally a few days after your shoulder got put back where it belongs, Chocolate Thunder.” He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at how you used one of the HR-alluring nicknames Garcia gave him.
“Touché.”
You three got so enthralled in a light-hearted conversation filled with the usual unharmful bickering that you failed to notice how the curly-haired doctor emerged from the breakroom, walked to his stuff and hustled with something in silence. He occasionally listened to what you were talking about but didn’t want to draw attention. Only when he walked into the briefing room you caught sight of something shiny hanging at the side of his satchel bag. The keychain.
The meeting about the newest, rather gruesome case neared its end. You couldn’t help but occasionally glance at the small accessory decorating the brown leather. It made you happy, relieved and a tiny bit proud too. You were readying yourself to the fact that he threw it out, so seeing it not only kept but worn was more than a pleasant surprise. While you were preoccupied with the gift, he was discreetly looking for your reaction. Was he simply curious, or was he hoping to see something specific? And more importantly, upon seeing a small but definitively present smile spread across your face, why did his heartbeat slightly quicken?
“Alright, wheels up in 30.” Hotchner concluded the briefing with his signature line and was the first to leave the room.
“Y/N, you coming with us?” JJ’s voice pulled both of you out of your headspaces, which was weirdly related to each other. Before you could answer – and probably tell a white lie, the man in front of you shook his head.
“She hasn’t been cleared to fly yet.” He said, leaning back in his chair, staring right into your eyes.
“How the fuck…?” you mumbled originally to yourself, but it was audible enough for everyone.
“You’re predictable.” Reid shrugged with an infuriating smile on his smug face. He enjoyed getting a reaction out of you way too much. To be completely transparent, he’s been enjoying it ever since you started working there. He always carefully noted all your micro-expressions and despite his eidetic memory, he took the energy to make sure he remembers how you react to everything.
You narrowed your eyes as you furiously kept eye contact, not willing to lose at least that particular battle. As you silently debated whether you should keep it classy or send him where the Sun doesn’t shy, he winked at you, grabbed his bag and left to catch the plane, leaving you fuming in your chair.
“Don’t worry, we’ll have fun!” Penelope walked next to you, placed her hand on your shoulder, and squeezed it excitedly. “He also tried to pull a similar stunt a few years ago when his leg got shot, but Hotch found out. He was my bitch for a few cases.”
“Yeah, I feel like bitch is an appropriate term for him.”
Not even half a day passed by, and you were already at each other’s throats through a video call. You temporarily moved into Garcia’s tech cave so you could still help the team out in the best way you could. Derek and Emily were at the latest crime scene where the victim was still there. Rossi and JJ were checking out the first and the second scene. Hotch was consulting with the local police station, and Reid worked on a rough profile based on the information he had. The unsub took meticulous forensic countermeasures, so setting up a geographical profile had little to no use.
“We could very much be looking at a female unsub who may hate her femininity.” theorised Spencer as he was looking at photos of the crime scenes.
“I highly doubt that.” This sentence was almost instinctive, the way you said it so quickly. You were sitting in an office chair with your legs pulled up and crossed over and were chewing at the end of your pen.
“Who could’ve guessed.” You didn’t have to look at the screen to know that he was rolling his eyes.
“Why would she poison the victims and then butcher their breasts and abdomen while they’re still alive? The poison would lose its intended purpose.”
“She could be sadistic on a psychotic break. If she feels like the poison isn’t quick enough, she loses control and finishes the job herself.”
“Yes, but it’s still not logical. If the victims were dead by the time she started stabbing them, I could see that destroying the biological female body parts is simply a message and nothing more. However, since they’re still alive, the stabbing becomes a sexual act. It’s textbook sadism and sexual assault, and you know that, Spencer.” You were explaining yourself so passionately that you didn’t even notice the way you called him. It wasn’t anything special, but you always kept your distance by calling him Reid, Dr Reid or Doctor. It didn’t bother him, but he didn’t like it either. He couldn’t figure out whether you were doing it to keep things professional even when you argued or if it had another meaning. You called everyone by their first names except him. And he didn’t get why. But if he asked for a reason, it’d mean he cared. Which he definitely did not.
Now, however, hearing the way you said it made him block down for a few seconds. His saviour was the team that arrived back from the field. This meant new evidence, possibly new perspectives and hours more discussions.
During the time when you had nothing to do since he fucked you over during the morning briefing, you were thinking about a way to get back at him.
“Would signing him up for Jehovah’s Witnesses violate any workplace protocol? Or signing him up for porn sites?”
“If he knew it was you, definitely.”
“Ah, he’d know for sure.” you sighed and pressed your forehead on the cold grey table while you let out a defeated sigh. “I don’t know what to do, he is seriously pissing me off.”
“As someone who considers themselves a close friend of both of you, I’d say just finally do the dirty.” As this diabolical sentence left her mouth so carefreely while she filed her nails, you almost choked on your saliva.
“PENELOPE!” You nearly screamed between coughs.
“Listen, sugarplum. The sexual tension between you could be cut with a knife. It’s clearer than Derek’s delicious chocolate slabs in a wet t-shirt.”
“Damn, I kinda get the mandatory HR lectures now.” You groaned mostly to yourself since the woman next to you was basically head over heels for the image in her mind. “The only tension between us is borderline homicidal.”
“I can see both of you secretly kinky. I mean, you were with a teacher, so there’s definitely something there. But Boy Wonder can’t be vanilla either.”
“Pen, I’ll stab my throat with a pencil and bleed all over your stuff if you don’t stop.”
thank you so much for reading my work, hope you're having an awesome day! taglist: @halfbloodwriter @starrystormwritings @kspencer34 divider from @cafekitsune
#criminal minds#spencer reid#ssa spencer reid#criminal minds fanfiction#dr spencer reid#spencer reid criminal minds#cm#doctor spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid enigma#enemies to lovers#enigma#rivals to lovers#ssa jj#ssa aaron hotchner#ssa emily prentiss#bau#bau team#spencer reid x reader#david rossi#criminal minds fandom#derek morgan#penelope garcia#slow burn#i'm taking slow burn seriously
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who was gonna tell me u can only @ up to 50 people on a post
#screaming and throwing up#i sorted everyone whos submitted the reading rumble form into teams#andddd i was trying to set up the post that'll go up on feb 1st. and it WONT WORK!!#whatever.. ill probably just end up making 2 posts. with half the teams on one and the other half on the other.#praying that no ones changed their url since submitting the form bc i dont want to go on a scavenger hunt 🙏#lowk the pairings worked out perfectly tho#genuinley thought id have to do multiple drafts but i found one where everyone gets someone in their top 3!😁
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SHE TOLD YOU THAT SHE CELIBATE, SHE TOLD ME I COULD NAIL HER SH*T — gojo satoru minors dni
PART I. of the new years letters, a series of fics dedicated to some of my lovely mutuals! 🎁
prologue. → you wish gojo satoru would stop trying to ask you out. not that you don't like him, but dating the one guy that you're smacked silly about would mean that he could break your heart and leave you in ruins. so it's best to keep some distance right?
pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader
warnings+. college au, reader wears a skirt, reader is choso's twin and yuuji's older sister, but no appearance detailed. kissing, making out, óral (f) receiving, general bitchiness and fuckups 😚 ensemble cast of poor bystanders (geto, shoko, sukuna, yuki etc)
word count. 10k! song inspiration. gang baby — nle choppa
a/n. it's because of that one edit by satorupedia that's going around rn. yall know which one 😭 art by touno_stupa on twt!
dedication. yayyy decided to start my little gift series for new years with this fic inspired and dedicated to @fushitoru who was one of the first blogs i followed on here before i was super familiar with jujutsu kaisen. aashi writes thee most wonderful gojo fics that are so well characterised and heart-stoppingly adorable and HAWT. 😁 🤭 and i easily associate her with physics/college au gojo now, ever since her spiderman gojo fic that lives in my head!!!!
gojo in this fic:
ACT I. don't puck around and find out!
"i ran into gojo today," choso says, his voice as unbothered and monotone as ever, scraping the gravel lazily with the heel of his scuffed combat boots, "or he ran into me."
"gojo satoru?"
"how many gojos do we know?" your twin brother huffs, giving you a dry side-eye. but before you can retort something equally acrid, he's yanking at the sleeve of your sweatshirt, halting you midstep, "wait. car."
you blink out of your tired daze just in time to see a battered camry putter past, its engine groaning like it's on its last legs. just how you feel after a long day of seminars and lectures. the car rattles down the street with the grace of a tin can tied to a string.
"thanks," you mutter, half-heartedly as you shift your laptop case from one tired arm to the other, "could have been the end of my genius academic career."
"would have been a short one either way," choso quietly quips, earning himself a sharp elbow to the ribs.
"so?" you press on.
"so, what?"
"what did gojo say?"
"ohhh," choso drawls, in that irritating way of his that indicates he has no idea how to deliver good gossip, news or any form of tea, "he asked if i wanted to play hockey for his team tomorrow. they're down a player ever since kento went on exchange."
"hockey?" your eyebrow arches, and skepticism curls your lips for choso is hardly known for his athleticism. you mean, you're sure he has the physical ability in him somewhere but you (and the rest of the world) are yet to see it, "are you gonna join the team, then?"
not that you care about gojo's stupid, state-tournament winning team. of course not. you're just curious. and curiosity is harmless.
it has nothing to do with the fact that you woke up last night wanting to jump gojo satoru's bones. just like you did the night before, and before. and the week before that. yeah, suffice to say that this has been going on for a while.
"nah," choso says, shaking dull, greasy strands of dark hair out of his eyes, "got placements tomorrow."
right. placements. choso's all about pathology and lab medicine and test tubes, while you get queasy at the mere mention of haemoglobin. and it unsettles you mildly at how your twin brother's eyes light up at the mere mention of a blood test.
"and?" you prod when he starts to drift off again, his attention wandering like it always does.
choso is often like a calm river. slow, broad and lazy.
this time, you pull at his one of his headphone cords to reel him back, "did gojo say anything else?"
choso gives you that dull look, quiet but loaded. like he's already solved a puzzle that you didn't know you were trying to hide. it just makes your stomach twist, "why do you care what gojo satoru says?"
"i don't," you snap, far too fast, like your tongue is racing your brain to a crash site. the lie sits heavy in your throat, thick and obvious.
choso's pale and dry lips twitch, and you wondered what happened to the lip balm you threw into his christmas stocking last year, "should i have told him you could sub in for his team instead?"
"no-one likes a smartass, cho," you grumble, speeding up your steps as your twin leisurely rummages through his fraying backpack for his house keys. you roll your eyes and push ahead, jamming your own keys into the lock before you die of boredom waiting for him to dig through the trash heap that lies at the bottom of his bag, "anyway, i was just asking. you brought gojo up."
choso trails behind you, his tone infuriatingly casual, "you always get weird when someone mentions him. i thought you guys were friends."
"we are friends. and i don't get weird."
"you get so weird. even yuki said so."
"i love yuki, i do. but she has no idea what she's talking about —"
the door swings open, cutting off your false deflection. standing there is yuuji, with half a sandwich dangling from his mouth like he's some kind of feral creature. there's a smear of mayonnaise clinging to his cheek as he yanks a red, track hoodie over his tank top.
"mmph! hey, you guys!" he muffles through a mouthful of bread, waving at you with the enthusiasm that only a teenage boy could muster after inhaling half the fridge.
"where are you off to?" you peer at your younger brother, your eyes zeroing in on his mutilated sandwich. a sandwich that you're certain you made for yourself this morning, leaving it for a study session upon your return.
"track practice," yuuji says, swallowing the last bite whole, "then dinner with fushiguro and kugisaki." he's already halfway down the driveway, sneakers untied and laces flopping on the pavement behind him.
choso narrows his eyes, "got money? or a water bottle? a hat? did you wear sunscreen?"
"i'm good!" yuuji calls back without breaking stride, waving a quick hand at the two of you.
"why don't you hold his hand and walk him to school, mother?"
"shut up," choso grumbles as he brushes past you into the house, throwing you an exaggerated scowl of wounded, elder-brother pride over his shoulder, "why don't you hold gojo's hand to hockey practice?"
your bookbag swings through the air, connecting to the back of choso's oversized head and a loud thud follows.
ACT II. long overdue and lacking a spine
you had been in this library for hours, eyes blurring as the words in your textbook stubbornly refused to make sense. it was all a gross blur of terms and diagrams, and your $8.00 coffee had gone lukewarm an hour ago.
study, pass, graduate. get a good gpa. that was the plan, no distractions.
your phone, however, had other ideas as it sat innocently next to your stack of notes. you tapped the screen quickly under the guise of a 'quick break' but before long, you were deep into instagram stories. someone's dog, a flyer for a rave that you definitely weren't going to, and then, of course, him.
gojo satoru. on someone's reposted story with a classic, grainy photo of one of the campus's most darling boys. long arm draped casually over some girl. both of them lit in the neon glow of what looked like a party bus. he wasn't even looking at the camera, just flashing that effortless grin that you had seen your entire life growing up. and the girl was gorgeous, obviously. not that you cared about that.
but speak of the devil and he hath appear. a long shadow fell over the table, and you felt the chill in your bones, trying not to shift in your seat.
"go away, gojo," you muttered, not even deigning to look up.
"how'd you know it was me?" his voice is teasing, all light and airy as he's pulling out the chair next to you.
"what can i say? lucky guess," you reply dryly, keeping your eyes glued to the suspiciously-stained textbook. worried that you'll look up and your iron resolve will disappear from one glance at big, blue eyes.
but out of the corner of his eye, you try not to twitch at the sight of the soft, pale blue hoodie that swallows his broad frame whole. thick, white strands of hair that fall gently over his face. and that cloying scent of mint and something faintly sweet that leaves your ears hot and your heart sitting in your throat.
study, pass, graduate. get a good gpa. that's what you tell yourself in a now failing mantra.
"are you following me today?" you ask, flipping a page with exaggerated nonchalance, like you're not about to tear up pathetically from a stupid crush.
"caught me," gojo says, the grin audible even in his voice, "i just couldn't resist finding you. is that what you want me to say?"
you finally look up, swallowing at unfairly fine features, "saw you were at some party yesterday. i didn't think you'd be on campus today."
gojo just laughs, the sound soft and infuriating, "keeping tabs on me now?" and he's rifling through his bag for something, "or you don't think the library's a good look for me? i'm broadening my horizons. testing the waters."
you narrow your eyes, willing the heat rising in your face to stay put and not crawl into your voice, "i think you're testing my patience. i have a test tomorrow, so if you're here to waste my time..."
"maybe i just wanted to hang out with my friend," gojo says, tearing open a kitkat wrapper in an obnoxious way that echoes through the silent hall, and the crinkle of plastic grates against your nerves, "we haven't seen each other in ages."
"don't you have a lot of other people to hang out with nowadays?" you're mentally beating yourself with a bat at your question, wincing at how it sounds like you keep count of who he hangs out with, and you're pathetically down bad for him. like a 90s singer begging on his knees for a kiss.
"i mean, i could hang out with them," gojo says, breaking his kitkat horizontally like a monster, "but they're not you."
his sunglasses are gone, revealing eyes so blue they look otherworldly, and he's throwing you that smiling, lopsided grin that makes your heart run around a room and bang into the walls. but no. you were not going to let gojo satoru get to you. he probably made every girl feel like this, like they were the centre of his fast-paced universe. until the next shiny thing came along.
besides, gojo satoru dated models. or stunning cheerleaders. the kind of people who looked good under strobe lights, and in the glow of his party bus digital camera pics.
and hey, it's not like you were self-depreciating or awfully insecure. you liked who you were and you would never change it for anyone. quiet and ambitious. reserved, but down for some fun. you'd like to think you were the type of person who saw the world in a beautiful, cinematic light. but it was maddening how gojo satoru seemed to bring out the most juvenile issues in you that had your stomach turning itself into ugly knots.
"gojo," you try to sound as nonchalant as possible, "are you even here to study?"
as in why are you really here? please ask me out.
gojo looks unbothered, unshaken, "coffee. cake. maybe even some flirting, if you're up to it."
the universe hates you. it has a way of delivering what you want right into your hands, when...you don't exactly want it.
you blink at the white-haired man, disbelief bubbling under your skin, "you're not serious."
"why wouldn't i be?"
"c'mon, satoru. everyone knows you're not the actual dating type. you ever been in a relationship that wasn't pr and lasted for more than two weeks?"
absolutely bonkers at how your heart and your tongue are not on the same wavelength at all. it's like your mouth missed the memo and is just firing bullets that have gojo's grin faltering a bit, as a flicker of heated annoyance flashes in his eyes. even hurt, but it's gone too quickly for you to read into it.
"didn't realise that you thought i was that much of a joke," and you're not fond of how gojo's voice is quieter now, and a pretty sneer is dancing across his lips. you're biting your lip before you lose your stupid, petty resolve to not get involved with someone who could truly break your heart.
"if you didn't make everything a joke, it wouldn't be," you snap at him, and you're not even sure what you're angry at. there's no reason to be annoyed, or frustrated or even hurt and snippy with a friend who came and sat with you to catch up.
but you don't want to untangle whatever you're projecting onto gojo satoru, so you let bitter words spill over, "some of us don't have time for your games, gojo. we have real lives to deal with."
gojo's expression shifts completely, and that playful spark in his eyes is replaced with something colder as he stands up and shoves his hands into his pockets, "right." and his tone is clipped, pissed, "got it. no time for games."
you watch as gojo walks away, already tapping away on his phone, but his footsteps are quieter than you expect. part of you wants to call after him, to take back the teeth and claws that painted your words.
but instead, you just look away from him and grimace. you must have pulled an awful, twisted face — for the man sitting across from you leans in and asks if you need to take an aspirin, or if you're low on fibre.
ACT III. between the covers
the bookstore smells faintly of old paper and new ink. a sharp contrast to the chill lingering outside, so the warmth hits you like a welcome blanket. the air buzzes with the muted chatter of customers, and the occasional beep of a cash register.
you're winding your way through the aisles, set on two missions. find that jacket-cover book that you had been wanting for weeks, and to hunt down the manga that yuuji had begged you to pick up for him.
you dart past a couple lingering in front of a 'booktube' bestseller display, narrowing avoiding a child wielding a stuffed dragon that you can only assume is smaug the magnificent from the hobbit. straight into the quieter section of the store, tucked in the back and smack-bang right into —
thud!
your shoulder collides hard with someone else, sending you stumbling back a step.
"fuck's sake. watch it," the person snaps, his tone sharp.
"maybe you should —" you start to retort, before the words die and patter out on your tongue as your mouth goes dry.
gojo satoru, ladies and gentlemen.
he's scowling at you, with sunglasses pushed up onto his head that expose those ridiculously pale eyelashes under the glow of the overhead lights. he's layered on a crisp varsity jacket, over a thick hoodie, all shades of soft blue and grey. and he looks irritated, with thick brows furrowed at you. but you don't miss the faint surprise that flutters across his face when he takes you in.
"seriously?" gojo murmurs, though more to himself, and his voice still holds an edge that has you wilting, "out of all the aisles in this store..."
you blink, caught somewhere between an apology that dances on the edge of your lips, and a bewildered laugh at how the divine powers deliver the worst luck on you. instead, you shove your hands deep into the pockets of your aviator jacket, "sorry. didn't see you."
gojo's shoulders relax, but just barely. as though he's still caught in the heavy fog of tension from your last words to him. but to your mild credit, he doesn't quite look ready to storm out either. progress?
"so. what are you doing here?" you ask, trying to break the ice and pretend that you're not doing internal pirouettes.
"just had to pick up a textbook," gojo mutters, holding up a thin and over-priced looking book on something like...quantum mechanics, "exams are coming up. gotta keep the top spot, you know."
you blink, "you're actually studying?"
gojo raises his eyebrow, lips twitching into the faintest smile, "what? you think i roll into my classes and ace everything through sheer willpower? or i spend all day being a joke and annoying everyone, right?"
you sigh, feeling the frosty, ice-gaze settle once more over you, paralysing you from head to toe, "look, gojo. i don't know what came over me that day," and now you're being sincere, looking away from his narrowed stare, "it's like some crazy, evil monster came over me and it possessed me. i think i incarnated some demon king in me and i said all that mean shit."
he shifts slightly beside you, and you don't miss at how gojo's lower lip juts out at your apology, or how close he is to you right now. "and i was jus' being stupid. swear i don't think you're a joke." you try to pick up some random book, pretending you're very busy as you speak.
but it's very hard to look genuine when you've just picked up a glossy copy of 'stand and deliver: a hard look at fixing male erection problems.'
it earns you a small laugh, light and quick, that has you almost falling to your knees, and you can hear choso's voice in your head. muttering out a dulcet 'i told you so. you want him so bad.' but it's worth it as gojo leans against the nearest shelf, the annoyance from earlier starting to ebb.
and for a moment, gojo studies you and his expression is unreadable. for your part, you're pretending to read the back cover of 'stand and deliver' and some blurb about how this award-winning author managed to help her husband 'get it up' after twenty years of marriage.
but the tension in his posture dissolves, relaxing further and gojo hums, "noted." that's all he says, and an awkward silence hovers. it hovers so uncomfortably, leaving you floundering for a new topic until gojo's voice breaks the silence.
"choso's doing good, yeah? i heard he got a girlfriend."
you smile, "yeah. yuki, she's like really cool. i don't know how he did it."
gojo snickers, "i asked if he wanted to play hockey and i think he's been avoiding me all week."
you try to pretend its not because of how you re-enacted your little spat with gojo, demonstrating the entire thing for your twin brother. who had just called you stupid afterwards. among other not-so-flattering terms, with little consideration for your crushing, beating heart.
"you going to suguru's party next weekend?"
ah, now that's a curveball.
because, again, you are your own brand of cool. or so you'd like to think, so this isn't really a matter of pitying comparison. but geto suguru is like on another level of effortlessly vogue. at least in your eyes. you know that he's gojo's best friend and he delivered a (controversial) and killer project on gene editing last semester. you know that geto's involved with gig photography as a hobby, and thus, has personal access to some of the coolest bands in the city.
and you also know that he occasionally waves a hand to you, but it's not like you actually know the man. it's just mutual association.
"i wasn't planning on it," you hesitate, for you really had been planning to cram through a mid-term session, "but someone asked me to go as their date."
gojo's smile evaporates, "who?"
"naoya zenin," you say cautiously, watching as gojo's face twists. like he's resisting the urge to gag and tear his hair out.
"naoya? he's like a walking billboard for being an entitled cunt," gojo groans, running a hand through glossy hair that has you trailing your gaze over slender, sculpted hands.
you narrow your eyes, "he seemed...okay. smart, i think."
"oh, he's smart. i'm not questioning that," gojo crabs, "he's so arrogant though. i grew up seeing that guy everywhere. our families were like, half friends."
you cross your arms, suddenly defensive, "are you warning me? or just mad that he asked me out?"
gojo seems to flounder for half a second, quick enough that you could miss it and he could deny it, "jealous of naoya? please," and he scoffs as he leans back against the shelf, "i have taste. unlike some people."
"you can't be the one giving me a lecture on dating etiquette. i mean, how many dates do you have lined up for geto's party? two, three?"
gojo gives you a sly grin, "more than that, hah. gotta keep my options open."
"tacky," you wrinkle your nose, trying to pretend that you don't feel like you just guzzled a gallon of curdled milk, "and classless."
"yes," gojo sighs sadly, "and endlessly charming. it's so hard being me," shooting you back a quizzical look as he pulls up to the register, paying for his textbook.
as he paid, you linger near the shelves, pretending to browse while stealing glances at gojo satoru. there was something different about him today, something quieter that you couldn’t quite put your finger on.
and on gojo's way out, he pauses in the doorway, turning back to look at you. his expression is still entirely unreadable, his gaze lingering for just a second longer than usual. and then he was gone.
ACT IV. blush confidential
there's a soft hum of pop music wafting from someone's phone, blending in with the rustle of fabric and the hiss of a straightener. your bedroom is a whirlwind of motion and chaos, with clothes thrown over chairs, and pre-game drinks piled up over your vanity.
"i can't believe you're not coming with us," you gripe to yuki, watching as she lounged up on your bed, denim crinkling as she shifted to adjust herself.
"tch, you know i love a good party," yuki grins with sparkling ideas, "but choso and i have a date tonight. he's been texting me about it all day."
you snicke at the thought of your hapless twin, "yeah. he was practically glued to your dm's. ran into the kitchen table twice this morning."
shoko snorts from her spot at the vanity, from where she's running a brush through cropped, chestnut hair, "choso nervous? i need to see that," she catches your eye in the mirror, "do you still have that lip gloss?"
"on it," you're digging into the vast depths of your purse, grazing your wallet and a hal-featen granola bar. stubbing your finger on an opened gel pen, before clutching a small shiny tube that you toss to shoko.
"so," shoko smacks her lips, "how's it going with naoya?"
you blink, pausing in the middle of capping all your drying pens, "what do you mean how's it going? nothing's going."
your friend swivels on her stool, raising a thin eyebrow, "he's your date at this party, right? and why him, of all people?"
"seriously. that guy's got a reputation. and not a good kind, for a very good reason," utahime chimes in from her corner, where she's yanking on a ribbon woven through her hair.
you shrug, suddenly feeling defensive under their collective scrutiny, "hey. he asked, i said yes. it's not that deep."
shoko exchanges a pointed glance with utahime, and both of them looking equally skeptical in a way that has you flushing.
"he's just annoying, you know," shoko points out, "he thinks he's better than everyone else, and half the time? it's just hot air."
"and the other half?"
"still hot air," shoko flatlines, "you can do better."
"anyone's better than gojo," utahime mutters, "you don't want to be stuck with him."
yuki's snickering, and you're doing your utter best to pretend that the mention of gojo satoru doesn't have you crawling up and down the walls like a termite on crack.
"speaking of gojo," yuki drawls, running a comb through a golden sheaf of thick hair, "is he going with anyone to this party?"
you freeze for half a second, before busying yourself with some new body mist that you picked up from a sale, all vanilla and coconut and macademia, "i ran into gojo the other day," and you keep your tone as neutral as possible, "and he said he had a few dates."
"ugh," shoko groans, wrinkling her nose, "of course he does," and utahime mutters an affirmative, exasperated sigh, echoed only by yuki, who pauses mid-brush to look at you sympathetically.
"what?" you snap, defensive, "why are you all looking at me like that?"
shoko tucks a thin strand of hair behind her ear, "well, i mean. you like gojo, right? like really like him?"
"huh?" the question catches you so off guard that you're left sputtering, as the perfume leaves a sharp and awful taste on your tongue, accidentally leaving a fresh spritz into your mouth, and not the curve of your neck.
"oh, blech. absolutely not," you say vehemently, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, "i don't like him like that. not that i think he's awful or anything —"
utahime crosses her arms, white sleeves brushing against each other, "he is awful."
"yes, thank you for that, utahime. but he's just not my type," you finish firmly, "he's loud. he's disruptive. he can't take anything seriously. i can't date that."
yuki gives you a long and knowing look, "oh, he likes you," she says lightly, as though she's telling you a casual piece of news, and not something that has you biting your tongue till iron spills, "he's been crushing on you for so long."
you feel your stomach twist uncomfortable, like little, evil goblins are dancing in your gut, "that's ridiculous," you mutter, fiddling with the clasp of your purse, "if he liked me, he would ask me out properly. and not date half the student population."
"he probably thinks it's fair, because you keep turning him down," shoko says matter-of-factly, standing up to grab her bag.
"i just don't think he's good for you. or anyone," utahime mutters, earning a pinch from you.
ACT V. stereo love
normally, gojo thrived at these parties. suguru was always able to pull a crowd that straddled the line between chic and cool, with just enough alcohol to keep things interesting. the thrum of the bass-heavy music should have been the perfect escape after a gruelling day spent staring at equations, leaving him half-convinced that his course coordinator was plotting against him and wanted him dead.
but now gojo satoru was just jittery, restless. and he hated that.
so for now, he leaned against the kitchen counter with a full cup in hand, watching people spill out of the living room and into the backyard. it seemed that other students had been aching for a party, something to take them off mid-terms and yet here he was, scowling like a storm cloud. he took another swig of his drink, ignoring how his own stomach was doing unexplained cartwheels.
"you good?"
suguru's low voice cuts through the noise, startling gojo enough that he has to tighten his fingers around his cup so sticky beer doesn't spill over pristine tiles.
gojo waves his closest friend and confidante off, "i'm fine. obviously."
suguru's frown deepens, though it's obscured by his loose, choppy dark hair. and there's skepticism painted all over his face, "you're never this quiet at any party. i thought that by now, i would have had to convince you not to jump off the roof."
"you think too little of me."
"you think too much of yourself," suguru drawls, but he's leaning against the counter beside gojo, as leather and cool metal rustle against each other, "so where's your date? or dates, i should say?"
gojo freezes, his cup halfway to his lip, "come again? what are you talkin' about?"
suguru arches a thin brow, "it's practically all over campus, man. apparently, you had several dates with lovely, young ladies lined up tonight. and i tried to defend your fragile honour, said it was too ambitious even for you. but..."
this revelation hits gojo like a punchline that he wasn't in on, and then it clicks for him. oh, he had started that rumour a few days ago. in the bookstore, to you. his brain replays the scene like a cruel, little highlight reel: the way your expression had wavered minutely, just for a moment, when he had straight up lied and claimed that he had a few dates.
truth be told, gojo had only said it to make you jealous, to see if he could ruffle you and play your game even better.
but now the joke was so clearly on him.
because gojo satoru had no dates. and you? you were here with someone who wasn't him.
suguru's following his gaze across the room, and gojo doesn't even bother to hide his petulant interest. he can see you standing near the back walls, laughing at something that naoya zenin, mayor of all things putrid, had said. naoya, with his stupid green roots and louis vuitton jacket, standing just a little bit too close to you for gojo's liking.
but before he can stew in it any linger, suguru's reaching out and pinching his ear. hard.
"ow! fuck was that for?" gojo's yelping, jerking away from his clearly evil, traitrous best friend.
"that," suguru says evenly, "was for looking like a lovesick idiot. pull yourself together, man."
"i'm not lovesick," gojo weakly protests, rubbing his bruised, throbbing ear and moving further away from suguru geto.
"you're not exactly screaming cool and collected," suguru dryly comments, "sulking like a sore loser while your crush laughs at another guy's jokes."
gojo feels his face heat up, just a little bit, because he knows that suguru's hitting close to home, "i don't sulk and do all that whiny shit. second of all, it's not my fault she went with zenin of all people. it's up to her if she wants to be stuck with someone who talks about his family's real estate portfolio as foreplay."
suguru snorts, and it's clear that he's not playing the role of sympathetic best man for life, "you know what's more obnoxious? watching you fuck around like this. you need to figure out how to ask her properly."
"i did all that!" gojo shoots back, throwing his arms up so his drink dances over the edge of the cup, "she said no. each time. you know what they call a guy who can't take a hint? she thinks i'm a loser!"
"and are you?"
gojo narrows his eyes, "am i what?"
"a loser."
"is it easier for me if i just say yes?" gojo half-heartedly gripes, "is that what you want me to say?"
"or," suguru says calmly, "you're a guy who hasn't proven he's worth saying yes to."
gojo groans, tipping his head back so he can block out the vision of his irritatingly wise best friend, "you sound like my grandmother."
"that's not even an insult. your grandmother is on some metal shit," suguru counters, unbothered, "and you sound like a twelve-year old. you can't flirt and sleaze your way through this. if you want her to take you seriously, i don't know how else to say this, you have to stop being...you."
"excuse me?"
"no. stop, don't make that face," suguru scowls, "you know what i mean. stop being a stupid flirt, and be a genuinely better person. otherwise, you're just spinning and burning out your wheels."
"did you pick up a self help book?"
suguru elbows him, sneering, "i'm trying to help you. if you don't want my help, i'm telling her you have an std."
"maybe you should just do that. end my misery," gojo downs the rest of his drink in one go, the burn of cheap beer doing nothing to ease the olympics in his alimentary canal. what's worse is that suguru is right, the bastard always is.
suguru claps him on the shoulder, "relax, satoru. you've got charm in spades. just use it...wisely."
"yeah, yeah. thanks, man," gojo mutters, brushing him off as suguru wanders away, probably to mediate some dumb argument between that big oaf, toji fushiguro and the even bigger oaf, ryomen sukuna. honestly, why were they even invited?
but gojo stays where he is, eyes flicking back to you. away from the distracting curve of your thighs in that skirt, and rather on how interested you look in naoya's stupid, animated gestures. and you look so at ease, but there's something hot and sharp twisting inside his gut.
suguru's soft, measured voice echoes in his head, "prove yourself as a person first."
oh, yeah. gojo could do that. he would absolutely do that. for you, he'd do just about anything, short of donating his vital organs (but he would definitely be considering it). but how hard could it be to be better? more mature? more grounded?
gojo satoru can handle all that. all he had to do was be a dignified, charming man. you know, someone who puts his best foot forward into the world. someone that you might actually consider taking seriously. someone calm and respectful.
if you were happy with naoya zenin, then who was he to interfere? who was he to ruin that for you? even if the guy looked like wile e. coyote when he smiled. even if naoya zenin was the most smug bastard to walk the earth.
gojo scowled at nothing in particular. but the point was that it wasn't his place to meddle. not if it meant risking your happiness. all he could do was be the best version of himself. polite, kind and above reproach. a good and respectful friend.
ACT VI. a shot of love, on the rocks.
"please, i want you so fuckin' bad."
gojo satoru is on his knees. at a party, in the middle of the living room. for you.
you feel like your mind isn't able to process all this fast enough, like your brain is on some pause. the music is still thumping in your head, but not as fast as your poor cardiac muscles as you're rendered frozen from pathetic, piercing blue eyes blinking up at you.
"please," gojo satoru repeats, and his voice vaguely warbles out like he's kinda lost his marbles and —
let's rewind.
five minutes ago, you had been standing with naoya zenin. and despite your initial reservations, you had been entertained. he's sorta witty, and definitely loaded with snarky remarks that cut through the noise of the party. it's hard not to laugh at his biting commentary, although half the time he's skewering people for fun, and the other half? just out of pure spite.
his golden eyes gleam with that edge, the kind of sharpness that makes you think of a hyena circling around its next meal. naoya is definitely full of himself, but it doesn't help that he's also ridiculously good-looking. and he knows how stunning he is, but its bothering him that you're not showering him in enough compliments for it.
still, he's here with you. he's your date. and you're doing your best to remind yourself of that. naoya is the only option you have at the moment, and he's definitely offering you more attention than anyone else tonight.
from across the room, utahime gives you an exaggerated, pained thumbs-up — while shoko shrugs in her usual blithe manner, but she gestures for you to smile more. you plaster on a wider grin, a little too obvious but naoya doesn't seem to notice.
"you know, if you're getting bored of all this, we could always find another room," naoya's low hiss slices right through the bass-thrum of the pulsing room, "do a little more than just talk."
for a moment, it's easy to imagine slipping away with him. but the sharpness in his killer-smile makes something in you bristle, like he's already envisioned you saying 'oh yes, naoya! please take me to bed!' and you shake your head, and give him an amused look.
"maybe later," you say lightly, "not now."
naoya zenin doesn't seem quite offended, but his smile grows wider as he stands up straight again, from where he had curved his tall frame into you, "i'm a patient man. fine by me, 'm gonna get some more drinks."
and you watch as his golden head of hair disappears into the crowd, leaving you all alone while the music blares around you, like a suffocating fog. you rub your temples, wondering if you should just go after naoya and tell him to go to town, something for the night's enjoyment. but before you can go any further, you hear a shout cut through the noise.
"hey!"
you whip around, blinking in surprise at gojo satoru.
but also not quite the gojo that you're used to. the one that you grew up with, and held hands with in kindergarten, one who smiled easy and laughed too loud. it seems he's ditched the oversized hoodies and varsity jackets tonight, opting for a black tee that fits him a little too well and dark cargo pants that only highlight...
you're getting distracted. but it's hard to remain focused, when he's walking towards with you. seemingly determined, as his white hair falls forward over thunderstorm-eyes. for a moment, you're not sure if you’re hearing him over the pounding music, or if it's just your own pulse making everything seem louder.
"i hate that you're here with naoya," gojo says suddenly, and his voice is low and serious, something that you've never really heard from him before.
your brow furrows, "what?"
"i lied about the dates," he continues, as words just jumble out his candy-pink mouth, "i don't have a bunch of dates. fuck, i don't even have one date. i only want to date you."
you blink, and then you blink once more, because again what?
the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and for a moment, you think you might have misheard the man. his blue eyes are wide and earnest, and they're staring right at you.
and before you know, he's on his knees. muscular thighs bending so his knees hit the cool tiles with a heavy thud, hands splayed out for you.
"please," he implores, "you gotta understand. i need you to feel what i feel, because it's not even a passin' thought, i swear. it's not even a stupid crush. this is like —" and he's gesturing wildly with one hand, still kneeling like a knight about to beg for his lady's favour, "this is destiny."
"gojo," you manage, "are you on drugs?"
the white-haired man, bless his sassy heart, rolls his eyes, "no. i'm on beer and vodka. will you please let me finish?"
"yes, but what are you doing?" you hiss, exasperated and sibilant, as more eyes turn to the most ravishing man on campus, who's absolutely off his rocker. and there are phones being pulled out, god help you.
"what am i doing?" gojo smiles, and it's unnervingly wide, "i'm like laying it out all here for you. my love. because that's what you are, to me. like you're everything. and i swear everyone knows this already. should i call you my sun, my moon, my entire universe? it's like time stops when i see you, a-and trust me, i do physics. i know time shit," and he must have caught at how your mouth is flapping open because he suddenly wags a finger, "no! i'm not done. i haven't even told you how the world fades, and all that's left is you glowing. like a star that i can't reach."
he's placing a hand on his broad chest, digging into the tight top clinging to his pectorals, like he's being dramatically wounded, "i have to reach you. i have to be with you."
you're not sure what parts you've processed, or what part of this slow train-wreck has settled in your head, "are you, like, actually begging right now?"
gojo's eyes flash with the intensity of a thousand suns (well, fuck — gojo's awful poeticism is rubbing off on you already). you can hear the low snickers of two men that had been beating the living daylights out of each other half an hour ago, those fuckwits that go by toji and sukuna. you can hear sukuna's deep mutters about how no-one ever would like toji enough to do this for him. and yep, you can hear them scuffle again.
"yes!" gojo booms, and more than a few heads have turned now. you wonder if naoya zenin is watching in the background, and realising that this isn't a battle he wants to pick, "i will kneel for you. like i'd do this shit for eternity, even if my knees hurt so bad right now. but as long as you give me a chance to prove my worth. and my devotion, d-don't forget that! deep as the ocean, endless and vast. and the stars align...oh, how they align for us."
"ah, satoru," you cut in, and you realise that you're now smiling. embarrassment and mild humiliation be damned, there's a quirk tugging at your lips, "you can get up now. this is a bit dramatic."
gojo blinks, not missing a beat, "i'm dramatic because i'm in love, okay? and —" he swivels his head to the crowd, grumbling, "shut up, sukuna! i heard that, i'll beat your wonky ass. you don' know shit about love."
he's turning back to you, all sticky and soothing sugar once more, "where was i? eh, my confession. well, it's all for you. and it's me, givin' you every part of me. beggin' you to see that you're the only one who can break the walls around my heart."
you think that you've completed a full speed-run on every stage of grief that there is to experience, and if the small plink! coming from someone's phone is any indication, gojo's monologue has already made it's way onto someone's private story. and so naturally, everyone will have seen it by tomorrow.
"can you get off your knees? you look ridiculous."
gojo's grin falters for a split second before he straights up, all with a hefty groan as he runs a hand through snowy strands, "ridiculous? i'm being vulnerable as hell, and you think i look stupid?"
"a little," you admit, but you're reaching a hand out to push a strand of thick hair out of his eyes. and it's maddening at how gojo seems to tremble mildly under your touch, at the brush of your fingers against his temple, "kneeling at a frat party is crazy work."
gojo sinks his teeth into a plush lower lip, "that was me trying to show how much i care, and all that sweet shit. you make me lose all my cool, and this isn't even a joke."
"you never had cool, and now you've lost your dignity too," but you're blushing, and it's a giddy feeling at how he's now close enough that you can feel his body heat.
gojo satoru's eyes twinkle, "maybe. but i'd do all that again if it won you over."
"with your future oscar nomination?"
the man shrugs, broad muscles rippling, "he who be a fool for love is far better than he who doth never dare to try at all."
"fair point," you murmur, feeling dizzy in that familiar scent of lemon candies and mint, like the world is swirling around in a heady haze, "do you wanna kiss me to seal the deal?"
"yes please. i think i'm gonna pass out and — mmph!"
you've pulled yourself up, and thrown your arms around his warm neck, drawing gojo into you. crashing your lips into his before either of you can say anything else. it's an urgent, reckless kiss. like a dam has burst and all the pent-up emotions that you've been carrying have finally exploded.
gojo's lips are soft, but demanding, taking more and more air from you. they fit against you with an ease that feels almost too natural. and his broad arms come around your waist with a force that leaves the air punched out of you. he's holding you tightly, as though he's afraid that you'll just disappear if he doesn't keep you close enough.
you can feel the heat of his body against yours, the muscles in his arms that flex as he pulls you in, deepening the kiss. all while his mouth moves against yours with a slow and deliberate intensity, as his tongue parts your lips. all so messy.
when gojo finally pulls away, the last brush of his lips catches your quiet whimper. just as his breath goes ragged, and you're left standing there, dazed, with your forehead resting against his. you can still feel the warmth of his lips on yours, that electricity that's crackling and buzzing through your veins as you giggle.
gojo, however, doesn't give you a chance to catch your breath. he tugs your wrist with a sharp, swift motion. but his grip is firm, not harsh as you pulls you away from the living room, "c'mon. let's get outta here."
shoko's eyes are wide, her jaw practically locked in disbelief, "what the hell just happened?"
utahime's lips curl, "someone took gojo's brain out and replaced it with a clone. ah! geto, what did you do?"
suguru has been standing near the kitchen counter, absolutely floored, and he's shaking his head so hard that he feels a headache forming, "hand on my heart, ladies. i told him not to pull any stunts. swear on destiny's child that i didn't tell him to do all that."
ACT VII. i bet we'd have really good bed chem!
gojo satoru has absolutely lost his mind. but you wish that he had lost it a bit earlier, because you're practically pawing at his top now. critically working to make quick work of the tight fabric, letting your fingers run over hard planes of muscles and lower.
right until you're reaching a trail of soft white hairs that disappear into the band of his pants.
"seems like you're just as desparate as me, hah," gojo snickers, and his broad hand is trailing further up your thighs, letting your skirt bunch and crinkle under his ministrations. thick fingers brush over dewy cotton, and you moan.
"s-satoru!"
"you don't even know how long i've w-wanted this," and his hand clenches at the fabric, gripping it so tightly that you fear it may just be on the verge of tearing, but you can only buck your hips into him further.
no longer even mindful of how you must be already dripping onto the palm of his hand, "and i thought you knew. i r-really thought you knew how much i wanted you."
his middle finger is gliding through your damp and searing slit, with clinging strands latching onto his skin as you muffle a whine into his chasing, teasing lips.
it's sending deep, low curls of arousal in thick waves, settling low in your groin and you don't even care what room of the house you're now in, someone's bedroom with a dark, stylish bedspread and vinyls up on the walls.
the force of his large hands drives you down onto the bed, pressing your back onto the soft mattress.
and gojo looks so pleased, at how you're splayed and sprawled out underneath his torso, his hands tugging at your now bare thighs to spread your legs even further. pulling them far enough so they come to rest on either side of his face.
"fuck, she's so pretty. even better than i imagined," and gojo's voice is husky and low, almost strained, "and believe me. imagined her plenty." the sound of drenched cotton being torn rips through the air, slippery and resistant from your arousal.
it's even stubborn as the fabric refuses to budge, until it gives way under the force of gojo's tug, soft and tearing. leaving your pussy open to the cool, cold air. bare for gojo's eyes to rest upon and widen.
his lips brush against your thigh with an uncharacteristic gentleness, one that makes your entrance clench and wink.
but gojo is nothing if not teasing, and he feels light-headed. pressing featherlight kisses to the crevice of your thigh, and then closer to your aching mound. but even he cannot hold off for much longer, and he's pressing a flat, lazy print of his tongue against your cunt.
that first munch sends a burst of tangy sweetness dancing across gojo's tongue, and he thinks he might just bust a load right then and there. the heat of your clenching cunt is almost overwhelming, but hey.
gojo's never been a quitter, and he doesn't care if he creams his pants at this very moment, he needs to hear that sweet whimper of his name from your lips again.
his lips part, blowing a quick breath on your aching clit, right as his fingers begin to press and meld into your syrupy folds. it's got you practically jumping further into him, so wet strands are clinging to the very tip of his nose. and gojo knows that this is heaven. that he's unlocked true paradise.
"satoru, c-can't you...?"
he's too busy running his tongue over your clit, drawing small circles with the very tip of the hot muscle, "can't i what, pretty? don' want me eating you out?"
and you are so adorable, pushing your head up to scowl down at him with furrowed brows, but the flush in your cheeks paints you the most beautiful shade of cherry red. and gojo vows to spend the rest of his life ensuring that this shade never leaves your cheeks.
"can't you get to the eating part? thought that you were gonna — f-fuck! hnngh, 'toru!"
he's pulling your thighs tighter around his head, and he doesn't give a fuck if this is how he goes. suffocated in this tantalising heat, with your fingers lacing themselves into woven patterns in his white hair.
he's lowering his tongue once more into your throbbing pussy, making sure that his pleased vibrations send pleasurable rumbles right through your core.
grinning and slurring his tongue further into you, right as you buck desparate hips over and over. dragging yourself against his chin, so he's sure that the lower half of his face must be glistening with your sweetness.
gojo absolutely thinks he can get used to being like this, at having you angle and force his head further into your cunt. letting you angle and toy at him and use him for your pleasure. he snaps his teeth around glossy strands of arousal, once and then twice, before delving back in.
making sure that his spare hand finds your clit to draw quick flicks and shapes over it, pushing a finger right up against the throbbing hood.
"satoru, ah, satoru! 'toru!" it's all you can even manage right now, just chants and groans of his names, as he's practically sunken your hips into the mattress, while he's on his knees for the second time this night.
"hey, none of that, yeah?" and gojo's gently tugging at your arm. trying to get you to stop muffling your whimpers and cries, because he just needs to hear your adorable sounds. and he needs to hear your bird-like cries when you come undone.
what a joy it is for gojo. to be able to dive between your legs and run his tongue between your folds. he's losing his mind at how your body trembles under his touch, and how he makes the mistake of peering up at you. your lips are parted, open and glossy. and your brows are furrowed, as lashes flutter against your cheek. you have to cum, gojo satoru needs you to cum right now.
and so, he exerts all his effort ten fold into having you finish. it's so sloppy, and so messy. gojo lets his own eyes dip shut, letting himself feel your glossy, glistening cunt pulse around his tongue. and let there be no doubt that gojo satoru is a munch, for he's eating you out in such an ardent manner, and it basically sends you barrelling towards a heart-stopping orgasm, where tears spring to the corners of your eyes.
you needn't have even tried to warn him of your impending climax, for gojo knows in the way that your legs quiver and get sloppier over his face. stars fall over your vision as you heave and toss your head back, muscles rippling as "satoru, satoru!" falls from your lips, long and drawn out as the rest of the world goes dark around you.
you gasp, struggling to inhale as the syrupy air is stolen from your lungs, all while gojo runs his tongue through your folds, head spinning with the dizzying rush of sensation. it's as if you've been swept away, hurtling towards space, weightless and disorientated.
only to crash back into reality as gojo seemingly hasn't stopped letting himself taste all of you, with not a drop of arousal wasted. your back is further pressed into the soft mattress beneath you, and the surge of overstimulated numbness follows, all pleasurable pins and needles and ferocious need.
"look at that, 'm already addicted," gojo coos, almost to himself, scooping a finger through the translucent gloss that leaks from your cunt. bringing it up to his mouth to wrap his tongue around, "think you can handle giving me another one?"
you let out a weak, breathless laugh. your gaze lingering on gojo's face, the soft moonlight that casts an ethereal glow on his features. his chin still faintly gleams, coated in your mirror-sheen and his lips are a plump, rosy red. you part your lips, propping yourself onto your elbows, but before you can form the words, the door slams open with a force that makes your ears rattle.
"i've looked in every fuckin' room in this house, and i swear to everything holy, satoru. if you chose my bedroom, i'm gonna —"
geto suguru's voice cuts off mid-rant, his words dissolving into a strangled, pained gasp as he takes in the sight before him. gojo, kneeling between your legs, wearing a ridiculously pleased grin. just like the cat who got the cream. you let out a squeak, hastily tugging your skirt over you, but it's hard to look innocent when gojo is still unabashedly pawing at your thighs.
geto pales, his jaw going slack, and he looks like he's about to collapse, "god help me. satoru, i'll kill you tomorrow," and then he shoots you both a nasty look, "and you're both paying for new sheets."
"so you and gojo are...dating now?" choso pries, with a tone that is entirely too casual but his eyes are keen. your twin is nursing a cup of coffee while he absolutely demolishes a plate of fried eggs. he had been quiet so far, but it's clear that curiosity gave out and now he's peering at you like a big owl.
you try, or do your very best not to smile too hard. to not look giddy and ridiculously pleased, "yeah, i guess we are," you admit, keeping your voice as level as possible.
choso blinks once, before setting his fork down and shaking his head, "i knew it. it was only a matter of time," he mutters, and without further ado, he resumes shovelling eggs into his mouth, utterly unfazed.
before you can respond, sukuna appears in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame, his tattooed arms crossed and his expression dripping with disdainful amusement, "oh, i was there," he drawls, sharp fangs flashing in a wicked grin, "that loser pulled the dumbest, most dramatic stunt of all time. got on his knees and everything."
choso freezes mid-chew, raising a thick brow as he glances at the older man with mild interest, "wish i'd seen that," he mumbles through a mouthful of toast.
to your utter astonishment, sukuna nods gravely, his face taking on an uncharacteristically serious look, "yeah. i've got a video if you wanna watch."
your jaw drops as you glance between them, "this is officially the first time that i've ever seen you two agree on anything," setting your mug down with a thud, "if i had known that dating gojo would bring about world peace, i would have done it ages ago and —"
yuuji bounds into the kitchen like an overeager puppy, his blush-pink hair still a mess from interrupted sleep. but he's clapping his hands together like he's just won the lottery, "finally! look at that! everyone's getting along for once."
sukuna doesn't even bother to hide his irritation, shooting yuuji a withering glare. but it's hard to take him seriously when his own pink hair rivals yuuji's in sheer disarray, "don't push it," sukuna warns darkly, grabbing a glass of orange juice and downing it in one morose gulp. he slams the empty, cold glass on the counter before stalking off towards the door, "i'm seriously gonna move out at this rate."
"promise?" choso quips, without missing a bit, "wish you'd stop getting our hopes up and actually do it."
yuuji is undeterred, and he elbows you with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop, "you have to invite gojo over all the time now. i like him a lot. he's like super cool."
"of course," you grin, sliding a plate towards him as he eagerly digs in.
and your younger brother beams like the sun itself. right as a mocking, high-pitched voice floats from the other room, "and then we're all gonna be lovesick, and skip around town while holding hands!" right before falling back into sukuna's usual gruff tone that echoes through the kitchen, "god, you're all so insufferable."
your phone buzzes on the table, and you glance down. gojo's contact photo lights up the screen. it's a snapshot from a year or two ago, taken the summer that you both graduated high school. he's standing at the edge of the beach, with the sun dipping low enough behind to catch his white hair. turning it into a halo of glowing light. it's a photo that you never had the heart to change.
satoru 🪐
good morning princess!! my one and only!!!! my sugar plum (too much? i can tone it down but you just can't put a lid on love) hope you dreamed of me 🙂↔️ so what are you doing today because i've got abt eight possible things we can cover today starting with [read more.]
"ugh, gross."
sukuna's disdainful drawl cuts through behind you, as an icy finger prods at your phone, trying to scroll up and snoop through your messages. you freeze and slam your phone down on the table. whirling around to come face to face with the world's most judgemental gargoyle sneers at you, "i think i'm gonna throw up."
"get a life, holy fuck."
#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#gojo smut#gojo satoru smut#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk fluff#gojo fluff#gojo satoru fluff#works#gojo#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#lmfao i was meant to post this 3 days agoooooo#daphworks
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A Bit Rougher (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)
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Author Masterlist
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Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader.
Summary: You and Spencer have been in a relationship for a little bit more than four months now, and the team doesn't know. One day, the BAU girls ask you by your mystery partner they know you have - even if they don't know who it is - and bring up a topic you are not so sure to share with Spencer yet: your kinky side in sex. What happens when the same Spencer puts a test on you on that matter?
Word Count: 6.5k (I'm not sorry)
Warnings: SMUT/18+/MDNI. Where do I start? Reader sleeps with Spencer (obviously). Talks about sex life. Mentions of tantric sex and rough sex. Mentions of some kinks like choking, spanking, and dom-sub dynamics. Clothes get ripped, Spencer calling you 'my girl' (oh God), masturbation (f receiving), fingering, kind of choking, dirty talk. Spencer does his best as a dom (soft!dom because it can't be any other way), penetrative sex, spanking, begging, more dirty talk, creampie (it really doesn't exist another word for this?), and aftercare. Spencer is the best boyfriend in the world. If I forgot something, please let me know.
A/N: This one was a request. I can't find the original message, and I don't know if the person who asked wanted their name here (I can quickly add it if they want to).
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The moment rays of sunlight peek through the curtain and hit my face, I turn to my back to avoid them, not ready to fully start the day yet.
Still half awake, half sleepy, I can feel a pair of hazel looking at me. I peek one eye open, and I see Spencer smiling at me.
"Good morning, beautiful," he rasps. And I don't know why such simple words have me blushing like a schoolgirl. Beaming, I return the greeting.
"Morning, handsome."
I get my reply with a lingering kiss on my lips, which I fully savored until a sudden thought came to me.
"What time is it? We need to get up."
Spencer, with his calm voice, shakes his head.
"It's a bit early yet. We have time. Also, you have some clothes here, so you don't need to go to your apartment before driving to work."
Smart me for bringing clothes to his apartment. It's an obvious decision, though, considering I have spent more nights here in the past weeks than in my place.
A devilish smirk makes an appearance on my face.
"So, we do have time, don't we?"
"Yes, sweetheart. We do," Spencer mumbles, scooting closer and peppering kisses on my face and then down to my collarbone.
Oh boy, this is what I call a good way to start the day.
-
How much time can you fool a bunch of the best profilers in the country, hiding your relationship with one of your coworkers? Spencer and I keep the count. The mark is set now in four months and two weeks.
It's not that we are embarrassed by what we have or anything close to that. It's just that things started so casually and naturally, and they're running so smoothly, so we want to keep it to ourselves as long as we can.
And by now? It's working.
We have also been careful about it. On our first nights together, we woke up early and went home for a shower and a change of clothes. After some weeks, we started to pack extra in our go-bag. Now, we have at least a change of clothes in each other's places. The second rule is never to get to work at the same time or on the same transportation. Spencer usually takes the metro even if I can drive and make time in the parking lot. Just one day, we did it, and we were so worked up in our making out session that we almost got caught by Morgan, who parked two cars away from mine.
Naturally, any form of PDA at work is completely off-limits. That's the toughest rule to follow. After all, we spend more time at the office and on the road than we do at home, so avoiding any kind of touch is definitely a challenge.
Despite all that, I can't help but feel happier every day as I fall deeper for Spencer. I often feel like a schoolgirl with a crush, constantly distracted by thoughts of him. Clearly, my behavior hasn't gone unnoticed, at least not by the three girls cornering me right now in the BAU kitchen.
"So, are you going to deny you're having fun these days?" Emily teases me while JJ and Penelope giggle in agreement.
"Where did that come from?" I say, intentionally diverting my gaze to the mug I'm filling with coffee.
"It's just basic observation, my dear," Penelope chimes in.
"Basic observation? I honestly don't follow you guys at all," I reply, feeling a bit overwhelmed by this unexpected Tuesday morning interrogation. This time, JJ steps forward with her evidence laid out right before me.
"We have all noticed the changes in you over the past few months—the giddy smile that lights up your face when you read a text on your phone, the new pep in your step, and how you hurry home every time we finish a case. Do I need to say more?"
"Busted!" Garcia points a mocking finger at me. I roll my eyes in fake annoyance. After all, they are completely right.
"Okay, okay. Yeah. I'm seeing a guy. Happy?" I confess, and Garcia squeals.
"Yay! We need to know everything about him."
Oh. That's dangerous territory.
JJ notices my discomfort and tries to ease it a bit.
"Penelope, I'm sure we'll know more with time. Right?" JJ looks at me, and I nod appreciatively.
"Okay. But the basics. Is the guy good?" Emily asks. A silly smile appears on my face.
"Of course he is. He's caring, fun, always attentive-" I'm about to start a rant about how my mystery man is perfect. But Emily's snort stops me at mid-sentence.
"What?"
"Emily is asking if he is good in bed!" Penelope clarifies, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
Oh, Lord. What have I got into?
"Are you really expecting me to tell you about my sex life?"
The three girls nod in unison with no shame. Well, I guess I got my answer.
"Like if you haven't done it before. And for what it is worth, we all have said something about it more than once. That's why we created girls's night in the first place," Emily points eloquently, as always.
Touchè. They are right. I have said more than I would like to admit about my sex life. But now it's not that simple. We are talking about Spencer, even if they don't know it yet.
"Then? Is he good or not?"
I contemplate my answer not because I don't know what to say but not revealing more than necessary.
"I don't think good is enough to describe sex with him. The first time we slept together was amazing. The whole night was if you know what I mean. Since then, we have taken our time, savoring the moment, giving, and receiving a new part of ourselves when we do it. So, yes, sex with him is more than good."
"But it could be better," Garcia interjects, and I look at her baffled.
"How's so? Didn't I just say the sex is great?"
The three women nod in agreement, but I think I'm missing something here.
"Don't take it the wrong way, my lovely. We are really happy you are having fun and enjoying yourself," Garcia says, patting my shoulder. "But it sounds pretty vanilla to me. And it's not bad! Not at all!"
I frown, and Emily rolls her eyes, continuing Garcia's idea.
"What Penelope tries to bring here is what we talked back then about your last partner. Remember? The one who liked tantric sex?"
Oh. Yeah. I remember that one. It's not one of my finest choices, if I have to be honest. But it wasn't the guy's fault.
"Yeah. What about him?"
"You forgot how you complained about him being basically a statue? That you wanted it rough, and the guy never got the memo?" Penelope fills in, arching an eyebrow. My cheeks are flush crimson right now.
"I can't believe we are talking about this in the office kitchen," I mumble, embarrassed. "But that was different."
Emily scoffs. "What? Did you change your kinks now? What happened with the choking, the spanking, the begging, and all those things?"
"Emily Prentiss, can you please shut up? This conversation is too much for a morning in the office," I complain, shaking my head to try to cool my red face.
"Okay, okay. I'll stop. But if you are still into it - and I'm sure you are - maybe it's a good idea to share it with your partner. Healthy sex life and all that, so it doesn't happen what it did with the tantric guy."
"Well, thank you all for your concern. But I think I'm good. Now, can we please drop the subject?"
Luckily for me, the girls listened and changed the topic. By the time we leave the kitchen, I feel less embarrassed and ready to continue my paperwork.
But the conversation kept popping into my head from time to time during the day. My sexual preferences haven't changed 180 degrees, that's true, but with Spencer, it's different. I wouldn't want to bring something like that up if it's going to make him uncomfortable. Our relationship is still fresh, and I'm happy with our current sex life.
And talking about Spencer, I haven't seen him the whole morning. By the time lunchtime arrives, he doesn't come back to his desk, so I go with the girls and Morgan.
When we come back from lunch, I finally see him at his desk, concentrating on a pile of files. A smile creeps in my face. He looks so damn good with the crocked tie, messy hair, and shirt sleeves rolled up his forearms. This man has ruined me just sitting there. I'm doomed.
"Hey," I call his attention, and he turns his head to look up at me.
"Hi," he returns a smile.
"I haven't seen you around in hours. Are you okay?"
A frown appears on his face, but he brushes it off quickly.
"Me? Oh, yeah. Fine."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. It's just Hotch that had me checking and analyzing a pile of boxes with folders from old cases in the store office. That's all."
It makes sense. Spencer's fast reading is a blessing and a curse, and obviously, people tend to use it often in the office.
"I'm sorry, sure it wasn't a very entertaining task."
A shy smile creeps on his lips, and I have to use all my self-control not to pounce on him right now and pepper his face with kisses.
"It's okay. I'm already done, anyway. How has been your morning?"
"Oh. Mostly paperwork. As everyone. But I think I'll be done soon, too." Before continuing, I check my surroundings to ensure nobody else is listening. "Maybe we can go home early?" I suggest seductively.
The flush in Spencer's cheeks is endearing. It's like the ones I sported this morning when the girls were interrogating me. And they want me to tell this boy about my kinks? No way. I won't do that if it means he won't feel comfortable with me again.
"We could. But I'm afraid plans will have to wait," Spencer says as his gaze shifts from me to Garcia and the quick tip-tap of her heels, heading to the conference room.
Fuck. A new case.
-
Don't get me wrong. I love my job. But being stuck in the middle of the desert, looking for an unsub that seems to be a ghost? And I say 'ghost' literally because we are looking for a guy who is dead for the town records. No, this is not my idea of a 'normal work day.'
It's frustrating, and not only for the lack of progress. The heat here is like hell. The AC barely works, and everyone's mood is bitchy.
We are not making any progress by now, so Hotch sends us to the hotel for the night. Once in my room, I text Spencer, not with an explicit purpose but to talk to him for a while. But he doesn't answer my texts. Is he sleeping by now? Considering he's a night owl, I found it very rare. But maybe he's drained like everyone else, so I let it slide.
In the morning, after my shower, I'm checking my phone, and I don't have any messages. Has Spencer received my texts?
I don't want to sound paranoid, but it's like something is going on. At the precinct, I barely get a hello from Spencer. Okay. Maybe it's the stress. I don't give it too much thought, either. Not when we have work to do.
And boy, we have been working hard on this one. Some clues give us hope, but we're far from catching the unsub.
In the little spare time we have between interrogations and visiting dumping sites, I try to share moments with Spencer, but it definitely seems like he doesn't want to be alone with me in the same room, even if he doesn't say it or shows signs of annoyance or animosity towards me.
I can't tell why he is so distant, but it's starting to worry me. Did I do something? And it's killing me because the more I think about it, the more I miss him. A kiss, a hug, anything from him would ease the ache I'm starting to feel.
It doesn't help that he has been choosing to wear the sexiest clothes he has in his go-bag. Those tight grey pants that accentuate his ass, those button-ups with sleeves rolled up.
We have been here for six days, and I think I'm going crazy. I have been trying to be subtle and professional. But I swear that if one more day goes by without being able to feel Spencer's touch, I don't know what I'll be able to do.
It seems heaven has listened to me because we finally managed to catch the unsub, and we're on the jet on our way home. But I'm nervous. I didn't even want to sit next to Spencer like I usually do. I don't know why. What if he wants to break up with me, and I'm just dragging things out?
What the hell am I talking about? I don't believe I'm thinking clearly here. But this week has been so odd that I don't know what to think.
Maybe when we land, I can finally talk to Spencer and put an end to my overthinking. With that in mind, I doze off for the rest of the trip.
Once the jet is down, I'm starting to gather my things when I hear Spencer rushing out, saying goodbye to everyone.
Disappointed and frustrated, I leave the tarmac.
Maybe a full night of sleep in my bed isn't a bad plan after all.
But be that as it may, fuck you, Spencer Reid.
-
As if all that had happened wasn't enough, when I got to the parking lot, my car fucking didn't start. I knew I had to get it checked before.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
That delayed my arrival home for another 45 minutes.
Now, disappointed, frustrated, and with no car, I slam the door shut. The apartment is pitch black, and I have no energy to flick the lights on, so I drag myself to the bedroom. When I open the door, a yelp escapes my mouth when I see a silhouette of a man sitting in the chair I have in one corner.
I'm about to reach for my gun when the bedside lamp flicks on, and the scare turns to confusion when I see Spencer sitting there.
"What the fuck!"
"Hi," he says as if he hadn't almost scared me to death two seconds ago.
"Spencer! What are you doing here?" My voice sounds harsher than I intended, but Spencer brushes it off quickly.
"Waiting for you," he says matter-of-factly.
I'm officially confused. We were together an hour ago? He left without saying anything.
"I don't understand. The way you left the jet in such a hurry, I thought I was the last person you wanted to be with."
My words come out resentful, but I can't help it. Spencer's eyes soften. I averted his gaze as I dropped my go-bag, unholst my gun to set it on the safe, and sat at the end of the bed to remove my boots.
"Hey, don't say that. Of course, I want to be with you," Spencer says, standing from the seat and kneeling to help me remove my boots.
"I'm sorry, but it didn't show that way. You avoided me all week!"
Great, now I sound like I'm making a tantrum.
From his place where he knelt on the floor, his eyes met mine, and I don't know why suddenly I felt a shudder running down my spine.
"Sweetheart, you know we were working, weren't we?"
That condescending tone escaping Spencer's lips? It is something unexpected. But why does it make me kind of nervous? It's a type of nervousness that gives me butterflies in my stomach.
"I know! But- but then in the jet. And you left."
Why am I babbling? Since when did Spencer have looked at me with those piercing eyes?
He stands and offers me a hand to help me to do the same.
"Is my girl upset?" He asks when we are both upright.
'My girl'? That's new. Spencer always calls me by my name, a short version of it, or beautiful, or sweetheart. But thinking about it, 'my girl' doesn't sound bad at all.
"No! I'm not-"
"Oh yes, you are. Look, I wanted to prepare a surprise for you tonight, so I left in a hurry. I was thinking about a bubble bath, dinner, wine, and a movie. I even had the table done with candles ready to lit," he says nonchalantly, and I feel silly for thinking the worst scenarios all week.
"Oh," is the only thing escaping my lips.
"But now, thinking about it, maybe you don't deserve it. Not if you're questioning me like this," Spencer shakes his head in fake - I hope - disappointment.
Okay. Stop right there. What the hell is going on here? Why is Spencer talking like that? About me as 'not deserving' something? What's next? That I'm a naughty girl? - Uhm, I wonder how it could be hearing those words from his lips.-
"What? Why I-"
"Come here," he requests as now he is the one who sits at the edge of the bed and pats the spot in his lap. It doesn't sound too commanding, but sure as hell, I don't need anything more to comply. I need to know where this is heading.
As I'm at Spencer's reach, he pulls me by my wrist to land on his lap while his other hand cradles my face.
"Tell me, uh? Why are you upset?"
His voice drips like honey, and I start to feel hot here.
"I- I don't know. I just missed you, I guess."
"You guess?" He arches a questioning eyebrow.
"Yes. I mean, I do know. I have missed you," I confess, defeated. Oh yeah, now I'm the needy one.
"It helps if I say I have missed you, too?" he says, caressing my cheek tenderly with his knuckles. "I have seen you tense all week; that's why I thought I could do something special for you tonight."
I close my eyes, and for the first time tonight, I let myself enjoy Spencer's embrace.
I exhale a heavy breath as I get lost in his arms.
When I open my eyes, Spencer's are fixed on mine. But his look is not as sweet or reverent as it usually is when we are like this. No, this one is dark and raw. His pupils are fully dilated, and I feel like the breath leaves my lungs.
"Spencer-" I barely mumble.
"I know," he whispers, moving one hand to cradle my neck and bring my lips to his.
Oh God, what I have been craving for days is finally happening, and I can't stress enough how happy I am.
The kiss starts slow and sensual. But not far from that, it gets needy and messy, charged with all the pent-up emotions from the past days. If I had any doubt about Spencer's distance in the last week, this kiss quickly eased my anxiety.
My fingers go to undo the buttons of his button-up, but Spencer stops me with one of his hands, grabbing both of my wrists.
Why didn't I notice before how big and strong his hands are compared to mine? I mean, I always admired his long and deftly fingers, but this? Wow. It's new territory.
"But I want to touch you," I pout when he keeps hold of my wrists in his hand. The cocky bastard raises an eyebrow, contemplating my request.
"You will have to be patient this time and earn it, darling," he says casually, and as my eyes go wide, my jaw goes slack. These words have never come out of Spencer's mouth before. But why am I suddenly starting to feel hotter and more worked up? I blame it on sex abstinence.
"Please, I have missed you so much," I insist, trying to escape his grip to get what I want: undress him. But he doesn't budge, tsking his tongue.
"I already told you. You need to earn it. To my knowledge, only good girls get what they want, and I don't think I'm wrong, do I?"
Jesus Christ! I had never heard Spencer say 'good girl' before, and I'm sure now I'll be addicted to hearing it every chance I get.
"Spencer, please. I'll do anything. I promise. I want to be a good girl. I want to be your good girl."
Spencer's smirk tells me he likes my response, and I'm not at any ounce ashamed of sounding desperate.
He maneuvers me so that I am now on my back on the mattress. I watch his every move intently, and I get lost in his gaze, which screams lust and desire.
He kneels between my spread legs, staring at me intently as his hands move to the edges of my blouse. Just when I think he's going to work on unbuttoning it, he grabs it and rips it open.
A yelp escapes my lips at the raw sound and the view of buttons flying. Spencer doesn't seem fazed by his display of caveman style. And me? I won't mind if he rips all my clothes right now. His hands go to caress my breasts over the fabric of my bra. And then pull it down to free the skin. The cool air quickly stiffens my nipples.
Spencer leans down to suck one of them, twirling the other one with his fingers. A moan escapes my lips at the pleasure his touch is giving me.
"You like that, uh?" he mumbles, still with his mouth sucking and lapping.
"Yes!" I say, as my hands fly to his hair so I can ground myself in something.
After giving enough attention to both of my nipples, he helps me to get rid of the fabric of the ruined blouse and my bra. Now his mouth is sucking a hickey under my jaw, and I feel like I can faint of how aroused I am. One of his hands goes south and stills at the button of my work pants. His breath is hot in my ear.
"I'm going to take care of you. If I do something you don't like, just say it, okay?"
That's a sliver of the Spencer I know, and I can't even think of something this man can do to me that I wouldn't like.
"Okay," I manage to blurt when his fingers work on my pants, leaving me clad only in my panties in a matter of seconds.
Under his intense gaze, I feel exposed, but I also feel safe. There is no place where I would rather be right now.
"You're gorgeous. You know that?" Spencer says, trailing feather touches on my skin aflame with desire. "You don't know what you do to me, do you? I barely can control myself," he continues his praises, thumbs toying with the waistband of my panties.
I'm about to combust.
"Spencer, please."
"What is it, my girl?" he asks, kissing my neck as his fingers slide down my legs, removing the soaked fabric that used to cover my most intimate part.
"I - I need more."
"Are you already desperate for me?"
I can feel how his fingers trace soft patterns in the skin between my thighs, explicitly avoiding the spot where I need him the most.
"Yes! I am. I - I can't-"
I don't even care if I sound coherent at this point. I'm already so turned on and desperate that I can't be bothered by my lack of speech. Spencer still doesn't budge, though.
"I know you want to beg. And I know you can do better than that."
Oh God. I don't know how Spencer's words manage to make me more aroused, but they do.
"I need you," I croak, eyes pleading him to take me. I can feel his fingers ghosting my throbbing clit.
"I need you, sir. Please. You can use me whatever you want, but please, touch me!"
What the fuck? I just called Spencer' sir' and offered my body explicitly to him to use. And the bastard doesn't even flinch? Who is this guy in full control, and who am I acting like a pathetic submissive?
I don't have the answers, but honestly, I don't care. Did he want me to beg? If this isn't begging, I don't know what it is.
"I know you do, baby. Do you think I didn't notice how needy you have been all week? How have you tried to get my attention all these days?" Spencer's voice drops almost two octaves as his finger finally starts rubbing circles on my clit.
Just feeling his touch makes me whimper pathetically.
His lips ghost in my ear, and I can feel his breath heating the spot before his teeth nibble my earlobe.
A mewl leaves my mouth, and if I wasn't soaked before - which I was - now I'm dripping.
"Tell me, this is what you wanted?" His voice is commanding but feels like honey leaking on my body.
"Yes! Please, don't stop."
His movements are deliberate and precise, and when he buries a finger into my core, I can feel the coil in the pit of my lower belly beginning to form. My moans increase in number and volume.
"So needy, my sweet girl. Like that? That's how you want me to touch you?" Spencer coo as he watches me tremble under his touch, adding a new finger to fuck me.
His ministrations continue, but his free hand moves slowly from my cheek down to my neck, caressing the exposed skin with his thumb.
"Or maybe you want me to touch you like this?"
A mewl escapes my lips when he poses his open palm over my throat, not squeezing but seizing how much of my neck he would be able to cover with his huge hand.
"Yes! Please, do it. Please Spencer," I babble, feeling my orgasm closer and closer. And he complies. Applying the minimal pressure in my throat is enough to highlight all of my senses. That, plus the way his ring and middle finger pound in and out of me and his thumb toy with my clit at the same time, sends me to the edge.
"Spencer!" I scream as my climax washes over me.
I don't remember having an orgasm like this in a long time. My vision blurs and I feel like I'm floating on a cloud of pleasure that I don't want to come down from. I can hear Spencer's encouraging words in the distance as he helps me ride my orgasm.
"That's it, my girl. You did so good for me. See how good I can make you feel?"
With hooded eyes, I see Spencer sucking clean the fingers that were fucking me seconds ago.
"You taste amazing. I'll never get tired of it," Spencer says, with a satisfied grin on his face.
Still dizzy, I gesture for him to come closer. When he does, I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him in for the most passionate kiss my current post-orgasmic state will allow. I can taste myself on his tongue, and it is like my sex drive reminds me I want more. I need more.
"Please, fuck me," I mumble between kisses, and I can feel the smirk forming on his lips.
"I just did that," he states when we part from the kiss. "Are you being ungrateful?" Is he joking? I hope he does, but I won't take the chance of not having his dick in me tonight.
"No, baby. I'm thankful for the way you have touched me tonight, but I want you to feel good, too."
Spencer looks at me with a raised eyebrow.
"Is that so? Are you willing to do what I want to make me feel good? It's not only for your benefict?"
"Yes! Whatever you want. I'm yours. Take me the way you want to do it. Whatever you want to give me."
I don't know at what moment I became this kind of submissive, but if I have to beg again to have Spencer inside me, I will do it without complaining. And considering he's still fully clothed, I don't know what kind of plan he has right now.
"On your elbows and knees."
It's simple, and the moment the words leave his mouth, I move quickly to obey.
Unfortunately, from this position, I can't see Spencer, but I can hear him undressing. When I listen to him undoing his belt buckle, I have to do everything in my power not to rub my thighs together in search of some friction. And Spencer notices.
"I can bet you're dripping again. Don't you?"
The anticipation is killing me. When I feel the mattress dip with Spencer's weight, I can't stop the mewl that leaves my lips. It doesn't help when he presses his body to mine, and I can feel his hard cock pressing my ass.
"Can you feel what you do to me? I want to fuck you so bad. I want to ruin this pussy." Spencer's voice is husky and low, almost predatory, and I can't wait to feel him.
While we've used dirty talk before, I think this is the first time I can feel it coming naturally from Spencer. I'm usually the one with the filthy mouth.
When I feel his tip teasing my entrance, I instinctively push my ass back, gaining a laugh from Spencer.
"Be patient, once inside there is no coming back." Before I can say anything in reply, I feel him push his cock between my folds, and the stretching is painfully delicious.
"Oh, fuck!" I yelp as I hear Spencer hissing when he bottoms it out. He is still there, grabbing my hips to keep me from moving.
"So warm. So tight. Made for me," he mumbles, leaning to kiss my shoulder blades.
"Just for you, it was made for you," I agree, in a new state of pleasure and urging him to move. Spencer pulls back almost completely, only to thrust hard again, setting a slow but deep pace.
"That's my girl, taking everything I give her. You wanted this, didn't you? I know you do. Fuck! So good for me."
Another thing I'm not used to is Spencer being a talker during sex. I mean, yeah, he's very vocal, moaning, whining, cursing, and so am I, but his words are now taking me there faster than I expected.
"Spencer, yes! Don't stop, please!"
"I won't, baby, I won't. Not when this pussy tighen me like this."
His pace quickens, and in the room, you can only hear the sinful sounds of skin hitting skin, our moans, and the dirty words escaping Spencer's mouth.
"Spencer, please, harder," I beg to him. I don't know why, but I want to go to my limit, and I trust Spencer. I need it. He's quick to deliver, and with every thrust, I'm entering into a new space of ecstasy.
He is pounding me harder, and my broken moans are testimony to the brutal pace he leads. I can feel him hitting in all the right places.
"Like that?" He asks, panting in my ear.
"Y-yes."
"I can't hear you, darling," the bastard demands, not faltering his thrusts.
"Yes! Fuck, yes! Like that! Oh, fuck-"
My voice cracks when I feel a sharp smack in my ass.
And I can't stress enough how good it feels and how it helps the ball forming in my lower belly to grow.
"What a sight. You should see how my fingers are red imprinted on your skin," Spencer says, amazed with his doing, not ever slowing his thrusts, and I can feel closer to a new earth-shattering orgasm.
"We need to even the score, right baby?" I can't even catch what he's talking about when I feel a new smack in my other ass-cheek. And then I lose it. I'm teetering to my end, and I need Spencer to fall with me.
"Spencer, I'm so close. Please, I need-"
"Are you going to come? That's what you're trying to tell me?"
"Yes! I need to cum, please-"
"I'm right there with you, my girl. Come on, cum on my cock. Show me how you fall apart because of me."
And I did. My orgasm crashes me like a freight train, screaming Spencer's name once and again until my throat goes dry. He keeps his pace, chasing his own end, and after three deep thrusts, he stills, and I feel him spilling inside of me, grunting as he does so. The feeling almost makes me cum again.
We stay in that position for a few moments, him inside me and trying to catch our breath. I feel like I'm out of this world, savoring the post-orgasmic euphoria of the best sex of my life.
Spencer pulls out, and I hiss at the loss of him. Carefully, he helps me turn over and lie down to rest my back on the mattress. I close my eyes, regulating my breathing, content and completely satisfied.
"Are you okay?" Spencer asks me, but I'm still lost in the haze of pleasure. I can barely acknowledge the moment he goes to the bathroom to bring a warm cloth to clean me up.
"Uh? Yeah. Amazing." My words escape before I can process them, but I'm not lying. And I can feel the tons of endorphins running in my brain right now.
"Are you sure?" Spencer checks again. And because I'm more alert now, I can see his worried eyes.
A tired smile forms on my lips as I turn to the side and bring a hand to his cheek.
This man just has fucked me senseless, and now he sees me with those panicked eyes as if he had broken me. And maybe he did, but in the best way possible.
"I'm fine, Spencer. I'm more than fine, actually. That was something else," I confess, caressing his jaw. He lets out a breath of relief, and his cheeks turn a shade of pink.
"So you liked it?"
"Liked it? Did you just forget how I was screaming your name just minutes ago?" A satisfied chuckle escapes Spencer's lips. "But I need to know something," I prompt, propping myself on one elbow to have a better view of Spencer's face.
"What is it?"
"Where did this idea come from? It's not like you woke up one day and said, 'Next time, I'm going to choke her and spank her,' right?"
"Well, yeah. It wasn't that kind of spontaneous idea, even though I have thought about it before," Spencer looks at me sheepishly.
"Yeah? Well, then?"
"I heard you. Talking with the girls the other day at the BAU's kitchen." I narrow my eyes, trying to pinpoint the exact moment, and when recognition washes over me, my entire face flushes.
"Oh, God."
"I know I did wrong. It wasn't a conversation for me to hear, but you were talking about your mystery man, and I - I don't know, curiosity got the best of me."
Spencer looks apologetic, and I feel kind of embarrassed right now. It's funny for two people that minutes ago were fucking like there is no tomorrow.
"Don't apologize. It's my fault for spilling those kind of things in the office kitchen." Wait a minute. "From what part you heard?" Spencer purses his lips in thought.
"The part when you admitted seeing someone."
"So you heard when I said I was happy with our sex life, right?" He nods. "Why did you feel compelled to try something different, then? I'm not complaining at all, but I don't want you to feel obligated to do something because of me."
Spencer shakes his head. "I don't feel obligated. I wanted to. But can I ask why you didn't tell me what you liked before?"
That's a valid question, and I don't want to make him feel like I don't trust him because it is not like that.
"It's just- I mean, I love what we have. And I'm falling for you even more each day. I don't want to lose that, and I thought maybe I would have made you uncomfortable saying those things. I didn't want that."
Spencer's eyes glisten with warm understanding. How could I have doubted that he would comprehend? One of his hands goes to push back a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
"I love what we have, too. And you won't lose this or me if you share those things with me. I know I'm not the best example of a sharing person, but I'm learning to do that with you. And I want you to be happy and satisfied in this relationship."
"I really am. Seriously!" I quickly reply. God forbid Spencer from thinking I'm not happy and satisfied because it's far from the truth.
"And I'm happy to hear that. But there is no harm in experiencing new things, right?" He says, caressing my cheek.
"You really mean it?" Spencer nods and chuckles.
"It's not an altruistic offer, you know? I pretty much enjoyed what we did tonight." Only remembering what we did minutes ago brings a wide grin to my face.
"Sure you did. Okay. We can keep trying things. One condition, though."
"Name it," Spencer states, opening his arm for me to scoot closer to his side, which I happily do.
"I want you to choose the next kink to explore," I request, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction.
With narrowed eyes, Spencer is contemplating his answer. After a few seconds, his lips turn into a mischievous smirk, and he looks back at me.
"Have you heard about temperature play?" he asks, and I immediately bit my lower lip in excitement.
What can I say? This man is full of surprises, and I'm the lucky one who will experience all of them. I can't wait.
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Spencer Reid's Taglist: @dreatine @nomajdetective @jayyeahthatsme @rosalinasam2 @averyhotchner @lovelyxtom @princessmiaelicia @pastelbabygirl19 @reidsbookclub @alexxavicry @gspenc @spencerreidisbae123 @calmspencer @pauline5525mgg @anamiad00msday @milivanili99 @laylasbunbunny @leahblackk @miaxx03 @missabsey @taintedstranger @khxna @hiireadstuff @pleasantwitchgarden @dysphoricsanity @themoonchildwhofell @silver138 @lovelybaka @shinytinywhispers
#spencer reid#criminal minds#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid x you#dr. spencer reid#spencer reid smut#a bit rougher#amanda perry williams#aperrywilliams#spencer reid fanfics#spencer reid fluff
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Holiday request: child support
John is in a meeting with the Justice League when Clockwork comes knocking. It's a regular update on security and safety procedures, the kind of boring stuff John would have customarily skipped out on, except that this meeting also covers how to provide younger teams support.
Teams that his son was a part of. If Danny was ever on a mission, that could have ended in him passing simply because some wanker didn't know how to find him or how to help him in time?
So here was John, half slumped over his chair as Batman droned about procedures and policies. He had barely gotten through Wonder Woman's long lecture on support combat.
He was thinking of grabbing a coffee- John's been working on his drinking after making a promise to try and get sober for his son- so he was replacing the urge for alcohol with coffee. It was one of the hardest things he's ever done.
Thankfully, he knows some spells that help with withdrawals. It's better than the alternative, even if some days are shitter than others.
"Hello, Johnny," Coos, the Ancient being of Time, flouting before him in his human form. John can feel every hero's jaw drop even as he smiles awkwardly at the other parent of his child.
"Clockwork." He greets, eyes taking in the gorgeous features of Time. He nods his head towards the bag, flouting by Clockwork. "Lovely to see you as always. Got a gift for me?"
"Hmm." Clockwork flouts down, landing on his feet and surveying the room. His pure red eyes sparkled in amusement as the awestruck members of the Justice League. Even Batman seemed momently thrown- though if that was because of Clockwork's beauty or the insane amount of power pushing down on all their souls was anyone's guess.
"I've come to spend a weekend with my son. And you, I suppose, if you do not mind housing me." Clockwork says, at last, patting the bag. John feels his mouth go dry. Yes, he slept with Acient before and wouldn't be opposed to another round, but Clockwork wasn't his average ex.
Clockwork held the entire multiverse at the tip of his fingers, suspended on his amusement, and it could all be destroyed with a mere snap from the other. If he found disproved of even the slightest thing about how John was raising Danny, he could kill billions of people, or worse, he could take Danny away.
John feels cold dread grip his heart even as he laughs. "Of course, I can house you. I hope you won't find being in the human world too much hassle."
"Oh no. I have the perfect disguise to blend in with the humans." Clockwork assures, pulling out a pair of fetching glasses and a white cane. He places them on his head and taps his stick on the ground before grinning. John finds himself instantly spotting the same cocky curve to Danny's own grin, and his heart swells.
"Now, where is my boy? It's been years since I last saw him." Clockwork pauses before shrugging his head. "Or it's only been nine months in this realm. Still a long time for my son."
The Ancient snaps his fingers, ripping a portal open to the front of Danny's school. He offers his arm to the blond man, nodding toward Gotham Academy. The soft ring of the dismissal bells rings as students start pouring out of the front door in drones. Classes for the day have just ended.
"Come along, Johnny. Guide me." John shoots the Leauge an apologetic smile, knowing they will understand how important this visit is. He loops his arm through Clockwork, while heaving the man's bag over his other shoulder. The soft tapping of Clockwork's cane on the ground is the portal's only sound before it slams closed.
It cuts off the explosion of noise the Leauge makes, but with all those overlapping voices, John has no idea who said what.
Danny walks out of the school with Damian, Jon, and Colin, laughing and beaming at the younger boys. Clockwork pauses for a few seconds before he beams.
"You're doing a great job, Johnny." The Ancient says just as Danny's gaze locks on them. His face fumbles with ripples of emotion before lighting up in glee. He races towards them with a gutted shout, "Father!"
Clockwork opens his arms just as Danny slams into him. John steps back, but the Ancient grabs the sleeve of his trench coat and drags him into the hug.
"A really great job." The non-human whispers into John's ear. He feels a soft caress against his magic as if Clockwork was brushing the hair out of his face. His heart flutters softly, even as Danny beams at them, and various teenagers panic at his boy's beauty.
Something tells John that having his ex visiting won't be as bad as he initially thought.
#dcxdpdabbles#Child support#Part 6#Holiday requests#Clockwork wants a vacy#John/Clockwork#Clockwork plans on messing with John's head while on his vist#Danny is just so happy to see his mentor again#Clockwork is in fact in love with John#Sorry about the delay! I didn't ahve much time to write without my cousin's charger
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could you write a hotch x reader story where reader is literally a knockout bombshell and the team meets her for the first time and both are humbled and shocked tht Hotch could pull that. Also maybe she works in different department of the FBI, but not BAU and derek and others have always talked about how hot reader is but happy id they cnt have reaader that hotch can!
The Beauty and The Boss
Masterlist || Ao3
AN: Thanks so much for the request! Sorry, it took me so long to get it written :)
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader
Word Count: 4.5k
Tags/Warnings: Mild language, fade-to-black smut scene, reader wears makeup, workplace flirting, commentary about reader's appearance by BAU, jealous!Hotch, mention of a Holiday party, mentions of a bar scene.
Sypnosis: Aaron Hotchner’s professionalism hides a secret: he’s been in a relationship with you, the stunning agent who turns every head at Quantico. While his team spends months admiring and teasing about you—unaware of the truth—Hotch quietly enjoys keeping the relationship private. But when the BAU holiday party reveals the truth, the team is left shocked, realizing the woman they’ve been swooning over is already spoken for by the man they least expected.
The Quantico breakroom buzzed with life as Derek Morgan leaned back in his chair, a grin stretching across his face. “I’m telling you, there’s not a person in this building who doesn’t turn their head when she walks by.”
Emily Prentiss smirked, crossing her arms as she perched on the edge of the counter. “Understatement of the year, Morgan. She’s practically stopped traffic in the hallways more than once.”
Penelope Garcia, seated with her tablet, chimed in. “More like a goddess descended from Mount Olympus, wielding a to-do list and a killer power suit. The woman is unreal.”
You had no idea you were the current topic of conversation as you breezed through Quantico’s corridors. Your heels clicked against the tiled floor with the kind of authority only a seasoned professional carried. Your fitted blazer hugged your form just right, the kind of attire that screamed competence but still left a trail of stunned admirers in your wake. You were a boss, and you knew it—not in an arrogant way, but in the way a woman who worked twice as hard to get half as far in a male-dominated field knew her worth.
Little did they know that, as much as they admired you from afar, you had a certain someone who saw all those layers they missed—someone who knew how you carried the weight of your team, your projects, and your life with equal parts grace and grit.
That someone was Aaron Hotchner.
Unbeknownst to the BAU, the stoic Unit Chief had been keeping a significant secret. You and Aaron had been together for over a year. Though you both worked under the same massive roof, your respective departments didn’t often overlap—an intentional boundary to keep things professional and out of sight from prying eyes.
Aaron entered the room just as Morgan’s laughter rang out. “No, but seriously, Hotch, you’ve seen her, right? You can’t tell me someone that fine doesn’t have half the men here wrapped around her finger.”
Aaron’s sharp gaze flicked to Morgan, his jaw tightening subtly. “Morgan, shouldn’t you be focusing on case files rather than office gossip?”
Morgan raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, man, beauty like that deserves to be appreciated.”
Emily grinned. “Don’t let Strauss hear you. She’d have you running sensitivity training for a month.”
Garcia waggled her eyebrows. “Maybe Hotch is just annoyed because she’s his type. Dark hair, smart, confident—maybe there’s some unspoken pining we don’t know about.”
Aaron’s lips pressed into a firm line as he reached for a file, “Let’s keep the speculation to yourselves. We have enough on our plates without playing matchmaker.” His tone was calm but carried enough weight to signal the end of the conversation.
He didn’t let his composure falter, but inwardly, he found himself caught in a tug-of-war between amusement and annoyance. You were undeniably stunning, and he couldn’t blame his team for noticing, but their casual banter skirted dangerously close to the truth.
Later that afternoon, the sun streamed through the tall windows of the BAU bullpen, casting golden streaks across the room as you entered. Your heels echoed confidently against the polished floor, their rhythmic click commanding attention as you moved with purpose. A fitted pencil skirt emphasized the natural sway of your hips, and your blazer was tailored perfectly, hinting at the strength and grace beneath. Loose curls framed your face, falling just so, and your makeup—subtle but flawless—added to the aura of a woman who meant business.
Conversations quieted as you passed by the desks. Agents glanced up from their work, some stealing longer looks than they should have, while others leaned toward their neighbors to murmur something under their breath. You didn’t acknowledge the attention. You were used to it. Your focus remained locked ahead as you carried the neatly bound folder in your hands, its weight a mere fraction of the responsibility you carried daily.
You reached the door to Aaron Hotchner’s office just as it opened. He stepped out, his posture as straight and commanding as ever, but his sharp eyes softened for the briefest moment when they landed on you. The shift was imperceptible to anyone else, but you caught it—it was the kind of look he reserved only for you.
“Agent Y/L/N,” he greeted evenly, his voice steady but low enough that it felt personal.
“Agent Hotchner,” you replied with a nod, the professionalism in your tone betrayed by the faint twitch of a smile at the corner of your lips.
Behind you, Morgan's voice rose in a stage whisper. “And there she is…”
You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, keeping your expression neutral as you extended the folder to Aaron. “I just need your signature on these budgetary adjustments. It’s time-sensitive.”
Aaron’s brow furrowed slightly as he accepted the folder, his long fingers brushing against yours briefly. “Of course,” he said, already flipping it open to skim through the pages. “Give me a moment.”
As he turned and walked back into his office, you followed without hesitation, pushing the door closed behind you. The muted sound of the latch clicking shut seemed to signal a shift in the atmosphere. The second the door was closed, your composed expression melted into something softer, teasing.
“I heard Morgan,” you said in a low voice, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes. You set a hand on your hip, leaning slightly as you watched him work.
Aaron’s lips curved into a subtle smirk as he scribbled his signature onto the documents. “They talk about you often,” he replied, not looking up right away. “Morgan more than most.”
You tilted your head, your brow arching playfully. “Jealous?”
Finally, he looked up, setting the pen down and stepping closer. “Observant,” he corrected, his tone dry but his gaze warm. He handed the folder back to you, and as his fingers brushed yours again, the slightest spark of electricity passed between you. “You look stunning today, by the way.”
“Today?” you teased, your voice dropping slightly as you tilted your chin. “What about yesterday?”
Aaron’s smirk deepened, the rare expression enough to make your stomach flip. “Every day,” he replied smoothly, his voice dipping into that low, velvety tone that sent a thrill through you. He stepped just close enough that you caught the faint scent of his cologne—subtle and clean, just like him.
For a moment, the space between you felt charged, but you straightened, breaking the tension with a soft laugh. “Careful, Agent Hotchner,” you said, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “Someone might notice.”
He chuckled softly, the sound rare but rich. “Let them speculate.”
The corner of your mouth twitched in amusement, but you turned on your heel, your exit as purposeful as your arrival. Behind you, Aaron watched, his expression softening again as the door clicked shut. The office suddenly felt emptier without you in it, and the faintest hint of a smile lingered on his lips.
Moments after, when you stepped out of Aaron’s office, the door closing softly behind you, you nearly collided with David Rossi. The veteran profiler stepped back gracefully, offering you a warm smile as his eyes flicked to the folder in your hands.
“Agent Y/L/N,” he greeted smoothly, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “You’re lucky Hotch doesn’t have a ‘No Stunning Women’ policy in his office. Makes the rest of us forget what we’re working on.”
You gave a polite laugh, your smile measured but warm. “Always a pleasure, Agent Rossi. Don’t let me distract you too much.” With a nod, you stepped past him and continued down the hall, your heels clicking confidently on the polished floor.
Rossi watched you leave, shaking his head slightly before stepping into Hotch’s office, and shutting the door behind him. “You didn’t tell me your office doubled as a runway, Aaron,” Rossi quipped as he took a seat across from Hotch’s desk, still grinning.
Hotch didn’t look up from the report in front of him. “Rossi.”
“I’m just saying,” Rossi continued, leaning back in his chair. “Agent Y/L/N is quite the… presence. Can’t imagine you get much work done when she’s around.”
Hotch finally glanced up, his sharp eyes locking on Rossi with a calm but pointed look. “She’s one of the most competent agents in this building.”
Rossi raised his hands in mock surrender, the grin still on his face. “No offense, Aaron. I’m just appreciating fine talent when I see it. Professionally, of course.”
Hotch’s expression didn’t shift as he returned to his paperwork. “Make sure it stays professional, Dave.”
Rossi chuckled, standing up and adjusting his suit jacket. “Noted. I’ll leave you to your work, but for the record… you’ve got good taste.”
Hotch’s eyes flicked up for a brief moment, narrowing slightly as Rossi turned to leave. Once the door closed behind him, Aaron exhaled, his jaw relaxing as the corners of his mouth twitched faintly. You had that effect on people. Rossi wasn’t wrong about that, but Aaron wasn’t about to let anyone reduce you to just that. Not on his watch.
It wasn’t much later in the week when the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filled the dimly lit bar as the BAU team finally unwound after wrapping a grueling case. At their usual table near the back, JJ, Penelope, and Emily leaned close together, conspiring with mischievous smiles. Derek Morgan leaned back in his chair, his beer in hand, as he glanced across the room toward you.
You were with your own team, sitting at the far end of the bar. The laughter coming from your group was infectious, and more than a few heads in the bar had turned to admire the sharp, confident woman at the center of it all. You were a vision, dressed in a fitted, dark emerald blouse that complemented your glowing skin, your hair falling perfectly into place despite the long week.
Emily nudged Derek, her grin widening. “Now’s your chance, Morgan. She’s right there, and she’s smiling. That’s basically an invitation.”
Penelope nodded eagerly, swirling her cocktail. “Seriously, Derek. You’re Mr. Smooth—to make one of your famous sweet moves. She’s gorgeous, brilliant, and, let’s face it, probably way out of your league, but you’ve got charm. Use it!”
JJ smirked, sipping her drink. “They’re not wrong. She’s definitely the type to keep you on your toes.”
Derek chuckled, shaking his head, though his gaze lingered on you for a moment. “You ladies make a good point. Pretty boy over here has been staring so hard, I think he forgot how to blink.”
Reid’s head snapped up, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “I haven’t been staring—I was observing!”
Penelope laughed, reaching out to pat his arm. “Sure, sweetie. Keep telling yourself that.”
Meanwhile, Aaron Hotchner sat quietly at the edge of the table, nursing his drink and doing his best to keep his expression neutral. He caught Rossi’s amused glance and ignored it, his attention drifting toward you. Across the room, your eyes flicked to his, and in that instant, the noise of the bar seemed to fade. Your lips curved into a soft, knowing smile, and Hotch’s lips twitched in response, his gaze steady but warm.
“Alright,” Derek announced, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “Time to show you all how it’s done.”
As he sauntered toward you, the rest of the team watched with poorly concealed anticipation. Hotch leaned back slightly, a faint smirk playing at his lips as he took another sip of his drink, clearly amused.
At the bar, Derek slid into the seat beside you, his trademark charm on full display. “Well, well, Agent Y/L/N,” he began, flashing you a dazzling smile. “A woman like you at a place like this—it’s like a shooting star landing in a parking lot. Rare. Unexpected. Stunning.”
You turned toward him, your smile warm but professional. “Agent Morgan,” you greeted. “What can I do for you?”
“Oh, I’m just wondering if I can buy you a drink. You look like someone who deserves only the finest.”
You chuckled softly, tilting your head. “That’s kind of you, but I’m good for now. Thank you, though.”
Derek raised an eyebrow, undeterred. “You sure? A woman like you turning down a Morgan Original? That doesn’t happen often.”
You smiled, leaning in slightly, your voice light but firm. “I’m flattered, Derek, really. But no, thank you.”
Derek blinked, clearly surprised but respectful, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Can’t blame a guy for trying. You have a good night, Agent Y/L/N.”
As he returned to the table, Rossi leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. “I think I know why she turned you down.”
Derek arched a brow. “Oh, yeah? Enlighten us, wise old man.”
Rossi swirled his drink lazily. “She’s already seeing someone.”
That caught the team’s attention. JJ frowned thoughtfully. “She doesn’t wear a ring.”
Emily shrugged. “Doesn’t mean anything. Rossi’s probably right—someone like her? Definitely taken.”
Penelope gasped. “She’s got to be dating some rich CEO type. Like a Christian Grey situation—minus the creepy stuff. You know, private jets, expensive suits, maybe even his own island.”
Reid tilted his head. “Statistically, high-powered women often prefer partners who are equally accomplished, so it’s not unreasonable to assume…”
Hotch, listening quietly, couldn’t help but chuckle softly under his breath. It was rare for him to indulge in such amusement, but their wild guesses about your personal life were too far from the truth to resist.
“Something funny, Hotch?” Derek asked, narrowing his eyes playfully.
Hotch met his gaze evenly, his lips twitching. “Just enjoying the show, Morgan.”
From across the room, you glanced at him again, your eyes meeting his with a spark of shared amusement. You knew, just as he did that the truth was far more satisfying than any of their guesses.
That night, the familiar warmth of your shared apartment enveloped you as you stepped out of the bathroom, your hair still damp from the shower. The soft glow of the bedside lamp lit the room in hues of gold, casting a gentle light over Aaron as he stood at the dresser, folding his tie with precision. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms, and his expression was calm, though you could tell from the faint tension in his jaw that something was on his mind.
There was something mesmerizing about the way he moved—calm, methodical, and yet there was an intimacy in the gesture that always left your heart fluttering.
You crossed the room, barefoot, wearing one of his old FBI academy T-shirts that hung just above your thighs. It was soft and familiar, smelling faintly of him, and you loved how it made you feel wrapped in his presence.
As you climbed into bed, you leaned back against the headboard, watching him with a small smile. “You’re quiet tonight,” you teased, running a hand through your damp hair. “That’s usually my thing.”
Aaron glanced at you, his lips quirking slightly before he shook his head and continued folding. “I’m just thinking.”
“About?”
He sighed, placing the tie in the drawer before turning to face you, his arms crossing over his chest. “My team.”
You raised a brow, leaning forward slightly. “Oh? What did the BAU do this time?”
Aaron smirked faintly, shaking his head as he sat on the edge of the bed to remove his watch. “It’s not what they’ve done. It’s what they keep saying.”
You tilted your head, your curiosity piqued. “Do tell.”
He exhaled, his voice even but carrying a hint of frustration. “They don’t stop talking about you. Derek, Emily, Penelope… even Reid, apparently. It’s constant.” He turned to look at you, his dark eyes warm but serious. “I’ve been patient. I’ve let it slide because they don’t know. But I think I’ve hit my limit.”
A slow smile spread across your face as you scooted closer, resting your chin on his shoulder. “You’re jealous,” you teased, your voice light and laced with amusement. “Aaron Hotchner, stoic leader of the BAU, is jealous.”
“I’m not jealous,” he replied firmly, though the slight twitch of his lips betrayed him. “I just don’t appreciate them… ogling you.”
You chuckled softly, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your chin against his shoulder. “You know I think it’s kind of hot when you’re jealous, right?”
He turned his head slightly to look at you, his expression softening. “I’m serious.”
“So am I,” you said with a grin, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “It’s sweet that you care so much. But you don’t have to worry, Aaron. I’m yours. Completely.”
He turned fully now, his hands coming up to rest on your knees as he looked at you with a rare softness in his eyes. “You have no idea how much I appreciate hearing that.”
You smiled, leaning in to brush your lips against his. “Good. Because it’s true.”
He kissed you back gently, one hand sliding up to cradle your cheek. When you pulled away, you saw the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
Aaron lingered close for a moment, his thumb brushing your cheek in a rare display of vulnerability before he exhaled softly and pulled back. Standing, he moved toward the dresser with the same calm, deliberate manner that always captivated you.
His hands went to the buttons of his shirt, working them loose one by one. The sound of each button sliding free seemed amplified in the quiet of your shared space. You couldn’t help but admire the way the soft light played over his features—his strong jaw, the tension in his shoulders, and the faint lines around his eyes that only made him more striking.
Aaron shrugged off his shirt, revealing the toned muscles of his chest and the scar along his side that you knew he sometimes still tried to hide. He folded the shirt with the same precision as his tie, setting it neatly aside before slipping out of his slacks and into the lounge pants he favored at night.
“Don’t stop on my account,” you teased, your voice warm and playful as your eyes lingered on him.
He glanced back at you with a small, knowing smile. “Enjoying the show?”
You grinned. “Always.”
Aaron shook his head slightly, his smirk growing as he crossed the room and slid into bed beside you. The mattress dipped under his weight, and the familiar warmth of his body radiated toward you as he leaned back against the pillows, one arm sliding around your waist to pull you close.
“You really don’t have to worry about what your team says,” you murmured, your fingers tracing absent patterns on his chest. “I only have eyes for you.”
His hand came up to cup your cheek, gently tilting your face toward his. “You’re sure about that?” he asked softly, though the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes betrayed the question’s seriousness.
“I’m sure,” you whispered, leaning in to brush your lips against his. “You’re the only one who gets this version of me. The rest of them don’t even come close.”
Aaron deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that still sent your heart racing. His hand slid down to your hip, pulling you closer as your fingers tangled in his hair, and for a moment, the world outside your shared room ceased to exist.
The soft rustle of sheets and the low hum of your shared laughter filled the space as your words became unspoken reassurances, translated into the way he touched you, the way he held you, the way he kissed you as though you were his lifeline.
In the darkness, as the lamp flicked off and the night stretched on, you made it perfectly clear—he was yours, and you were his, completely. Always.
The annual Bureau holiday party arrived soon after and was in full swing, the large event hall buzzing with laughter and conversation as agents and staff mingled under the soft glow of festive string lights. Tables lined with food and drinks flanked the room, and a DJ played a mix of holiday classics and upbeat pop songs. The BAU team had claimed a table near the center, already deep into their drinks and holiday banter.
Derek leaned back in his chair, scanning the room with an easy grin. “Alright, I’m calling it now. This year’s party MVP? Gotta be me. I’ve got the charm, the moves, and the mistletoe strategy ready to go.”
Emily rolled her eyes, sipping her drink. “Your confidence is astounding. Let’s see how it plays out when someone turns you down again.”
Penelope chuckled, adjusting the festive reindeer antlers perched on her head. “Maybe don’t aim for anyone who’s already out of your league, like a certain Agent Y/L/N.”
“They’re never letting that one down,” Reid laughed.
Derek smirked. “She’s not here yet, but hey, holiday parties are all about surprises. Maybe she’ll get a look and change her mind?”
JJ raised a brow. “Speaking of surprises… does anyone else feel like Hotch is acting weird lately? He’s been way too quiet during our usual teasing.” Will was at her side, with an arm wrapped over her shoulders.
Rossi, swirling his glass of whiskey, gave a knowing smirk but said nothing.
The conversation halted abruptly as the door to the hall opened, and heads turned to see Aaron Hotchner entering with you at his side.
The two of you stepped into the room, hand in hand, your fingers loosely intertwined as Aaron scanned the crowd with his usual composed demeanor. You looked radiant in a fitted emerald dress, its sleek design effortlessly elegant, while Aaron’s sharp black suit was understated yet commanding.
The BAU table fell silent, their jaws collectively dropping.
“Is that…?” Penelope started, blinking rapidly.
“Hotch,” JJ finished, her voice barely above a whisper. Will let out a breathy laugh.
“And Agent Y/L/N,” Emily added, looking between the two of you as if she’d seen a ghost.
Morgan leaned forward, his grin faltering. “No way.”
Hotch’s lips twitched into the faintest smile as he caught their stunned expressions. He led you toward the table with a calm confidence, his hand still firmly in yours.
“Evening, everyone,” he greeted, his tone as steady as ever.
You smiled warmly, giving a little wave with your free hand. “Hi, guys. Hope we’re not late.”
The team exchanged glances, still struggling to process what they were seeing.
Derek was the first to recover, though his grin was more sheepish than his usual swagger. “Well, damn. Hotch, you really know how to keep a secret.”
Hotch arched a brow, his hand resting protectively on your back as he pulled out a chair for you. “It’s never been a secret. Some things are worth keeping private.”
Emily leaned closer to Penelope, muttering, “Okay, I officially feel bad for every single comment I’ve ever made about her in front of him.”
Penelope nodded vigorously. “Same. Oh my gosh, same.”
JJ shook her head, laughing softly. “And Derek, all the flirting?”
Morgan held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I didn’t know! But I’ll admit when I’m beat. Respect, Hotch. You’re a lucky man.”
Hotch’s expression softened slightly as he glanced at you. “I know.”
Rossi, still sipping his drink, chuckled. “For the record, I knew when to quit. The first time I made a comment about her, the look Hotch gave me said everything I needed to know.”
You raised a brow, your lips curving into a playful smile. “Oh? And what look was that?”
Rossi smirked. “The one that says, ‘Say one more word, and you’re not making it to retirement.’”
“Back into retirement,” Hotch corrected with an amused look. The table erupted into laughter.
Emily leaned forward, her curiosity winning out. “Alright, spill. How long has this been going on?”
You exchanged a glance with Aaron, his hand still resting lightly on your back.
“A little over a year,” you admitted, and Hotch nodded.
“A year?” Penelope gasped. “And you managed to keep it quiet this long? I’m impressed.”
Hotch’s gaze swept over his team, his voice calm but with a subtle warmth. “We wanted to keep things professional. But we both agreed it was time.” A mischievous glint flashed in his eyes as he added, “Especially before one of you asked her out on a date next.”
The team erupted into laughter, though Derek groaned, throwing his head back. “Aw, come on, Hotch! You’re never letting me live that down, are you?”
Emily smirked, leaning back in her chair. “You really did shoot your shot, Morgan. Respect for the boldness, but hindsight? Not your best moment.”
Penelope covered her mouth with her hand, barely containing her giggles. “I’m never going to stop picturing Hotch sitting back in his office, watching that go down and just... waiting.”
JJ joined in, shaking her head with a grin. “Honestly, Derek, if looks could kill…”
Derek held up his hands in surrender, chuckling despite himself. “Alright, alright! I didn’t know, okay? And for the record, I was nothing but a gentleman.”
You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand as you smiled at him. “You were, Derek. I thought it was sweet.”
“Sweet?” Hotch interjected, his tone laced with playful sarcasm as he glanced at you. “I’d call it… bold.”
You nudged his arm with your elbow, your smile widening. “Aaron.”
His lips twitched into a faint smirk as he looked back at the table. “But in all seriousness, I can’t blame anyone for noticing how incredible she is. I just happen to be the lucky one.”
The table quieted for a moment, the sincerity in his tone catching everyone off guard. Emily was the first to break the silence, raising her glass with a grin. “Well, here’s to the two of you. A BAU power couple if I’ve ever seen one.”
“Cheers to that,” Penelope chimed in, her eyes sparkling.
As the team raised their glasses once more, you glanced at Aaron, your fingers brushing his under the table. His quiet smile and the gentle squeeze of your hand told you everything you needed to know. You were his, and he was yours, and no amount of teasing or surprise from his team could change that.
Tag List:
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@khxna
@rousethemouse
@averyhotchner
@reidfile
@bernelflo
@lover-of-books-and-tea
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@justyourusualash
#aaron hotchner#criminal minds#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x y/n#aaron hotchner x female reader#hotch#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotch hotchner#criminal minds imagine#hotch x you#hotch x reader#kiwriteswords
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Kiss Cam!
Warnings: Fluff, Secret/hidden relationship, Chris x Fem!reader, swearing
Tags: @d3axplr @miss-ykwho @mattsturnziolio @joemamaaa42069
A/n: this shit is so ass ngl LMAO sorry if some of the wording doesn't make sense i'm exhausted and I refuse to download grammerly! Also I hope I didn't screw up the hockey scenes I know NOTHING about the sport
Dividers: @bernardsbendystraws
In which.. Y/n and Chris decide to keep their relationship out of the public eye. What happens when they decide to go to a hockey game and they appear on the kiss cam on live television..?
You and Chris shuffle through the crowds of excited hockey fans trying to find your seats. Chris leads with one of his hands behind him, allowing for you to take hold of it so you don't get lost amidst the swarm of people.
Eventually, you two make it to your designated seats. You sit down waiting for the game to start, Chris's arm drapes over your shoulder "you excited?" he turns to you with a toothy grin. To be honest you could care less about the game, you didn't even know which teams were playing tonight. You still wanted to come with Chris though, knowing it'd make him happy. "Yeah! Can't wait! Also.. who are we rooting for again?" Chris laughs, leaning in and placing a kiss on your temple.
As he starts explaining, the screens in the middle of the arena started counting down and the lights dim. The crowd starts cheering, awaiting the players to come into view. Chris stops speaking immediately, his eyes widened and glued onto the ice. You smile at his excited expression and turn your head to one of the screens.
The lights of the arena came back up as the sports commentator announced the first team. "WELCOME TO THE ICE THE BOSTON BRUINNSSSSSS" The crowd went wild! People were jumping, screaming, waving their arms around in support. "WOOOOOO" Chris cheered clapping his hands together. The opposing team was also announced, it was the other half of the arena's turn to cheer.
The game soon started, the opposing team taking the lead. The people in the stands were on the edge of their seats, watching the puck glide around the ice waiting for it to go into one of the goals. One of the players from the opposing team scored a goal. Half the crowd started cheering, the other half kept quiet out of respect but still had sour looks on their faces.
Your boyfriend sucked his teeth, using one hand to rub his chin in frustration. "c'mon c'mon" Chris muttered under his breath as the game continued. He was watching the game with intensity, his eyes never leaving the ice.
Soon enough the Bruins made a goal, the score was now 1-1. Much to everyone's disliking the game paused for an intermission. People got up to use the bathroom, grab something to eat, stretch their legs, trying to use the short break to the best of their ability not wanting to miss anything.
You yawned, head leaning against your boyfriend's shoulder. "what? ya bored already?" He smirked down at you. "no no just uhm..." Chris laughed at you failing to find an excuse, holding you close to him. The screens in the middle of the arena changed, it went from the arena's name to a white page with the words KISS CAM in pink letters and hearts around it.
"here we go with that corny shit" Chris rolled his eyes. "stop, I think it's cute" you pouted at him and turned back to the screen. The first pair that was shown were an elderly couple, the woman was first to notice and pointed it out to her husband. when he saw the screen he gently cupped her face and gave her a soft kiss. "aww that's so sweet" Your eyes widened at the sight, a slight pout forming on your lips. Chris tried to suppress his smile but failed. He leaned down, his breath tickling your ear "that's gonna be us in 40 years." You blushed at his words, your eyes peering into his "yeah? you think so?" "oh I know so 100%" Chris said with confidence. You couldn't help but smile at his words, you loved that he was thinking of a future with you.
The next pair on the kiss cam brought you out of your trance. It was a father and his daughter, the girl looked no older than 3. The father pointed to the screen to show his little girl they were on tv, the girl grinned ear to ear clapping her little chubby hands together. The father kissed his baby's cheeks and she let out a happy giggle. The whole stadium erupted into awes, smiling at the wholesome interaction in front of them.
Chris's arm's were drawing patterns on your shoulder mindlessly, he was distracted by the bustling crowds of people walking up and down the stairs to notice that you were trying to get his attention. "Chris..." no response "Chris" you repeat, again no response. "Chris." you say a little louder this time, this catches his attention "hm?" he questions with a lazy look. You point at the screen in front of you. He looks over expecting to see another couple you found cute, what he saw wasn't what he expected at all.
On the screen, he saw himself and you displayed in front of everyone that was inside TD garden, not to mention the thousands of people watching the game live on television and he knew some of those people were probably his fans. His eyes widened at the sight, on different circumstances he would've kissed you on the spot not caring about a thing. But this was different.
You've gotten enough hate just for hanging out with the triplets and being in their videos, imagine how much hate you'd get for kissing one of them? Let alone dating. You and Chris kept your relationship hidden from the public for years knowing that you would get crucified if some of the fans found out.
You were in a state of panic not knowing what to do. You looked at your boyfriend for answers, he was just as clueless. You looked back at the screen hoping it would've moved onto another couple, it didn't. The camera was still on the two of you. "I swear whoever's operating this is praying on our downfall" You nervously chuckle Chris is silent, still in a state of shock. "just kiss already!" some stranger said from afar.
Chris's thoughts were running wild in his mind, He didn't want his fans to go ballistic on you but the thought of the two of you kissing in front of thousands of people was making him go crazy, he wanted to show the world that you were his and his only.
"Fuck it." Chris grabbed your face with both hands pulling you into a forceful kiss. You were stunned. Chris pulled away, grinning ear to ear at your surprised expression. The kiss cam moved on to another couple soon after, not paying attention to the two of you anymore. "I can't believe you just did that" you say astonished. Chris still grinning, faced towards the ice and shrugged "I mean we were on the kiss cam right? we had to" "but your f-" "don't worry about it ma I'll deal with it" Chris grabbed your hand interlocking it with his, bringing it up to his lips and kissing the back of your palm. You had a shy smile plastered on your face "I uh.. thought you said kiss cams were corny" "they are" "then why'd you kiss me?" you questioned. You knew the answer, he knew you knew the answer. "Oh y'know, we couldn't let the people be disappointed" trying to act as nonchalant as possible, failing terribly. "of course of course" you played along.
The intermission ended and the game continued. Chris had a hard time focusing on the game, his mind wandering to the events that had just unfolded a few minutes ago. He wanted to for so long to show everyone that the two of you were together and he finally did. He didn't care what the haters had to say, all that mattered to him was that you were his and that he was yours.
hours later....
You and Chris went inside the house. Both of you were exhausted, you planned to take a nice warm shower and to finally get some sleep. But someone had other plans..
"what the fuck were you guys THINKING?" Nick screamed at the two of you. Matt watches from the couch with amusement, holding Trevor in his lap. "what are you-" you were about to question him but the man cut you off by shoving his phone in your face. On it was a clip of you and Chris kissing on the kiss cam. "oh.." Soft chuckles came out of Matt's mouth "you both are fucked everyone is going insane." He was right, that video has a million likes and hundreds of thousands of comments.
"Are you guys mentally okay!? Did you not use your brains for a second!? Why on EARTH did you do that!?" Chris rolled his eyes at his brother's antics. "Nick what the fuck were we supposed to do? The stupid cameraman wouldn't move on until we kissed each other" "You could've said no!" "Its fine Nick, whatever's happened happened. You don't gotta worry about it anymore kay?" Chris shrugged. "fine fine but you're gonna have to deal with this cause i most certainly am not. Good night." Nick put both his arms up in surrender and walked to his room.
Matt got up from his spot from the couch. He walked up to you both, he gave Chris a supportive pat on the shoulder and he shot you a reassuring smile before walking up to his room, Trevor following close behind.
You plopped down on the couch, your face was buried in your hands. "we shouldn't have done that" you groaned, your voice filled with regret. Chris sat down next to you "hey.. it's gonna be fine, I promise if anyone tries some shit I'll block them and they will no longer have access to any Sturniolo Triplet content" His hands went to his cheeks as he gave a faux surprised look. You laugh "you can't block them all" "yeah but if I block 3 of them I'm sure the rest will get the message" He grins. You shake your head in disbelief, a playful smile resting on your face. "alright now no more sadness we just came back from an awesome bruins game and we need to keep the good vibes goin'. I'll run you a bath yeah?" With that Chris ran up the stairs to the bathroom. You couldn't help but chuckle, somehow that man always knew how to make you laugh even in the most dire situations.
You picked up your phone opening Tiktok, you weren't surprised when the first video that popped up was the kiss cam clip. You knew you shouldn't, you knew what you were about to do was dumb, but you couldn't help it the curiosity of peoples opinions took over. You opened the comment section bracing yourself for the hate and insults
comments:
user3453985: I KNEW IT
user7654876: I'm not even surprised they were so bad at hiding it I LOVE THIS THO
user2832733: AWWW CUTIES 🩷🩷🩷
user003328: they're perfect together omg!
User33314: really? her? he could do sm better tbh. 🤷♀️
user22383: @user33314 like who? you? girl please sit down.
As you were reading the comments your smile got bigger and bigger. Sure there was some hate, but the amount of positive comments were drowning them out almost completely. Everything might be okay after all.
#chris sturniolo#chris sturniolo x reader#christopher sturniolo#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#sturniolo imagine#sturniolo smut#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo smut#chris sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo x you#sturniolo#the sturniolo triplets#matthew sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#chris sturniolo fluff#sturniolo fluff
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—Two sides of a coin.
Pairing: Young-il / Hwang In-ho x fem!reader
Summary: when he went into the games and blended in as a player, he didn’t expect himself to start caring for you so much. However, during Mingle, he realized you might not be so different from him…
Warnings: In-ho & Young-il are interchangeable—I used both in here, violence, death, him being concerned for you a lot, fast-paced, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!
Word count: ~ 2.0k
You had caught his attention early on, long before you had even spoken to him. You weren’t like the others—no frantic alliances, no desperate pleas. You moved through the games like a shadow, calculating but not ruthless, detached but not cold. You held people at a distance, but you weren’t cruel about it. That intrigued him.
He watched how the others in his group gravitated toward you, despite knowing next to nothing about you. You let them in just enough to function as a team, but no further. And yet, there were moments when you let something slip—when your guard lowered just slightly, a half-smile at Jung-bae and Dae-ho, a quick hand extended to steady Jun-hee when she winced in pain, her hands covering her stomach.
It made In-ho wonder. Who were you, really? What had brought you here?
More than that—why did he care?
He wasn’t supposed to. He was here with a purpose. Not to get attached. And yet, every time a new game started and ended, his first instinct was to check on you. To make sure you were still there. Still breathing. Still alive.
Like now.
The platform beneath him whirred as Mingle began again, spinning slow but fast enough to disorient, especially in a state of panic, though he barely felt it. The more players lost, the more chaotic it became. Fear made people desperate, and desperate people were unpredictable.
His eyes stayed on you.
You stood with your usual quiet focus, weight balanced perfectly, already anticipating the moment the platform would stop.
The moment the platform jerked to a halt, the voice crackled overhead:
“Five.”
Panic erupted around him instantly.
People lunged, grabbing at whoever was closest, shoving and clawing to form groups. He ignored them all, moving toward you. His hand reached out, fingers brushing your wrist—
And then someone crashed into him.
The impact sent him stumbling just enough to lose sight of you.
His heart pounded against his ribs.
No.
Shoving past bodies, he searched for you, ignoring the hands trying to pull him into groups, or Dae-ho’s constant call for him. The countdown was already ticking down, but his only thought was find her, find her, find her.
Then he saw you.
You had spotted the others—Gi-hun, Jung-bae, Jun-hee, and Dae-ho. They were waving at you, shouting from the front of one of the rooms they found empty.
Four.
They needed one more.
You didn’t make a move right away, your head turning around as if you were looking for something—or someone. Then, your eyes locked with In-ho, the lingering look told him to go with the group, and he felt his breath hitch.
Before In-ho could try to communicate that you needed to be the one who’s safe—you ran.
Not towards the room, but into the waves of people scrambling to find others to get into a room.
He cursed under his breath and ran toward the other four, who all shouted for him.
The doors slammed shut. His breathing quickened by the thought of you being eliminated. What if you didn’t find another group? What if you didn’t find a room?
A moment later, the final buzzer sounded, and the doors locked.
The ones who had failed to form groups pounded against the locked doors, their screams cut short by the inevitable gunshots. The guards moved in, silent and efficient, dragging the bodies away.
It should have been routine. In-ho had seen this before. He had orchestrated it before.
But he barely saw any of it.
Because all he could think was—was she inside?
Had you made it?
When the clean-up was over, the doors unlocked, allowing the players to come out of the rooms. In-ho’s first thought was to look for you in the crowds of players.
You stepped out from another room. Alive.
He felt the air rush from his lungs.
For a second, he didn’t move. Just stood there, taking in the sight of you, as if his mind needed proof. You walked out with that same composed stride, only the slight rise and fall of your chest betraying the fact that you had almost died.
And then—then you smirked.
That soft, knowing smirk. Like you were telling him, I’m fine. See? You didn’t need to worry.
Something inside him snapped.
Before he could stop himself, his feet carried him forward, fast, almost desperate. He barely registered the others, barely cared if they noticed.
He just needed—
He stopped inches away from you.
His breath was steady, but his hands twitching at his sides. He had almost lost you. The realization crashed into him harder than it should have. It unsettled him, made his pulse hammer in a way he didn’t like. He had known fear before, but never like this.
And you—damn you, you just stood there, watching him with those unreadable eyes. You had no idea. No idea how close he was to pulling you into his arms just to make sure you were real. To confirm you were still here. He forced himself to breathe, to shove the instinct down.
You smirked again, tilting your head slightly. “Missed me?”
“You worried me.” Young-il said simply, trying to calm himself, giving you a smile, though it felt a bit forced.
“I saved you too.”
—
The last round.
The tension was suffocating.
126 players left. Only 50 rooms. It meant 26 people were guaranteed to die if the remaining players were required to form pairs.
You felt it in the way the bodies around you tensed, the way some players shifted closer together, while others eyed their competition like prey.
The platform had barely stopped spinning when the announcement came.
“Two.”
Young-il didn’t hesitate. He didn’t stop to think, didn’t give himself a moment to assess. His body moved purely on instinct. His hand shot out, fingers curling around your wrist in a firm grip, and before you could react, he pulled you forward.
“Come on!"
There was no time to wait. No time to look for anyone else. He needed you by his side, needed to ensure that you wouldn’t be swallowed by the chaos erupting all around.
And it was chaos.
Players lunged for one another, hands grabbing, shoving, desperate to form pairs before the rooms filled. The knowledge that not everyone would make it—that some would be left behind to die—drove them to madness. Some scrambled without thought, others moved with purpose, pulling people down, throwing punches, trampling those too slow to keep up.
The room was in sight.
Not far. Just a few more feet.
Then something slammed into him.
A body, heavy and frantic, slammed into his side with brute force, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him crashing to the ground. The grip on your wrist slipped away as his back hit the hard platform floor.
The player who tackled him was bigger—strong, but wild with panic. His hands clawed at Young-il’s teal tracksuit, trying to shove him back down. A split second’s hesitation in a game like this could mean death. He knew that.
But before he could fully react—before he could twist the man off him and take back control, you were already moving. No hesitation. You grabbed the man’s collar, your grip brutal and sure, and yanked him off with shocking strength. Young-il barely had time to register the movement before—
Crack.
A sickening sound, one that echoed in the madness.
Your foot came down hard, precise, against the man’s leg. The force of it snapped the bone like it was nothing more than a twig beneath your heel.
The man screamed—a raw, gut-wrenching sound—but it was already over. He collapsed, writhing, his face twisted in agony. But you weren’t looking at him, you were looking at Young-il.
And for the first time in a very, very long time, In-ho was stunned. Not by the violence. He had seen worse. Done worse.
But by you.
The sheer efficiency of it. The lack of hesitation, the brutal finality in the way you moved. You didn’t even look at the man after you broke him. You didn’t hesitate, didn’t tremble, didn’t stop to think about what you had just done. There was no regret in your eyes. No guilt. Just cold, calculated action.
For a single breath, he just stared at you, trying to make sense of what he had just seen, of who he was looking at.
Then your fingers curled around his arm, yanking him to his feet with a sharp, urgent tug.
“Move!”
That single word shattered whatever had frozen him.
He shoved the thoughts aside and ran with you, the chaos of the game roaring in his ears. He could process it later. Right now, all that mattered was survival.
The room was just ahead, one of the few left.
One last sprint.
Young-il pulled you forward, feet pounding against the floor. Almost there.
You both got inside.
The door slammed shut behind you.
For a moment, the world outside faded, the noise of screams muffled by the walls enclosing you both. The sheer brutality of the game had been left outside the door. Inside was silence, heavy and suffocating.
But then—a presence... A third person in the small room with you and Young-il.
A man stood against the far wall, panting, sweat forming on his forehead.
Young-il’s stomach coiled.
You weren’t safe yet.
“There’s only room for two,” he said, voice calm, controlled.
The man’s breathing hitched. His wild, panicked eyes darted between you and Young-il, looking for a way out, a way through.
“I—I was here first,” the man stammered. His voice wavered.
Young-il stepped forward, his presence looming, his voice quiet but sharp.
“Get out.”
The man flinched but held his ground. Desperation flickered in his expression, the refusal to accept his fate. “No way,” the other player tried to sound firm, his eyes flickered between the two of you again, desperate. “Please.”
Young-il exhaled sharply. There was no point in wasting words.
In a single, fluid motion, his arm shot out, wrapping around the man’s throat. The struggle was brief. Short-lived. The other player clawed at Young-il's arm, his legs kicking as they slowly slid down against the wall.
A sharp, sickening crack filled the air, final and absolute.
The body went limp against him. Dead weight.
Young-il let go of the body.
His breathing was quickened, but his eyes were steady. His heartbeat calm. He had done this before. Many times. It didn’t shake him. Didn’t bother him.
He looked up at you, and once again, you surprised him.
Because you weren’t shocked. You weren’t even remotely fazed. You stood by the door, blocking it, your eyes locking with his as if you had expected this outcome from the moment you entered and saw the other player. You hadn’t gasped, hadn’t flinched, hadn’t looked at him like he just committed some great treason.
You had simply accepted it as fast as it came.
And that—that sent something twisting inside him in a way he didn’t fully understand.
He had seen it in the way you moved, in the way you made decisions without hesitation. He had seen it in the way you had broken that man’s leg without a second thought, in the way you had looked at him after—assessing, calculating, but never afraid.
And now, in the quiet aftermath of the kill, you weren’t recoiling from him either.
No.
You were simply watching.
Like you had known all along exactly what he was capable of. And you didn’t care.
That sent a strange, sharp feeling through him. A curiosity. An understanding.
For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The doors locked with a click as the timer ran out, the sound of gunshots filled the air, the distant screams beyond the door fading as the game ended.
Finally, he exhaled, his fingers twitching at his side.
“We’re alive,” he said, voice steady. You just gave him a nod, turning your back to him as you looked to the chaos outside through the small space on the door.
Young-il rested against the wall, his mind processing all that had happened.
Then, his lips curled, a soft smirk that you couldn’t see.
#hwang in ho#hwang in ho x reader#squid game#hwang in ho x you#hwang in ho x y/n#hwang inho#hwang inho x reader#the frontman#squid game fanfic#squid game fic#squid game imagine#squid game x y/n#squid game season 2#squid game x reader#squid game x you#player 001#young il#young il x reader#squid game front man#young il x you#player 001 x reader
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sleeping with the enemy ✮ au
pairing basketballplayer! rafe cameron x cheerleader! female reader
summary after getting dumped by the captain of the basketball team you cheer for, you find revenge in the form of rafe cameron, your ex-boyfriend’s worst enemy. based on this one-shot
rating explicit 18+
tropes both afraid of commitment, college rivalry, friends with benefits to best friends to lovers, everybody sees it, he falls first
timeline when they meet, she’s a junior and he’s a senior at rival colleges. they’re friends with benefits for three months before they start dating. they’re together for five months, then he gets signed with the nba and moves away. they stay together long-distance and she moves in with him a year and a half later. she gets pregnant six months after moving in, when they’ve been together for a little over two years. they get married four years later.
legend ⊗ smut / ❥ fluff / × angst
˚ ꩜ ︴friends with benefits ︵ 🏀
✮ ࿐ they meet and hook-up ⊗
✮ ࿐ rafe texts her after they meet ❥
✮ ࿐ her ex sees them together ❥
✮ ࿐she learns about his past ❥
✮ ࿐ she hears people talking badly about her ×
✮ ࿐ he takes her out to dinner ❥
✮ ࿐ he fights to defend her ×
✮ ࿐ she rides his thigh ⊗
✮ ࿐ she keeps his shirt ×
✮ ࿐ they hook up in the library ⊗
✮ ࿐ his first time getting jealous ×
✮ ࿐ their favorite position ⊗
✮ ࿐ she cleans him up after a fight ❥ ×
✮ ࿐ a new player on his team hits on her × ⊗
✮ ࿐ he takes care of her when she’s drunk ❥ ×
✮ ࿐ he accidentally calls her his girlfriend ❥ ×
✮ ࿐ they become official ❥ ×
˚ ꩜ ︴in a relationship ︵ 🏀
college days
✮ ࿐ he tells his friends they’re dating ❥
✮ ࿐ their first time having sex as a couple ⊗ ❥
✮ ࿐ people see the marks she left on him ❥
✮ ࿐ they compete ⊗
✮ ࿐ he does a body shot off of her ⊗ ❥
✮ ࿐ their first fight as a couple ❥ ×
✮ ࿐ he helps her when she’s stressed about school ❥
✮ ࿐ he consoles her after she fails a midterm ❥
✮ ࿐ they meet each other’s families ❥
✮ ࿐ they fight before he leaves ×
long distance
✮ ࿐ their roughest patch ×
✮ ࿐ he has a photo of her in his locker ❥ ×
✮ ࿐ her first night visiting him ⊗ ❥ ×
✮ ࿐ their first ‘i love you’s’ ❥
✮ ࿐ they almost break up ×
✮ ࿐ he misses her after she visits ❥
✮ ࿐ her ex hits on her ❥
✮ ࿐ she gets jealous ❥ ×
✮ ࿐ she drunk calls him ❥
after she moves in with him
✮ ࿐ he supports her career ❥
✮ ࿐ she tells him she’s pregnant ❥ ×
✮ ࿐ the public finds out she’s pregnant ×
✮ ࿐ he supports her through her pregnancy ❥ ×
✮ ࿐ he gets his first tattoo ❥
✮ ࿐ she gives birth ❥ ×
✮ ࿐ they announce the birth ❥
✮ ࿐ he sets up the nursery ❥
✮ ࿐ paparazzi find them at the hospital ❥
✮ ࿐ they struggle being new parents ×
✮ ࿐ rafe snaps at paparazzi following them ×
✮ ࿐ they deal with rumors that he’s cheating ×
✮ ࿐ a clip of her feeds the rumors ×
✮ ࿐ she sits courtside with their babies ❥
✮ ࿐ he’s away from the babies for too long ×
✮ ࿐ they’re overprotective parents ❥
✮ ࿐ rafe as a dad ❥
✮ ࿐ rafe does his babies’ hair ❥
✮ ࿐ their first night away after becoming parents ⊗ ❥
✮ ࿐ they hook up at a wedding ⊗ ❥
✮ ࿐ his daughter attends a conference with him ❥
✮ ࿐ rafe has a rough day with the kids ❥
✮ ࿐ their daughter loves attention ❥
✮ ࿐ he’s afraid to propose ×
˚ ꩜ ︴married ︵ 🏀
✮ ࿐ they have a problem on their wedding day ❥ ×
✮ ࿐ she gets possessive of him ❥
✮ ࿐ rafe tells their son’s friend to stop looking at her ❥
✮ ࿐ he’s overprotective of their daughter ❥
✮ ࿐ what they fight about as parents ×
#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron and you#rafe cameron and reader#rafe cameron and y/n
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Semantics - A.H
a/n: guysssss i had so much fun writing this one let me know what you think :)
masterlist
pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader
summary: you flirt with an officer that has been driving hotch mad all day
warnings: slight suggestive stuff, hotch looks at r's tits, mad!hotch, reader flirting with someone other than hotch! JAIL!
wc: 1.2k
Stationed precariously on your toes, you had on shoes that did not seem dependable for today's work. Hotch was sure that they weren't standard issue for on the job. Did he have the heart to tell you this? Absolutely not.
His grip on the bullpen's bar tightened, his knuckles bleaching to the color of bone. There you were, talking with an officer with a chirpiness that seemed excessive. The volume of your laughter seemed to breach the boundaries of appropriacy, your fingers decorated with glossy paint twirled in your hair, and your proximity to him was decidedly intimate.
He felt a little sick.
The officer's ineptitude was exacerbating the situation. Perhaps calling him an idiot was a bit severe, but Hotch couldn't help but consider it. He was this close to charging the officer was obstruction of justice, and it wasn't only because he was too close to you. The man boy had been nothing but a nuisance all day, holding back information, delaying necessary search warrants, and incessantly bitching about the FBI's involvement.
And you, his assistant, were well aware of the situation as Hotch had talked about it ad nauseam. Yet, there you were, flirting with the officer. He couldn't fathom why. All Hotch was aware of was the involuntary twitch in his hand, hovering perilously near his firearm. That was dramatic, he knew this. He was fine.
What Hotch was also aware of was how the team was watching, no, dissecting his every move. This led him to extract himself from the viewpoint, throwing himself into his office, and not particularly caring about the door's loud bang behind him.
He wasn't sure how long he was in there, wading through reports and forms, each one a small fortification against the temptation to check on you, before there was a knock on the door. It was so faint that it would have gone unnoticed had he not been so acutely attuned to every aspect of this morning.
He tried to convince himself that his keen sensitivity had nothing to do with you.
He raised his head just enough to see you and your pink slacks standing in the doorway. You had the biggest smile, and it took every ounce of discipline not to shovel you in the room, close the door, and kiss you senseless. That wouldn't be appropriate. He was your boss, and more importantly, not your boyfriend.
"Yes?"
His words were blunt and clipped, too stern by half, and he immediately wanted to kick himself as he noted the minuscule wobble in your smile before you could hide it.
You stepped forward, licking your lips in a nervous habit that he caught all too clearly. The door closed with a definitive thud, and a heavy knot twisted in his belly as he motioned for you to sit.
Your effort to reconstruct that trademark smile of yours was apparent, but to his penetrating eyes, it fell short of its customary sparkle. Obediently, you took your place in the seat before him, one leg over the other.
The soft tapping of your sparkly pen against your notepad echoed through the hushed room, another nervous habit of yours. He wanted to kick himself again.
"Sorry I know you're busy," you began, your head's slight tilt dislodging a strand of hair to obscure your eyes. "I'm just about to make a coffee run for the officers. Do you want your usual?"
The officers. If he had the influence over you that he secretly wanted, he'd have you spit in their drinks. Again, a dramatic thought, but one that felt warranted in his mind.
He repositioned himself, settling more firmly into the chair as his hands came together in front of him on the desk. "That's fine."
Your inched forward, and with it, a breath of your shampoo crossed the divide. He found himself mirroring your movement.
"What's wrong?"
"Why do you assume something is wrong?"
"You've got that frown on your face that makes you look constipated." Your smile was growing as you spoke, teasing him. A relief to see. He couldn't help but respond with a reluctant half-smile, almost against his will.
But then he thought about you offering the same teasing banter to the officer, undoubtedly in a more flirtatious manner, and the frown returned.
"There it is again," you noted, arms folding across your chest in a way that pushed the slopes of your breasts to the sky.
He adjusted his pants under the desk.
"I'm fine," he asserted, but the words felt hollow even to his own ears.
His training as a profiler should have equipped him with a better poker face, but in your presence, those skills were rendered ineffective.
You pursed your lips. Those perfect lips. "I don't believe you."
It sounded more like you were singing rather than speaking, and again, he wanted to smile, but he repressed the urge.
"I don't need you to believe me," he started, narrowing his eyes just enough to be noticeable. "I'm the boss."
You let out an overstated gasp, hand dramatically to your chest. "That was mean."
He found himself laughing--a genuine, unguarded reaction that surprised him just as much as it surprised you. He shook his head, an attempt to regain his composure and the frustration he felt was due. But it was challenging when faced with your innate sweetness, a quality too precious for someone like him.
"I'm sorry," he said, still grinning. It's not often that he apologizes, but he seemed to be making exceptions for you more than anyone else.
But that could mean nothing.
"Much better," you stated, leaning forward with your elbows on the desk, your smile striking him with an unexpected force. "Now, will you please tell your favorite assistant what's wrong?"
"You're my only assistant."
"Semantics," you scoffed, hand cutting through the air. "Spill."
You had learned that word from Reid and had not stopped saying it since. He gave you a look before giving in.
"Some of the officers are complicating my job more than necessary."
It wasn't really a lie.
You bobbed your head. "I know, right? They're being very unprofessional."
He bit back the comment ready to leap out. You weren't unprofessional--that would be an unfair assessment--but the way you acted earlier could hardly be filed under the professional conduct.
"But did you see me earlier? I totally had that one guy, I can't remember his name, but you know the one--kind of short, bad breath? Anyway, he was wrapped around my finger," you said, proudly at that, as you rummaged through your purse. "And it was worth it because I got you a little something!"
The tension that had been coiling within him unraveled in the form of a couple documents you handed over--witness statements--the very documents the local PD had been stingy with sharing. There was a heartbeat where he thought he might just kiss you for it. That thought might have turned into action, if you hadn't already been on your way out.
"You can thank me later, boss man," you tossed out with a wink. "With a bit of luck and coffee, they'll speed up that warrant thing. I'll be back before you start missing me--promise!"
He wasn't sure if that would be true. He was quick to miss you. He made a promise to himself that he would show his appreciation when you got back. Maybe in an unorthodox way, but as you said--semantics.
taglist: @hotchhner @khxna
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x fem!reader#aaron hotchner bimbo!reader#aaron hotchner x bimbo#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner fluff#criminal minds#criminal minds fluff#criminal minds fic#Spotify
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baby, it’s cold outside — JB9
pairing: joe burrow x fem!reader
warnings: smut, morning breath doesn’t exist, established relationship, pwp, swearing, not proofread!!
inspired by: “baby it’s cold outside” by dean martin [2.3k]
a/n: ew i hate the ending okay i can never write them 😔😔
joe would never deny his hatred of the cold, from playing in it to simply just feeling it, he hated the way it nipped at his skin, leaving his hands red and sore, the way his face flushed. you, however, found it adorable, when he flashed up on the big screen and his cheeks had turned a pretty pink, the tip of his nose starting to look like rudolph.
a winter storm had sure set in for the night, your bedroom window frosted over as the pale morning sun reflected off of the snow outside, glistening like shining jewels across the grass, although you knew it’d be a pain to clean off of the car, the picture was so winter wonderland it was worth the hassle in your eyes.
winters in cincinnati were rough for him, he still hadn't adapted to the below 10 mornings in the years he'd been with the team, instead seeking your comfort and warmth in the bed you shared before his early practices, never wanting to leave the safe space of his covers in the morning, savouring it as he dragged himself to the shower, where for some reason he refused to had warm morning showers, even when you joined them with him.
you felt his stirring in his sleep, already been awake for at least half an hour with his arm still wrapped loosely around your waisg, always an early riser despite the later sun rises you were getting, your room still covered in a blanket of darkness despite the time on the alarm clock reading 6:58 am in bold, due to go off any minute to wake joe up for practice, and whilst you had the luxury of going back to sleep, he did not, so you were left to your own thoughts.
in the corner of the room, a small decorated tree stuck out in your thoughts, a smile tugging on your lips at the memory of getting it with him when you'd first moved in together two years ago, and thereafter decorating it together, your first christmas seeming so long ago like a blur in your mind. your vanity in the other corner of your room was adorned with other decorations, the picture of you and joe at your first christmas tree lighting in high school together front and centre.
your attention fell back to the sleeping man beside you, his hand subconsciously with a grip on your hip, still deep in whatever dream he was having as you could make out his eyebrows furrowing in the rays of the rising sun that reflected in through the open drawn curtains. down his neck and along his collarbone you caught a glimpse of the marks from the night before, purple and red bruises littering the taut skin, scratch marks travelling over his shoulder and down his back.
mornings together like these were easily up there as the favourite part of your relationship with joe, you both had busy lives, so it was always special to you to have time spent together wether asleep or not. neither of you had any other need than staying close to the other, the gentle rise and fall of his chest soothing you almost to sleep again. just on time, his alarm sounded in the background, feeling him pulling you closer into him as he let out a tired groan, unhappy that he'd been brought out of his peaceful slumber.
tiredly, you left soft kisses across his bare skin, making his waking up at least a little bit more manageable, tilting your head to look up at him when you reached his chest, a small smile forming on your lips as you noticed the tip of his nose had turned a light pink, the coldness in the air wasn't missed by him as he brought the duvet further up your bodies.
the hand you had draped over joe's midriff moved to trace over his bare chest, feeling the goosebumps raising on his skin from the coldness in your touch, the heat of his body quickly fighting it off as you felt the muscles contracting under your light touch when your touch went lower. you tried to bring your hand lower down his body, the feeling of his grabbing your wrists held you back, reactions still quick despite his tired state.
"just wanna warm you up." you said innocently, unconvincingly apparently , as joe finally opened his eyes to meet yours, the mischievousness hiding in plain sight behind them. teasingly, giving him a kiss on the cheek as he leant in, his lips slightly cold at first, warming up quickly against your own as his hand crawled its way up and down your leg, a slight squeeze of your ass when he got there before resting it back on your hips.
he had brought your leg up to sit on his hip, the motion having him so close you could feel his entire body against you, the heat radiating off him. the action also allowed him to deepen the kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips as you let him take control, pulling you on top of his body, legs straddling his hips now. from your position now, you could see the corners of the windows had began to frost, the sight of snow undeniable as the sun reflected off of its bright surface. there was still a chill in the air, bringing the covers up to cover your body as you sat over him.
you lightly traced your finger down his face, the one you shamelessly loved to look at so much, the one you looked for in the stadium from your seat and he looked back. the eyelashes you'd always been jealous of framed his eyes perfectly, even as he held them sleepily open, his eyes were mesmerising, forcing you to hold eye contact with him.
there was no way you could talk about how much you loved his face without mentioning his lips - ones that have explored your own and your body only hours ago - you swore he's memorised his way around by now. his bottom lip slightly juts you graze it with your thumb, watching it fall back into place when you let go.
"did i not tire you out enough last night?" for the first time that morning, you're blessed with his morning voice, raspy and deep and deep and one you're sure you'll never get sick of, wanting to hear it every morning for the rest of your lift, a christmas present from him.
you lean closer to him, muscular arms wrapping around your back to hold you secure as you did so, lips just barely grazing joes ear. "could never get tired of you, joey."
just barely, you could hear him swearing under his breath, absentmindedly rolling your hips down against him with the grip he had on you, heat rushing to your cheeks as a small moan escaped your lips from the friction. "you're gonna be the death of me, baby." he muttered to you under his breath, smiling at him teasingly, you gave an experimental grind of your hips, wanting to see how much control he was willing to give you.
he lifted you off of him slightly, the pair of boxer shorts you'd stole from him that now acted as sleep shorts, off in an instant and you were back down on him, the pair of basketball shorts he'd been wearing pulled down just enough to free his cock. "gotta head to practice soon, we're gonna have to be quick." you knew if it was up to him he'd have you both locked in the room, tangled up in your bedsheets together, spending the rest of the day in each others arms, but he unfortunately didn't have time on his side.
you craved his touch, feeling his semi-hardon against you since the moment you'd woken up, feeling the way his hips subconsciously rutted against your ass, and you'd be a liar to say that it didn't turn you on that he wanted you in his dreams just as much as he wanted you awake. a prolonged whine fell from your lips as he bottomed out inside of you, about to drag your hips in a rocking motion when you pressed your hand against his chest.
with less than a second to react, he pressed his lips against yours, the kiss far too intense for a quick morning make out, had your head spinning, the slow drag of his hips slipping a moan from your lips into his mouth. tracking down your jaw and neck, his lips left dark purple marks in their wake in various sizes and shades. you whined as he bit into the soft skin at the base of your neck, soothing the stinging with his tongue.
"fuck joey, thought we had to be quick." your words were breathless, absentmindedly grinding your hips down to meet his and you could feel him deep inside of you, his hands not providing you with aid as he made you do the work to get yourself there, instead running his tongue along your collarbone as he made a mess of your chest with hickey's, in places only his eyes would see, driving him even more feral for you.
“can always take my time with you.” he confessed, lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, the hands that hadn’t helped you before now rested on your hips, keeping you at a steady space, occasionally thrusting up to meet your rhythm but with the most part letting you take your time.
you could feel one of his hands move from your hip, his large palm finding its way to the inside of your thigh and giving the soft flesh a squeeze before his hand grazed over your cunt, a small moan escaping your lips as your head dropped to the hollow part of his shoulder. his thumb toying with your clit as you clenched around him. “fuck, can feel your close, baby.”
you were only able to respond with a short hum, pleading and whining at him to give you more when he began to take over your hips, moving them against him quicker now, someone feeling him deeper inside of you, like he was hitting every spot that had your eyesight fogging and toe’s curling from the pleasure. “shit, joe,” you could feel your orgasm building, practically knocking at the door as your bodies moved against each other.
his hands roamed all over your body as if he was exploring it for the first time, the cold tips of his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass as he held you down against him, stopping your movements before he begun thrusting up into you, the pleasure overwhelming as you fell against his chest, one of his hands coming to cup your breast, squeezing the flesh and rolling your hardened nipple between his fingers before giving the same attention to the other. “you’re so beautiful, baby.”
you could hear the roughness in his voice, driving you more crazy for him than you already were, as you took back a little more of the control as your hips connected with his faster, the sound of skin on skin filling the room, long forgotten was the winter chill as you took solace in each others bodies, the time on the clock already reading that he’d be late for practice if he didn’t get up now, but he couldn’t have cared less, his attention fully on you as his blue eyes pierced yours, you could see how he was holding himself back, waiting for you to finish before he did and rhe sentiment alone drove you absolutely feral.
the sight of you on top of him was almost too much for him to control himself, the blissed out state on his face becoming more apparent as you clenched around him when his thumb found your clit against, quickening against the sensitive spot and it finally had you tumbling over the edge, your body falling flat against joe’s, the only reason your hips continued moving was because of his hands, working you through it as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear, a low guttural groan falling from his lips as he finished inside of you.
his hands wrapped around your back, pulling you against his chest as your hands fell comfortably on his shoulders, the tension in your body gone and you whined as he slid out of you slowly, a comforting hand rubbing up and down your back as the cold air began to bite at you again, the quiet a welcomed state.
you stayed like this for a few minutes, joe making the first move to get up as he went and got a towel to clean you up, and you heard him from the bathroom as he let out a “fuck i’m gonna be so late.” after finally reading the time on the alarm clock.
#joe burrow#joe burrow imagine#joe burrow x reader#joe burrow one shot#joe burrow smut#joe burrow fan fic#joe burrow fluff#joe burrow fic#nfl#nfl imagine#nfl smut#nfl fic#nfl one shot#nfl x reader#scudevils#ficmas 2024
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Captain John Price • broken.
PAIRING: John Price x Fem!Reader
SUMMARY: the result of my poll. in short, you tell your captain that the reason you’ve only dated one man is because your ex said you were broken due to your inability to orgasm; and price offers to show you that the only thing broken was your confidence.
WORD COUNT: 5.3k (got carried away.)
TAGS: 18+, PURE FILTHY SMUT MDNI, Slight Degradation, Praise, Multiple Orgasm, PIV, Semi-Public Sex, Dirty Talk, Absurd amount of swearing, Fingering, Price being daddy as fuck.
"What about that ex girlfriend of yours, Gaz?"
As soon as those words left the Scottish lads lips, everyone in the room was giggling like a lot of fucking schoolgirls. You'd be lying if you said that didn't include yourself.
"You want to talk about ex girlfriends now, Soap?" Gaz sat forward in his chair, eyeing his grinning teammate from across the room, the grip on his glass so tight you were worried it'd shatter between his fingers. "What about that woman you boned in Prague? The one that wanted, oh--how do I say it...a little ride on train 141."
"Nuthin' little about that train." Ghost added through a choked chuckle, barely able to get the words out.
Your fucking abdomen was starting to get sore from the amount of laughing you'd done tonight. These men were absolutely ridiculous. You'd never heard more obscene sex stories in your damn life, and they've got a bloody abundance of them--the back and fourth taunting over who fucked who and who did what never seemed to end. It was almost three in the morning and they were still going strong.
"Aye," Soap leaned back in his chair, bringing his glass up to his lips and taking a slow sip, wide eyes gleaming as he reminisced. "Fuckn' wild one, that one. Had her nice and tamed for me by the end of that deployment.”
"Aye, the fucking woman whisperer, this one," Ghost chimed in again, his balaclava half pulled up, exposing his stubble-donned chin and grinning lips as he took a hefty swig of bourbon. Not even fazed. "Almost as smooth as Price."
Everyone in the room chuckled, nodding and muttering words of agreement, but you were stuck in place--still absentmindedly staring at Ghost while turning the words over in your mind, curiosity piqued.
"Price?" His name left your lips before you could even attempt to prevent it.
All eyes in the room shifted toward you, and Gaz cocked an eyebrow. "You've never heard any of his stories?"
Ghost shot him a look. "Clearly not."
"I mean, I've heard some..." you mumbled, awkwardly trying to fix the mess you've just made. Your gaze darted between the three men staring at you, each set of eyes glazed with confusion, clearly trying to figure out why you were so taken aback. "Captain is far more secretive than the rest of you."
You'd been on the team for a solid eight months. Since recruitment, you'd worked alongside Price every single fucking day, yet the man hardly ever spoke about his personal life.
Unlike the others, who seemed to never stop.
"Around you, yeah." Soap mumbled with a smirk, shooting a knowing glance toward Gaz who instantly returned it.
Your brows knit in confusion. "Around me?"
"Aye." Ghost replied for Soap, and you were practically sitting on the edge of your goddamn seat as you knew he wasn't finished. He shifted lower in his chair as his eyes traced up and down your form. "You're new. You're hot. You've never spoken a word about your own personal life. The man's a bloody nutcase, but he hides it well when he needs to--he probably doesn't want to scare you off."
"Scare me off?" You had to fight to keep your jaw off the floor. Trying to mask your confusion, you cleared your throat. "What's that supposed to mean?"
At your reaction, everyone chuckled again, and your face immediately flushed with blood--shading you the same crimson colour found on a ripe fucking tomato. If there was some joke happening here, it'd clearly flown way above your radar.
And yet, before you or anyone else could even consider speaking again, the man of the hour appeared in the doorway, and you nearly fell out of your chair.
"Valid question." He didn't even acknowledge you as he spoke, eyes fixed on Ghost as he took a step into the room.
Gods, he was fucking attractive—every molecule in your being screamed at the sight of him. You'd done everything you could to ignore that fact for the entirety of your time here, ensuring your focus was trained on keeping things professional--but after two glasses of whiskey and the current topic of conversation, the flood gates were wide fucking open.
"Go on, Ghost," his voice was low, deep as the depths of your desire as his ocean eyes slowly danced around the room. "...I'd like to know the answer as well."
Price took a seat across from you, slouching slightly and nodding toward Soap who promptly poured him a glass of burning brown liquid and slid it across the table. Ghost pulled down his balaclava in attempt to hide his cheeky fucking grin, shrugging as though he had no idea what his Captain was on about.
"Not sure what you mean, Cap." Ghost quipped, and you could practically hear the beaming delight in his words. "We're just talking."
"Hm," Price side-eyed him, humoured. "You always talk about me?"
"Only when you're not around." Soap chimed in, snuffing a groan in his throat as he'd downed the rest of his drink and stood up, shooting an inebriated nod to each of you. "Well, would you look at the time--I'm gonna' hit the sack. Duty calls, y'know."
Your stomach churned with confusion, your eyes glued to the Scottish bloke who decided it was convenient to make his exit the exact moment Price entered the room. You almost wanted to reach over and yank him back into his seat.
"Keep it classy ya filthy bastards."
He shot you a cheeky wink from beyond the door frame before disappearing into the abyss, only for Gaz and Ghost to rise from their seats as well, seemingly following Soap's lead, muttering excuses about how late it was and how exhausted they were.
Your mind raced at lightning speed, trying to make sense of the sudden exodus. You were going to kill those fuckers in the morning.
Price broke the silence before it had the chance to linger for too long. "It's not personal, you know."
Your heart slammed your sternum. You sucked in a breath and trapped it there. You needed to calm the fuck down--though that seemed like a goddamn impossible task at the moment. Prices' voice was the hypnotizing depth of a black hole. It stirred every last atom within you.
Avoiding his eyes, you straightened in your seat, clearing your throat. "I know."
"Do you?" He cocked an eyebrow, two fingertips tracing the rim of his glass. "I'm not so sure."
You looked up now--almost immediately regretting it as your eyes caught his. You forced words out of your mouth before you could acknowledge how the way he was looking at you made you feel.
"It's because I haven’t opened up to you..." you murmured. "Yeah?"
Price nodded, choosing to remain silent, his gaze anchoring you to the floor—every muscle stiff as stone.
You cleared your throat again. "Well. What do you want to know? My family? Where I grew up-"
"No." He cut you off, leaning forward, elbows resting on the table as his stare intensified. "...I already know all that. You're my recruit, I know everything about your past..." his head tilted, his eyes narrowed, and he pushed his glass to the side, clasping his hands together infront of him. "What I don't know, is why a woman as skilled, as smart, and as undeniably attractive as you, has only ever been with one man."
Blood crystallized in your veins, every ounce of your skin vibrating with an emotion you couldn't identify. He was so close—closer than you'd initially gauged—and that closeness ignited dormant desperation, one you'd nearly forgotten existed.
Your throat was thick. Saliva lodged inside it. "I..."
There was a reason. There was a very good reason as to why you've only been with one man, why you promised to never put yourself through that shit again. But you couldn't bring yourself to say it, you couldn't bring yourself to speak the words aloud. That would mean being vulnerable, humiliatingly vulnerable--one of the many things soldiers were trained not to be.
Captain Price hummed, leaning back slightly, and a swarm of unpreventable desire roared alive in your chest. His attention flicked over you. Like he'd felt it.
He remained silent. He was waiting for an answer.
"It's...um..."
Your brain filtered through pages of plausible excuses until it landed on one. Inhaling a breath, you forced the fibbing syllables past your teeth, shrugging in an attempt to make it believable.
"I just...never found anyone I jived with.”
Price paused, his scrutiny skinning you raw. It was like he knew what was waiting on the edge of your tongue, like he could smell the smoke swirling off the fire below your waist. He wasn't buying it.
"You can't lie to me." His words only confirmed your thoughts. "I mean, theoretically you could, though I'd advise against it."
You swallowed, forcing your eyes to your hands. "I'm not lying."
"Perhaps not," he replied, voice cool as ice. "But you're certainly omitting."
Fuck, he was good. And of course he was--there was a reason he was Captain. He was fucking bred for this. You were certain he could detect a lie from light years away.
"It's embarrassing," you replied, ignoring the thrilled leap your heart made that he'd read you so well. "You'll think less of me."
John Price leaned further across the small table, nibbling the distance between you. The intensity of his focus made your insides tangle, something was undoubtedly churning within his mind. A breath caught in your throat as his eyes held yours.
"I don't care," he stole another inch, and you could now comfortably say that he was well within your personal space. "If this is going to work, there has to be trust. Because you should trust me—as your Captain, and as your friend..." in a single abrupt movement, he stood up, towering over you, eyes boring into the top of your head until he shifted toward the door. "...when you're ready to open up to me, I’ll open up to you."
Ice braced your veins. This was the most conversation you'd had with your Captain since you joined the team, and you were about to blow it with your inability to talk to him. To just telling him the fucking truth. He took a step back from the table, began moving toward the door, and you panicked.
You let him get two steps from reaching it before you jumped up, out of your seat. "Wait!"
Time was a relative concept. But as your Captain spun, and as you linked eyes with him, it slowed. Stopped.
You cleared your throat for the millionth time. "It's because...it's because I'm broken."
Price's eyes widened, only momentarily, before they narrowed--out of curiosity or skepticism, you couldn't tell.
"You’re broken." He said, drawing the words out on his tongue while taking a slow, lengthy step toward you. "Elaborate."
You dropped your eyes to the floor again, catching sight of his brown, rugged combat boots as they stepped into your line of sight. Heat flashed your face, and you shifted on your feet.
"My...my ex...um," your voice was barely above a whisper. Something felt gut-wrenchingly humiliating about having this conversation with your fucking Captain. "He, he kinda fucked with my head, I guess. Made me never want to date again."
You heard an exhale, a huff of enticed breath leaving lungs.
"I think," Price eased closer, and you caught whiff of his cologne--the scent engulfing your senses, sending hunger snarling and snapping for relief. "...you're omitting again."
"Why?..." you blurted, trailing your gaze past the vast expanse of his strong chest and up to his gleaming eyes peering down at you. You blinked. "...do you think that?"
Price raised a brow. "Am I wrong?"
"No, it’s just…” you closed your eyes, took a breath. Let it out. No point in lying. Just rip off the fucking bandaid. "He broke up with me because I couldn't orgasm. He said I was broken because of it. It’s dumb, but it hurt.”
Gods, it felt so fucking stupid that you had to smile, had to damn near laugh at yourself. As much as it sounded so foolish, you'd always just considered that maybe something was actually wrong with you. After all, he was your first, and your only—and the fact that you could never orgasm bothered you, too.
However, when you finally reopened your eyes, swallowing whatever ounces of pride you had left, you found a depth to your Captain's ocean irises that was not there before.
There was something floating inside them, now--something primal, something depraved.
"Interesting." His hand raised from his side, grazing over your cheek and coming to a slow on your neck, the tips of his fingers skimming over your racing pulse. "Broken."
Any blood that had been left in your head was now plummeting to your core.
"Broken." You whispered.
Price exhaled, his breath caressing your face, and you bit your lip to stifle the whimper that wanted to thrust itself past your teeth. Never once would you have considered the thought of actually fucking your Captain--but right here, right now, with the way he was touching you, analyzing you, palpably tempting you--it was becoming more difficult to deny the physical need steaming from your pores.
"This,” his voice was so deep it made your blood sweat, his thumb stroking your pulse. "Doesn't feel broken at all."
Adrenaline surged you, ambushing your lungs with rapid breath, flares of lust sparking over your skin. You leaned into his touch, and he let out a sound that was somewhere between a hum and a straight up growl.
Your pulse soared, your hand finding his wrist. “Captain…”
It would be lying to say you thought this was a good decision. But you couldn't find a fuck within you. After years of denying yourself any sort of physical touch due to the shame that consumed you, Price had perceived it without effort and ordered you strip yourself of pretense in his presence.
"Let me show you...." Price wedged a boot between your feet, his hips brushing yours, other hand finding your hip. "...that the only thing broken is your confidence."
You nearly whimpered. "Please."
Without further contemplation, your eyes darted to his lips the same millisecond his darted to yours, and you both moved at once. Price groaned, one hand shooting into your hair, the other supporting the small of your back, tugging you close. His hungry mouth captured yours, teeth nipping your lower lip as he spun you around and pushed you back against the table.
You groaned into his mouth, your ass hitting the cool metal with abrupt force. His lips attacked your jawline, moved down to your neck, and another groan escaped you, this time in bliss.
"Fuck," you cursed under your breath, throwing your hips into his, allowing desperation to guide you. "Captain..."
A low, menacing noise reverberated in his throat and he seized your neck again, bringing his mouth to your ear.
"My name," he took the lobe between his teeth, earning a squeak. "Say it."
"John—" You gasped, clawing at his back. "Shit."
"Mm. Good girl. So obedient..." he purred, tracing his mouth along the curve of your ear. "So responsive."
"Fuck." Every new beat of your heart brought a desperate pulse to your cunt. His fingers found your hair again, curling into a fist. "John...please..."
Your Captain hummed, just as his lips moved back to your pulse and attacked it, sucking rough rabid marks to the surface, his hips grinding against yours. Your eyelids fluttered shut, and he moved lower, releasing your head to work on removing your clothes.
Before your belt even hit the floor, he was tearing off your shirt and tugging off your bra--exposing your breasts to the cool air of the dimly lit room, surging goosebumps to life that he was quick to cover with his hands, taking the fresh tissue between them and kneading it.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, to himself you presumed. "You're fucking perfect."
There was one brief second of thought surrounding the notion that any one of your teammates could walk in and find the two of you here—but that thought was quickly lost as Price leant down and sucked one of your nipples into his mouth. You squealed, squeaking in pleasure, and his grip possessed your hips.
"So sensitive..." he said with a grunt. Your Captain wasn't just hungry—he was starved, more voracious by the second, spurred on by your reactions. "Fucking hell."
He leaned back, hooked his fingers under the waist of your pants and pulled, unconcerned for the ripping seams as he forced them down the curve of your thighs. Your head rung, entire body tingling. Paralyzed, you watched your Captain tear off your boots and rip your pants free, tossing them all to the side.
"Fuck me." He muttered again, returning his sights to your figure. "Look at you."
Price examined you like a meal, gaze traveling from your collarbone to your breasts, down past the curve of your belly to the swell of your hips, coming to a slow between your quivering thighs.
Adrenaline had got you this far. Reality was setting in. "Captain..."
"Shh," calloused hands found your hips, urging you back against the desk, spreading your legs further apart as he inserted himself between them. "I already told you what to call me."
You shuddered, twitching from his touch, and the corner of his lip quirked. Smouldering blue eyes searing into your skin. "John, I—"
His thumbs slid close to your heat, dipping into the crease and teasing close to the edge of your thong. Reality was a plummeting star, crashing down into your mind without regard. Nerves were consuming you, fingers digging into his biceps in attempt to stop them from shaking.
"You...what?" His voice was practically a lullaby. How something so deep could be so soothing was beyond your comprehension. "Go on, pretty thing..."
"I just..." you shifted your hips, trying to balance fear with desire. "I'm just...I don't want to disappoint you..."
Price assessed you, only for a moment, gracing your thigh with a stern yet gentle smack before trailing upward.
"Enough." It was an order. "I want you out of that beautiful mind."
He brushed his finger across your cunt, grazing over your swollen clit, and you choked, hips snapping toward him.
"Don't think..." the power in his words was intoxicating, a command given with the confidence of knowing you'd obey. He teased your clit again and you whinged, gripping him harder. "...just feel."
Before a coherent thought could enter your head, he pulled your panties to the side with two thick fingers, not giving you a second to brace for it before he used those same fingers and sank them into your tight, aching cunt.
"Oh—fuck-"
You groaned, head tossed back, walls tightening around the delicious stretch as he pried you open with slippery ease. The intensity, the fullness from just his fingers stole your breath, dizzied your mind, and you closed your eyes, trying to ignore the growling breath escaping his lungs, trying to ground yourself as much as you could.
"Christ...tight little cunts just soaked..." he was right, you were dripping. You couldn't ever remember being this wet. In truth, you couldn't ever remember being this turned on, this desperate for touch. "Tell me how that feels."
"G-oh, fuck—" any additional words you had planned on using instantly died on your tongue as Price curled inside of you, pushing deep, every coherent thought fleeing your mind with a moan. Your entire body pulsed for him, like he'd shaken every cell awake and enthralled it under his possession. "John—oh, Gods!"
It wasn't like you'd never been fingered. It'd just never felt like this.
Something about the trained motion of his hand, the skilled curl of his wrist, the attunement to your body was consuming you--the need for more only increasing as he found a perfect rhythm, fucking slow, reaching to your belly while his thumb circled your sensitive clit. Your cunt throbbed, squeezed around him, as if to coax him deeper inside of you.
"Needy little thing," an amused huff at the corner of your consciousness. You forced yourself to look at him—he was smirking. "Tell me how it feels."
Desperation was throbbing at your temples, growling and coiling in your belly—unfathomable, incredible desperation stalling your lungs. Unfamiliar, but entirely absentmindedly as Price stroked your walls, stroked your clit, and you were gasping, you were—
"So fucking good—" you were practically screaming, brain a mangled mess of aimless words. "Cap—John, I—I'm-"
His free hand seized your jaw, forcing you to look up into his eyes, his fingers still keeping their pace, your vision blurring to bliss. "You're?"
You gasped. "I’m-"
"You’re close." Fire flooded your flesh, and you mewled like a nervous, helpless animal. His grip tightened. Intensity and power radiating off him in waves. "S’ that what you want, little slut? Hm? You wanna’ fuckin’ cum for your Captain, don’t you?”
“Yes!” No thought required. “Pleasepleaseplease-“
“Mhm. That’s right, that’s right—“ he was just as gone as you were. Air rattled in your lungs like rocks. Your vision blurring as you held onto him like your life depended on it. “Cum on my fingers, darling, let me feel you.”
A scream shredded your throat, submerged in a storm of euphoria, sight whiter than the gates of heaven themselves. Convulsions wracked you, quaked to your bones, and you heaved, hunting for air while he worked you through the receding tide of your release.
“Good fuckin’ girl.” He growled, the arrogance in his tone palpable. “Look how easy that was, hm?”
Your Captian pulled his fingers from cunt and yanked you off the table by the hold on your jaw—you stumbled into him, wetness seeping down your thighs, brain given less than two seconds to process the slew of events before his slick covered fingers were at your lips and pushing past your teeth.
"The way I see it, soldier—there are two possible explanations here." He shoved his fingers deeper, reaching for the back of your throat. "Either you somehow managed to lie to me..." he pressed against you, his desire evident in the way it was jabbing against your stomach. "Or this tight little cunt has never been properly sated."
Your heart was in your feet, your lips sealed around his fingers as you held his eyes, a shade of blue so deep you'd almost thought you were staring into the depths of the ocean. His pupils were blown wide with lust, it was clear what he was getting at—and judging by the way your cunt clenched in response to his words, it was clear that you felt the same.
He pulled his fingers from your mouth, looking for a response. You gave the only words you could think of. "I didn’t lie…I’ve had sex, Captain...I’ve just never done—that.”
"Well I think I've just proven that it wasn’t due to any fault of your own." His words were backing you into a corner, an explanation that was challenging to draw yet completely impossible to now ignore. "I got you there in seconds."
Your face grew hot. “So..what are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” he assessed you, eyes looking past you, through you. “Your ex didn’t know what he was doing.” he leaned in closer, plush lips curling into a mischievous grin. “All you needed was someone who knew how to handle you.”
"Hm." The arrogance was stifling, setting you ablaze. It only made you want him more. "Cocky bastard."
"Cocky," he repeated with a raised brow. "You have no idea, princess.”
"You know what, Captain," you teased with a smirk of your own, unable to tear your sights off him. His eyes. His lips. "I think you just got lucky."
“Luck.” He chuckled—a deep, growling thing. "I don’t do luck, soldier. I do facts.” Price shifted a hand to his crotch, palming his erection through his pants as he pressed against you. “Fact one, I just gave you your first orgasm.” He was possessed, hungry, borderline rabid. “Fact two, I could do it again on my cock. If you’d like.”
And you, you were his eager, willing prey.
"Shit," you muttered, the words shooting straight to your cunt. You didn’t need any further discussion. You wanted him, and nothing could stop the next words from leaving your lips. "Please...please fuck me..."
Your Captain growled. The sweet desperation of your pleas sending him past the point of salvation. He sucked in a breath. Trapped it there—internally clutching whatever ounces of restraint he had left.
"You sure you want this?" His voice was so fucking low you almost missed it. His fingers moved to his belt, and his lips moved to your ear. "I'm not so sure you can take it."
"I'm built for combat, Captain..." you murmured with a grin, spurred on by the evidence of his throbbing desire, fingers trailing toward his belt to help him along. "I'm sure I'll be fine."
Price huffed against your jawline. Amused.
"You’re built for combat, undoubtedly..." you watched as he pulled free his thick, heavy cock. Your jaw slackened, your mouth watered. "But by the time I'm done with you, darling..." he seethed in relief as he guided his hand back and forth along his length, other one directing you back against the table. "You'll be built for me."
A sharp intake of breath found your lungs and then you were lying flat against the table, cool metal biting your backside and ripping goosebumps to the surface of your skin. You shuddered, seething in discomfort, but two strong hands made quick work to soothe them, coasting up your thighs until they found your hips, and then he stepped forward.
"Christ..." you whimpered as he loomed over you, the warm head of his cock rolling over your clit, teasing you with false thrusts, making sure you were well aware of just how long and fucking thick he was. "John..."
"Quiet." He purred, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. "Just let me break you open."
His heavy, smooth tip pressed against your entrance and then pushed in, head just barely spearing you yet somehow still splitting your cunt with a girth that stole your breath and forced a cry from your throat. With a breathless groan he pulled out, and you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing.
He smacked your thigh again. “Look at me.” He hissed, teeth sinking into the plush of his bottom lip as you instantly obeyed. “That’s it. Eyes on me.”
There was a mere second of silence before he sank in again, entirely this time—and though you were fucking sopped and pliant and voracious, he tore you wide with a sting.
"Oh—fuck-"
You fought for air, your body trembling, fingers clawing at anything that might steady you. He’d stuffed you full with ease, lungs heaving upon impact. Both big hands tightened around you, and he slid out, driving into you again with a hidden hiss of air, earning a loud, shameless groan from your lips.
"Fucking hell.” A dark, low voice rumbled from his throat. "Tight little whore. So fucking tight—"
"You're—oh, fuck—" words died on your tongue as he pulled out, pushed in again, sucking in air through his teeth, working you wider with each plunge into your pussy. You clenched around him, and he snuffed a moan, snapping his hips. "You're fucking huge."
"Mhm, yeah," it was a shameless admission. He placed a palm on your pelvis, pressing down, feeling himself fucking into you. He leaned back slightly, drawing long, slow strokes, forcing you to quake around every inch of his length. "That's how fucking deep I'm in you."
And deep he fucking was. Every centimeter banishing the ability to do anything other than exist as a stammering sheath for his cock. It wasn't penetration—it was pervasion, it was domination. Sex had never felt this intense. Sex had never felt this fucking tranquilizing.
"Christ—Cap-John—fuck—"
Price slid out and rocked in, driving to your stomach with a stab of blissful pain. Eyes snapping shut, you gripped his arms, seething when he thrusted again, and again. Each stroke shoved a cry from your chest, tightened your walls, and this only seemed to entice him, his cock splitting you apart. You scratched at his shoulders, fighting to find yourself in the bewildering delirium.
"There we go." His voice was distant in the sea of pleasure. "Look at you. Brainless on my fucking cock."
Your response was a moan, loud and shameless, gripping onto his arms and matching his rhythm, forcing your hips to his, a plea—faster, harder, more, more. Your Captain hissed in satisfaction, and his hand snaked between you, rolling and teasing your clit.
Your vision blurred for the hundredth time. "Oh, fuck—"
Delirium ascended into ecstasy, pleasure amplified by the stretch of his dick. He fucked into you, his skin smacking yours, his breath heaving in feral huffs.
"Fucking perfect pussy," he growled through his teeth, shifting your legs together and directing both ankles over his left shoulder, his thrusts slowly slightly as you gasped and whimpered, clawing at his hips, the new position causing the head of his cock to kiss your cervix with each thrust. "Mm, fuck...this is what you needed, darling. You needed a proper fucking."
"Fuck," you replied, brain numbed by bliss. Words didn't even make sense. "Deep. So fuck—deep—"
"Fuck—take it, take it little slut." His thumb was back on your clit, swirling it in tight, fast circles, his cock fucking deep into you. "I warned you."
"John—" You needed to scream, fingers clawing at anything they could find. If you weren't broken before, you’d certainly be broken when he was done with you. "Fuck—"
Bliss burned to burst, stars swarmed your sight entirely, and you knew it, knew it was happening, knew that you were about to break. The feeling was so intense you didn't know what to do with yourself, you weren't sure if you could even get the words out to warn him.
Your eyes squeezed shut. "Fuck—I'm—I-I'm..."
"Yeah, that's right." He hissed, teeth barred, hips snapping. He already knew. "Cum for me. Cum on my fucking cock."
Lightning euphoria ripped up your spine with a shameless shriek, your climax shattering you. Your cunt milked his dick, your thighs spasming, your back reached for the ceiling, pleasure possessing your nerves.
"There we go—good little fucking slut—squeezing me so good," it seemed an eternity--he was still fucking you through it, breaking you deep, until he edged his climax. "Fucking hell."
He sputtered, pummelling your cunt with sloppy final thrusts, pouring his cum inside you, grip gouging your flesh until he descended, meeting you in the receding tides of your peaks. Both of you twitched with aftershocks, both of you seeking air.
Once he stalled, you sucked in a long inhale and peeled your eyes open, taking in your surroundings for the first time in however many minutes it had been. The room was still as dim and dreary as it was prior to your mind shattering, the only thing now different was your Captain—who remained looming over the table, cock still buried inside you, precipitation lining his forehead and chest still heaving for breath, piercing gaze perceiving you like a sated predator.
With a glance at your lips, he finally moved, pulling back and out of you, tucking himself away. It was then that reality struck you hard—you'd just fucked your Captain. And he'd just shattered the preconceived notions of everything you thought you knew.
You were not broken. You were perfectly fucking fine.
Price cleared his throat as you pulled yourself off of the table and stood. "Y'alright?"
You nodded, grabbing your pants off the floor. "Yes, Sir."
Shame engulfed you, for reasons you couldn't explain. Embarrassment threatened to swallow you whole.
"Hey." Sensing this, Price stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on your arm. "Don't do that."
Your eyes fixed on his. Outlining his perfectly tamed facial hair, his striking blue eyes. "Do what?"
"Avoid me." He simply stated, his voice hardly above a whisper. "All this was, was me proving to you that you're not broken. You're the furthest from. It doesn't have to be any more than that."
"I know…just feel stupid, I guess.” Your face was in flames. You swallowed your pride until it was digested. There was no room for that here, not after what’d just happened. “I, uh, I should have told you sooner. I’m sorry.”
Price regarded you with eyes warm as the summer sun, shaking his head ever-so-slightly. “I wanted you to open up to me. Willingly. I never pry.”
You cracked a smile, slipping on your shoes. “You got your wish, then. Emotionally and physically.”
“Aye.” Your captain chuckled, reaching for the bottle of whiskey and plopping himself into a seat, sliding a glass across the table toward you. “My turn, yeah?”
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ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID, PART FOUR !
summary :: Centuries-old mage, Y/N L/N, possesses magical abilities unheard of. A few citizens monopolize the remnants of magic they find, of which they now title “Hextech”. Hearsay of this power bleeds through all of Runeterra, until Piltover and Zaun find themselves in an anarchic war to obtain said power. Before Y/N can even blink, however, the humans neglect their plans when they realize they’d rather have Y/N instead.
chapters :: the masterlist.
word count :: 10.7k
content warnings :: SPOILERS! obsessive!vi, yandere!vi, yandere!jinx, yandere!viktor, gender neutral reader, alcohol/alcoholism, violence, suic1de attempt, & some s3xual themes (but nothing too explicit).
vi's yandere traits are . . .
ambitious, territorial, & controlling
⋆ 。 ˚ ⋆ ⸺ When the moon rises and the vibrant world eases, Vi always finds herself dreaming of the same thing.
She imagines herself beneath a shower of softness, the sight of prickling tears or bruising flesh disintegrating. Even in the height of her childhood, her desires have always been adorned in thick blankets of fluff. Instead of toys and trinkets, it was hopping sheep and tickling feathers. Here, there would be no further need for clenched fists anymore, not when there is tender love.
To feel the touch of gentle warmth — that is the haunting desire which paints her dreams.
It is a desire that is entirely foreign. A stranger, indubitably. Yet, this hunger is so immense, the mere thought of actually satiating this emaciation causes her stomach to sway.
Even standing at a high point in Piltover, identity exposed to any lingering pedestrians, Vi does not feel at unease. Beside Mylo, Claggor, and her sister, Powder, the heist they frivolously forged in their heads fails to provoke any nerves within the young girl. If anything, she is fearless, as many have described her as. Not a worried bone in her body.
Slithering into the apartment of a Topsider came with its bumps in the road, but nothing that team could not swiftly smooth out. The mess of golden gadgetry scattered around is framed in an array of twisting cogs and sprockets. Books are spread through the expanse languidly, a few left open and dogeared to certain chapters. A wide chalkboard joins this scientist’s paradise, as well. Scribbled in white chalk are a myriad of mathematical equations she couldn’t decipher even if she cared enough to try.
With a warning of concern to Powder (and a quick scolding to Mylo and Claggor), Vi sets out by herself and finds an office space nestled at the end of the hallway. The door is of a dark mahogany wood, carved with dark golden frames and intricacies. Oh, to be born so lucky and care for the appearance of a simple door.
Within, there is a wider variety of books, scattered pages of blueprints, and even a lone, half-eaten sandwich.
And right in the center of this mess is a figure.
She cannot articulate how (or even why, for that matter), but the sight of them yanks the breath right from her chest. For the very first time in her tumultuous, violence-induced life, flight-or-fight has become a afterthought. Standing on the threshold, she freezes.
Bent over the desk is a cloaked stranger. Their fingers, jagged and dark-hued, toy with some electric experiments. The subtle jingle of the jewels and adornments beneath their coat perfuse through the silence. A cloud, almost a halo, suffuses from their form in hues of purple and sapphire. All that is missing is a fluffy pair of wings and Vi would be positive she’s just stumbled upon an angel.
When they turn over their shoulder to identify the sudden, yet sneaky entrance, she truly feels like she has become a statue.
They are pretty. Frighteningly so. Not in the same vein as the Piltover Pageant Queens, but something entirely beyond that. It is pure and unearthly; something soft, yet gut-wrenching. A whole other universal level of ‘pretty’, she’d describe. And as high and mighty as she carries herself, that stone-hard facade crumbles to baby pebbles when a subtle smile stretches on their serrated lips.
They stand to their feet, abandoning their efforts with Topside science in favor of her. As they step closer to her, something unknown crawls about in her stomach. That hunger, so comfortable in its withering starvation that the mere scent of nourishment has it itching to sprint away. Still, she remains frozen in dazed wonder.
It is only when they halt before Vi does the realization settle. She wished she had chased them through that sandstorm. Chased them through any storm, for that matter. She can no longer count on her fingers the instances in which she found her sister doodling that exact face among the walls of the Last Drop’s basement, her hands a permanent stain of old chalk and dry markers. It is simply a sloppy cartoon, she always assumed. But now, it is everything and so, so much more.
“You may have a good heart, but you must not let it blind you.”
Wind chimes.
That is what the voice sounds like, accentuated by summer winds and sprinkling rain.
Wide-eyed like some stupid puppy-dog, all Vi can do is stare as they bring their hand up to her cheek. The heavenly warmth perfusing from their palm meets her flesh and in a flash, her vision is overwhelmed in darkness. Images flood through the shadows, all painting a picture of this stranger.
They sit beside a river’s edge, peering into the water surface and scrutinizing their appearance in utter horror. Splotches of purple and blue cover their skin, contrasting in varying sizes and hues. Incomprehensible gibberish glitters across their exposed, sparkling skin. Black streaks of dirt and ash leak down their face with the seeping tears. Horrific perfection.
“Mama…” They whimper, cracked and devastated.
A gasp leaps from Vi’s chest as she is finally granted clarity.
Her feet fail her in awkward tumbles, before she inevitably falls to the ground. She finds herself to still remain in the office of this rich Topsider, but she is now in complete solitude. The stranger has vanished. Nothing remains in their departure besides the open window panes swinging with the wind.
They leave the girl no room to digest the fact that every desire of softness and tender touch was just clutched in her palms. Not when it had abandoned Vi as quickly as it was granted to her.
This sense of abandonment festered inside of her for the remainder of an entire decade.
Desperate endeavors at grasping a sliver of what you had gifted her all prove to be futile, no matter how ambitious the attempt. If anything, the sheer opposite had infested Vi’s life; a pendulum swung ahead to something amazing for only a second, just to remain stagnant on the opposing end for many agonizing years.
Any effort at forcing that pendulum back, maybe even reforging the events of her memories, only serves as a blunt reminder of what she is now. A pit fighter, of all things; a savage spectacle. All her hands now know is violence.
Large streaks of dirt paint the expanse beneath her eyes. A smudge here, some dusted there — just the same as you, peering at yourself on the reflective surface of the river. And as devastating as the conclusion is, she has no choice but to accept this is what her life was made for.
The only remnant of peace Vi can grasp in this life is within the walls of her bedroom. As artificial as it may be, drinking herself sick and watching her poisoned brain carve fantasies into reality is the highlight of her day.
Slumped over the thin mattress, she gapes in reverie at the blurry sights of you. Sometimes staring into the cracked mirror, a deity admiring the masterpiece of their appearance. Other times laying right beside her, gentle hands that cannot get enough of her flesh. Maybe even bludgeoning her fists into the punching bag, imagining some lovelorn, teenage-like fantasy of her defending your honor, to where you drown her in praise and gratitude.
The peace is puny, pitifully so. Yet, is the only drop of fuel pushing her forward through this pathetic life.
And indulging in these visions is exactly Vi’s intentions as she returns to her room after another win in the pit. That is, until she is greeted by a sight that alone is enough to ruin her entire night.
“Violet.” A smooth accent speaks.
Standing beside her door is a figure dressed in that familiar, irritating gold and blue uniform. Navy-blue hair is slicked back into a ruler-straight ponytail, framing her sharp face, paired with a gun almost as tall as her towering frame.
“Who are you? And how do you know my name?”
She displays her badge like a shimmering trophy.
“Commander Kiramman. Leader of House Kiramman. Address me with respect, or keep your mouth shut.” She speaks with direction, chin held high and chest puffed out. Classic Topsider.
“Still doesn’t answer my question.”
“It’s written on your face.”
Vi sighs out in defeat, entering her room and grasping a random, half-full bottle from the ground. She lands with an exhausted groan on her mattress.
“So, what is it now? Random search? Escort off the property? Or are you just here to waste my time?”
The Kiramman follows suit and stands on the threshold, gaze stern as she glares at Vi.
“I’m here for an investigation. I’m sure you and your people,” She spits out, “have heard of the attack against the council.”
“Yeah.” Vi snickers. “Just means we got a few less Pilties to worry about.”
The last syllable barely parts from Vi’s mouth before she finds herself staring down the barrel of a gun.
“I warned you, filthy rat.”
She merely rolls her eyes at the aggressive gesture. Violence is a second home, after all.
“Fine. I don’t know shit, alright? Bomb went off, rich people died — I know just as much as the other schmucks in this pit.”
With measured ease, the Kiramman sighs out a breath, folds her gun, and tosses it over her back.
“We’re looking for Jinx, the criminal mastermind behind the attack. We’ve received several reports of her appearing around this area.”
She folds her long arms over her chest.
“Since you are the most prominent figure in this… pigsty, surely you have seen her.”
Vi sneers in response. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. I’m too busy trying to keep myself afloat down here. Not that you Topsiders know jack shit about that…”
She then takes a hardy chug of the alcohol in her hands. As she drinks, the Commander slips her fingers into her back pocket. She unfolds a wad of paper, before presenting it to Vi.
“Then, do you recognize this person?”
Cheap whiskey spatters from Vi’s mouth when she registers the contents. Eyes blown wide, she goggles at the sight of your face sketched in almost exact clarity amongst the lined page. A near identical replication of the day she was blessed with the genuine sight.
The bottle in her grasp is swiftly abandoned in favor of snagging the paper from the Enforcer. A grunt of disdain huffs from her, but Vi is too engrossed in you to care for the disrespect of the stranger in her room. Every intricacy and trace is done with such grace, she may as well have been holding your face in her palms.
“We are under the impression they played a role in this attack-”
“No!” Vi abruptly interrupts. “They wouldn’t- You don’t know anything about them…”
“Well… Whoever is behind it, we believe they are after Hextech. We’re halting all trades until further notice.”
The words may as well have been background noise to Vi. In one ear and out the other, inevitable when she is met with the most realistic depiction of you she’s seen in years.
“If it interests you,” The Commander begins, shoveling another item from her pocket. “You seem to know more about Y/N than you let on. And we need as many bodies as we can get.”
The gold glimmer of an Enforcer badge grasps Vi’s attention. Taunting her, almost. She slaps the badge out of her hands almost as quickly as it was revealed, the metal clinking with the several empty bottles left languidly in the corner.
“Fuck. You.” Vi seethes, her grasp still latched to the paper in her hands. Possessive is her disposition.
Nonetheless, the Kiramman remains just as stone-cold as she was when she first waltzed into the room. She does not utter another word before she leaves Vi to herself, her offer still plaguing the silent air.
Vi’s back hits the mattress with a hard thump. Paper still in hand, she stares into the etchings as though you were truly here beside her. Terrifying perfection.
It is that very perfection that sat Viktor here in the first place.
Right beside his partner before the city's councilors, who all look down at him as though he were a muck-covered stray at their doorstep.
Piltover has never been his home, nor has its people accepted him as. The only home he has ever been granted full claim of is you and the paradise that is the sanctuary you’ve cultivated. Now, that serenity has been robbed straight from his hands; he was granted a second of heaven and nothing more. And it is torturing him more than he is willing to admit.
Viktor’s disposition alone does all the confessing necessary, however. Urgent conversations from the councilors are drowned out by the forlorn, cry-ridden mold seeping through his mind. What was once soul-crushing anguish is now simply nothing. A hollow numbness that permeates his entire being; a deep pit that could only be filled by you.
Some frantic entity within him desperately latches onto any loose thread of yours he can find, but any breath of you is merely a figment of his imagination. No matter how hard he may fight and thrash, the truth still bludgeons its bruised, bloody fists into his form: Viktor was not strong enough for you. And without you, there is nothing else in this life that interests him.
“If the Under-City possesses even a sliver of Hextech, this could only result in-”
“It is not the Under-City you should concern yourselves with.” Viktor interrupts. “It is Jinx who is the problem.” He snarls her name like he is spitting out rotten food.
All attention is forced to Viktor, but his gaze remains far and distant. His thoughts have lost themselves in an open field of torturous disarray.
“How are you so positive this is the effort of a single individual?” Cassandra questions him. “How do you know this Jinx you speak of is not working with others?”
A sneer itches at his lips.
“That rat stole Hextech directly from my hands. She will stop at nothing if it is for the sake of Y/N.”
“You speak quite highly of this… Y/N.” Mel Medarda inserts herself into the discussion. “Seems to me they hold some imperative power. Am I mistaken?”
“They are of utmost importance. Y/N is an absolute necessity.”
Whether this imperativeness is for the sake of Piltover or himself, he isn’t sure. Still, he will lay his deepest feelings bare for all the Councilors to judge and belittle if it means bringing you home. Viktor is now miles beyond desperation and this new sensation frightens him to no end.
“Power that Jinx could want, perhaps?”
Viktor shakes his head in disagreement. “No, no. These… feelings Jinx has for Y/N tread deeper.”
“You propose Jinx is possibly in love with Y/N?” Mel inquires further.
“I believe Jinx thinks she is in love with Y/N, but it is merely insincere. No, a creature like her will never amount to anything worthy enough for Y/N. They are simply too…”
A soft fog drapes over his expression.
“Resplendent. Brilliant a-and radiant. An angel we have been-”
“I think what my partner is trying to say is… Jinx is a problem that needs to be promptly addressed.” Jayce rescues Viktor from the social-suicide he was seconds away from committing.
This does not save him from the ghost of his memories plaguing his body, however.
In the clap of a second, Viktor has returned to the scene of the crime: within the whorls of your beloved sanctuary. That laughter, that haunting laughter, pervades through his memory like a thrashing storm. Perfusing into every corner of his mind, granting the tortured man no possible room for clarity. And so enchanted with the moment, Viktor does not attempt to fight the urges his body indulges in before his eyes are rolling back and he’s leaning in to kiss you.
Before your lips can meet in a music-swelling moment of bliss, an abrupt explosion penetrates through the air. The romantic scene is brought to a record-scratching halt and instinctively, Viktor leaps to protect you from the sudden intrusion. A fraction of his mind curses him for not discerning the threat sooner. He’d be a stronger knight if his monarch weren’t so damn hypnotizing.
The swarming fireworks are soon engulfed by the encroaching of smoke bombs, erupting the once breathtaking environment into hazy clouds of purple, pink, and blue. Viktor does not hesitate before sacrificing his body as your shield, tackling you to the ground and ensnaring himself around every inch of flesh he can reach.
Just as he begins to drown you in relentless assurances of his protection, his devotion, how he’ll never abandon your side, the rampant chorus of footsteps then accelerate behind him.
In a flash of blue braids, he is knocked out cold.
When Viktor wakes, he discovers himself motionless in a pool of his own blood. Through his dizzy gaze, the colorful smoke has eased and the sun has reached its highest point. A bitter silence has now overwhelmed the air. Nonetheless, the only thought present in his mind is you.
He searches through the havoc to no avail, dragging himself to his stuttering legs to further search his surroundings. Limping forward, every nook and cranny present is scrutinized by this crazed man, prayers of finding your face drifting from parted lips.
The frightened villagers have all scurried to their homes, barricading the doors and windows with any fragment of protection they can garner. Cowards, Viktor mutters to himself. There is no force in the universe that could restrain him from ensuring your safety. He would tear mountains asunder just to see a smile stretch on your face.
Abruptly, Cassandra Kiramman is what halts Viktor’s trip down memory lane.
“We cannot ignore the possibility that Y/N may be working alongside Jinx. What proof do we have that tells us otherwise-?”
The snap! of Viktor’s cane splitting into two permeates the room’s expanse when he slams it against the desk edge.
“You keep their name out of your filthy mouth!” He spits out, wild and enraged. “There is no boundary I will not cross if it means being united with my spouse! Be it another bomb from that blue-haired mutt, I will persist through all-!”
In the matter of a second, a violent force crashes into the room and several councilors are killed beneath its weight.
Viktor, horrifyingly so, is almost among those several. Not with the desperate enforcement of Jayce Talis, who rushes him to the lab to treat his fatal injuries.
And this very lab is where Jayce has remained for the past several days he has lost count of.
His partner remains stagnant in the mess of Hextech, opalescent strings of gooey sludge enmeshing his unconscious body. Meanwhile, Jayce scrutinizes every etch of Viktor’s journals, searching for some antidote that will wake him from this magic-induced coma. Though, the most redundant theme in these scientists’ notes is the etchings of the same face, sketched over and over again in an obsessive harmony.
Jayce’s fingers drift among the surface of the page, dragging his gentle touch among the curves and shading of their paper face. He can understand why Viktor is so enthralled by them, as they are evidently, heart-wrenchingly beautiful. But, Jayce is not an easy man. Thus, he does not waver for the artistic works of a man head-over-heels. He’ll just choose to ignore the strange pit in his stomach every time he recalls Viktor using the word “spouse” in regards to them.
“We need to begin preparing ourselves for a full-scale invasion.”
Caitlyn Kiramman announces herself abruptly as she struts into the room.
Upon this intrusion, Jayce slams the journal shut as though he were caught by his mother sneaking sugar before dinner. He cannot put a finger on the reasoning behind such a culpable reaction, but he digresses to accommodate her presence, anyway.
“You’ve taken this time to secure Hextech, I presume?”
She rounds the corner, but her determined strides reach a sudden halt upon finding the sight of Viktor. For just a moment, there’s a glimmer of emotion in Caitlyn’s expression. Brief, albeit, but its existence had prevailed fleetingly, nonetheless.
“He’s breathing. That’s… That’s all I know.” Jayce mutters.
Her weakened attitude is swiftly replaced by her habitual, stiff disposition. Chest and chin held high, she continues.
“There is no use dwelling on these matters. Not when the Under-City is potentially planning another attack.”
Exhaustion getting the better of him, Jayce scoffs at her persisting suggestions, rubbing the ache in his temple.
“Cait, I already told you. I promised Viktor. You can’t just go down there, guns-a-blazing-!”
“And I have told you, Jayce, this is no longer up for debate. Jinx has proved herself to be an extraordinary threat. Now, we have proper reason to believe Y/N is, too. It is absolutely imperative these threats are located and neutralized.”
Caitlyn glares daggers as she awaits his response. Jayce has been rendered speechless, however. The hopeful plans he formed for this nation a decade ago have all crashed and burned in a violent matter of seconds. He has found himself at a complete loss, no successful direction on this plane to resort to. All due to this Jinx character. Now, potentially, this beautiful stranger, as well.
Stuck within his inner turmoil, Caitlyn perceives his silence as an answer. She turns her shoulder and takes a single step toward the door.
“Let me try talking to them.”
This grasps her attention.
“You… You wish to speak to Y/N? Why?”
A confession of what lies in Viktor’s journal bridges on his lips, but he halts the efforts of his honest tongue.
“I, uh…” Jayce gulps nervously, but conceals the motion with a forced cough. “I believe I can crack through them. If I can talk to them, I may be able to predict Zaun’s next attack.”
Caitlyn merely gapes at him in utter bewilderment, stammering over herself before she can properly articulate her puzzled thoughts.
“That is vacuous! Our knowledge of Jinx is weak, yes, but Y/N is an utter stranger! A monster, at that! You’d be throwing yourself into uncharted waters, Jayce, you cannot be-”
Her expression drops from scrunched confusion to bitter offense when she realizes the intent behind his lies. He refuses to meet her eye and maintains his vision to the glossy floors. Ashamed, but he will not admit such.
“What will Miss Medarda think of that? Hmm?”
Her tone is low and cautionary. A gentle threat, subtly jabbing at her new privileges as a respected councilor member.
“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. The sake of Piltover is most important.”
The thinly-veiled lie provokes a sharp, dry laugh from Caitlyn. It is her final response before she promptly takes her leave.
Another powerful figure of the Upper-City has been claimed by this all-engrossing outsider. That being one of the closest friends she has ever known. This creature will surely claim more, unfortunately, but Caitlyn will not allow them to possess her.
She will stop at nothing to bring this devil to their feet. No matter what it takes.
Down under, thundering music and flashing lights dance around Vi. Slumped over the ragged surface of the bar, the ache of alcohol hammers her messy mind. Her pockets are heavy with the coins she earned from another win in the pit, but her senses may as well have been melted to jelly with how much intoxication she has poisoned herself with. Just another night spent resorting to whatever means necessary to forget, the bartender knows all too well.
Tonight, however, another heavy-weight worry has been tossed onto the pile of thousands.
“Me? An enforcer?” Vi chuckles at the prospect alone. “The peanut patrol can suck it, for all I care!”
Another mouthful of liquor burns her throat as it descends.
“That Piltie-bitch wouldn’t know Y/N if they punched her in her dumb face, heh!”
Her bruised, calloused hand lazily grasps hold of her cheek, the very way you did all those years ago. A glance over to the busy dance floor and her evening intentions have found success. There you are, your cloaked figure like a sore thumb among the other partygoers; a scene so out of place, it is almost comical.
“Y/N…”
With liquid courage working its wonders, she has an unbearable urge to shuffle over to you, collapse against your form, and pour her heart from her ribcage straight into your palms. The confession would be drunken and disgusting, stained in inky reverence and muddy worship. Yet, perhaps you’ll be so moved by this passionate declaration, you’ll let her drag you back to her room and-
“Sheesh, kid. Back at it again?”
She’d let out a groan if her body had the energy to do so.
Loris, a regular in the audience, sits himself beside her. Or, ‘Wannabe-Vander’, as she has jokingly titled him after one too many shots.
“What’s ‘yer diagnosis this time, ‘ey? That ‘Y/N’ ‘yer still caught up on?”
Her languid arm attempts to shove him away in her drunken state. Maybe sock him in the face for speaking of you so passively while she’s at it.
“Shut up… Dick…”
“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get ‘ye home.”
His arms lock under hers and lift, bringing Vi to her wobbly legs. Reluctantly, she follows his guide. Her eyes are locked to the fuzzy hallucination of you with every step out of the bar.
The sight of the flags with the enforcers insignia threaded into the fabric is a brutal reminder of life without you present.
“Enforcer… Fucking joke…”
The thought alone puts a nauseating taste on her tongue. Do Top-Siders really think they can cast out their own people, only to return and take their pick of the litter? Despite all the inevitable disappointment their behavior elicits, Vi still finds herself in the same insufferable fits of rage with every action they take. Every damn day it seems they test her patience. Now, they’ve taken one step too far, from military stomps to an all-too aggressive, annoying intrusion.
Vi splats face-first into the firm plush of her mattress. Loris speaks, most likely a farewell, but the rampant ringing in her aching head fails to discern his words. The door closes with a clunky click and just like every other night, Vi is all alone. The air may be hollow and heavy, but her mind is alive with the softness she only touched once.
“Y/N…”
If it is true, if you are really out there somewhere and not just a pretty figment of a teenager's wild imagination, she cannot decide how to feel. She is at an odd juxtaposition between an ecstatic light and a lonely darkness. All those isolated nights, drunken ramblings, and savage bar fights — why weren’t you there to stop her again? All she has known her entire life is pain, why can’t you mend it the way you did all those years ago?
Even after all this buzzing noise, those words still echo in perfect precision.
“You may have a good heart, but you must not let it blind you.”
And to this day, she hasn’t a clue how this adheres to her life.
‘Good heart’ this, ‘good heart’ that. It is what the most imperative figures in her life have told her. You, however, were different. You were a warning, a feather-touched glimpse into the brutality of her future. Swarming in like a steel crane, bludgeoning the walls she’s spent her entire life forging brick-by-brick.
A strangled gasp dances into the silence when the revelation hits.
These walls have blinded her. That is why you are not here beside her! You must have attempted plenty of times, but the sheer girth of these walls has drowned out any call of her name. Vi was far-too engrossed in maintaining a tough, take-no-shit disposition and neglecting her need for gentler things. Neglecting her need for you, wherever you may reside beyond these thick layers. And this epiphany is shattering.
The Enforcer badge abandoned in the corner of the room calls out to her. A symbol of power and privilege, just beyond her touch. What was once something that churned her stomach by just a mere thought has now transformed into a golden, glimmering opportunity.
That navy-haired Commander, whatever her name was, seemed to know you extensively. Far more than Vi is comfortable with. Maybe if she bites her tongue and wears the badge, she’ll know just as much. Maybe if she leaves this pit, she'll know more than anyone ever has. Maybe if she crosses the bridge, she’ll obtain the proper resources to track down the love of her life.
Maybe, if she joins the Enforcers, she can leave the pigs a breadcrumb trail away from you. Then, just maybe, she can return some of that softness you gave her.
If one thing is abundantly clear, blue and gold are not Vi’s colors.
That is a coherent understatement Vi is acutely aware of now, standing beside the Piltie’s who destroyed her life as their equal. Here, they utilize what they call ‘The Grey’ as a weapon against the people of the Under-City. Green puffs of poison perfusing from every possible angle, the place she has titled home is now reminiscent of a battlefield.
Every building drowns in the gas, mere figments of shapes beneath its thick haze. ‘WANTED’ posters of this ‘Jinx’ character are engulfed in this matter, too. Respected members of the Chem-Barons are now left in languid messes of bodies, some dead while others gag and cling to life. The people of the underground deserve to breathe, until one of them is a bomb-wielding maniac.
“We’ll begin in the Lanes then down to the Slums. Remember: if there is a clear shot, you may open fire, but it is I who will deliver the final blow. No matter Jinx or Y/N. Understood?”
A series of “Yes, Commander”’s are mere squeaks against the booming authority of Caitlyn Kiramman. With a Hextech-powered gun in hand, she confidently guides several Enforcers through the quiet city.
Vi, amongst the several, feverishly scrutinizes through the green gas for even a prick of you. She is no longer blind; the mask has finally been torn from her face. As she concluded, it is surely only a matter of time before you come barreling out of the smog and into her embrace, there to never part again.
It is when their team passes an alleyway that her attention is garnered.
The space is overwhelmed in green fog, but through the silent murk is a noise. It is a quiet sound, like skittering paws. Restrained coughing, almost. That sound is not foreign to the Under-City, an expanse overwhelmed with disease and infection. For reasons Vi cannot decipher, though, this is different. Familiar, she could further detail.
The others have continued countless paces forward as she stands and studies the intricacies of the sound. Classic Topsiders leaving the Zaunite in their dust, once again. Vi does not take the rare moment of Enforcer eyes off of her for granted, however, and ventures into the alleyway.
The sounds that once allured her have now been overwhelmed by her own rampant breaths, intensified within the barriers of her gas mask. Hope has consistently preceded betrayal over the course of her life, so she does not dare let your name touch her tongue. It still resides in her chest, however, where you have always lived. Calling out for you with every thundering beat of her heart.
When Vi rounds a corner, something juts out through the poisonous clouds. Anxiety thrashes inside of her, but she does not dare to halt her efforts now. When she takes a single step closer, her entire world plummets.
Hidden behind an array of old barrels is no other than you.
And just like that, the war is over.
Guns stretching into red-painted arrows mending broken hearts. Gunpoint threats overcome with strong declarations of devotion. Gunpowder residue building to form dust bunnies of a home well-loved. Gunshots easing to soft breaths of tranquility on a gloomy morning. Gunmen’s savage hands healing through bandages to fur-soft touches.
Salvation has found its way directly to her doorstep, wrapped in pretty bows of purple and blue. The war is finally over and Vi can barely tolerate the rush of rapture now pumping through her bloodstream.
You’re huddled into a ball, nearly nude and nothing short of terrified. Puffs of purple and blue spark from your palms in your effort of summoning your powers, but the sudden surge in strength from before has now run dry. Your attempts at shielding your coughing fit is futile, as well, evident in the second presence now towering over you. And it takes every fibre inside her to restrain herself from tackling you like some feral, emaciated animal.
It is fate, purely. A few chapters late, albeit, but finally inked down in all of its beautiful, annihilating colors. You gifted her wisdom many years ago. Now, it is her turn to utilize her own wisdom to protect your precious life.
“Oh, Sweetheart…”
Vi is swift in ridding herself of her gas mask to place it over your head instead. The relief in your expression is immediate when you are finally granted a gasp of clean air.
It does not go unnoticed by Vi, either. She hadn’t realized she had placed a hand on your bare shoulder, but feeling your muscles ease beneath her touch has her releasing a shaky breath she wasn’t aware she was choking on. As though this was normal; as though neither of you had spent a single day apart from each other's side. Partners until the end of time, she muses, your paths and hands woven together with the universe’ needle and thread.
Her lover. The thought alone sends a hot tickle up her spine. Lovers.
Vi suppresses the gags induced by the gas in her elbow, while her other hand caresses the skin she has only dreamt of touching. Any turmoil hurled her way is now a cake-walk with your touch beneath hers.
So engrossed in the whorls of you, in fact, it is only now does she take further notice of other fractions of your physicality. Some vibrant smudges are written on your forehead. “KISS ME, JINX!” is drawn in a blaring demand. Beneath the beautiful face, now covered in a thick mask, is an adornment around your neck. “Property of JINX!”, a warning threatening others off claimed territory.
It is a revolting collage of obsession, one that informs her without words how Jinx is the only threat present here. It could never be you, the pinnacle of tranquility. Too perfect to ever force harm. This Jinx, however, is a different story.
The memories then strike like cold water.
Powder’s insistence of “the stranger” being taken alongside Vander, despite Vi’s assurances that they are nothing more than a fictional fantasy (a territorial motive on her end, she’ll admit). The relentless collision of blue magic that took the lives of almost everyone she held close. The quiet hope that somehow, you’d persevere through the wreckage and mend the impossible wounds.
Then, there was the red-hot rage ensnaring around her every action. Violent hands that swore to never touch family have done exactly so. “You’re a jinx!” erupting from her throat before she can measure the consequences. The enraged paces away, abandoning the only family she had left in ash. Stumbling upon the pit, where Loris took her under his wing. The place she has resided in for an entire decade.
“Please…”
And then, there was you. The essence of her wistful dreams; the only light present to protect her from the monsters under her bed. Now, plunging your hands into her chest and claiming her soul as yours, once and for all.
“Do not hurt me…”
You may as well have clutched her heart in the process, too. The thick, gooey chunks of the red organ stuffed beneath your fingernails.
Placing harm on you will never be a possibility. Like an ocean without water, a galaxy without stars, a pair of hands without touch. It is a prospect that simply does not exist. And it kills her that you think it does.
“You think I wanna hurt you, baby?”
As though she were approaching a feeble, wounded animal, Vi slowly shuffles closer to where you sit. Her arm slithers around your shoulder, your touch igniting a flurry of goosebumps down her flesh.
The puny strength your body conjured to plead for your life is soon snuffed out. Your heavy vision droops and you fall unconscious, coincidentally landing against the chest of Vi. And of course, in typical Vi fashion, her mind reaches the conclusion of you doing such from the comfort you find in her embrace. Not a second more is wasted before she is scooping you into her strong arms.
“Sweet thing… Nothing’s gonna hurt you…”
She presses a kiss to your temple. Electric, warm bolts tickle her lips upon contact.
“’Never gonna let you out of my sight again…”
Bringing herself to her feet, Vi adjusts your position in her arms and sets off into the night. Eager to embark on this new chapter where she indulges in the sweetest blessing she’s ever received.
The twists and churns of your stomach is what welcomes you when you first awaken. Voices dance in an echoing synchronization, impossible to discern in your weakened state. Specks of your vision return in short spurts which reveal nothing more than swaying purple lights through a maze of darkness.
“Aww, shucks, birdie! Just can’t stay away, can’t ‘ya?”
The familiar tones have you thrashing about in a new state of adrenaline-induced clarity. You frantically search for those blue braids you know too well, but find no sign of the criminal mastermind. What you do find, however, is another figure rushing to your side.
“Easy, Sweets. Just you and me here.”
Violet sits beside where you lay and her hands are on you in record speed. The Enforcer uniform she has draped around your form does not protect you from her greedy touch, with her caressing any fraction of you she can clutch in an attempt at comfort.
“What a mess you have become, child. What would your father think seeing you in such disarray?”
The sudden perfusion of a voice you have not heard in centuries yanks a sob from your chest. It is met with even more loving affections from the persistent presence beside you.
“Why did you abandon me…?”
Vi gapes at you in response. Tears prick at her eyes and her bottom lip begins to wobble — sensations that have become strangers over the past several years. She doesn’t grant herself a moment to even consider what this “abandonment” is before she’s adorning you in fervent reassurances.
“I…” She stammers. “I would never leave you behind! You’re the only reason I’ve stayed in this fucked-up city in the first place. I promise you, sweetheart, I’m not blind anymore.”
The intensifying ache in your stomach drowns out her remaining words. It is then you realize this sudden illness poisoning your body must be at fault for the excessive blood intake during your stay in Jinx’s lair. It is surely the reason behind such painful visions, too.
Rest is an imperative necessity now, but you will not ease until you have returned to the safety of your sanctuary. And you will certainly not rest in the arms of the girl you have not thought of once in an entire decade.
You can’t even grasp how you are supposed to confess how the “blindness” you spoke of was in relation to her father, not yourself. On the rare instances you leave the expanse of your sanctuary, you reserve a fraction of time to help outside citizens. Young Violet amidst her Piltover heist were among those citizens. It is only now do you realize the consequences of your kind actions.
The hushed pitter-patter of boots outside are soon met with the intrusion of a smooth tone.
“Retreating down to the Slums? Makes sense for someone of your kind.”
Vi’s immediate acknowledgment and panic tell you this is not another cruel trick your brain is forcing onto you. She then parts from your side, concealing a half-broken bottle behind her back before she faces the unwelcome visitors. Her figure passing through the crooked threshold is the last thing you see before you doze off, once again.
“Does it matter? I’m following orders, Commander, am I not?”
A stable lie has always come easy to Vi. This is a tool she swiftly abuses in the heat of the moment, a skill that is more imperative now than ever before.
“Without your badge, I see?” The Kiramman fires back.
“Heh, this is the problem with you Topsiders. You only look at shit from a surface level. Never had to dig your hands in the dirt like the rest of us.”
Caitlyn’s fingers tighten around the gun swung over her shoulder.
“Is that so?” She further challenges.
“’The fuck else would it mean?”
The Commander allows a silence to settle, stalking the nervous tics and twitches within the newest Enforcer. Soon to be former, but Caitlyn doesn’t mind allowing this mutt to run around in circles.
Always straight-faced, Commander Kiramman sends out her next demand.
“Search the grounds.”
The panic that ignites in Vi’s eyes is nothing short of delicious. If it weren’t for the purpose of maintaining her image, Caitlyn would allow herself to smile in response to the all-mighty pit fighter’s horror.
The bottle she successfully hidden then barrels through the air, puncturing into the skull of one of the several Enforcers. Their death came as quick as the bottle was thrown, landing on the ground with a harsh thump.
A flurry of gunshots ensue, all of which Vi manages to dodge. All she has to defend herself is her fists, which has been the weapon she has used for as long as she has lived. With ease, she is able to disarm the surrounding Enforcers and beat them into bloody pulps. Never has Vi been one to bend over easily. And that is certainly the case now with her forearms drenched in warm blood, blue-and-gold dressed corpses littering her path.
However, there is one missing. Through the enraged chaos, Vi cannot find the Commander amongst the mess of bodies. With the door to her childhood home wide open, she feels her stomach cave into itself. She clumsily scrambles to her feet and rushes into the dilapidated building, eyes wide and crazed as she enters.
The Kiramman is nowhere to be seen, and horrifyingly so, neither are you. All that is left of you now is the Enforcer jacket she blanketed you in.
A roaring scream bruises Vi’s throat raw as she collapses to the dirt. Tears mend with the mess, seeping down her face like they never have before. There is no torture like being so close to having everything, then having it torn from your hands in the matter of seconds. That is a reality Vi will do anything to destroy.
Never in the thousands of years you have been alive did you ever consider the possibility of being arrested.
One of the most powerful creatures in Runeterra has now been locked in a cage. You would laugh at the prospect alone if your body weren’t so weak. The stiff, cold surface of the cell bed you’ve been thrown upon does not aid this sickness, either. Neither does the boisterous complaints of other inmates and clanking metal bars.
Despite the rampant pounding using your brain as its drum, you’re insistent on staying conscious. No matter how torturous reality may be. Soon, you assure, you’ll be back beneath the warm blankets of your sanctuary, a steaming bowl of soup and cup of tea greeting you first thing. This adventure will be nothing more than a silly story to tell your beloved villagers.
It is when you glance out of your cell do your thoughts come to a halt.
Through the thick bars of the cell before yours, you find doe-like, honey-gold eyes staring at you in complete wonder. Her gaze is almost shielded beneath the messy mop of chestnut-brown locks atop her head. The fearful tears glimmering in the corner of those eyes prick at your heart, as well as the chubby cheeks already stained of her cries.
A little girl, in a place like this? What measures has Runeterra resorted to while you were sitting cozy in your palace?
“Oh… Hello there, little one…”
Your coo is quiet amongst the calamity of the prison, but the young girl latches to your words, nonetheless.
“Would you like to see something magical, perhaps?”
Her attention, already captured, is now thoroughly piqued as she eagerly nods her head. Her tiny fingers grasp the rusted metal of the cell bars, impatiently awaiting your next move.
Normally, in a healthier state, you’ll entertain the children of your village by forging shapes from these clouds. From cranes and flowers to blimps and dinosaurs, it never fails to put them in a state of awe. With your stomach still swaying with blood, the best you can muster is a few fireworks that lazily dance from your palms.
Despite the (in your opinion) pathetic performance, the little girl brightens with excitement, her hands clasped around her cheeks in amazed shock. For the first time in weeks, just about, you smile with her. Raw and real, just the way it is back in your sanctuary.
Like clockwork, that happiness is robbed from you when a certain somebody makes their presence known. The sight of the little girl is blocked by the bulky figure of Vi, who stares down at you in your cell as though you were served as the main course at tonight’s feast.
“Don’t get too excited, sugar.” She muses, tone slow and greedy. A timbre you know all too well.
A few metal clanks and twists of her hand, the cell slides open and grants this lovesick monster full access to you. Her gaze is predatory as she locks the cell shut behind her, unblinking eyes never parting from yours. An evident fire burning inside her that not even the most violent of oceans could extinguish.
“You think that stupid Kiramman is gonna be enough to keep me away?” She laughs mockingly at the idea alone. “Took some pathetic groveling to get back here, but I have a few ideas of how you can make it up to me.”
You curl into yourself, knees pressed to your chest as though it could conceal you from the hungry mouth drooling to sink its sharp teeth into you. This effort is merely futile as Vi wastes no time in sitting down beside you, calloused hand beginning to massage the juts of your knee.
“Violet…”
A warmth blooms in her chest at the sound of you cooing her name; the only noise she’d ever want to hear first thing in the morning, replacing the hangover-buzz diluting the demands to prepare herself for another fight.
“I worry for my people. Please, I insist! I must return home-!”
A finger pressed to your lips and you’re silenced.
The sly grin slithering onto her face is impossible to avoid, as well. Evidently giddy over the concept of having such control over you. You also do not fail to notice the way she subtly nudges that finger against her mouth. A sloppy indirect kiss, you presume. Even though he was such an ephemeral figure in your life, it might as well have been Viktor sitting beside you with such teenage-like antics.
“You don’t need to worry about all that right now, sugar. No monster is gonna get you while I’m here.”
A hand to your shoulder and you are swiftly tugged into her embrace, the same way a python ensnares itself against defenseless prey. Your body feels like that of a stranger when the action causes lethargy to perfuse through your whole body.
With your head on her chest, one thought remains persistent as you drift to sleep for the umpteenth time.
This is really getting irritating.
“Well… It all went to shit.” Jinx admits in defeat. “Didn’t it, Birdie?”
The nightlife has now overwhelmed all of Zaun, but Jinx remains on the outskirts in complete isolation. She passes the countless posters adorning her face in favor of treading mindlessly. She has no intended path in particular. Anything to keep her moving; anything that will outrun the demons that lurk in her path.
Her hair drags through the sand as she walks the edge of the lakeshore, feet bare to the jagged litter and broken glass shards. The water is frigid, to a painful degree, but she cannot find it within herself to pay any mind to the matter. Not with you gone, no. Nothing matters with you far from her side.
Footsteps drum from behind her, but she does not dare to turn. She is perfectly aware of what prowls in the darkness.
Mylo, in his state of a decomposed, neon-adorned apparition, breaks through the thick silence.
“What did I say? Like always, you find a way to jinx everything. Jinx.”
His teasing remarks do exactly as they intended: sink deep beneath her skin. Almost, she turns to snap back at his insult, but she manages to halt herself. After all, none of it is real, and surely you do not wish to date someone whose sanity is several blows away from shattering beyond repair.
It is when Claggor joins the party does she nearly crack.
“Did you really think they’d settle for someone like you? Come on, you knew it was a bad idea from the start.”
Her nails dig into her hair, attempting to shield her ears from the rampant abuse. You wouldn’t settle, you’re not like that! No, you’d love her, you were so close to learning how to! It was those stupid Topsiders who rid two innocent lovebirds of that chance! And that scientist, that bones-y creep! Couldn’t get it up for you and had to snag you away for a round two!
“Y/N, hoo! That’s a catch you don’t find too often. Don’t think it’s somethin’ you can hook, kid.”
Vander’s thick accent seeps deep into her bones. Jinx’s clenched fists pound against her skull as she tries to stop the thoughts from rattling around. She has torn Zaun asunder trying to find you, it was those Piltie scums who sunk their hook into you! It was them! Their fault, not hers!
Vi’s voice perfuses next.
“Time to cut your losses, Pow-Pow. They’d do better with someone like me-”
“Shut up!”
A bullet pierces through the wind when Jinx whips around to blow her sister's brains out. When the silence settles, deep and lonely, she registers her sanity has finally received its final blow. Now, there is nothing but the chunks of her persistent failure that remain. She is a jinx and that fact prevails like it never has before.
A single step sinks into the wet sand of the beach’s shoreline. Another sinks deeper, then another, and another. Her frail body begins to shiver from the ice-cold contact, but still, she does not cease her efforts.
Floating on her back, Jinx sways along with the gentle waves, a juxtaposition to the pandemonium within her mind. It is a strange peace the sensation earns her. Nothing reminiscent of your all-consuming tranquility, but the resemblance is puny, nonetheless. Serving as her only comfort through all of this noise.
With the flap of her hands, she descends her body further into the waves. The water gladly consumes her whole, gleefully robbing her of any oxygen. It clutches at her lungs with no hope of ease and indulges in the thrashing fight. Through the chaotic wasteland of her mind, however, Jinx can only find you.
Instead of the violent calamity she is so familiar with, the images stamped in her thoughts are inked in your happiness. Her eyes close and she revels in the picture-perfect scenery of what her life could have been.
Vibrant paint splattered amongst each other, a playful fight in the midst of the renovation of yours and (now) Jinx’s palace. Toying with gadgetry and inventions, forging utensils to better the lives of your villagers (and maybe the bedroom, as well). Cheesy, romantic music perfusing from the gramophone as you both clasp onto each other in an intimate dance. Cherries-on-top present themselves through kisses on cheeks, flustered giggles, and warm nuzzles. The very definition of a perfect life, that is how Jinx would describe these fantasies.
They continue to play as her lungs grow tighter and tighter and tighter. Though, there is no pain with your smile shining behind her eyes.
Then, with one final gasp of your name, there is nothing.
Across the bridge, you’ve now found yourself in an irritating routine of succumbing to your body’s incessant need for rest. Asleep for years, it feels like, only to be granted mere minutes of energy. Every time you stir awake, without fail, Violet is the one you wake up against. How a prison guard has not raised the question of why one of their Enforcers is cuddling an inmate, you haven’t a single clue.
What you do know is that she is currently in a deep slumber. Testing the waters, you lightly nudge the thick muscles of her arm. With no rousing in sight, you take advantage of her unconscious state and your sudden burst of energy.
With slowness that would put a snail to shame, you lift Vi’s arm from its permanent residence around your waist. Just before you can slither out of the new space for escape, that arm locks around your form, its sudden tightness forcing a gasp from your throat.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
Her leg is then brought into that equation, too, now latched around your hips. Nuzzling her face into the nape of your neck, you try to ignore the possessive affections and instead, measure the weight of your possible choices from here.
Simply walking out of this cell is not a clear option here. There is also the matter of being patient for your powers to return, but the waiting game is not something you wish to play. A repeat of what that blue-haired mastermind put you through is nothing short of a nightmare. With only one feasible option on the horizon, you take a deep breath of preparation.
Evidently, this girl has a weakness. And that very weakness is heavy-eyed and lethargic, locked in this prison cell. Weaponizing this could result in your escape, sure, but it could also lead you into a… Sticky situation, if you will. Even if you read thousands of books on the skill of romance, you would still be oblivious in any effort to navigate that world. In the centuries of your life, you have never cared for such, either.
The people within your village have always been of utmost importance. Tending to them has been the path you have happily tread down for years. Never a kiss, never an embrace, never even holding hands with a special someone — your interest in these pursuits has never been piqued.
Sure, Viktor and Jinx are not the first to piece together your runes and find their way to your sanctuary, greeting you with lovelorn declarations of devotion that would take the trophies of the most talented of poets. None of their romantic pursuits ever compelled you to indulge them, though. Until the feelings are mutual will you ever consider the choice.
With that being said, this does happen to be the first time their reverence has pushed you and your magic outside of your sanctuary. Locked tight in a prison cell, no less.
From here, you bite the bullet and put on your best award-winning performance.
Before Vi’s grasp can tighten once more, you swiftly slip out of her greedy hold. She reaches for you like a child parting from their teddy-bear, but another demand of your return gets lodged in her throat when you straddle her.
Fake smile plastered on your face, you take her face into your hands and simply stare. A few well-measured caresses of your thumbs and she’s entirely at your will, evident in the exasperated breaths and powder-grey eyes sparkling like a puppy-dog with a juicy bone. Vi’s hands clutch around your thigh, jagged nails digging into the flesh as a desperate means to not let them travel further. This attempt at self-control is weak, however.
“Fuck. C’mere-”
Her lips just barely graze yours before you interrupt her intentions.
“I was so frightened before. Not a soul could fathom the weight of my fears.”
Paired with a gentle pout and nervous tone, any disappointment surrounding not having your lips on hers is replaced with genuine, unbreakable interest.
“Jinx was so, so cruel, Violet.”
The name of her sister should never sit on your tongue, only hers. It causes her to tense beneath you, a stirring pit of rage forming from the frail tones in your voice. The sight of tears building in your eyes does not assuage these feelings, either. No, it adds even more fuel to the fire.
“Even my cries were not enough to stop her vicious hands. Extraordinary violence, she always treated me with.”
It is faux innocence; a sloppy attempt, at best. Still, your efforts work marvelously with the anger you’ve managed to ignite. The fact she has not thrown you back onto the cell bed, stormed out of the prison, and returned with a pair of blue braids on a silver platter is nothing short of a miracle.
“You…”
Your finger traces the jut of her collarbone, eliciting a chill with every centimeter your nail treads.
“You are simply different. A softness I did not deem myself worthy of, crashing into my world like the catalyst you are.”
Accentuated with laughter, Vi falls even deeper into your magic spell. It is only now do you realize a mere caress would have done enough damage, why hadn’t you utilized this skill sooner? You did not expect such antics to work so obnoxiously well. So much so, you fear you may have abused this tool a pace too far.
“Let me make you feel good, ‘Sug. ‘Promise it’ll be nothing you’ve ever felt before.”
Her arm then ensnares around your waist once again, the other clasping your jaw to prevent another escape. The gasp it pulls from you is misinterpreted as something sensual, of which she gobbles right up.
“Tastes like candy, I bet.”
Vi’s lips find your neck before you can merely react to the sudden movement. Lapping and sucking onto any stretch of skin she can claim — a heaven she has only dreamt of clutching.
You twitch uncomfortably from the affection, which she, once again, mistakes as an act of passion. If her mouth weren’t occupied with the best meal she’s ever tasted, she’d reassure you of how there is no need to rut against her for more of her touch. If she were to speak of such, your act may falter from the disgusting insinuations behind the filthy words.
“Violet…”
Your attempt at grasping her attention is perceived as one of pleasure, evident in the satisfied groan it pulls from her. Brows curling upwards and all.
“Allow me to kiss you. Please.”
The words are so foreign, they feel equivalent to vomit crawling from your mouth. Anything to remove this blood-hungry vampire from your innocent neck.
Vi obliges in an almost whiplash-inducing speed and her eyes flutter shut as she leans in. With a prayer to no one, you enact on a power you did not ever believe you’d wield in such circumstances.
Two fingers pressed to her closed eyes, you whisper your next action.
“Sleep…”
And just like that, it was like the humiliating scene had never occurred in the first place. Violet is out like a light, sinking down onto the concrete-surfaced prison bed. This mechanism has only been explored in more light-hearted scenarios. It was normally exercised to lull fussy babies. Now, it is used to pacify the animalistic exertions of this dark-haired street fighter.
With your weakened state, you cannot accurately anticipate how long Violet will be asleep for, nor can you measure how much time is left before you’re forced into a state of unconsciousness, once again. You yank the dangling keys from Violet’s hip and fiddle with them clumsily, before the correct one finally unlocks your cell with a click. Centuries spent applying your powers to any barrier makes for an awkward runaway, you surmise.
Scanning the long aisle of cells for any lingering guards, you dash to the cell directly before yours. Another graceless scrambling of clanking keys ensues before you finally hear that melodious click. Upon entering, frantic and horrified that you had possibly let a child witness such a fiasco, you release a pent-up sigh of relief when you find her fast asleep. And, most imperatively, safe.
With another paranoid glance over your shoulder, you bend to her level at the edge of the prison bed. You inspect the skin not covered in rugged scraps for any wounds, of which you thankfully find none. The people beneath this roof are prone to aggressive violence. Forcing such hands onto a child is an act you deem unforgivable, and frankly, impossible to understand. It is an overwhelming gratitude you are met with when you find they spared the girl of such.
The adorable coos of gentle snores almost prompt a spike of guilt in you, but you insist on nudging her awake before this rare window closes.
Golden eyes peer around in confusion as she rouses from her sleep. Upon discerning the sight of you, the girl practically throws herself into your arms. You stumble back upon the surprising act, but do not hesitate in returning the affection. What kind of monster would deny a child the necessity of comfort, after all? The heart-shattering cries muffled into your shoulder only strengthen this belief furthermore.
“Oh, Rabbit… I will not let them harm us. I promise you.”
When she retreats from your hold, you clasp her face in your hand and stroke her chubby face.
“I know of a place I am positive you’ll adore. Somewhere you will never be hurt again.”
Her eyes are hopeful as they stare into yours, sobs having eased to hiccuping sniffles. A smile, just a hint of one, stretches on her scarred lips.
Shifting your gaze a little to the left, you find a rusted helmet with cracked goggles had been left underneath the bed. Possibly belonging to an old miner, it appears. You place the hat atop her messy locks, pretending you were crowning royalty.
“You will need your best armor, soldier. Only the strongest can embark on such a journey.”
That earns you a giggle, of which you revel in the success of.
“Remind me, soldier, what is your name?”
The girl seems to consider your question thoroughly, measuring how exactly she should inform you of such. Several motions of her hand spell out her name in sign language, of which you read in perfect coherence.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Isha.”
Meanwhile, Violet remains limp in the neighboring cell. A peaceful, blissful slumber that is oblivious to what is happening just several feet away. And in this slumber is where she revels in the exhilaration of a love she’ll cling to for the remainder of her days.
Like the triumph of a curtain call, Violet’s dreams have come true: to feel the touch of gentle warmth. After an entire lifetime, she is finally soft. Here, beneath the light of you, everything melts.
Now, her dreams have shifted. Violet will keep a tight clasp on this feather-touch.
No matter what it takes.
⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ
❝ YOU REALLY GOT A HOLD ON ME,
SO THIS ISN'T JUST PUPPY LOVE . . . ❞
gif creds.
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『01:13』 — 김홍중
⋆˙⟡ pairing/s: husband!hongjoong x wife!reader
⋆˙⟡ in which: hongjoong has been stressed and buried in work lately, leaving you two with no time to yourselves. but you did once bring up the idea of “free use” to him, in case he was really that desperate.
⋆˙⟡ genre/s: smut
⋆˙⟡ warnings: unprotected sex, free use, somnophilia, fingering, nipple play, creampie. hongjoong's needy and a pathetic mess lol.
⋆˙⟡ word count: 1k
Rolling thunder rumbled alongside the bellowing wind and nightly downpour. Hongjoong was drowsy, eyelids at half-mast, and ready to throw in the towel. The studio was enshrouded in absolute darkness, with only the laptop screen flashing blindingly into his eyes. For months on end, he had been drowning in work, one rehearsal after another, penning and composing, in addition to preparing for an upcoming tour. On the other hand, Mai, his wife, would always wait for him to come back home from work until she’d pass out on the couch, and he’d have to carry her to their bedroom. Both had been so preoccupied with their own responsibilities that they had not been able to spend time together in any shape, way, or form. He eventually gave in to the desire to rest and shut his laptop.
When he entered the bedroom, Mai was sound and long gone. Chest rising and falling with her hair splayed across her face. He hovered over her resting body, watching with adoring eyes, his hand brushed her hair aside. He undressed and slipped into comfier sleep stuff, slid into his side of the bed and nestled his face right beneath her chin. His arm snaked around her waist, and over her tummy. The smell of her vanilla-scented body mist crept into his nose, gradually easing him into sleep. Just as he was about to welcome slumber with open arms, Mai turned to face him, nearly engulfing his whole face into her breasts. Her arm lazily fell over his shoulders as she continued to snore.
They had been married for over 3 years now, and still, covered or bare, the mere sight of her breasts still drove him crazy. A part of her areola peeked from beneath the silk night garment. Hongjoong groaned. He was afraid of waking her but her position was compromising. He removed her arm from around his shoulder, and carefully repositioned her onto her back, which only made matters worse. Her nightdress moved a couple inches down, revealing just one nipple. It stared him straight in the eyes, challenging his restraint.
As he was about to yank the garment back up, his finger brushed her bare nipple, sending tremors running amok all over his body. He balled his hand into a fist, sighed defeatedly, then pulled the dress back up. He wanted to. He knew he did. But it felt wrong. No matter how much Mai had reassured him that she was open to the idea of him having sex with her while she slept, he refused. Said it was a team effort and both had to be awake for the rewards. It felt wrong despite being told otherwise. But it had been months. Months since they had touched. Merely exchanged kisses and hugs.
He needed her.
He pulled the garment back down, revealing a good portion of her breast. His mouth circled around the nipple as his tongue laved and flicked it. His hold on her waist was gentle. She groaned and shuffled, but remained asleep. His hand travelled from her waist down to her thigh, sneaking beneath the dress. The warmth of her inner thighs brought him some sense of relief. He pushed aside her underwear and dragged his fingers through her folds. The warmth of her slick cunt completely engulfed his fingers, as he sunk them in and pumped. Thumb gently rubbing circles over her clitoris and mouth playing with her breast. His lips moved upward to her neck, licking. Hints of sweat danced on his tongue. The twitching in his pants became more noticeable with every passing minute.
Desperation had finally consummated. He pulled his pants down just below his waist, his throbbing erection forming a tent beneath the sheets. Carefully slotting himself between her thighs, he pushed the underwear aside once more and lined himself up at her moist entrance. He gently pecked her on the lips, taking in the sight of her unconscious figure. She was a sure beaut. One that he loved like he had never loved before. A muffled, tottering groan fell from his lips as he bottomed her out. He drew his hips back, and softly thrusted back in. He buried his face in the crook of her shoulder, hips bucking back and forth. Bottom lip caught between his teeth, he was deluged with ecstasy. With each thrust, the sound of her wetness managed to quell the rustling of the duvet. He whimpered pathetically beside her resting head. It had been so long since they shared such intimacy, but unfortunately it was his to relish for now. She was always an active participant, but this would do. Lending her comatose self for his own satisfaction.
The longer he remained buried inside of her, the more moans would escape him. He grinded into her, his hips moving with precision. He muttered numerous ‘I love yous’, as if she could hear. The pleasure had overwhelmed his every sense, from touch to sound, he began weeping while canonising her, promising eternal allegiance to her very existence for as long as they remained together. His orgasm inched closer, his hips moved erratically, sloppily, thrusting faster as he chased that looming high. He buried himself deep inside as he coated her walls with ribbons of cum, dulcet moans leaving his mouth as they embowered the atmosphere, challenging the trickling of rain and humming of the air conditioner. He continued to thrust slowly, peppering her with kisses and dousing her in approbations.
He laid back down right beside her, retraining his breath. Mai was dishevelled, breast laying out in the open. Hongjoong covered her chest, and pulled the covers over their bodies. She turned to her side, throwing her arm over his shoulders like before, but moved closer this time, with one leg wrapping around his waist.
“I knew you could do it…” She muttered under her breath, dragging Hongjoong closer to herself, and leaving him appalled.
.
.
.
taglist babies:
@suluhwa
#ateez#ateez fanfic#ateez x reader#kim hongjoong#hongjoong x reader#hongjoong smut#hongjoong imagines#hongjoong timestamp#atinyblr#pyeongstarr ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆
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Hungry Eyes
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader
Summary: The team overhears Nat and Y/N's 'girl talk' through the comms and feelings surface as a result.
Warnings: Suggestive content. Sex references.
Words: 956
A/N: PART 2 CAN BE FOUND HERE
--
“Bucky's done nothing but undress you with his eyes since you walked in,” Natasha's husky voice came over your earpiece and your eyes snapped to the super soldier on the other side of the room, your cheeks reddening to find him already staring in your direction.
You let your gaze casually pass over him, playing the brief moment of eye contact off as a coincidence as you scanned the room for the mission, but your heart was pounding and you were sure he could probably hear it.
“Doubtful,” you scoffed, though you couldn't ignore the tingle that travelled up your spine at the thought of Bucky finding you attractive. You'd had the hots for him for months, but your fear of rejection strongly outweighed your desire to tell him so you'd kept your little secret to yourself…and Nat of course.
“Stop living in denial, anybody with half a brain can see how he practically drools over you every time he sees you,” Nat argued, and you rolled your eyes as you continued to survey the room. “Don’t roll your eyes at me, it’s true.”
“Stop watching me, you know it creeps me out when I can’t see you,” you hissed, eyes roaming the crowd in an attempt to spot the redhead.
“If you could see me, I wouldn’t be very good at my job,” she teased, and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes again.
“Just hurry up and do your job, Romanoff - the quicker we finish and I can get out of this dress the better,” you stated, readjusting the silky garment that Natasha herself had picked out for you. It suited your cover well, but it was a little provocative for your usual tastes.
“I’m sure Barnes would agree with you on that one…”
“As much as I’m enjoying watching Bucky squirm from this conversation, head’s up that this is an open channel,” Sam’s voice cutting in over the comms caused any reply you had prepared for Natasha to die on your tongue, the blood draining from your face as you turned to look at Bucky.
The super soldier was no longer on his mark, but as you searched the crowd you caught a glimpse of him as he was making a swift exit. More than anything you wanted to follow him, to defuse the awkwardness and recover from the embarrassment of him overhearing Nat’s comments, but you stayed rooted to the spot, unable to leave your position.
“Go,” Nat urged, as though sensing your inner turmoil. “Me and Sam have got this.”
A quick look towards Sam confirmed that he agreed, and you wasted no time in hurrying towards the same door Bucky had gone through moments ago.
Surprisingly, he hadn’t gone very far, and you found him leaning against the wall in the foyer. Heat rushed to your cheeks as his eyes landed on you, and you smiled sheepishly as you approached.
“Hey Buck,” you softly said as you reached him. “Sorry about what you heard back there - Nat was just teasing, she didn’t mean any of it.”
“Didn’t she?” He asked, raising a single eyebrow.
“What?” You frowned, unsure how to interpret his response. There was a way you wanted this to go, but you didn’t want to get your wires crossed and make even more of a fool of yourself.
“You said she didn’t mean any of it, but how can you be sure?”
He pushed himself off the wall and fixed you with an intense gaze, making your knees weak and your breath short. You didn’t dare look away - afraid that if you did, this moment would end.
“I-uh…I don’t know what you’re getting at here, Buck…” you stammered, too dumbfounded to form a better response. You were very aware of how close the two of you were and the smell of his cologne and warmth emanating from his body was making your brain short circuit.
“Then let me show you.”
There was no hesitation as he took your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours, and you melted into him with a whimper. The sound gave him the encouragement he was looking for and he spun you round so that he could press you up against the wall, moaning into your mouth as you raked your hands through his hair.
Everything around you ceased to exist and all sense left you as you gave into your desires, the feeling of Bucky’s hands roaming your body setting your skin on fire. You couldn’t believe this was happening, you’d never even let yourself hope that Bucky might actually feel the same, yet here you were, making out with him while his sizable bulge pressed up against you.
Had Sam not cleared his throat over the comms, you were sure you’d have let the super soldier take you right there and then, regardless of the fact that you were in public and on a mission.
“Channel is still very much open, guys,” he informed, and Bucky’s eyes widened in horror as he pulled away. You giggled and gave him a quick peck on the lips.
“I’m not even sorry,” you told Sam teasingly, straightening up and readjusting your dress. You were aware of Bucky’s eyes on you and you looked up to meet his hungry gaze.
“I can’t wait to get that thing off you when we’re finished here,” he blurted, and you bit your lip as heat flooded your core.
“Then we’d better hurry up and finish,” you replied, taking him by the hand and leading him back to the main room so that you could get the mission, and later on your clothes, out of the way.
PART 2
#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky imagine#bucky x reader#bucky x you#james buchanan barnes x reader#james bucky barnes x reader#mcu fanfiction#winter soldier x reader#bucky barnes x female character#bucky barnes x y/n#james bucky barnes x y/n#reader insert
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" i already have the world "
pairing : jeon wonwoo x gn!reader
"13 ways to say "i love you" with seventeen"
warnings : none
word count : 0.5 k
a/n : unsure if i'm happy with this , but the writers block was BAD and so i ended up falling victim to the gamer!wonwoo trope
You truly wonder how Wonwoo still finds it in himself to wake up as early as he does to make his various schedules. Especially when it's already two in the morning yet he's still locked in on his computer screen, furiously clicking away. Meanwhile, you're walking a very thin line of consciousness.
If it weren't for the giant glowing monitor and the voices shouting through Wonwoo's headset, you probably would've lost your battle against sleep by now. And judging from the increasingly irritated shouts of Seungcheol and Jihoon for Mingyu to "go left," it sounds like Wonwoo's team is losing theirs.
"Your other left, idiot," You just barely make out Jihoon's exhausted words. "Wonwoo, please help him, you're closest."
"Yeah, I'm already on it. Someone cover me–" There's a pause, then a sad tune plays and you force your eyelids back open just wide enough to catch the giant "LOSE" written across the display. "Never mind, good game."
"It was most definitely not," Seungcheol complains.
"One more round?" Mingyu asks, even though this is their fifth "one more round."
"Yeah, just give me a minute and we can start," Wonwoo says before promptly muting his mic. He nudges you with his shoulder, earning a very unamused groan back in response.
"You can go to bed if you want," he chuckles.
"Alone?" You whine, which only makes him laugh more.
"You're right, what a ridiculous idea," he teases. "This is the last one for real this time, promise."
You're head falls to Wonwoo's shoulder with a sigh. He readjusts, allowing you to rest more comfortably. With your newfound pillow, sleep easily consumes you.
Your breathing slows down to a steady pace almost instantly and Wonwoo glances down with a soft chuckle. "I'm sorry I kept you up," he whispers, placing a feathery kiss on the top of your head.
He unmutes his mic. "Hey, sorry guys, I'm gonna log off for the night."
"What? Dude, we're just about to start. Please don't leave me with Seungcheol and Jihoon!" Mingyu urges. Wonwoo contemplates it, a match would only be around twenty minutes. But one more look at your sleeping form and that thought is gone as soon as it comes.
"Sorry, it's late, good luck though."
"Wait!" Mingyu tries again. "What if I buy you lunch tomorrow?"
"Goodnight, Mingyu."
"A coffee? Your favorite pastry from that bakery half an hour away? The world? What's it gonna take?"
"Mingyu, stop being dramatic and let the man go to bed." Seungcheol chastises.
Wonwoo secures his arm around your waist and pulls you against him when he notices your head slipping from his shoulder. An action that makes you snuggle further into his side in your unconscious state. Perhaps his heart has gone a little soft, but no offer could possibly amount to the moments like these he gets to spend with you.
So while lunch and a coffee is a tempting offer, it simply doesn't compare. "Besides," he says in a last goodbye into the mic. "I already have the world."
taglist: @matchahyuck @dontwannaexsist @minnieminshi
#wonwoo#jeon wonwoo#jeon wonwoo x you#wonwoo x you#jeon wonwoo x reader#wonwoo x reader#jeon wonwoo imagine#wonwoo imagine#jeon wonwoo imagines#wonwoo imagines#jeon wonwoo fanfic#wonwoo fanfic#jeon wonwoo fluff#wonwoo fluff#seventeen#svt#seventeen x reader#svt x reader#seventeen x you#svt x you#seventeen fanfic#svt fanfic#seventeen imagines#seventeen imagine#svt imagines
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